Chapter 2: Bad Champagne, Good Company
100 stories. That's how many floors the Glass Castle had. There were eight elevators in total, six for the live-in residence of the building, one penthouse elevator which many of the guests choose to take to the top, and one small glass elevator which wasn't advertised. Not wanting to mingle until actually reaching the party on the top floor, Scott chose to ride the side elevator up.
Being a pilot, dizzying heights hardly bothered him. So he took in the New York skyline from his own personal car, thumbs looped casually in his belt. Somewhere out there, his father was piloting Thunderbird 1 over a fire in Cambodia. As he thought this, Scott felt his communicator buzz in his inner pocket. Removing it, Scott watched John's hologram flicker to life. It was still experimental technology, so his frame flickered before steadying.
"John. You got the new communicators working."
"Sorry Scott, I wanted to test out the system. How's the party?"
"Haven't gotten there yet." Scott admitted with a shrug, turning his brother around to see the view, "nice view though."
"Ah, good old Earth. Sometimes I miss it," turning back around, John smirked, "but mostly I don't."
"Yeah, yeah, space hermit. Any word from dad?"
"He's got it under control — local authorities are helping him out." John explained knowingly, "he told me to tell you to have fun at this party, and that he'll want a full report of the goings on when you get back."
"FAB. Looks like I'm coming up on the penthouse."
"Roger, that. Talk to you soon."
John's hologram flickering away, Scott sighed and shoved his communicator back into his suit. Turning elegantly to face the doors, he straightened his lapels and fiddled with his cufflinks. The time to face the music was now, and apparently (according to Gordon) hobnobbing with the social elite was dangerous work. Feeling the doors slide open with a slight gust of chill air, Scott stepped out into the ballroom.
It was massive, the floor made of fantastic rivered marble which had been freshly waxed. There was a wood bar, several gambling and pool tables, a stage with a live band, and a dance floor the size of Scotland under the largest crystal chandelier he'd ever seen. The best part of it all were the multiple glass balconies which led straight out into the night for the best view of the city imaginable. The room would have been spectacular if it hadn't been filled with a party Scott didn't want to attend.
"Welcome, sir." A butler greeted him as he entered, "may I take your coat?"
"No, thank you. Any idea on where to start in this place?"
Chuckling, the man in question thumbed his chin before nodding across the room.
"There are Mr. and Mrs. Aries over there, high value investors in the fine arts."
"Not really my scene. Who else is here?"
"Hm, there is Mr. Vanderwall," the butler motioned to a rather large man in a gaudy purple tie, "he owns one of the largest press companies in the world. Standing with him is Mr. Harper, he's more interested in global conservation."
"That's a bit more my speed." Scott mused, only to turn as the elevator opened. A women in white minx stepped out as elegantly as any queen, her golden hair pulled up neatly with diamond pins which glittered in equally golden light. Scott was immediately struck by her beauty, but also at how young she appeared to be.
"Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, all the way from London." The butler explained, Scott completely forgetting he was still standing there but now grateful that he was, "if you want a high stakes game, she's the one you should talk to, sir. Her father owns much of London's large industry and was an investor in the creation of this building; they still do good work for the world, though."
"Seems like a challenge. Why hasn't her father come in her stead? She's a bit young, isn't she?"
"I don't know sir. But best be wary; I've heard Lady Penelope is not one to be trifled."
"I'll take my chances. You're a good man, friend." Slapping the butler on the shoulder, Scott left him to the other guests as he whisked himself into the fray. Even if Scott didn't want to be at the party, he still had a mission. His job was to figure out possible investors for the still growing International Rescue organization. Someone trustworthy and able to keep the secret, but also quick witted and wise. Mr. Harper, a thinly framed man in large glasses, seemed like a good start to the night. Then, when Scott had taken a few drinks and danced with a few women, he'd talk to his high stakes target.
So he got started, slipping into conversation with Mr. Harper who he learned would soon be going into retirement and had little interest in risky investment. They shared champagne (bad champagne, mind you), before Harper wandered off to gamble a bit. Scott had little trouble finding his way into the dance floor next, the alcohol warming his blood as he twirled older and younger ladies alike across the floor with some ease.
But as he caught sight of a creamy white figure heading out to one of the balconies, he excused himself just as easily. His chance to speak with Lady Penelope was now. Picking up two glasses from a passing waiter, Scott stepped out and gently slid the doors to the balcony closed behind him.
"A bit chilly out here, don't you think?" He asked, stepping up beside her. The brightest pair of blue eyes rose to meet him.
"Not particularly."
"A drink then, for the lovely lady."
Handing the fluke to her, Lady Penelope took it with grace. "My name is Scott Tracy, your ladyship."
Taking her extended hand to kiss the knuckles, Penelope nodded somewhat stiffly.
"Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, though I suspect you already knew as much."
"I got a bit a of help from...well, the help." Chuckling, Scott leaned easily against the glass barriers, "told me you were the lady to talk to about high risk investment."
"It's my fathers money," Penelope admitted, "your father is Jeff Tracy, is he not? Billionaire industrialist, aerospace pilot, first man on Mars..."
"Yes to all three." Scott chuckled. He was still enthralled by Penelope. She was young, and her perfume was intoxicating. But her eyes were steely and guarded, her poorly chosen champagne untouched.
"What is a retired man doing looking for something risky?"
"Father is a big fan of high stakes." Scott confessed to her easily. It wasn't even a lie, if the vision of his old man in Cambodia was enough proof, "we're starting up a business; a bit of a secret you understand. The best engineer is already producing the technology."
"Go on?"
"We deal in search in rescue; not violence of course, but helping people. Saving people from disasters, fixing the world."
Penelope was very still for a moment, her brain seeming to be slowly turning in thought. Her fine French tips slowly clicked on thin glass, and then her face upturned as though she had thought of something.
"2."
"Pardon?"
Confused at the response of a single number, Penelope smiled crookedly.
"How many ships do you plan to have in this little organization of yours?"
Scott felt himself reeling; quickly checkmated before he could even blink. How could she possibly know about the Thunderbirds already?
"Four." Scott answered thickly, "four workable ships, and one space station."
"That's quite an endeavor." Penelope mused, "you have two now?"
Scott could only nod, and Penelope laughed at his expense, "don't worry, darling, I won't tell. Though I suggest taking more a discreet form of transport into New York next time. It's a big city you know, anyone could have seen."
Ah, so she had seen his arrival and put two and two together. Smart girl; the nameless butler had known his stuff. Embarrassed, Scott could only shrug his shoulders as he swirled what little he had left in his glass.
"Well, no better way to make an entrance then a grand one." He mused, still fighting to maintain his charm and overly-charismatic facade. How desperate he was to simply slump, and moan and groan and just be himself. But Penelope was a Lady, perfectly poised as was expected, and so he had to match his role as the perfect gentleman.
"Couldn't have said it better myself, Scott Tracy." She nodded in agreement, her fine face contorting suddenly as she took a few steps on the balcony. Scott soon felt it as well, and was amazed that Penny (Penelope was such a hassle to say) had picked up on something so subtle. It was a vibration in the glass, almost unnoticeable if they had been inside. "You feel that as well?"
"Yeah, and I don't like it."
"It can't be a simple earthquake, this building was made to withstand such simple things." Penny insisted, frowning as the vibrating began to increase, "somethings wrong."
Scott conceded with a quick nod, removing his communicator to contact John. Before he could however, the building rocked with a deafening blast. Instinctually, Scott brought Penelope down and covered her with his back as glass shattered around them, raining down like a tropical storm. Unfortunately, there was a place between the balcony wall and the floor, and Scott watched through a side eye as his dropped comlink skidded across the concrete before vanishing over the side.
When the rocking stopped and the glass had ceased falling, Scott allowed Penny to stand. He was expecting her to be more shaken, but she simply brushed herself off as if caught in a mere London drizzle and swiveled to level him with those steely blues.
"I do believe something quite distressing has occurred."
"Can't agree with you more, Penny." Scott said, letting his charm drop and slipping with her name as he hurried to look over the side of the balcony, "oh, that's not good."
"What is it? What's happened?"
"Well I hate to alarm you, your ladyship, but this building is on fire." Turning to face his new companion, her expression folded into one of concern, "I think we have a pretty big problem."