Chapter 8

"Thunderbird 5 from base! Come in Alan!" Scott spoke urgently.
"Scott?" asked Alan. Scott's tone gave away his anguish.

"Alan! The lightning that struck Thunderbird 5, did it have a discrete frequency?"

There was a pause while Alan brought up the information on his console. "Yeah, Scott."

"What was it?"

"Shit. It's the same frequency as Thunderbird 5's shields!"

"It must have gone straight through. That might be why it wasn't detected- the sensors thought they were detecting their own shields. Alan, set the shields to modulate."
"You think they'll do it again?"

"I think they might, if we don't manage to stop John."

"What's happened now?"

"He's taken off. He nutted Dad, and Brains found nanobots in his blood."

"Gee, nanobots?"

"Little robots."

"I know what nanobots are."

"Sorry, kiddo."

"Is he going to be okay?"

"We can't find him to see."

"Oh, God! Is everyone okay?" asked Alan.

Scott held up his plaster cast. "And Dad isn't much better."

"Shit! And John did that?"

"Yep. He was stronger than anyone I ever met. It took Dad, Gordon and Virgil to bring him down, and strap him to a bed."

"But he got out?"

"Yeah. We should have used a damn straitjacket if you ask me. He's completely tonto."

"Yeah?"

"And it seems someone somehow got aboard Thunderbird 5 while John was out with the smack on the head, and injected these nanobots into him!" said Scott, ever succinct.

"Shit!" Alan looked scared and glanced around him.

"Take it easy, Alan, but look sharp!"

"Sure, Scott." Alan signed off. Scott went to the lab to tell Brains about developments.

Brains was standing in his lab, wearing a welder's mask and pointing a lit blowtorch into a metal canister. Scott knocked on the door as he went in to get Brains' attention.

"Scott?"

"I've spoken to Alan, and the 'lightning' that we talked about earlier was, in fact, a focussed energy beam, at exactly the frequency of Thunderbird 5's shields."

"Ingenious!" said Brains.

"I've told Alan to modulate the shield frequency."

"That's exactly what I would have suggested."

"What are you doing?" asked Scott.

"I'm looking for ways to destroy the nanobots. They seem to be fairly sensitive to heat," stuttered Brains.

"Where did you get them?"

"From the blood sample I took. I put them in a metal container, and they replicated."

"Huh?"

"They used the resources available to them to make more. I had to put them in a glass beaker."

"So they're breeding?"

"Not exactly. But there are bound to be more of them inside John, and whatever is left of the John we know cannot hold out forever."

"So what are we going to do?"

"I've done a series of tests on them. Strong acid kills them, but we're talking fuming sulphuric acid."

"So that would kill John, too?"

"It would dissolve him."

"Jesus, Brains!"

"I'm sorry, Scott," he stammered. "I've looked at mechanical destruction, which won't work either because we'd never be able to get them all, and freezing. That kills them, but again, we'd have to freeze John."

"We already froze him once."

"It would have to be much colder than that. Probably liquid nitrogen."

"Can we try and focus on methods that don't involve killing John?"

"I'm doing my best, Scott."

"I know, Brains. I'm sorry. I'll go and talk to Father."

The two men nodded to each other, and Scott left Brains to his work.

"Father, are you okay?" asked Scott as he entered the sickroom. Jeff was sitting on the bed, with his legs over one side. He was leaning on his knees with his elbows, staring at the ground.

"I'm okay, Scott."

"Have Virgil and Gordon had any luck?"

"No. Not yet."

"Where would John go if-"

"It isn't John, Scott. He doesn't think like John."

Scott sighed. "I've spoken to Alan, and Brains. We think that an energy beam was used to get through Thunderbird 5's shields. Alan is looking out for trouble. Brains is working on ways to kill the nanobots."

"Okay, thanks, Scott. Listen, I think I'd be more useful to the effort if I were at my desk in the lounge."

"Okay, Father."

"I'll need your help, Scott, every time I try to stand, I fall down."

"John got your head pretty good?"

"Yes."

"Wouldn't you be better off staying here?"

"I can't do anything from here. This is a desperate situation, and I can't afford to lie around in the sickroom."

Scott was going to challenge him, when he realised Jeff was right. "Okay, Father. Let's go." Jeff leaned on his son's shoulder, and was walked into the lounge.

Virgil looked at Gordon, and gestured to him by pointing his finger at the ceiling. They were walking through the tunnel that led to the machinery for moving Thunderbird 1 down the ramp. Gordon had heard footsteps above, and they walked carefully up to the service hatch at the end of the section. Gordon climbed the short ladder that led to the hatch, and placed his ear flat against the hatch cover. He shook his head at Virgil, and slowly turned the wheel to open it. Gordon pushed it up a little; just enough for him to survey the area of the room above him. It was a sloping space, dimly lit, with indentations into the steel floor where the eight-foot cogs that rolled Thunderbird 1 down to the level below the swimming pool bit.

"All clear, Virg," said Gordon, and climbed up out of the tunnel. Virgil followed.

"We've pretty much looked everywhere, Gordon."

"Yeah, but there are so many places to hide round here, and all he'd have to do is keep moving ahead of us."

"I guess." Virgil lifted the hatch cover and dropped it back into place. He was about to screw the lid back down, when Gordon put his hand on his shoulder.

"What?" he whispered, and slowly turned around. They were six feet from John. He seemed to have come from nowhere, and Virgil and Gordon froze.

"Will you come with us please, John?" asked Virgil, kindly, and reached out with his hand.
John did not reply, but gave a low, malevolent cackle, which grew louder until he was laughing like a man insane, and he looked up at the machinery above them with his arms outstretched to his sides.

"Come on, John!" said Gordon. Again there was no reply. Gordon stepped back as, in a single, powerful leap, John jumped up into the rigging of the machinery above.

"See you later, boys!" said John, and disappeared up the ramp.

"Damn it!" yelled Virgil. "We could have had him!"

Gordon was about to speak, when he heard a familiar rumble. Virgil recognised it too, and frantically pulled open the hatch. Gordon jumped into the hole, and Virgil followed him. There was no time to close the hatch before the huge gear-wheels of the Thunderbird 1 gantry drove over it.

Virgil spoke into his watch. "Scott! He's launching Thunderbird 1!"

"The hell he is!" replied Scott. He looked over at his father in the lounge, who flipped a switch under his desk. All power to the section was cut, the gantry stopped, and Gordon and Virgil breathed relief in the darkness.

"That was close!" said Gordon.

Virgil patted him on the chest. "Come on. He must still be in the cockpit of Thunderbird 1!"

Both men ran up the inspection walkway, and Gordon jumped across the void between it and the door of Thunderbird 1, since the craft was no longer in it's stored position. The door was open, and Gordon made a quick search of the cockpit.

"He's not here!" said Gordon. "Damn!" he said, and slapped the inside of the wall.

Virgil jumped in too, and found the launch sequence controls still at stationary.
"He must have started the sequence from the hangar controls!" he said. "Even running flat out, he should have never been able to get there from here that quickly."

"So he was never in here?"

Virgil shook his head. "He's messing with us." They retreated to Brains' lab.

"Father? Father?" said Scott, shaking Jeff's shoulder. Jeff was dozing in his chair. Scott was very worried about his head injury, since he seemed so groggy and unsteady, but was powerless to do anything about it.

Jeff woke up slowly. "What is it, Scott? Did you find him?"

"No, Father. But we have to move to the lab. Brains is still working, it would be better if we were all in one place." Scott spoke uncomfortably, as he was unaccustomed to giving orders to his father. Jeff simply nodded, and was led out towards the lab by Kyrano, while Scott took up the rear of the party behind Grandma and Tin-Tin. Scott was relieved as Jeff seemed to be having less difficulty walking.

They found Brains hard at work. Virgil and Gordon were with him.

"Any more news?" asked Scott.

"We can't find him!" said Virgil. "We can't just chase him around. We need a plan!"

"Brains?" asked Scott.

"Well, I've been examining the nanobots. Each of them emits a small electrical field. It mask's John's own life signs, but we might be able to track him with it," stammered Brains. He crouched down onto the floor and rummaged around in one of the cupboards. He pulled out a hand-held device with an LCD screen. He stood up, switched the device on, and held it over his beaker of nanobots. The machine made a squealing noise, like a metal detector. It got louder the closer it was held to them.

"This will detect him, but only at quite close range," said Brains.

"That won't help much," said Virgil. "He's pretty fast."

"Yeah!" said Gordon.

"I can use the island sensors to track him, but I will need to make several alterations to the computer system," said Brains.

"Can you do it?" asked Scott.

"It will be faster if Tin-Tin and Virgil will help."

Virgil and Tin-Tin helped Brains remove the cover to the main lab computer. They moved some of the circuit boras around, installed a few new ones, and waited while Brains called up a map of the base, and began the process of programming it to track John.

Alan Tracy was sitting in the crew quarters on Thunderbird 5. He found the long periods of solitude difficult to deal with at the best of times, but present events made it even more so. He was trying to read, but was making slow progress; his mind filled with concern for John and the rest of his family. He missed Tin-Tin, too, and his muscles tensed as he imagined her in danger.

"Why don't you just tell her?" he asked himself. He shook his head, frustrated at his own ineffectiveness. He kicked his legs back and forth on the edge of his bed, and rested his chin in his hands, melancholy.

He was shaken violently from his depression by the proximity alarm. He ran into the communications room, and glared at the viewer. Another alarm went off. He could see a wavefront coming towards the satellite from all sides. As he headed for the radio, he was knocked off his feet by a massive impact that rocked Thunderbird 5 like it had been dropped from a great height. Alan fell to the ground with a thud, and landed painfully on his knees. He cried out but dragged himself along the wall; holding onto the hull segment joins as the station continued to shake. He dragged himself up, and grabbed the microphone.

"Base from Thunderbird 5! Base from Thunderbird 5!" he yelled. There was only static in reply. He changed frequencies and tried again. He heard his own transmission repeated to him.

"A dampening field!" he cried. Thunderbird 5 was now rocked by a series of blasts, and Alan's chin crashed onto the console. He stood again, and turned up the gain on the transmitter as high as possible.

"Base from Thunderbird 5. I'm under attack! Request immediate assistance!"

The computer's voice spoke. "Intruder alert!"

"I'm being boarded!" shouted Alan. He turned the transmitter over to automatic broadcast, and ripped off the top cover. This way his message would be sent out ad infinitum, and unless somebody took the trouble to go under the console and check the wiring, they would never know. He punched up the sensor report on the viewer. He could see such a mass of life signs that they crowded the space in the airlock; he was greatly outnumbered. Alan staggered to the small armoury, armed himself heavily, and locked himself inside.