Virgil was in uniform as he wandered through his plane, double and triple checking everything carefully. For the first time in as long as he could remember he was feeling slightly nervous about a flight in Thunderbird Two, and the way his family had practically been glued to his side over the last few hours hadn't helped. When he'd gone to get changed, he'd almost literally had to throw Scott out of his bedroom so he'd have some peace. It was only because his father had dispatched everyone off on various tasks that he was alone now.
Virgil checked each compartment noting that they had all been stripped bare of their fixtures and fittings. The various winches, grabs, and other pieces of equipment were now all stacked neatly along the sides of the hangar. They'd even vacuumed each room, deciding that in a craft of this size a small amount of dust in each area could add up to a weight of consequence.
His last port of call was the pod.
He heard his father yell. "Virgil?"
"In here," Virgil's voice sounded hollow inside the barren shell.
Jeff climbed into the pod. "Last minute checks?"
"Yes." Virgil stood for a moment looking around him. "It's ironic that we've had to strip her down like this after all the hard work you guys put into her bringing her back up to scratch."
"It won't take so long to put her back together this time. At least everything's intact. And we'll have you to help this time, your brothers will see to that."
Virgil nodded his agreement, not really listening. He was remembering the note that he'd scribbled and left under his pillow. 'To my much loved family,' it began. 'If you're reading this it's because I'm not as good a pilot as I thought I was…'
Virgil grimaced. He wished he hadn't written that.
"Are you all right?" his father asked when he noticed the expression.
"I think I've eaten too much of Grandma's cooking. I might be too heavy for Thunderbird Two."
Jeff Tracy chuckled. "You've made her happy, anyway." He looked at his watch. "They'll be down soon."
"Yes." Virgil agreed. "I guess I'd better go get everything fired up." He led the way into the lift that would take them to the sickbay.
"I'm proud of you, Son."
Surprised by his father's remark, Virgil could only manage a "Huh?"
"There's not too many people with the skills and courage to undertake such a flight."
This was easy to answer. "No."
"And I want you to know, that even if I hadn't seen that amazing bit of flying this morning, I still would have thought you were the man for the job."
"Thanks," Virgil said. "I don't know what all the fuss is about. It's not like I've never done anything dangerous before."
"But this is different…"
"Only because, this time, you're involved personally. Do you really think flying through a cyclone is any more dangerous than having an atomic airliner land on me or neutralising a nuclear reactor?" He waited to see if he'd eased his father's mind.
"No," Jeff agreed. "I guess you're right. But, even so, please be careful. Don't take any risks."
"I won't," Virgil admitted. "I've learnt the hard way that I'm not bullet-proof. There's no way that I would have offered to take this trip if I hadn't thought that both Thunderbird Two and I were up to the job."
"So I don't need to remind you that you've got Brains and Tin-Tin on board as well as Joe."
Virgil shook his head. "No." The lift stopped rising, the doors opened and he operated a switch.
There was a humming sound as light flooded the room, and when they stepped into the sickbay it was like stepping into a whole new world. Whereas the rest of Thunderbird Two was painted utilitarian greens and greys, the sickbay was a glossy white. Apart from the floor the room was spherical in shape and not a sharp edge or corner was visible. On a console set into the wall just inside the door lights flashed and the needles on various gauges crept higher.
Virgil began to prowl about, opening cupboards, checking stocks, and examining the electronic equipment.
"Brains has already done that," Jeff advised.
"I know. But if I check it myself that'll be one less thing I'll worry about…"
"You can't leave me here!" Ned Cook protested.
Scott glared at him. "We're not letting you anywhere near Thunderbird Two's hangar! You know too much already."
"But Joe's my friend…"
"If you really care about him you'll let us take him away, instead of standing there arguing with me," Scott told him and took up position at the front right of the stretcher. Beside him, Gordon already had his hand on the stretcher's left handle. Alan was behind him. "Would you mind helping, Kyrano?"
Kyrano bowed. "It would be my pleasure to assist you all." He took his place at the sole remaining handle.
"I could do that!" Ned claimed.
Scott ignored him. "Are you ready, Brains? Tin-Tin?"
They were dressed and ready for the flight. Instead of wearing surgical garb or lab coats, both wore what appeared to be a kind of body armour. Ned had goggled at the pair of them and had asked, "What's that get up for?"
No one had told him. Now the seven members of International Rescue were walking out the door, carrying Joe and leaving a frustrated reporter in their wake.
"Now don't you move from here," Grandma Tracy wagged her finger at Ned. "Else I'll see to you, my lad."
Ned could do nothing but wait. Even if he'd been in the mood for a little snooping they'd boarded up the door to the lounge. Thunderbird One's hangar was securely off limits.
The ride down to Thunderbird Two was quiet. The lift was large enough to carry two billiard tables and each person had plenty of room in which to reflect on their own thoughts.
The doors slid back, revealing Thunderbird Two, her nose just metres away from the solid granite wall. "Virgil must have been in a hurry to put that thing away," Grandma remarked. "It's facing the wrong direction."
Her grandsons were careful not to explain why Virgil had been in such a hurry, or how he'd 'put it away' as they crossed the hangar towards the gigantic plane. Footsteps echoed and body armour reverberated in that mausoleum of a room. They entered Thunderbird Two…
Virgil was continuing his inspection of the sickbay as he ran his hands around a distinct panel in the wall, checking the edges were clear. "If nothing else, I hope I don't have to use this thing."
"Me too, Son."
The sickbay had two uses. The primary, obvious use was care of the injured. Its secondary use was as an escape pod. The theory was that upon impact or after manual operation, the sickbay would be ejected out through Thunderbird Two's roof, where a parachute would be deployed to bring it safely to earth. The spherical interior was to ensure that there were no sharp edges on which anyone could be impaled. The matching exterior would ensure that should the pod land on water it would float until the occupants could be rescued. A fraction of a second before the escape pod's ejection, the pilot, and any passengers on the flight deck, would be pulled backwards, on their seats, into the sickbay in a manner reminiscent of the escape units in the 'Zero' fleet of spaceships.
They'd tested it once two months before they'd set out on their first rescue. Since Thunderbird Two was 'his' plane, Virgil had volunteered to be the guinea pig. When Brains had activated the unit, Virgil, in his pilot seat, had been propelled backwards at such a speed that the acceleration and deceleration had left him stunned and gasping for breath. As they'd helped him onto the sickbay's stretcher and given him oxygen, Alan, who'd been champing at the bit to have a go, suddenly remembered that he had something important to do in Thunderbird Three. Gordon had remarked that it made his accident in the hydrofoil look like a cruise on a yacht. John had practically begged his father to let him go up to Thunderbird Five early, and Scott had torn strips off the scientist. "It's too explosive, Brains."
Stung with everyone's reaction, Brains had pulled himself up to his full height and looked Scott in the chest. "Th-That's the point, Scott. It's to save the p-pilot's life."
"It's not going to be much use if it's going to kill him!"
"I-I would not allow that to happen…"
"And I'm going to make sure it won't! Come up with something else, Brains!"
"Such as…?"
By this point Virgil had got his breath back. "Will you all be quiet?" he'd begged. "And help me remove this mask. My hands don't seem to be working properly."
It was only bruising, brought about by the concussive nature of the test, but Virgil remembered that he'd felt sore for the entire week after that. He'd also had to endure teasing from his brothers about his having to move about like an old man. Even more frustrating had been the pain he'd felt each time he'd attempted to play the piano. Brains had explained that inertial forces, caused by his blood being thrust at speed down his arms to his hands, had caused severe bruising to his fingertips. It was not a sensation that Virgil was in a hurry to feel again.
Scott had battled to get the ejection unit changed, and Brains had battled equally hard to retain it. Jeff had finally decided that as it was only to be used in an emergency, and appeared to be working as designed, the system would be retained. He also decreed that there was no need for anyone else to test it…
And so, that was the only time the pilot's escape unit had been used. Virgil hoped it would stay that way.
The lift announced its arrival. "Good luck, Virgil," Jeff said quickly, and Joe, still in his half-seated position, was borne into the sickbay.
A short time later the injured man was secure in the sickbay's bed. Brains confirmed that his vital signs were as good as could be expected under the present conditions and turned to the rest of the group. "W-W-We're ready."
After the expected goodbyes, most of the group retreated back to the safety of Tracy Villa. "We'll watch the flight from the storm shelters," Jeff explained to Ned when they had reached the safety of the house.
This time Ned Cook had no compunction about obeying the Tracy patriarch.
"How're things looking, John?" Virgil asked as he slid into his pilot's seat.
"Better," John replied. "Which isn't saying much."
"How fast are the winds?"
"Varying between 200 and 250 knots, with occasional gusts of 300."
"Just a walk in the park then."
"If the park's situated in a wind tunnel."
"Virgil, John, patch through full telemetry readings," Jeff commanded. "I want to know exactly what's going on with Thunderbird Two. I also want full video coverage of what you're seeing, Virgil. "
"F-A-B." Virgil agreed. "I'd appreciate it if someone could take on a virtual co-pilot role. I'm not going to be able to keep an eye on everything."
"Gordon?" John offered. "Scott?"
"No. You do it, John," Scott replied. "It'll take a microsecond longer for a signal to travel between here and Thunderbird Two than there would be directly from Thunderbird Five. That microsecond could be crucial."
"Are you happy with that, John?" Virgil asked.
"Sure," John agreed. "What do you want me to watch?"
"Let's start with height, wind speed and air pressure. I'll concentrate on what I'm flying through; you tell me if there's anything coming up I should know about. That'll be valuable when we're flying through the transition zone."
"F-A-B."
In the storm shelter Ned was astounded to see the wall change from what he'd previously thought was a plain, painted surface. Now, in one panel he could see Virgil's view through the windscreen. The one on the far left was focused on the pilot himself, while its opposing number showed Brains and Tin-Tin checking Joe in the sick-bay. The middle panel showed John Tracy in Thunderbird Five and the final one displayed all sorts of incomprehensible readouts.
Clearly Scott didn't find them incomprehensible because he was studying them closely. "Looks okay so far…"
"Of course they're okay," Alan replied. "They haven't left the ground yet."
"What's the wind speed in the cirrus outflow region?" Virgil was asking.
"About the same as what you've got down there." Together the two brothers began checking the reports and telemetry readings coming from Thunderbird Two and various weather computers.
Ned Cook listened to the exchange between the Virgil and John with a mixture of anxiety and confusion. "What are they talking about? What's the transition zone and circus outflow region?"
"Cirrus outflow region," Scott corrected. "It's where the air escapes from the low pressure system of the cyclonic inflow."
Ned looked at him in open confusion. "Low pressure system of the cyclonic inflow?"
Alan tried to help out. "Remember how Brains explained that the eye of a cyclone is the area of highest air pressure and lowest wind speeds? That's why we were able to fly out into it this morning. Conversely, the eye wall is the area of the lowest air pressure and highest wind speeds. That's what we're in now."
"Right…" Ned said slowly, trying to follow the science.
"What happens…"
"Scott," his father interrupted, "Maybe later?" He gave an almost imperceptible nod in the direction of his mother.
Unfortunately for him she saw his gesture. "Don't be silly, Jefferson. I don't need to be sheltered from what they are going to be facing. I'd rather know the facts than be left to imagine the worst."
"Are you sure, Grandma?" Scott asked.
"You're just as silly as your father," she remonstrated.
"Okay," Scott attempted to keep his explanation simple. "The main 'engine' of the cyclone is a 'cyclonic inflow', sucking the air in towards the centre of the cyclone in a clockwise motion… since we are in the Southern Hemisphere. Obviously there gets a point where the air has nowhere to go except up, and it does this through the eye, which acts like a chimney."
"Okay," Ned nodded.
"When the air forced upward by the 'chimney' hits the top of the cyclone, usually about seven thousand metres up, it spills out forming an outflow of cirrus, that's a kind of wispy cloud."
"And that's the cirrus outflow region?" Ned asked.
"Right. But while the cyclonic inflow, made up of active cumulus towers…"
Ned looked confused.
"Thunderstorm clouds," Gordon supplied.
"Oh."
"Thanks," Scott acknowledged. "While the cyclonic inflow is rotating in a clockwise motion, the cirrus outflow region is spinning in the opposite direction. As you can imagine, there's a pretty turbulent area between these two, and that's the transition zone Virgil was referring too."
"How strong is the cirrus outflow region?" Ned asked.
"Well…" Scott thought for a moment. "It depends on the strength of the storm. At their strongest point, which is about 12,000 metres up, pretty much the same as what is there in the cyclonic inflow."
"So," Ned said in amazement. "They've not only got to fly through 250 knot winds going this way," he pointed to his right. "They've also got to fly through 250 knot winds going this way," he pointed in the other direction. "And then they've got to deal with where the two meet up?" He pointed both directions and then twisted his hands together.
"Yep," Alan replied. "Tricky, isn't it?"
"And you're allowing Tin-Tin to fly through that?" Ned asked Kyrano.
Kyrano inclined his head. "It is the twenty-first century, Mr Cook. Young ladies are free to make up their own minds. They do not rely on their fathers to tell them what they should and should not do."
Ned listened as his words came back to haunt him.
Virgil felt a twinge of apprehension as he looked at the hangar wall ahead of him. If only he'd been able to land Thunderbird Two normally last time… He pushed the unfamiliar sensation down and checked Two's readings. All seemed to be normal. "Opening hangar door."
He imagined the outer door slipping into its cavity. He imagined the runway being cleared of debris. He imagined the inner door dropping down to reveal pure havoc.
He gave the horizontal jets a burst to keep them clear of water and debris. "Flight deck to sickbay. Are you ready?"
"R-Ready, Virgil."
"Reversing out." Virgil did so, and became conscious that something was missing. "Where are the sound effects, Gordon?"
"Huh?" a bemused Gordon replied.
"That irritating 'beep-beep' sound you always make when I'm having to reverse."
"Oh that." Gordon looked embarrassed. "You want that now?"
"I've never been able to stop you before."
"This is silly, Virgil."
"Humour me."
Turning red, Gordon mimicked the sound of a backing truck.
"How can he be that relaxed?" Ned wondered allowed. "He's cool as a cucumber."
"He's not that relaxed," Scott advised him. "Hear that tune he's humming? He only does that when he's worried."
"He won't even be aware he's doing it," Alan confirmed. "He's worried all right. He's just trying to keep us from worrying too."
Satisfied that he'd relieved some of the anxieties that he had no doubt were present in the storm shelter, Virgil concentrated on backing. As Thunderbird Two reversed out of the hangar he could hear the rains beating down on her hull. As more of Thunderbird Two was exposed it became harder to hear Gordon's sound effects. A little further and water was running down the windscreens. Further still and he was outside; the full fury of Cyclone Sylvia hammering down on him.
Praying that the beginning of the runway was still clear Virgil continued backing, turning Thunderbird Two in the small area he had available. He wanted her nose pointing into the wind to aid in lift-off, a position roughly perpendicular to the cliff face. A wind gust hit the megalithic 'plane on its starboard side and sent her rocking gently.
Beads of sweat broke out on Virgil's upper lip. "How strong was that, John?"
There was no trace of humour in John's voice. "310 knots."
"Great. I'll give the horizontal jets another blast to check they're clear."
John switched channels. "How's everything going, Brains? How's Joe?"
"Stable," Brains replied.
"How are you and Tin-Tin?"
"F-F-Fine, John," Brains glanced across at the young woman.
The pair of them were making full use of their 'armour'. Instead of being strapped into conventional seats, they were magnetically welded to the curved walls. Once the flight was underway the walls would release their hold and allow the pair to move freely. This was where the second extraordinary feature of the sickbay came in handy. By reversing the technology that enabled the crews of Thunderbirds Three and Five to move about in simulated gravity, Brains had managed to apparently reduce the effects of gravity in the room. This meant that carers and patients alike weren't restricted by the placement of beds and instrument tables. If need be one carer could hover with ease over his patient, permitting others unrestricted access.
The third remarkable thing about the sickbay was the fact that the whole room was suspended by this same anti-gravitational field, cocooning it from any external movements and vibrations in Thunderbird Two. It ensured that everyone in the sickbay had a safe and comfortable flight.
"I am ready," Tin-Tin told John. "We are isolated from what's happening outside in here."
"H-Have we l-left the ground?" Brains asked hopefully.
"Nope. He's still trying to get into position."
Ned gaped at the odd posture the couple were standing in. "Why are they standing like that?"
Everyone ignored him, preferring to concentrate on the screens.
Thunderbird Two had been turned. Waves of water were lashing across the windscreen making it impossible to see any of the buildings. Whether they were still there, or had been blown away in the storm, it was impossible to tell.
"Everything ready at your end?" Virgil asked John.
"All systems are go," John replied.
"Okay, then, this is it. Wish us luck everyone," Virgil requested, and almost without thinking, everyone in the storm shelter did so.
"You'll need to be free to concentrate on the flight, Virgil, so we'll cease communication from now," his father explained. "If we want to contact you it'll be through John."
"F-A-B." Virgil looked at his father's image. "And thanks. Make sure you all stay dry and don't get blown away before we get back."
His father smiled back. "We're perfectly safe in here."
"Keep your nose into the wind, Virg," Scott reminded him. "And don't take any risks."
"You mean apart from actually taking off?" Alan asked.
"And flying," Gordon added.
Jeff shushed them. "Good luck, Virgil. We'll see you soon."
"F-A-B," Virgil replied and his console went blank. "Looks like it's you and me now, John."
"They can still hear and see you, Virgil."
"I know…" Virgil took a deep breath to steady his nerves. "Let's do it." He started applying pressure to the throttle.
Inside the storm shelter some of the gauges projected onto the wall began to respond. Numbers ticked over and the pointer in the gauge registering 'power output' rose steadily into the green…
Cyclone Sylvia, obviously taking exception to the fact that mere human beings were daring to attempt to leave her grasp, ripped the sole remaining palm tree, number eight, from the ground and flung it at the windscreen of Thunderbird Two. Those in the storm shelter instinctively recoiled as the root ball, constrained by the metal nutrient container, crashed against the plexiglass and the palm's leaves, brushed along the window. Then tree eight fell away, down the nose of the 'plane, and out of sight.
The pointer slid back down to zero.
"That was close," Alan noted.
"How's Two?" John asked, his face creased in an anxious frown.
Virgil was examining some readouts from his onboard computer. "Seems okay…" He stood and physically checked the area where the palm had struck. "Can't see any damage." He breathed a sigh of relief. "Sylvia's not going to make this easy, is she?"
"Nope. Looks like she's going to literally throw everything at you."
Jeff leant forward as if he were going to initiate contact. Then he changed his mind and settled back.
"Okay, we'll try again," Virgil said. Once again he pressed forward on the throttle.
Once again the 'power output' gauge's pointer started creeping upwards. Following the gauge's green segment, the pointer slid past the number one and then number two. It reached three with no noticeable change in anything except the noise Thunderbird Two's VTOL jets were making. Steam was rising outside the cabin windows making an already indistinct scene invisible.
The gauge was reading four.
"Come on, Virg," Scott muttered.
Five.
Six was the first degree in the orange segment and the pointer slid resolutely past.
"Come on, Baby," Virgil muttered.
Seven.
Eight came and went and the pointer crept dangerously close to a red nine.
"He's not going to make it," Gordon muttered.
The pointer hovered just below the red mark before sinking back down to zero again. Everyone in the shelter appeared to let out a breath of relief.
"What's he doing now?" Ned asked.
"Re-evaluating his options," Scott replied.
"Trying again…" Once again Virgil applied the throttle and once again the pointer rose. One… Two… Three…
Alan bit his thumbnail.
Four… Five… Past the orange six…
Kyrano closed his eyes as if in prayer.
Seven… Eight…
The pointer hovered at the transition between orange and red. It crept over, approaching the nine...
Scott was muttering instructions to his brother, even though Virgil was out of radio contact. "Too much power, Virg. You're using too much power. You'll burn out the engines…"
He hadn't finished his sentence when the pointer began to slide back into the green again.
Virgil sat and frowned without touching any of his instruments. His humming became louder.
"What's he doing?" Ned asked. "He's not giving up is he? He can't! Joe won't make it if he doesn't get help!"
Everyone ignored him.
Virgil sat in thought for a moment; then he opened up a radio channel. "Can you hear me, Brains?"
Everyone's attention switched to the man pressed against the wall in the sickbay. "I-I can hear you, Virgil. Are we airborne yet?"
"No. We're still too heavy to get off the ground."
"Wh-What are you going to do? W-We can't lighten Thunderbird Two any more."
"I think we can. Can you give me one good reason why we shouldn't build up the power and then jettison the pod?"
Brains had no problem with the answer. "We'd destabilise th-the structural integrity of Th-Thunderbird Two."
"Apart from that," Virgil replied.
"W-We'd destroy the aerodynamic flow."
"Apart from that."
"We've n-n-never tried it before. We've never even t-tested it. Not in these conditions."
"I know that too, but can you think of any 'it would be fatal to try it' reason why we shouldn't jettison the pod?"
Brains thought. "N-No."
"What does he mean 'jettison the pod'?" Ned asked.
"He means he wants to leave a big bit of Thunderbird Two behind," Gordon replied.
Ned had a feeling that he'd been patronised. "Sounds dangerous."
"It is," Alan replied.
"Are you willing to let me try, Brains? Tin-Tin?" Virgil was asking.
Scott was shaking his head. "Don't do it, Virg."
But Brains was reluctantly in agreement with the plan. "I'll say y-yes, go ahead, if you th-think we have no other option, Virgil."
"I can't think of anything else we can do. If we don't get off the ground we won't get Joe to medical help in time. If either or both of you want to get out I'd understand."
"No. I'll stay," Tin-Tin responded and Ned glanced at Kyrano who remained immobile.
"Brains?" Virgil asked.
"I'm staying," Brains replied. "Joe, ah, needs my help."
"Okay," Virgil said. "Thanks, both of you. Are you all secure?"
Brains did a brief check of Joe's vital signs before 'welding' himself to the wall again. "We are ready, V-Virgil."
"Okay. On the count of ten… Ten… Nine… Eight…"
Once again the pointer in the 'power output' gauge started rising as those in the storm shelter began to count along with Thunderbird Two's pilot.
"Seven… Six…"
The pointer slipped out of the green and into the orange.
"Five…" said Ned and was astounded to realise that he was the only person who'd spoken.
"Four…" Virgil continued in chorus with his family. "Three… Two…"
As the pointer hovered on the edge of the red segment smoke and steam were streaming from Thunderbird Two's undercarriage. Even those inside the shelter could see that the mighty 'plane was trembling with the forces that were building up within her. Only those in the sickbay seemed oblivious of the drama happening around them.
"One…"
"Go!" Keeping his left hand firmly gripping the control yoke, Virgil slammed his right down on a button. Thunderbird Two lurched skywards and he wrestled with the controls as she listed to port. Pulling the yoke down to the right, Virgil gave the VTOL jets another burst and Thunderbird Two climbed away from the ground and cliff face. "We're airborne."
A cheer went up in the shelter. "Nice one, Virg," Scott exclaimed.
"Everyone sends their congratulations," John told Virgil.
"Thanks, but that's only the beginning," Virgil reminded them. "We've got another 18 thousand metres to climb before we're out of trouble." He changed channel. "Flight deck to sickbay. We're airborne."
"Th-Thank you, Virgil." Brains began unpeeling himself from the wall.
"Your plan worked then?" Tin-Tin asked as the magnetic field released its grip on her armour.
As Ned watched they floated away from the wall and over to Joe's bed. Brains hovered directly over Joe and inspected where an IV line was entering his arm, while Tin-Tin took his blood pressure. "They're not touching the floor! How are they doing that?"
No one answered him. So he watched the strange aerial ballet as Brains and Tin-Tin worked their way around Joe, checking various things and occasionally changing the solutions dripping into his arm.
"Five hundred metres," he heard John say. "Wind speed 263 knots"
Ned switched his attention back to the pilot of Thunderbird Two. Virgil was clearly fighting against Cyclone Sylvia. Ned glanced at the altimeter just as John gave an update, "one thousand metres."
The rain lashed at the window.
"One point five."
A lightning bolt streaked across Thunderbird Two's nose.
"Two thousand."
Tin-Tin replaced a bag of clear plasma with one of precious scarlet blood.
"Three thousand metres. Air pressure 635 kilopascals. Wind speed 265 knots."
More lightning.
Someone in the storm shelter shifted position, reminding Ned of where he was. He discovered that he'd been digging his nails into his palms and rubbed his hands together to get the circulation flowing again.
"Four thousand metres."
"Remind me, how high do they have to climb?" Ned asked.
Scott tried not to show his impatience with the reporter. "The cyclone is 18 thousand metres high."
"And where's this 'transition zone'?"
It was Gordon who responded. "They'll start feeling the effect at about seven or eight thousand metres."
"Oh."
"Four thousand five hundred metres," John intoned. "How's it going, Virgil?"
Virgil's reply was to the point. "Fine."
"Five thousand metres. 257 knots."
Ned looked around the room. Without exception each person had their eyes fixed on the wall, some watching Virgil, some watching the gauges, and some watching Brains and Tin-Tin at work.
"Five thousand five hundred."
Ned found himself transfixed by the altimeter.
"Six thousand metres."
A wind gust knocked Thunderbird Two about. Virgil's hands were dislodged from the control yoke.
He regained control.
"290 knots. Seven thousand metres."
More lightning wracked the sky.
"Seven two five zero, Thunderbird Two."
The scarlet bag had drained dry and Tin-Tin replaced it with another of clear liquid.
"Seven thousand five hundred metres. Air pressure 622 kilopascals. Wind speed two six two."
Brains flew gracefully across the sickbay and removed something from one of the drawers.
"Seven seven five zero. You're approaching the transition zone, Virgil."
"I know. I'm beginning to feel the effects. Slowing rate of ascent."
"Why?" Ned asked. "He should be going faster not…"
"Eight thousand metres."
Thunderbird Two was jarred by a crosswind. Virgil was flung back in his seat, nearly losing control of the yoke again.
"Eight thousand one hundred."
"Wind speed?" Virgil asked.
"Ah… 250, no… 275 easter… no, west… It's all over the show."
"Height?"
"Eight two five zero."
Thunderbird Two was being buffeted about from all directions.
"Whoa! Virgil!" John exclaimed. "You lost 200 metres then."
"Felt like it."
A lightning bolt zapped across their field of vision.
"Eight two seven five."
A gust of wind caught Thunderbird Two broadside. She rocked violently.
Virgil was sweating. He cuffed his brow with his sleeve and grabbed the yoke again.
"Nine thousand metres. You're halfway there, Thunderbird Two."
Ned glanced at the Tracys. He had a feeling that he could have stripped off his clothes and run around the shelter naked carrying the contents of Jeff Tracy's safe and they wouldn't have taken any notice of him.
He switched his attention back to the sick bay. He saw Tin-Tin look across to her colleague. "Brains! Something's wrong!"
Almost immediately there was an echo from the other side of the room. "John! Something's wrong," Virgil said. "I've lost power."
"How!"
It was obvious that Virgil was fighting the controls. "Engines are dead."
"What!"
"We're falling!"
"B.P's falling!" Tin-Tin exclaimed.
"Pump in the plasma!" Brains ordered.
Those safe in the storm shelter were on their feet. Jeff Tracy had put a protective arm about his mother.
Ned wasn't a pilot, but he knew that the needle on the altimeter shouldn't be spinning in that direction at that speed. Nor should the numbers on that digital display be counting down that quickly…
"What's his vital signs?" Brains asked.
"Blood pressure 60 systolic, 50 diastolic. Still dropping!"
"Air pressure 600 kilopascals. Altitude eight thousand five hundred. Still dropping!"
Virgil's knuckles were white as he gripped the control yoke, struggling to persuade Thunderbird Two to respond to something other than gravity.
"Pull out of that dive, Virgil," John was commanding. "Eight thousand metres."
"I can't! She's not responding…"
"He's not responding, Tin-Tin."
"Pulse is faint. I can barely read it…"
"Breathing's erratic. Get the adrenaline ready. Got to steady his heart…"
"Hold her steady, Virgil. Push through that rain band."
"I can't hold this heading!"
"Pull her nose up! Seven thousand metres."
"I've lost steering!"
"I've lost his pulse!"
Brains flipped a switch and the head of Joe's bed fell back so the man was lying flat. The scientist began cardiac massage. "Where's the defibrillator…"
"Charging. 10 percent… 20 percent… 30 percent…"
"We're in a 30 degree free fall! What's our height?"
"Six five… Six four…. Three… Two… One… Six thousand metres…"
"One, two, three, four, five. Where's that defibrillator, Tin-Tin!"
"It's still charging, Brains. There's a power drain somewhere!"
"Something's draining your power, Virgil!"
"Must be the sickbay!"
Thunderbird Two made a violent manoeuvre that was registered in the video link by Virgil being thrown sideways. He grasped the controls again.
"Whoa!" Alan exclaimed. "Did you see the attitude indicator? He just did a barrel roll!"
"That's not possible!" Scott contradicted. "Two's not built to survive a roll."
"Don't tell me! Tell Two!"
"Barrel roll!" Ned exclaimed. "What's that?"
Needing to do something Scott explained. "You've seen it at air shows. When a plane rolls wing to wing through 360 degrees or more…"
"Quiet!" Jeff barked, all his concentration on the screen in front of him.
Ned looked at Kyrano whose eyes were tightly shut and who appeared to be praying. Then he looked back at Virgil who'd paled significantly, but whose blood seemed to be returning to his cheeks.
"Get another unit of whole blood ready."
"I can't. There's none left!"
"Where's that defibrillator?"
"Here, Brains." Tin-Tin handed him the hand pieces.
Brains sent a jolt of electricity through the cameraman's body and then peered short-sightedly at his vital signs meter. "Didn't work. Charge it again." He began pumping at Joe's chest. "Where's that blood?"
"There's none left."
"None left!" Brains took a moment to glance at his assistant.
"No. We only had a limited supply, remember?"
"Then give him more plasma while the defibrillator's recharging!"
"We need more power…"
"Five thousand five hundred metres. You've got to shut down the sickbay, Virgil! You need more power! You'll crash otherwise!"
"Can't do that!" Virgil slammed his hand down on a button.
"It's three lives against one…"
"Emergency beacon on. Are you reading?"
"Yes, but…"
"Talk to you soon, John."
"Virgil! What…!"
A cry of dismay went around the storm shelter as all but one of the screens went blank. Grandma Tracy sank back down onto her seat.
"John! What's happened?" Jeff exclaimed.
"He's cut the communication link."
"Try to get through," his father ordered.
"It's no good. He's not responding!"
"He must be trying to get enough power to re-start the engines by shutting down all unnecessary systems," Scott hypothesised.
"But how much power would he save by cutting communications?" Gordon asked. "John?"
"Not much."
"What else would he try, Scott?" Alan was looking at his oldest brother for reassurance.
"Dunno…" Scott's brow was creased in thought. "I hate to think..."
"The emergency beacon's working," John informed them.
"What's Thunderbird Two doing, John?" Scott asked.
"Still falling… Five thousand… Four seven five zero… Four s… Hold on… He's arrested the rate of decent."
The Tracys listened intently.
"Four seven… Four seven… He's hovering… He's climbing... Four eight… Four nine…"
"Whew!" Scott let out a breath. "Whatever he did it worked."
"Try and get him back online, John" Jeff requested.
"Thunderbird Five calling Thunderbird Two… Thunderbird Five calling Thunderbird Two… Come in, Virgil."
…
"Calling Thunderbird Two…"
…
"Five thousand. This is Thunderbird Five calling Thunderbird Two…"
…
"Five thousand one hundred. Thunderbird Five calling Th…"
"This is Thunderbird Two. We're okay, John."
John smiled as he heard the sounds of relief come from the storm shelter. "You sure gave us a fright, Brother."
Thunderbird Two's telemetry winked on, closely followed by the image of the sickbay. The head of Joe's bed was raised again and Tin-Tin was clearing things away as Brains took the sick man's pulse. There was none of the frantic activity that had been visible before.
Virgil's image reappeared. He was still fighting against the winds and rains of Cyclone Sylvia, but even so he still managed a wry grin. "If Scott's listening you can tell him he's welcome to take over at any time."
There was laughter in the storm shelter as everyone slumped back into their seats. "Tell him he's doing fine, John," Scott requested.
"Scott says that as you seem to be enjoying yourself so much, he doesn't want to spoil your fun," John paraphrased.
"Yeah, right," Virgil deadpanned.
"Do you want to shut the emergency beacon down?" John requested. "The sound of that thing gives me the creeps and you'll be sending every emergency service within a thousand k of you into a spin."
"Okay." Virgil did as he was bid. "Is that better?"
"Yep. I'll start transmitting the all clear," John continued talking as he did so. "So how'd you restart the engines? What did you do?"
"Shut down one or two unnecessary systems."
"Such as?" John asked, with an eyebrow raised. "I thought everything was necessary. You guys removed everything that wasn't."
Virgil's answer was glib. "I'll tell you later. I'd better check all's well in the sickbay before we start ascending again." Before he had a chance to be questioned further he switched links. "How's things going, Brains?"
"F-Fine, Virgil. We've had no problems you need worry about."
"Glad to hear it."
"How about you. H-How are things progressing?"
"Piece of cake," Virgil lied. "We're coming up to the transition zone now."
"G-Good. In that case I'll let you get b-back to work."
"Thanks, Brains… And congratulations on designing a fantastic 'plane."
Brains sounded surprised. "Uh, thank you, V-Virgil."
Virgil shut down the radio link.
"What did he mean by that?" Tin-Tin asked as she dropped her gloves into the rubbish disposal.
"I've been thinking," Scott announced. "And I'll bet he shut down the oxygen filtration system. That uses plenty of power. It feeds the whole ship."
Gordon nodded. "But not the sickbay. That's on a separate system. I'll bet you're right."
"Uh, what's the oxygen filtration system?" Ned asked and fully expected be ignored again.
"It supplies clean air to the entire ship," Scott told him. "Shut it down and things'll get stale pretty quickly."
"Stale? Stale as in nothing to breathe?"
Scott nodded.
"But… But… That's crazy!" Ned spluttered. "How can he fly if he's dead?"
"I don't think that was the plan," Alan said. "There's an emergency oxygen cylinder beside the pilot's seat."
Ned's reporter's questioning instincts came to the fore. "But what if that didn't work? What would he have done then? Tin-Tin said they were isolated. Would Brains and Tin-Tin have known something was wrong? What could they have done? What if Virgil passed out before he'd got the oxygen mask on? What if…"
"What if you were to keep quiet!"
Ned stopped mid flow and stared at Jeff Tracy. The man was on his feet and he looked angry.
"What if you'd left us alone like you'd been asked to? What if you'd accepted Gordon's word that he didn't want to be interviewed?" Jeff stormed. "What if you'd never invaded our home? What if you hadn't tricked us into letting you stay here? What if you hadn't tried to film the cyclone?"
"Dad," Alan said. "Calm down."
"These last five days I've had to sit back and let you think that I – that WE are something we're not," his father raged. "Because of you we've had to pretend to be different people in our own home! Because of you I've had to deny the respect that I have for Gordon's achievements. Because of your actions you've endangered most of my family. Tin-Tin and Alan could have been killed when the herbarium gave way. And Gordon… Gordon's risked his neck twice to save you! We should have let the Empire State fall on you and then we wouldn't have this trouble now!"
"Dad," Gordon said in alarm. "You don't mean that."
"Gordon, Alan and Scott could have been hurt or killed when they rescued Joe. And now Virgil, Brains and Tin-Tin are out there in the middle of the worst cyclone of the century risking their lives just so he has a chance to live!"
Scott stood. He laid a gentle hand on his father's shoulder. "They'll be okay," he said quietly. "You know that."
If was as if Jeff didn't hear him. "I've had to send three people who are important to me into the middle of a cyclone in an untested airplane…"
"Father!" There was an urgency in Scott's voice.
"And you have the temerity to question my son's actions when he's trying to save your friend's miserable life!"
"Jefferson!" Grandma Tracy caught his attention. She held out her hand and spoke in a soothing voice. "Come here, Dear."
Jeff stopped. He took a deep breath and glared at Ned.
Ned lifted his hands in an 'I don't know' gesture. "What do you want me to say?"
"Nothing! I don't want to hear another word from you! Not a peep for as long as we're stuck here!" Jeff took a menacing step forward. "Understand!"
"Sit down, Mr Cook," Gordon requested. "Please."
"You all seem to forget that that IS my friend who's injured."
Jeff made a sudden movement and Scott took a step so he was a shield between his father and the reporter. "You! Sit!" He pointed at Ned and then into the corner.
Ned gave him a petulant stare. "I am not a dog."
"I said SIT," Scott barked.
Ned realised that there was something about Scott Tracy that commanded respect, and that that something wasn't restricted to the stature of the man. He sat.
Scott turned back to Jeff. "Go and sit down," he suggested in a quieter voice.
Jeff glanced at the video wall where John was watching proceedings, looked back at Scott, rubbed the palms of his hands on his trousers, and without a word sat down beside his mother.
Scott stood for a moment as if he were refereeing a boxing match and then took a seat halfway between the two men.
John had been listening to the altercation, glad of two things. One was that he was up in Thunderbird Five in relative safety. The second was that Virgil was unaware of what had just happened. His brother had enough to worry about dealing with one storm, without having to deal with the one occurring inside the shelter.
"John… John? Come in Thunderbird Five."
John became aware that Virgil was trying to contact him. "Sorry, Virg."
"You've stopped calling altitude."
"I got, ah, side-tracked."
"Do you think you could do that later? Things are getting a bit dicey here."
"Sorry," John apologised again. "You're at six thousand nine hundred metres… You're at six thousand nine hundred… You're at… Why have you stopped?"
Virgil was firing the jets so that Thunderbird Two was maintaining her position into the wind. "We're nearly at the transition zone again," his voice was quieter than usual. "I, ah, I though that everyone at home might like to… you know… um… talk to Brains and Tin-Tin about how Joe's doing."
John heard the familiar tuneful humming. "I understand, Virgil. Do you want to talk to them first?"
"No."
"When they've finished, huh?"
"Okay."
"Put me through to the sickbay." John waited a moment. "Can you two hear me?"
"John?" he heard Tin-Tin's voice. "What's wrong."
"Nothing. We just thought everyone from home would like to hear how Joe is."
Brains and Tin-Tin looked at each other. "Uh… O-Okay."
Jeff Tracy was the first to speak. He sounded calmer now. "How's Joe, Brains?"
"H-He's stable, Mr Tracy. If we can get him to h-hospital soon I am quietly confident."
"That's good... I want to thank you both for all you've done so far."
"I'm glad to be able to be of service," Brains said.
"We saw that you ran into a bit of trouble," Jeff added. "I take it that everything is under control now?"
Brains nodded.
"Is my father there?"
"I am here, Tin-Tin."
Tin-Tin smiled at the sound of her father's voice. "I feel as if we have been gone for ages."
"To me it too feels as though you have been gone days, not hours."
"I'll be glad when we've landed and got Joe safely to hospital."
"I am proud of you, my daughter."
Tin-Tin blushed. "Thank you," she said in a quiet voice.
"We're all proud of you," Jeff added. "We're proud of the both of you. You're an asset to the team."
"You'll have to tell us everything that happened when you get home," Alan piped up. "I'll be looking forward to that…"
"Amongst other things," Gordon teased.
"Brains," Scott diverted the conversation to something more seemly. "I've got a few ideas I'd like to go over with you when you get home. Thing's that'll improve safety on board Thunderbird Two."
Brains appeared surprised. "Has Virgil mentioned any problems?"
"Not mentioned them, no."
Brains blinked into the camera.
"When you've dropped Joe off at the hospital, give us a call," Grandma requested. "You can let me know what you'd like for dinner the evening you get home."
"Good idea!" Gordon's grin broadened. "We'll make it a real party. With party hats, party music, dancing, wine, women, song…"
"Just as long as you're not the one doing the singing, Gordon," Alan told him.
"We're holding you up," Jeff interrupted what promised to descend into an argument. "We'll let you get back to work."
"Th-Thank you, Mr Tracy."
"Does anyone have anything else they want to say?" Jeff looked at Ned.
Ned looked at Jeff.
"Mr Cook?"
Ned stood. "Uh… Thank you, Brains. And thank you, Tin-Tin. I know Joe's in good hands. I… uh… I wish I could do more to help. Tell him… Tell him that when he's feeling better, I hope we'll be working together again." He sat down again.
"Th-Thank you, Mr Cook," Brains replied. "I will do that."
(1) "Jumpa lagi, Tin-Tin," Kyrano said.
(2) "Saya sayang akan kamu, Father."
"Bye, Brains. Bye, Tin-Tin," Gordon called, and was echoed by his brothers and Grandmother.
"See you soon," Jeff said. "Can you put us back to Virgil, John?"
"F-A-B."
Virgil was concentrating on keeping Thunderbird Two on an even keel. His humming had grown even louder.
"Virgil," Jeff called him to attention.
Virgil glanced at the video screen. "Hi, Father."
"How's it going, Son."
"As well as can be expected… How's everyone down there?"
"As well as can be expected… You did well before."
"Yeah, well. I did what I had to."
"Virg…"
"Yes, Scott?"
"Uh… Take care. I… I want you to show me how to pull Thunderbird Two out of a dive." Scott was speaking quickly now. "Might come in handy some day."
"Okay."
"Don't be away too long," Gordon said. "Grandma's promised to throw us a party when you all get home."
"I said I'd make something special for dinner," Grandma reminded him. "Unless," she turned back to the video image of her grandson, "you'd like me to arrange a party."
"Whatever you're happy with, Grandma."
"The party was Gordon's idea," Scott amended. "We'll get him to arrange it."
"Yeah," Alan added. "And you know what Gordon's parties are like. Unmissable."
"I'd better make sure I don't miss it then," Virgil replied.
"I will make some of my special punch," Kyrano offered.
"The party idea sounds even better now, Kyrano," Virgil managed a smile.
"You can tell us what music we should be playing," Gordon suggested.
"Virgil," Jeff interrupted the conversation. "If you don't think Thunderbird Two can make it through the transition zone, no one's going to hold it against you if you come home now."
Ned glanced at him but said nothing.
Virgil squared his shoulders. "No. I know what to do if we stall now. We can handle Sylvia."
"Thank you, Virgil." Ned had blurted out the words before he'd realised he'd said them. He looked fearfully towards Jeff and Scott Tracy, but they didn't even acknowledge that he'd spoken.
"I'll give you a call when we're through the overflow," Virgil said.
"You do that," Scott ordered.
"We'll be waiting," Alan added.
"That's if we don't call you first," Gordon said. "We've got a party to plan."
"He's right," Scott agreed. "We'll call you. We'll be watching your every move."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Virgil asked. "Knowing that big brother's watching?"
"I would have thought you'd be used to that by now," Alan complained. "I've had to live with it all my life."
"You know Scott's got a George Orwell complex," Gordon added.
"Boys." Jeff dragged their attention back to their present situation. "Let Virgil concentrate on flying Thunderbird Two. You can talk when he's above the cyclone."
"And he'll never get there if we hold him up any longer," Mrs Tracy said. "You be careful, Virgil Tracy. Get that man to hospital safely."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"We'll cease communications again, Virgil," Jeff decided. "We know this next bit's going to be tricky. Do whatever you need to, to keep safe."
"Yes, Sir. See you all topside."
"Bye, Vir…"
Virgil sighed. He knew everyone was still watching and listening to him but he couldn't suddenly help feeling alone. He pulled himself together. "Are you ready to give me the readings again, John?"
"Ready when you are."
"Okay. Ascending." Virgil pushed down on the throttle. "And, John…"
"Yes, Virgil."
"Thanks for everything."
"Yeah, sure," John said awkwardly. "No sweat."
Virgil felt the shaking through his plane increase as they rose steadily. He listened as John read out Thunderbird Two's altitude and felt the wind buffet his 'plane from all directions.
"Seven thousand metres high."
The Thunderbird shuddered as a westerly hit it full force.
"Wind speed 275."
The easterly dropped Thunderbird Two down 100 metres.
"Pressure 610 kilopascals."
Virgil fought against a downdraft.
"Height seven thousand one hundred."
The next gust rocked Thunderbird Two so severely that Virgil's head was slammed against the headrest.
John glanced at Two's altimeter.
It was at that moment that the radio link was lost.
To be continued…
(1) Jumpa lagi See you again
(2) Saya sayang akan kamu I love you.
Malay source - Wikipedia