Thunderbirds Have Gone!

Another Unauthorised Parody

Virgil and Scott were sitting on the pool terrace.

"Put it back, Virgil! It's mine!"
"I don't see your name on it!"

"It's right there! See! Scott Tracy!"

"I hear you talking but your mouth isn't moving!"

"Well you can shove it up your- hey, what did you say?"
"What?" said Virgil.
"Shouldn't it be, 'I see your mouth moving but I don't hear you talking?'"

"I guess so. But you were talking without moving your mouth!"

"I was not!" said Scott.

"Yeah, you were!" said Virgil.

"Whatever!" said Scott.

Kyrano broke up the argument with the offer of refreshments.

"Would you like some coffee, boys?" he said, slowly.

"Why thank you-"
"Aaaaagh!" said Kyrano, and fell to the floor.

"Kyrano! What's wrong?" said Virgil.

"I'll get Dad and Brains. You hold his hand!" said Scott.

"I can't hold his hand! I can't move my fingers!"

"Well, just put your hand on top of his and make it look like you're holding it!"

"Right!" said Virgil, and Scott ran out.

Kyrano was still thrashing around when Brains and Jeff ran into the room.

"They're going to play golf in Bolivia!" squealed Kyrano.
"Eh?" said Virgil, confused. "What did he say?"

"He said we were going to play golf in Seattle," said Scott.

"Well, you are!" said Jeff. "Funny how I didn't know you played golf, boys."

"Neither did we. It was never crucial to the plot before," said Scott.

"Plot?" asked Jeff. Scott did not reply and so Jeff shrugged his shoulders and forgot about it.

"Why would Kyrano say that?" asked Virgil. "Hey, he's coming round!"

Kyrano groaned and tried to sit up. Jeff helped him.

"Are you alright, Kyrano?" asked Jeff.

"I'm fine, Mr. Tracy. It was just a dizzy spell."

"Are you sure, Kyrano?" said Jeff.

"People who have dizzy spells don't generally scream and writhe around on the floor, Kyrano!" said Virgil.

"Meh!" said Kyrano.

"Dad, this has happened like five times! You always act like it was the first time! Why are you so surprised?" said Scott.

"I don't know!" said Jeff.

"Maybe you should take him to a hospital, Dad," said Virgil.

"He says he's fine, Virgil. Besides, if he keeps having the same bizarre, conscious seizure over and over again, well it can't be anything serious!" said Jeff.

"I guess you're right, Father," said Virgil.

"Hey, Dad!" said Gordon, strolling into the lounge. "The bath drain is blocked again!"

"Virgil must have been plucking his eyebrows over it again. Would you get Tin-Tin for me, Gordon?"

"Yes, Father," said Gordon, and strode out, returning with Tin-Tin, who was in overalls and covered in oil.

"Tin-Tin?"
"Yes, Mr. Tracy?" said Tin-Tin.

"I need to dictate a letter. We need to request a hair-trap for the bath."

"Mr. Tracy, I have a degree in engineering! Why do you always make me do dull secretarial work? You have an automatic typewriter! It's right there!" she said, pointing at it. "I am an experienced pilot, and I have many other skills, and you have me typing!"

"So you want to be one of the boys, huh Tin-Tin?" said Jeff.

"Yes, Mr. Tracy!"

"Okay, Tin-Tin, I have a special job for you."
"Yes, Mr. Tracy?" said Tin-Tin, excitedly.

"Go and unblock the bath!"

Tin-Tin bit her tongue, and headed into the bathroom to do the job.

Grandma appeared. "Are you going somewhere, Mother?" asked Jeff.

"No, Jeff, I just like wandering around the house wearing a jacket and carrying my purse," she replied.

"Okay, Mother," replied Jeff.

Tin-Tin went into the bathroom and placed her auto-toolbox down on the auto-floor. There was eyebrow hair everywhere. She ran some water into the auto-bath, and took out her auto-plunger. Putting one foot into the bath, she tried to pull her head in under the rail for the auto-showercurtain.

"Hey!" she said. "How weird! I can't get into the bath! It's as if I'm somehow connecting to the ceiling on this side!" She kept trying, but just couldn't get the rest of her body into the bath. She decided to try a different approach. She took out her auto-pry and levered out the auto-drawing pins that were holding the cardboard bath auto-panel on. She put it behind her, and was astonished to find the word 'Flora' written next to a picture of a sunflower. She shrugged and used her auto-spanner to undo the nut that held the pipe in place. She pulled a long, thick rope of knitted eyebrow hair from the pipe, and threw it into the auto-bin. She put the panel back, and ran some water to make sure it drained away. It did. Tin-Tin felt dejected. When she had spoken to Jeff about more appropriate work, this was not what she had in mind. She sat down on the auto-floor and contemplated her situation with her head in her hands.

"Scott, are you packed yet?" asked Virgil, jumping up and flattening himself over his auto-suitcase to try and close it.

Scott entered with his own case. He looked at his brother's. "What exactly is auto about that?" he asked.

"When you pull it along, it automatically follows."
"I see," said Scott. "It would be better if it shut automatically, wouldn't it?"

"I guess," said Virgil.

"Come on, Virg. Let's get this all in the plane. We have some serious golf to play!"

"Okay, Scott!" he said. "Let's go and say goodbye to Dad."

Jeff was sitting at his desk reading a copy of 'Kine' magazine.

"We're about to go, Dad. Want us to get you some magazines or anything?"
"No thanks, Scott. I like this one a lot!"

"I guess that's why you've been reading it for the last two years!" said Virgil.

"That's right, Virgil," said Jeff.

"Well, we're leaving," said Scott.

"What?"

"For the golf tournament, Dad!" said Virgil.

"You're ditching International Rescue for a golf tournament?" asked Jeff, angrily.

"Yeah, Dad. It's our vacation."

"You can't take a vacation! You're needed here! I forbid it!" said Jeff, through gritted teeth.

"Goodbye, Dad!" said Scott.

"Have a nice time, boys!" said Jeff, cheerfully.

Scott and Virgil made it to Seattle uneventfully, and next day started to practise for the impending tournament.

"Virgil, hold your club straighter!"

"I can't! It's just flapping around at the end of my arm!" said Virgil.

"You're always doing this! Here, let me help you!" said Scott. He came over to Virgil, rolled up his sleeve, and secured the club to his arm with two large elastic bands.

"There. Try it now!"

Virgil swung and struck his ball hard; it went straight to the putting green.

"Gee thanks, Scott! That's much better. I don't know why I can't seem to hold on to anything properly!"

"If you have any more problems with your grip, just lean in and look really closely at your hands. It works for me! Gives you much more dexterity." said Scott.

"Okay!" said Virgil.

Tin-Tin walked into the lounge. "I've fixed the bath, Mr. Tracy," she said, wearily. She straightened up. "Now can I have some real work, appropriate to my skills? Maybe I can even go on a rescue a little more often?"

Jeff narrowed his eyes. "Sure, Tin-Tin. Why don't you go and help Brains in the T1 hangar?"

Tin-Tin smiled. "What's he doing?"
"He's in the locker room fixing the 'NAB'."

"Great, Mr. Tracy, thanks!" said Tin-Tin sardonically. She picked up her toolbox and went to join Brains.

"Oh God!" cried Brains as Tin-Tin approached the locker room.

Tin-Tin ran in. "What is it, Brains?"

Brains pulled his head out of the reactor core in the back of the large, glowing toilet. He was holding a piece of paper that read 'Flushmaster Industries Atomic Fuelled Nuclear Auto-Bog' service manual. "There's a flip-flop in here! And this thing is full of eyebrow hair!" he stammered.

"Great," said Tin-Tin. "I'll get the auto-plunger. Why do we have a 'NAB,' Brains?" asked Tin-Tin.

"Well, we tried to get an auto-pissoire, but there were none left. It seems they stopped making them."
"Why, Brains?"
"Because they were an unutterably stupid idea."
"So we have one because…?"

"I don't know, Tin-Tin. We have a lot of stuff we don't need."

"Yeah," she replied.

"Can you hand me that oversize toothbrush cap, please?"
"What for?"
"I need to replace this one," said Brains, and threw a similar, cracked one over to Tin-Tin. "Ah, here's the problem!" he stuttered.

"What is it, Brains?"
"It's the oven timer."

"Oh, no," said Tin-Tin. "I'll go and get the box."

Scott and Virgil were sitting in easy chairs, smoking at the golf tournament.

"Isn't it cool that we qualified already!" said Virgil.

"Yeah, I guess we're pretty great at everything we try," said Scott.

"Yeah!" said Virgil. "Hey, what's that?" He pointed to a glass box suspended from a crane!"

"That's a trio of performance artists who have locked themselves in a box with am unbreakable time lock set for three days."

"Wow, how likely is that?"
"It's no stranger than anything else we've seen."

"Hey, what's going on over there?" asked Virgil. He pointed to a crowd of people running away from a car, parked about 100 metres from the glass box.

"I don't know, Virgil. Let's check it out!"

Scott and Virgil jogged clumsily over to the source of the trouble. Some people were trying to get closer, others running away. As they approached, even those who seemed to have been attracted to the car started to run off. The whole area of the grounds emptied.

"I think I've seen that car before, Scott. At least three times. It may have been a different colour. Or maybe covered in sand," said Virgil.

"Yeah, I think I recognise it too. Didn't we have one like that?" said Scott.

"Maybe."

They got closer, and saw that the back of the car was laden with red boxes, marked, 'Auto-Bomb, Detonator Unit.'

"Oh, fantastic!" said Scott.

"Hey, why is it that whenever we go anywhere, something always happens right on top of us?" said Virgil.

"I don't know, Virgil. We'd better call in."

"Base from Scott Tracy. Come in, please."

"Go ahead, Scott."

"We have a situation, Father!" he said.

"What sort of situation?"
"We have a car loaded with bombs parked below a group of performance artists suspended from a tower crane with a time lock for three days on the door."
"Wow!" chimed in Gordon. "How likely is that?"

Jeff shot Gordon a look. "FAB. I'll send Thunderbirds 1 and 2."

Gordon whooped. "Hooray! I get to fly Thunderbird 1!"

"Guess again, Gordon."
"Yeah, okay."

"Gordon, would you fetch Alan?"

"Dad, intercom."

"Oh, of course. Alan, would you come in here, please?"
Alan walked in. "Yes, Dad?"

"Thunderbird 1 is needed."
"Where?"
Jeff rolled one of the pictures on the wall up to reveal a map of the world. "Seattle," he said, pointing to Santiago on the map.

Gordon rolled his eyes at Alan.

"On your way, boys!" The two left for their craft, and took off.

Jeff called Tin-Tin over the intercom. She rushed in, thinking he would be sending her on a mission.

"Yes, Mr. Tracy?"

"I have something for you!"

Tin-Tin smiled. "Oh, what is it?"

Jeff opened his desk drawer, and handed her a black-and-white pamphlet, entitled 'Women: Know Your Limits!' Tin-Tin pursed her lips and stormed out.

"What did I say?" asked Jeff, and shook his head. "I'd better let John know."

"Thunderbird 5 from base. Come in, John."

Jeff watched the portrait of John change to video feed. He was crouched on the floor, covering his head.

"What's wrong, John?"

"Nothing, I just keep hearing all these drums. It's getting on my nerves."

"Oh," said Jeff. He filled John in on the situation. "Keep an eye on it, John."
"Yes, Father. Listen, I was thinking, when this is all over, can I come home for a while?"

"Alan isn't due for duty yet, John."

"What do you mean, he isn't due for duty yet?"

"It hasn't been a month."

"No, it's been three! The roster is supposed to be a month, but in fact, it's entirely at random."

"Alan says you owe him some time."

"Yeah, he's always on about how much time I owe him, but never what he owes me!"

"You're getting above yourself, John."

"You only ever let me come home when you know you'll want to talk to 5 a lot. That's when you want Alan here, and you banish me to the Cliff House!"

"Look, John, you'll do as you're told until all of that money is accounted for!"

"It was just resting in my account, Father!"

"Base out!" said Jeff.

"GFY!" shouted John.

Thunderbird 1 landed at the danger zone with a loud thump. Alan got out.

"Hey!" said Scott. "Be careful with that!"

"Sorry!" said Alan. "I'm not used to driving stick."

"Just be careful!" said Scott.

"So what's going on here?"

Scott relayed the situation about the performance artists.

Alan made a sucking sound, and rubbed his chin. "Okay. Can we climb the crane, lower the box, and then truck it out to somewhere safe?"

"No!" said Scott.

"Why not?" asked Alan.

"Doesn't that sound too easy to you?"

"Yeah, a little," said Alan.

"There must be a complicated way to do this!" said Virgil.

"Yeah. Preferably in the nick of time!" said Scott.

"Hey!" said Gordon. "You're using my voice again! Give it back!"

"Sorry!" said Scott, abruptly.

"What if we cut the crane in half, so it fell over, and then picked up the glass box?" asked Alan.

"Not enough explosions, Alan!" said Scott.

"Okay!" said Virgil. "I've got it. We dynamite the crane, and knock it over so the glass box falls onto a huge inflatable cushion, we take it

away and blow up the car!" said Virgil.

"A controlled explosion?" asked Alan.

"Sure, why not!" said Virgil.

"Do we have a giant inflatable cushion?" asked Scott.

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure we do. Somewhere," said Virgil.

"Which pod is it in?" asked Alan.

"I don't know. I guess whichever one shows up!" said Virgil.

The boys whistled and kicked at the floor.

Thunderbird 2 hovered over the ground for a few minutes, and then fell to earth with a thud.

"Sorry, Virg!" said Gordon when he alighted. "I was still getting changed."

Virgil told him about their elaborate plan.

"Okay," he said. He climbed back up to Thunderbird 2, but stopped and started patting himself down. When he found his keys, he went back inside.

Gordon extended Thunderbird 2's legs, and got back out again to enter the pod.

"So it's a cushion you want?" the boys heard Gordon shout from inside the pod.
"Yeah, a big one," said Scott. He and the others watched as Gordon threw an assortment of random objects out of the pod. A typewriter; a dinghy; a kite; a paddling pool; a boiler suit; a tractor inner tube; the door and bonnet from a 1982 Datsun Stanza; a pack of toilet rolls; a bicycle and 3 inflatable sex dolls.

"Hey, John must've been in here!" laughed Gordon. "Oh, hang on, I think I have it!" He emerged with a large yellow box, marked 'Auto Huge Inflatable Cushion.'

"Yeah, that's it!" said Virgil. "Let's go!"

Alan and Gordon set the charges for the crane. "Hey, will you leave your hair alone? It's really getting on my nerves!" said Alan.
"What?" said Gordon.

"The parting keeps jumping from side to side. And it keeps changing colour!"
"It does not change colour!"

"Yes it does! One minute it's ginger, then strawberry blonde! Pick a colour!"

They trailed a long wire to the detonator. At first, neither of them was sweating, and then suddenly, they looked as if someone had thrown a bucket of water over them.

Scott and Virgil were pumping up the cushion. "I think it's going to take too long this way, Scott," said Virgil.

"I think you're right!" said Scott. He took the bicycle pump from his brother, and exchanged it for a nuclear auto-megapump from the pod.

"Yep, this is the way to do things. Nuclear power; it's fantastic!" The cushion inflated to about 30 metres square; with an International Rescue logo on it so huge that could probably be seen from orbit.

"Okay, so we blow it now?" said Alan.
"Now!" said Scott. Virgil tried to put his fingers in his ears, but they wouldn't fit. A huge explosion sent the crane toppling over. As it did, Alan spoke.
"Hey, that looks just like the gantry we have in the Thunderbird 1 hangar!"

"No," said Virgil. "It's a different colour."
"Oh," said Alan.

The boys watched as the glass box hit the cushion squarely, and then bounced high into the air- straight into the bomb car. It exploded, knocking the three of them to the ground.
Scott stood up and wafted the smoke from his face.

"Well, bugger, eh?" he said.

Alan also got up. "Shut up, Scott, we're supposed to be Americans!"

"Oh, right," said Scott. "Gosh darn it!"

Virgil stayed in his crumpled heap.

"Take care of him, will you?" he asked Gordon. "Come on, Alan!"

He and Alan walked over to the wrecked car, and found the glass box intact and the occupants alright.
"Well, I guess they'll be okay from here," said Scott, dusting off his hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a car speeding away from the scene. There was an unrealistic rubber mask on the ground.
"Him again!" said Alan. "The headscarf!"
"Hey, didn't we just blow that car up?" asked Scott.

"Well, it seems to have rematerialised!" said Alan.

"I'll go after him in Thunderbird1!" said Scott.

"MSM!" said Alan.
"What does that mean?"

"Mirror, signal, manoeuvre?"

"You're supposed to say FAB!" said Scott.

"Yeah, but what does that mean?" said Alan.

"Good point," said Scott.

Scott positioned himself at the controls of his rocket.
"God damn!" he grumbled, as he moved his seat backwards and adjusted his rear view mirror. He took off and chased the car down. He fired a single shot that bounced off one of the doors, causing minimal damage.

"Well, there's no way he would have survived that!" said Scott, and turned around.

"I'm going straight home if you're okay there!" he radioed to the others.

"Yeah, we'll finish up!" said Alan.

Gordon and Alan loaded Virgil into T2, and left him there while they went to pack up.

"No, you have to fold it concertina, not half and half again, Alan!" said Gordon.

"Ah, this is never going to fit back in the box!"
"I don't think it will either."
"Let's just shove it in the pod."
"Yeah, and all this stuff!"

They shoved the typewriter; the dinghy; the kite; the paddling pool; the boiler suit; the tractor inner tube; the pack of toilet rolls; the bicycle and 3 the inflatable sex dolls into the pod. They then crammed the inflatable cushion in.

"Ah, crap! It won't shut!" said Gordon, and the two of them had to lean on the door with all their might, until they heard the latch drop. They were about to head for the cockpit again, when Gordon noticed that they had left the ancient automotive parts on the ground.
"Great!" said Gordon.

"Ah, just leave them," said Alan. Gordon shrugged and followed Gordon aboard. They set course for base.

When they got home, they took Virgil to the sickroom. He soon came round.

"What am I doing here?"

"A bomb er, went off," said Scott. "It blew you over."

"I've asked a doctor here to be on the safe side, Virgil," said Jeff.
"Why, Dad?"
"Because it's something relatively minor. That's the rule. Doctors for minor things, ignorance for serious things. Like my friend Kyrano."

"I see. Right," said Virgil. "Did you hurt my bird, Gordon?"

"Er, no!" said Gordon, and ran from the room.

Virgil shuffled off the bed. "You'd better not have, Gordon!" He ran for the Thunderbird 2 hangar.

Thunderbird 2 was scratched all the way down one side. "What the hell?" said Virgil. He climbed the gantry and got into the cockpit. He grumbled as he adjusted his seat and rear view mirrors. Then he extended the legs to release the pod. There was a loud bang, and clattering of metal.

"Jesus!" yelled Virgil, and got out to examine the pod.

The pod had spilled it's contents, and the door had ripped off. A random collection of articles surrounded the former pod door; several musical instruments; a stuffed panda; a refrigerator; a pedal-boat; a small ship's cannon and a shark diving cage.

Gordon entered, looking sheepish. "Thanks, Gordon!" said Virgil sardonically. "What happened?"
"I don't know! I was hovering, as normal, stationary over a piece of ground, and the sky was scrolling past me, and then it was as if one corner of the thing just fell!"
"What do you mean?"
"It was like it was on strings, and one of them was cut! But the engines were still firing."

"You'd be surprised how often that happens!" said Virgil. "You know, even I crashed this thing once!"
"Yes, I remember."
"Yeah, I could have deployed chaff, or flare, or something, to throw those missiles off."
"So why didn't you?"

"Well, the mood didn't take me. Besides, if I had done it, Scott wouldn't have been able to do the big brother thing."
"So it was almost like some strange plot device."
"Right." Virgil eyed Gordon with suspicion.

"Boys, can I see you in the lounge?" said Jeff over the intercom. They all hurried there.

Tin-Tin was sitting in a chair with her arms folded, while Jeff was holding a newspaper. On the front there was a picture of Scott, taken from the back, in front of Thunderbird 1. "They took pictures!"

"Well, it was always going to happen, Dad!" said Virgil.
"If the press took pictures, our enemies might have, too!" said Jeff.
"Well, the whole thing was set up, so I guess so, yeah!" said Scott.

"It must have happened before, Mr. Tracy," said Tin-Tin.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, those impostors managed to replicate our uniforms in surprising detail, and those kids even got our banter right. They even said 'no pictures!' How else would you explain that?" she said.

Jeff stood up. "That's not very likely. Tin-Tin, why don't you go and help Grandma with dinner?" he said.

"Bloody hell!" said Tin-Tin, and stormed out.

Alan called after her. "Tin-Tin, American, remember?" Tin-Tin ignored him.

"So it was an attempt to draw International Rescue out?" asked Gordon.

"But how did they know Scott and I would be there?" asked Virgil.

"What do you mean? Why would we have to be there when they did it? International Rescue would have come out anyway," said Alan.

"Nah. Trouble follows us around, remember," said Virgil.

"I see," said Alan, unconvinced.

"Didn't Kyrano shout out that we were going golfing when he had that fit?" asked Virgil.

"Yeah, but that's got nothing to do with anything!" said Scott.

Virgil shrugged his shoulders. "And another thing, we always use our real names on rescues! Why don't we use codenames? Surely that would be better for secrecy?"

"Okay," said Scott. "You can be Mr. Pink."

"Hey, let's face it, if anyone's going to be Mr. Pink, it's going to be John!" said Gordon. Everyone laughed, even Jeff.

"I don't think that will be necessary, Gordon. Using real names has never been a problem before," said Jeff.

Tin-Tin walked in. "Mr. Tracy?"

"I thought you were helping Grandma with dinner!" said Jeff.

"Well, yes, but-"
"We're discussing important business, Tin-Tin."
"Well, if it's nothing to do with me, I'll show the doctor straight in!" she said, and walked out with her hands on her hips.

"Operation cover up!" said Jeff, and pressed a button on the side of his desk. The photos of the boys in International Rescue uniform changed. Now, in the portraits, Virgil was smoking, Scott was drinking, Alan was dressed as a French maid, Gordon was snorting cocaine and John was kissing a pig.

"Hi, Jeff," said the doctor. "Is it Virgil again?"
"Yep," said Jeff. "Go with the doctor, Virgil."

Virgil followed the doctor to his room. After ten minutes, they returned.
"He's fine, Jeff," said the doctor.

"Thanks, Doc."

"Say, Jeff, I've always wondered- every time I come here, I see your family, and I wonder where the boy on the left is," he said, pointing to John's picture.
"He's on vacation!" said Jeff.

"For five years?" said the doctor.

"Er, yes!" said Jeff, and stared at the doctor, who dropped it, and left. Tin-Tin did not arrive to show him out, so Jeff despatched Alan.

"Well!" said Jeff. "I suggest we carry on like none of this ever happened!"

"Right!" said the boys.

"What was that?" said Virgil.

"What?" said Scott.

"Didn't you hear that music?" said Virgil.

"What, when it looked like we were about to finish the story- I mean the mission de-brief?"

"Yeah."
"Don't worry. That happens all the time."
"Oh. Thanks, Scott."

"That's okay."
"There it is again!"
"Quiet, Virgil."

The sound of laughter gradually faded.