The smell of bleach rose from the bucket as he headed towards Thunderbird 4. Alan had lost yet another bet with Gordon, and now he had to clean the yellow submarine. It was a week overdue its monthly clean, and Gordon had spent the last two weeks in it on a research mission. Alan knew this wasn't going to be pleasant by the grin Gordon had given him when he suggested it not be put off. Virgil had already positioned Four in the maintenance area, which also meant everything Alan needed was to hand. He stood at the back door having already decided to leave the easy bit, cleaning and polishing the outside, to last. Alan reached his gloved hand out and pushed the pad to open the hatch.
Alan always forgot how roomy Thunderbird 4 was, despite its size. Stepping into the sub, Alan was hit with a musty odour that had mixed with the usual salty smell of seawater. Originally, Alan would have his helmet on, the filter saving him from the odours, however it had mysteriously disappeared. Looking for his spare one would be pointless. Gordon wanted him to smell Four as he cleaned. Taking one last breath of clean air, Alan headed to the cockpit. He gagged on entry. How had Gordon survived in here? Crouching down, Alan started scooping up the rubbish that had been obviously pushed into the corner. On the second scoop, his finger closed around something slimy. As he turned his hand to look, he quickly turned his head gagging. His stomach contents churned. Taking deep breaths, Alan fought the pungent smell of putrid crustacean. He deposited the poor creature into a small bag, sealed it, and dropped it into the rubbish bag. Alan could handle fishy smells; Gordon had exposed him to enough of those over the years, including tricking him into cleaning his fish tank, but this was a million times worse. In all fairness, Gordon would be devastated that the creature had met its end in Thunderbird Four, but why Gordon hadn't tried to locate the source of the smell himself, Alan couldn't fathom.
With the rubbish cleared, Alan dipped a cloth into the bucket and started scrubbing down the floor and chair. The craft was in maintenance mode, so none of the panels were live, however Alan was careful to ring as much solution out the cloth as possible when he wiped down all the electronics. Once every surface had been wiped, he opened the few storage hatches, and cleared out any old food from them and gave them a wipe down. Thankfully, there was only one half-eaten celery crunch bar to be found and it was only a little stale, although Alan suspected there were more to find in the main hold. Pleased with the now clean and fresh-smelling cockpit, Alan headed back into the hold, ready to tackle the musty odour there.
Again, Alan cleared away the discarded celery bar wrappers that Gordon seemed to live off, and as expected there were a few half-eaten ones with various types of mould on them. Alan had once swabbed Thunderbird 4 after one of Gordon's research trips for a biology project. He had been sent agar plates, which he had to rub the swabs on, then sent back to be incubated. The results had been surprising. Some swabs had only the odd expected bacteria on it, but it was the fungal collection that had grown from the swaps of the area around some mouldy crunch bar that had astounded the teacher. An exceedingly rare species had grown on the plate that had cause some commotion among the biomedical scientists. Alan had called the project "Life found in a teenager's bedroom" which meant he wasn't questioned too much on how the species may have gotten there. Everyone one knew what a teenage boy's bedroom could be like! The rest of Thunderbird 4 wasn't too bad, with the toilet being the biggest thing to tackle. The sanitary tank was flushed routinely after every outing, so Alan didn't have to worry about it. After wiping down every surface, he did the cupboards, doing an inventory check as he went. Anything missing would be ordered or put aside for Gordon to deal with later. Before stepping back out into the hanger, Alan surveyed his work. Every surface was shiny, and the air was now filled with the smell of detergent. With a proud smile on his face, Alan stepped out and shut the hatch.
Alan poured away the dirty soapy water and ditched the bucket. Grabbing the sponge on a stick, he squirted soap onto it and started to lather up the outside of the submarine. It didn't take him long to turn the sub into a mass of bubbles. He removed the sponge and placed it in the used tub with the used cloths. He pulled the pressure hose from the wall and aimed it at his brother's Thunderbird. The force of the water made him take a step back, but he quickly got used to the pressure. Using the power hose always fun, especially if there was a brother nearby to 'accidentally' soak. Once all the suds had been washed away, Alan got the shammy cloth out and dried Four off. His arms were starting to ache, and his stomach was starting to rumble, but he persevered knowing he was almost done. He grabbed the polish and buffer and started bringing a shine to the paintwork. The warm waxy smell filled his nostrils as he worked. Thunderbird Four was soon the glossiest Thunderbird of them all, and he was a little jealous the Thunderbird Three rarely looked this good. Though the sheer size of his ship meant Brains had designed robotic arms to do the job, it never seemed to look as shiny as the others. He dumped the tools in their correct locations, discarded his overalls and gloves and washed his hands.
Alan made his way to the villa, body aching slightly from all the cleaning, his mouth dry and his stomach rumbling. He grabbed a bottle of water from the stash before he entered the elevator. The cool water ran down his throat and gurgled in his empty stomach. He headed straight into the kitchen, only to see his Grandma bending over the oven. His nose had been assaulted so much he hadn't smelt the tell-tale scent of Grandma's cookies baking. He took a step back, but he was too slow. The smell of burnt sugar hit his nostrils and his Grandma turned around with a tray of cookies in her gloved hand.
"Alan, good timing. Come get them while they're hot."
Before Alan could say he wasn't hungry and didn't want to spoil dinner his traitorous stomach rumbled. Alan sighed as his Grandmother put one of the cookies on a plate. He sat down at the table as the plate and a glass of milk was placed before him. The smell of feet barraged his nose and he had to fight his gag reflex again. Picking up the warm cookie, his snapped it in half and dangled it in the milk. At least softening it saved his teeth.