Little, interstitial stuff; main action re-commences with the next chapter.
33: Preflight
Tracy Island, Thunderbird 3's noisy concrete-and-steel hangar silo:
Maybe his grim mood was telegraphed by the set of Scott Tracy's heavy, dark brows, or the slight narrowing of his blue eyes; maybe the others had been quiet to begin with. Whatever the reason, it was a decidedly no-nonsense group that Scott joined at the end of the lower boarding gantry.
Tall above them towered the crimson shaft of Thunderbird 3, being attended to like a lazy shark with a horde of darting remoras. It was the kind of sight that Scott normally lingered a bit to watch, but not this time. Too much ionizing radiation around the ship, according to his wrist comm's alarm feature, and too many vital jobs to do.
Signaling the others, he headed for a little-used hangar access door. Virgil, Gordon, Alan, TinTin and Fermat fell into stepbehind their pensive field commander, wrapped up in thoughts of their own.
Alan was especially serious, but he wasn't thinking about deep-piled snow, stranded tour buses or prehistoric elephants; he was juggling possible plans for reaching Matt (in Alan's mind, John: the way he should have been). The boy had a couple of wild notions, and now took the opportunity to get Gordon's attention with a quick, sneaky nudge.
His red-haired older brother glanced over, eyebrows lifting. Said Alan, low and urgently,
"Listen, Man: I think we could use the, y'know… the time machine, go back to this morning, and try again with Matt. We could…"
He never got a chance to complete that half-cocked plan, because Scott had keyed open the access door and waved everyone through. Behind lay a broad, softly-lit corridor with one of those 'people-mover' conveyance systems, kind of like a flattened escalator. Having never visited this particular passage, Alan lifted himself to tip-toe and craned around with a great deal of interest. Once, it seemed, his father had planned on regular passengers… or maybe just a larger crew.
"Tell you the rest later," Alan hissed, as Scott shut the doors and gathered his team beside some sort of touristy-looking, back-lit poster; one of a long series. Extending the entire length of the corridor, these posters made the Moon Station look like loads of zero-G fun, though Alan wasn't certain how accurate those sexed-up space suits and zippy rocket sleds were. The beach, night club and hang-gliding domes looked pretty cool, and he would have liked to try that lava tube laser game. Kind of funny that John had never mentioned all this stuff... but he was willing to bet Matt would have.
"Okay, everybody," Scott began, pulling Alan's attention back to the present. "The teams I assigned earlier stand; Gordon, you're with me in Thunderbird 1. We're headed for Nepal, so you're in charge of reading up, and getting our cold weather climbing gear prepared. Virgil, Brains will be joining us in a few minutes, and the two of you will tackle the situation in Chile from Thunderbird 2."
The big pilot nodded serenely.
"FAB, Scott," he replied, already working out the navigational details. Stick wings and a propulsion system on somebody's rusted charcoal grill, and Virgil Tracy would have found a way to fly the thing to a pin-point landing. Maybe he wasn't military, but Scott had to admit that his younger brother was a damn fine aviator, anyway.
There were noises just then, from the far end of their passage. Sounded human, rather than mechanical. Hackenbacker, maybe?
Scott pushed on, turning to face the team's junior members. Although his voice remained patient and level, there was a slight twitch to his brows that betrayed more thana bit of unease. That "you're too young" thing again, probably. (Nice of him to try hiding it.)
"Alan: you, Fermat and TinTin will be dropped off in Siberia by my team, and then…"
Alan scowled.
"Why can't we just take 3, and fly ourselves?" The blond teenager demanded.
Scott sighed, obviously struggling for patience.
"Because, after a re-entry like that one, not to mention a long space mission and unexpected rescue, Thunderbird 3 requires major maintenance and refueling."
Hepaused a moment, leaving the obvious point… that Thunderbird 7 had somehow gone missing during the kids' recent wild escapade… unstated.
"You'll be flying with us. Period. Once in Siberia, you'll help park officials evacuate a few busloads of stranded tourists, and round up some straying animals. Zero freelance activity. Got it? All of you?"
He was answered with silent nods from all three, though only his youngest brother met Scott's hard gaze. TinTin and Fermat seemed thoroughly chastened, much to Alan's disgust.
"Good. Further briefing will take place in-flight. We're to stay at a condition of heightened alertness, complete our assignments, then make best speed for home. Dad suspects that John's mission may come under renewed terrorist attack, and I tend to agree.
"Fermat, get in touch with Endurance, ASAP. Find out their exact situation and ETA. We'll make our plans from there. We guided them out safely, and we'll bring them back the same way. Copy?"
The young genius nodded seriously, shoving at a wayward shock of his own light-brown hair.
"U- Understood, Scott. I'll… f- find a way to… get through. I promise you."
Scott gave him a quick, approving smile and clapped a hand to his thin shoulder.
"Good man."
The noises up-corridor had by now resolved themselves into three hurrying people: Brains, Gennine and Grandma Tracy. 'Dr. Hackenbacker' strode up, seized his son in an affectionate, one-armed embrace, and ruffled the boy's limp hair. Though his face reddened and he quickly wriggled free, Fermat nevertheless stood a little prouder, knowing that his warning had been delivered in time. He had a great deal to tell his father, who always seemed to listen, and understand. In that way, the boy supposed, he was awfully lucky.
Gennine, who'd brought along an armload of lunches, handed the in-flight meals around and then hugged her indifferent son.
"Thanks, Mom," Alan grunted, squirming away to get a better look at the contents of his sack. Two sandwiches… chips… juice box… and a mozzarella cheese stick.
"No pudding?" He asked, sounding almost insulted. Grandma slapped the back of his head with star-burst force.
"Be grateful for what you receive, Boy," the sharp-eyed old woman chided, "'stead of hollerin' for seconds like you got no more manners nor sense than the Wild Man of Borneo! You ain't so big yet that I can't take a switch to that skinny behind of yours, Alan Tracy."
"Yes, Ma'am. Sorry Ma'am," Alan mumbled, turning to give his mother a shame-faced little peck on the cheek. The others' amusement faded darn quick when Grandma added, fiercely,
"And I ain't heard any of the rest of you boys sayin' thank you, neither!"
Grandma Tracy might look as fragile and twig-boned as a wren, but all who knew her feared that diamond-saw wit. An absolute landslide of belated gratitude poured over Gennine, then, from everyone but TinTin (who'd already done so).
"Right, then," Scott announced, resuming control of the situation, "let's get moving. Everyone to your assigned vehicles. Keep your eyes open, report anything remotely suspicious and fly safe, people."
With that, the group broke up, each hastening to his or her various tasks. Gordon waited, though, to make a small, private gesture of his own. He hadn't yet had the opportunity to thank Alan's mum for attempting to intervene in his behalf. She'd actually lied to Jeff Tracy about that general diploma business, trying to redirect his father's wrath. Now the young aquanaut gave the startled woman a hug, which she recovered enough to return.
"Be careful out there, Sweetie," she cautioned him, "and watch out for Alan, please? He needs more help than he likes to admit."
Of all Jeff's sons, she was most comfortable with Gordon. John had long been a complete cipher, Virgil politely distant, and Scott just now beginning to thaw. But Gordon she'd been allowed to 'adopt', a fact that his slim, nervous step-mother very much appreciated.
"I'll keep working on your father," she added, as the others headed away. "By the time you get back, he'll be wondering what anyone wants with a regular diploma."
Gordon chuckled ruefully, giving Grandma, too, a quick hug.
"Now that, I very much doubt, Ma'am, keen on schoolin' as he is. But thanks all th' same f'r tryin'."
After all, she meant well. Scott called to himsharply from an echoing side passage, and time was up. It was nice to be fussed over like this, but Gordon had a date with the Red Path, a crashed space plane and the world's most dangerous mountain. He had to go.