Edited!

41: Blessed Event

Thunderbird 1, earlier-

When at last the hover-sleds were unloaded and kids and scientists safe within park headquarters, Scott lifted off; already behind schedule. He used the silver Bird's impellers more than her volcanically powerful engines, not wishing to wake the echoes nor bring down a cold-stressed building. In full burn, Thunderbird 1 was that loud.

Inside the cramped cockpit, with his brother, Gordon, seated uncomfortably sideways, Scott Tracy manipulated thrust and anti-gravity like the artist he was. Thunderbird 1 surged free of the snowy morass with a muted, growling rumble.

'Better', Scott decided, though not yet good enough for the sensitive conditions on Everest. He was going to have to learn to bring her in like a skimming leaf… or risk burying the accident victims alive, like his mother had been.

Everyone had their own way of dealing with loss; John's was to close himself off, obsessing about whatever he felt could still be saved. Virgil tended to withdraw into painting and music, sometimes playing Beethoven and Debussy far into the tropical night. Scott simply worked harder… planned better, his mantra being: 'Never again. Not on my watch'.

Now, as snow and mud and buildings fell dizzyingly away beneath him, Scott Tracy sent a last, brief message to the kids, then turned his head to stare at Gordon.

"Okay, they're gone, now. So tell me: what's the big secret? What's Alan up to?"

Very much caught by surprise, Gordon hesitated. He wasn't quick on the draw with excuses. In the few minutes afforded by Scott's mid-flight course correction, the best he came up with was,

"Well, that is t' say… there's no secret, as such. He's hardly, er…"

"Gordon," Scott cut his brother off, a harder than normal gleam in his blue-violet eyes. "I'm not stupid. He tried to tell you something back at the hangar, and he made damn sure the security monitors were off in the storage compartment. Asked me twice. Now, quit stalling, and answer the question: what's he planning?"

Gordon ran a hand through his sun- and chlorine-bleached hair. Not just worried, he looked deeply uneasy.

"He's, um… concerned, he is. About Matt."

Now, they were getting somewhere.

"Okay. So, let's start with 'Matt', then. Who is he? What the hell happened with this guy that has Alan so agitated?"

Gordon fidgeted. The second seat that Brains had installed in Thunderbird 1's cockpit wasn't very comfortable, and neither was the situation. He disliked turning on Alan, but rather hoped that someone would step in. Slowly, then, with many asides and restarts, he began telling story and plan, as he understood them. Scott listened quietly, forgetting to call in, or check the other teams' status. In the end, after an instant or two of grim silence, he shook his head, saying,

"No. Hell no. I'm sorry for Matt, and for what Alan's going through because of him, but we've got to protect our own world. If that thing… that alien… is as dangerous as you say it is, then you four were damn lucky to get out alive, much less with any kind of successful rescue."

Again, the fighter pilot shook his head.

"Having another shot at the thing might give it an opening. No. In fact, I'll unplug the damn time machine, myself. God Almighty! How stupid is that kid?"

Gordon was saved from having to respond by an unexpected call. Scott's private phone went off with a brief, stirring version of the 'Air Force Hymn'. It turned out to be Cindy Taylor, Scott's fiancée. His older brother turned the volume down and shifted position somewhat, but with nothing else to do (he'd read and re-read the mission briefing, and was now a sort of 'armchair expert' on Everest) Gordon saw and heard a great deal.

Her image flashed onto the little screen, looking as sleekly polished and 'done up' as though she'd just ended a broadcast.

"Hey there, Hollywood. Okay to talk?"

('Hollywood?' It was rather amusing, watching his older brother fight to remain cool.)

"Yeah. Line's secure, Hon. What's on your mind?"

She sighed.

"About a thousand gallons of caffeine and severe jet lag… also a problem for you guys, or maybe just a quiet heads-up."

Scott's expression changed, going from 'dog-waiting-for-you-to-throw-the-ball' eager, to sudden apprehension.

"I'm listening. What's going on?"

She fussed impatiently with her dark hair, but the rigid strands wouldn't move. Evidently, they'd been seriously wind-proofed. Gordon did not approve.

"Okay," she began, "I've been in touch with one of my sources in congress, an intern at the senate… cousin of a sorority sister… and she says that one of the Texans, Senator Stennis, is stirring things up against WorldGov and Tracy Aerospace, both. He's slinging some pretty hard accusations, apparently… talking collusion, and such. I've met him a couple of times before, Scott. Seemed like a harmless crank, at first… one of those 'back to nature' freaks… but, lately, he's gotten (forgive my vague word choice) creepy. Like he's seeing right past you and into political Valhalla. Just… watch him, okay? I hate to resort to women's intuition here, Hollywood, but the guy's no good. I know it. In fact, let me do a little digging, and I'll damn well prove it."

"Stennis, huh?" Scott mused, fiddling with one of the comm screens. "Gotcha. He skips right to the head of the surveillance list, then. I'll inform John as soon as I can. Who, by the way," he turned to the phone screen, again, trying to seem casual, "You haven't heard anything fr… about, have you?"

"Are you kidding?" Cindy snorted. "The big, unprintablenews around JSC right now is that the mission's coming in early, and your dear brother's about to become a father. Went and knocked up a crewmate."

Scott's jaw dropped. Just behind him, Gordon executed a fast, exuberant downward pulling motion with one clenched fist, mouthing, 'Score!'

The pilot finally got his mouth shut and his brain unfrozen.

"John…? A father? There's a recipe for disaster! My brother can't even take care of himself without an itemized checklist, much less a baby… Wow."

Then, as though still testing this peculiar notion,

"Who's the mother? That oriental girl? The biologist? She's not too bad looking."

But Cindy shook her head, no.

"Believe it or not, the doctor."

Scott frowned, trying to visualize his possible sister-in-law. Short, brown-haired and snappish, was all he could come up with, despite several astronaut family get-togethers. On Scott's 'female radar', the doctor had barely registered. Hard to believe that she'd made any kind of a blip on John's.

"Oh, well… to each his own, I guess. He's going to catch major shit for this, though, believe me. Can't wait till he gets back. Heh! Got fruitful and multiplied…"

Scott was in a fine mood when they roared across theTibetan border, Gordon even more so. A baby in the family… Fancy that.