Scott leaned over and tapped the comm. "How's it going?"

Virgil's voice came back immediately, solid and in control. "Doing good. Gordy and Al are shoring up the south side of the building with stabilizing foam, and Kayo is evacuating everyone in an orderly fashion. We'll drop the injured off at the medical facility and then be on our way home." A yawn. "Looking forward to it."

"I'm sure you are," Scott mused, paging through the windows that gave him info on every member's bio stats, as well as the uniform cam feeds from all three members on the ground. The people moving away from the partially-collapsed building were dusty and-quite literally-shaken, but as Virgil had said, all were calmly letting Kayo herd them across the debris-strewn parking lot to where the reassuring bulk of Thunderbird Two sat atop the asphalt. Both pods were working perfectly, Gordon and Alan putting them through their paces in a well-practiced dance. He listened for a moment to the two youngest bantering back and forth, unable to help a smirk even as his fingers itched to tap the comm again and remind them to-

"Thunderbird Three and Four," said Virgil, a hard edge to his voice. "We may be on cleanup, but that's not an excuse to play around. Cut the chatter."

"F A B," they chorused, duly chastened, and fell into silence.

"Last victim evacuated," chimed Kayo. "John, would you do a scan just to make sure we didn't miss anyone?"

"All victims accounted for," John's voice snapped back in its usual no-nonsense tone. "Virgil, you are clear to proceed."

"F A B, Thunderbird Five. Loading everyone up in the module now."

"Pod Two stabilizing foam exhausted," Alan chirped. "Gordon, you 'bout done?"

"Yeah, I'm out. This place isn't going anywhere, though; it's stuck harder than a spoon in Grandma's chocolate custard."

"Gordon," Virgil rumbled.

"Well it is!"

Scott snorted and tapped the comm. "Good job, Thunderbirds. See you when you-"

John's voice cut in, the calm, satisfied tone replaced by hot urgency. "Thunderbird Two: I've got a request for assistance coming in from the Bahamas."

Scott watched as the globe above the table swung dizzily from Italy to the tiny island nation. "What's up, Thunderbird Five?" he asked. After a moment of puzzled silence, he realized that his and Virgil's voices had asked the question in chorus. "Sorry, Virg-"

"No, Scott, it's okay-"

It was John who cast the deciding vote. "Thunderbird One, stand by. Thunderbird Two, Hurricane Jamie has finally moved away from the islands, but they're still dealing with high winds and flooding. The Prime Minister has requested our help with evac and demolition."

"Let him know we're on our way, Thunderbird Five," said Virgil, authority ringing in his voice. "Kayo, you're with me. We'll drop off the evacuated passengers from Module Two at the triage center, then be back for Pods One and Two. Gordy, Alan, you be ready to load up when we get back."

"F A B," came the trio of voices. No one complained about how tired or hungry they were, and Scott felt pride well up in his chest.

"Can we get drive-thru on the way, Mom?" Gordon whined. "I'm starving!"

The comm collapsed into a cacophony of chatter, and Scott couldn't help a facepalm. So much for his mature, well-oiled team, he thought, but Virgil's voice cut through the noise like a hot knife through butter.

"Knock it off!" The comm went silent, and Scott felt his insides recoil in sympathy. "Gordon, you just earned wire brush duty when we get back. Keep it up and you'll be emptying 'Two's onboard latrine. Manually."

"He was just-" Alan ventured, but Virgil cut him off again.

"Wanna give him a hand, Alan?"

The young voice came back instantly, giving Scott the mental image of a puppy cowering with its tail between its legs. "No sir."

"That's what I thought. Stay on task, Thunderbirds. I've got stuff for us to eat on the way, Gordon; you won't starve."

Scott leaned back in his father's desk chair for a moment, then reached out and tapped John's private channel. "Damn. Do I sound like that?"

"Like what?" The space monitor's voice was limned with irritation at being interrupted. "Stand by, Scott; I need to-"

John's voice was replaced with a milder, pre-recorded version over a soothing piece of music Virgil himself had composed. "Thank you for calling International Rescue. Your call is extremely important to us. We will be with you in just a moment. Gracias por llamar al Rescate Internacional. Usted llamada es…"

Rolling his eyes, Scott cut the comm feed and sat watching his team's icons hover over the terrain. The view wasn't an uncommon one, as there had been times when he had stayed behind for various reasons, but today it made him feel like a third arm-useless and getting in the way.

There was movement out of the corner of his eye, and he turned to see his grandmother holding a steaming cup. She set the cup on the desk, then folded her arms and cast her own eyes toward the holographic globe. "Hard to be on the sidelines, huh, sweetie?"

He took a swallow from the cup and grimaced: She'd given him tea again, though this time it was black and sweet instead of herbal. "Yeah, sure is. I know they've got it under control, but…" He shrugged. "I'm not even manning the comms for them; I'm just a spectator." A sigh. "Really hard to get used to that."

Ruth hugged him about the shoulders. "I know. Just a few more sessions with the neurologist to make sure you're firing on all cylinders, and you'll be cleared for comm duty."

He rolled his eyes again. "Yeah. Woo-hoo. So exciting." He watched his grandmother's brows drew together, and instantly felt a wave of guilt wash over him. "I know, I had a head injury, ten days intubated, lucky to be alive, etcetera. I'll be quiet."

"Don't be in such a hurry, Scotty," she murmured, petting his gelled hair. "You'll be out there soon enough. Take some time and just be, okay?"

That was the problem, Scott mused. He'd never been very good at just being. He'd always been on the move, reaching for the next goal. To be constrained to baby steps the last few weeks had been frustrating, even as his doctors continued to be pleased with his progress.

He got to his feet and restlessly paced the boards above the sunken lounge. Much to Gordon and Alan's disappointment, the hoverchair had been loaded up and left at the hospital after last week's consultation with Enzo. He had even resumed his daily jog on the beach-with Kayo in tow for safety's sake. It had been wonderful to move his body freely, even though his inactivity during his convalescence had meant they had to turn back after only half a mile.

Even now, he stifled a yawn, grinning sheepishly when Ruth's frown deepened. "Okay, Grandma, what's that look for?"

"You've been up since they left," she chided. "That was six hours ago. You need a nap, mister."

Scott made a face. "Don't you think I'm a little old for you to be putting me down for a nap?"

"Get," Ruth ordered, "or I'll tuck you in, too."

The ripple of conversation and the smell of food wafting from downstairs told Scott that he'd been asleep much longer than the hour-long nap he'd planned. After a good stretch, he got to his feet and padded across the room to head downstairs. He found Kayo drinking a cup of green tea at the table as Gordon sleepily demolished a short stack of pancakes. Alan shuffled past, his own empty plate bearing a few smears of syrup. Brains alone looked bright-eyed and chipper, consulting his tablet while MAX stood beside him like an adoring terrier. A closer look told Scott the reason for Brains' wide-awake attitude: A small cup at his elbow that held just a trace of caramel-colored crema, the remains of his latest serving of espresso.

Virgil, Scott noticed, was nowhere to be seen, and he ruffled Alan's hair as he went past on his way to the kitchen and a waiting plate of surplus pancakes. "Hey, where's the big guy?"

Alan yawned hugely. "Nunno. Hangar, 'guess." He waved a hand toward the remaining people in the room. "'Night."

"Goodnight, Alan," Kayo sighed, folding forward to rest her head atop her arms on the table.

Brains didn't look up at first, but then he blinked and raised his head in time to see Alan's retreat. "Oh, uh, goodnight."

Gordon gave an inarticulate noise that sounded either like a sneeze or a grunt and followed-albeit slowly-in his little brother's footsteps. Scott stood and watched him go, brows knitted, and then turned to take the elevator down to the hangar.

He found Virgil as Alan said he would, still seated in the cockpit of his beloved 'Bird. He was also still in his blues, though he'd laid his baldric aside and peeled off the neoprene so the sleeves hung loose from his waist, his sweaty black arming tunic clinging to him like a second skin. Scott stood and watched Virgil work for a moment, marveling at how his middle brother had grown from a scabby-kneed kid, hands always bashed up from some project or other, to this gentle giant of a man who prided himself on knowing the ins and outs of machinery more complex than the average engineer would ever get their hands on.

"What can I do for you, Scott?" Virgil asked, not turning around. His fingers flipped switches and scanned through schematics as easily as he coaxed music from the piano.

"Don't you think it's time to pack it in?" Scott walked forward into the cabin and stood beside Virgil, reaching out to rest a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Everyone else is upstairs. Alan just went to bed, and Gordon's right on his heels." He chuckled. "Though I'm not sure Gordon's gonna make it all the way to his room; I won't be surprised if we find him curled up on the stairwell."

"Heh." Virgil huffed out a laugh, but continued working. "I'll be here awhile. You go back upstairs; you need your rest."

"So do you." Scott planted his feet and crossed his arms. "It'll wait."

"No, it won't," Virgil countered. "You always say: 'Never put off until tomorrow-"

"-what you can do today,'" Scott finished for him. "I know, but-" He sighed. "You spend enough time in that seat. I don't wanna come down in the morning and find you asleep in it."

Virgil paused and lowered his hand, then turned to face his older brother, bringing his stubbled chin and dark circles under his bloodshot eyes into view. "Scott, do you know what our average response time is?"

Scott snorted; he knew that as well as his own name. "Four minutes, thirty-five seconds from call to launch."

"And do you know how we consistently clock in that time? By being in a constant state of readiness." He studied Scott for a long moment, then turned back to his console. "In other words, if this 'Bird isn't ready to go when I plant my ass in this chair, people die."

Something sharp twisted in Scott's gut, and he narrowed his eyes at Virgil. "That's fine, but answer me this: How many people do you think you'll be able to save when that ass is dragging, huh?"

Virgil didn't reply. Instead, he jumped out of his seat and made to push past Scott on his way aft, but Scott grabbed fistfuls of his arming tunic and arrested his forward motion. Before his injuries, Scott would have slammed him against the bulkhead, but now he resorted to digging in his heels and pushing against Virgil's chest. "I asked you a question, Thunderbird Two," Scott growled. "I may be on the sidelines, but I'm still the goddamned commander of this unit!"

For six agonizing heartbeats, Virgil's gaze drilled into Scott's, his jaw knotting. "No, you're not," Virgil answered evenly. "I am. You gave me this job." Tears welled in Virgil's eyes. "Right before you stopped breathing."

Scott blinked, a swirl of memories assaulting him. His father in white, a beach, deep satisfaction and yet wishing it hadn't ended, he still had more to do…

"You looked right at me and said 'you're the boss now.' Excuse me for taking you seriously when you're on death's doorstep."

Forcing his hands to unclench, Scott took a step back. "Of course I handed over chain of command to you; that's our protocol." He could feel a headache coming on and raised a hand to his head, bringing alarm into Virgil's face, but he waved his brother off. "I'm sorry. What I meant to say was: Don't push so hard, huh?"

Virgil took a deep, shaky breath. "I swore to myself that I would do everything I could to lead us as well as you do. I spent days watching you fight your way back to us and I'll be damned if I let anything get in the way of you coming all the way back." He shrugged. "If that means I have to push things a little to pick up the slack, then so be it."

"Virg, we're Tracys. We don't just push a little." Scott sighed, feeling drained. "I've been there. I've flown my 'Bird through my eyelids. I've been so sick from an empty stomach that I've nearly puked all over my rescue. We've all been there."

Virgil stared at his big brother for a long moment. "So what are you saying?"

Scott found that his own eyes were wet, and he blinked away the blurriness to give Virgil a watery smile. "I'm saying that maybe it's time to take better care of ourselves. Yeah, we're still gonna get tired, but maybe not stupid tired." He snorted. "I know you want me back, but you can't heal me by wringing yourself dry, you know."

A rough chuckle. "Who says?"

"I do, you big ox." Scott pulled him into a hug, then stepped back and wrapped a hand around the back of Virgil's neck. "So quit it. International Rescue is down one member; no good reason for it to be down two, if we can help it."

"You're right." Virgil sighed and wiped his eyes on the hem of his shirt. "You're right."

"I'm the big brother, of course I'm right." Scott squeezed Virgil's nape, then released him. "So, you coming down?"

"No." Virgil held up his hands, quelling Scott's indignant splutter. "But I'm almost done, I swear. You can even stay and help me if you want."

Scott eyed him dubiously. "What do you need?"

"Here." Virgil flicked a switch and brought a holographic list into view. "Go through the supply list and see if there's any holes." When Scott made a face, he pointed to the list again. "You wanna help? Check the list."

"Fine, fine." Dropping into the co-pilot's chair, Scott settled to his task while his brother turned back to his own post-flight checks. "Well, according to this, you're missing a bedpan."

"Hm. Check with Gordon; he's probably got it."

"What the-" Scott shook his head. "No. I don't wanna know." He glanced at the list, noting items that needed to be restocked, and sent the file over to Virgil with a flick of his fingers. "There. Resupply list is go."

Virgil scrolled through the list, nodding to himself. "Thanks for doing that." He split the window into two, populated the second with the needed items, and then sent it to the secure warehouse in Melbourne where the bulk of their operating supplies were delivered. Scott sighed; he was usually the one who went with Virgil to pick up their supplies, but right now he wondered if he'd be allowed to assist with even that mundane job. Thankfully, Virgil's voice cut into his musings before they could get too maudlin.

"Alright, the order will arrive on Thursday. Wanna come with?"

Scott tried and failed to keep the eagerness out of his voice. "Sure, I'll be glad to lend a hand."

"Of course," Virgil added, "Gordy and Kayo will handle the heavy stuff, but I thought you might appreciate a change of scenery. You'll have the important job: Scoring us some take-away for lunch."

Scott made a rude noise. "Oooh, Thunderbird Go-Fer," he scoffed. "So glamorous."

"Hey, we gotta eat, don't we? Part of that 'taking care of ourselves' thing you've been yelling about today." Virgil sighed wearily and shut the console down. "Speaking of food, I need some, and I don't mean celery crunch bars." He made a face. "I have no idea why Gordon likes those; they give me some wicked gas."

"I think that's why he likes them." Scott rose to his feet to follow Virgil to the lift. "And I wasn't yelling."

Virgil raised an eyebrow. "'I'm the goddamned commander of this unit?'" He snorted. "You sure as hell didn't learn that from Dad."

"Did so," Scott countered, as they crossed the hangar to the main elevator. "Dad could be a hard-ass. You just don't remember." They entered the lift and leaned against opposite walls, facing each other. "We miss him so much that it's like…" He trailed off, racking his newly-healed cortices for an appropriate word.

"We've eulogized him," Virgil replied softly, staring at the floor. "We've done that thing where we only mention the best about him, the noble things, the heroic things he did. We skip over the real stuff, the things that made him our living, breathing Dad." He raised his head and fixed Scott with a mischievous grin. "For example: Talk about gas; Dad could out-fart all of us. Gordon included."

Scott leaned his head back against the wall and laughed. "Oh, man, could he ever! Grandma used to get so pissed at him for stinking up the living room. And remember how he used to give Zeb the stablehand the day off and make us muck out the stalls every time we left the toilet seat up?" Scott snickered. "One time Gordy said that was dumb because we were all guys and Grandma had her own bathroom." He rolled his eyes. "As I recall, he never said that again."

Virgil, too, laid his head back against the wall, his gaze going far away. "I remember that. I miss the farm sometimes, but that's one thing I don't miss. Although sometimes our chores are still just as disgusting," he said with a rueful smile.

The elevator dinged and opened onto the kitchen level, and they stepped out onto the teak boards. "Yeah, like manually emptying 'Two's latrine," Scott snarked, opening the oven to reveal a glass baking dish full of pancakes. "I noticed that got Gordon's attention." He grabbed the dish-and then instantly dropped it on the oven door, hissing in pain. "Shit!" He shook his fingers, then folded them into his armpits. "Damn, that hurt."

"Would you please stop injuring yourself?" Virgil grabbed him by the shoulders and marched him over to the sink, then ran the cool tap and stuck Scott's hands under the water. "I swear, I feel like I need to swaddle you in bubble wrap or something." He let the water run for a minute, then shut it off and took Scott's hands into his, peering at the inflamed digits. "Hmm."

"Give it to me straight, Doc," Scott said tonelessly, as Virgil grabbed a towel and gently dried the reddened skin. "Will I ever play the tuba again?"

"Considering you never learned, I sure as hell hope not." Virgil tossed the towel aside and turned to fish a pair of oven mitts from a drawer. "Try again, hot shot, only don't burn your fingers off this time."

"Now maybe you'll stop calling me a 'smother hen'," Scott tossed over his shoulder, using the oven mitts to retrieve the hot pan and set it on the stove. He removed the mitts and shut the oven door, then reached up to retrieve a plate from the cupboard. Snatching a pair of tongs from the utensil crock on the counter, he grabbed up a half dozen of the fluffy rounds and piled them on the plate, then set the plate in front of Virgil at the bar. "Bone app-eh-tee-toe," he snarked.

"Penny would stab you in the neck with her Louboutins if she heard you murdering the French language like that," Virgil laughed, loading his cakes with butter and syrup. "And what's this noise about me being a smother-hen?" He cut a wedge from the cakes and speared it with his fork. "Just looking out for you, that's all."

"You don't think I've wanted to wrap you all in bubble wrap?" Scott shook his head and leaned against the counter. "I've had to fight off that urge since the day you were born, times four. Nice to know that I'm not the only one afflicted with that malady."

Virgil put his fork down, then chewed and swallowed. "John accused me of that, too, right after you woke up. I was all over him about sleeping and eating, and he called me out." He shrugged and speared another wedge. "I guess he was right; it just sort of gets downloaded with the job description."

"I dunno what my job description is now," Scott said sourly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Useless appendage? Seat warmer?" He jerked his chin toward Virgil's rapidly emptying plate. "Waitstaff?"

Virgil mopped up some syrup with a golden-brown triangle of pancake, then raised his eyes to Scott's. "I'll take any of those over picking out your headstone," he said quietly.

"I-" Scott sighed. "Yeah. Sorry."

"You'll be back in the saddle soon," Virgil reassured him. "Don't push it."

"That's what Grandma told me."

"Well then, there you go."

"What'll I do till then?" Scott whined. "Brains changed Thunderbird One's access codes; I can't even get into the cockpit and just sit in the chair." He pursed his lips in thought. "Wonder if I could bribe John into hacking the database."

"Are you kidding me? You'd be better off talking to MAX." Virgil's eyes went wide, his finger pointing at Scott in an 'aha!' gesture. "I've got it! You can read some fan mail."

Scott groaned. "Here lies Scott Carpenter Tracy, buried under the missives of his adoring fans." He raised an eyebrow. "On second thought, that might not be so bad."

"They send photos." Virgil looked like his pancakes had suddenly turned sour in his stomach.

"Cute ones?"

"They send photos," Virgil reiterated. "Full stop."

"Hmm. Maybe I'll go rearrange my sock drawer instead."

"Iron your underwear."

"Take up recreational flossing."

"Go watch some paint dry."

They collapsed into laughter, snorting and giggling until Scott moaned and clutched his stomach. "Oh, oof," he gritted through a pained grin. "That's still kinda sore."

Virgil picked up his plate and walked it into the kitchen. "News flash: Abdominal surgery will do that to you." He let out a belch that echoed against the boards.

"That was weak, Tracy," Scott snarked at him over his shoulder. "A five at best."

"Nah, that was a solid seven." Virgil put his plate and utensils in the dishwasher, then turned back to Scott with a yawn. "Well, whatever you do, please don't use anything sharp while unsupervised. I'm gonna hit the sack."

Scott chuckled, one hand still draped across his stomach. "Okay, I promise. And before you say it, yes, I plan to go to bed soon, too." He tossed him a mock-salute. "G'night, V."

"'Night, Scotty."

Scott made sure Virgil gained the landing without mishap, then sighed and moved to the now-cool dish of pancakes. He reached for a plate, then closed the cupboard without getting one down and took the pan over to the table. He eyed the butter knife warily, then smiled to himself and buttered his pancakes with the back of a spoon.

Two weeks later, Virgil sat at his father's desk, scrolling through Dr. Morton's latest report on Scott's neurological state. On the other side of the comm, John was also reviewing the report, and his eyes flicked to Virgil's when his brother gave an affirmative grunt.

"So?" John prodded. "What do you think?"

Virgil shut down the report, knowing that simple act sent it back into Scott's file on the mainframe, shunting it into various subfolders labeled 'health' and 'incidents,' all classified by date. "Well, it's all good news: Scott's short-term memory, as well as his visual, auditory, and language centers are all working at or very near the baseline we sent to the hospital from his annual physical."

John's left arm cradled his right elbow, and he tapped his top lip with his right thumb. "Do I hear a 'but' coming?"

"You don't," Virgil countered. "Scott's doing well. They've cleared him for light duty."

"Whatever we decide that is," John supplied. "I know he'll be ecstatic."

"He just isn't cleared for flight yet," Virgil reminded him, rubbing his eyes and yawning. "That's what he's hoping for."

"It's what we all hope for, V," John countered. "We just need to decide what kind of bone to throw him so he won't completely go off the deep end before he's fully cleared."

"I've been racking my brain all day, but I'm coming up empty." Virgil sighed. "Everything we do is so labor-intensive. He's been our backup at the comms for a week, and while it's good practice, I know he's gotta be hungry for more."

EOS' dulcet tones broke in politely, and Virgil was pleased that her everywhere-and-nowhere voice didn't make him jump. "John, I may have a solution to this dilemma."

Her creator couldn't hide a quick, proud smile. "What do you propose?"

"There are always tasks that need to be completed, many of which go undone while International Rescue is experiencing high call volume," she said. "Perhaps you could recruit Scott to complete some of them, as many require manual dexterity and concentration, rather than sheer physical effort."

"Hmm." John tapped his lip again. "That's a thought."

"Also: Scott might find a zero-g environment comforting to any lingering injury he sustained during the incident."

"He's told me he feels a few twinges now and again," Virgil mused. "What do you think, spaceman? You wanna play host to your big bro for a while?"

John nodded. "I think that might be a good first outing. If Scott's cleared for comms then why not have him up here? Like EOS said, there's always something to do, and I'd be glad of the help."

Virgil grinned. "He's gonna be so excited. I think you should be the one to invite him up."

"I'm excited, too." John shared his brother's grin. "He's one step closer to being back in the chair."

"Busy work." Scott frowned at his brother's hologram, arms crossed over his chest. "You want me to come up there and do a bunch of busy work for you."

Behind him, Virgil did a facepalm. John, however, didn't seem to be fazed by his big brother's attitude, and though Virgil could hear the faintest edge creep into John's voice, he knew it was frustration, not anger, that put it there.

"No, not busy work," John countered. "There's always stuff that I can't get to, and I-well, we, Virgil and I-we thought that you could help us out while you're rehabbing. You're cleared for comms, so you can back me up if we get busy."

Scott stared at John, lips twisted in doubt. "For how long?"

John looked past Scott at Virgil. "What do you think, Virgil, two weeks? At least until his next checkup?"

Virgil stood from where he'd been sitting on the corner of Jeff's desk. "Sounds good to me. How 'bout it, Scooter?"

"Well, not like I'm doing anything around here," Scott mused. "Okay. Send me up."

"All right." Virgil trotted down the steps to the lounge and hugged Scott around the shoulders. "One step closer, bro. And hey: Your first gear-up since you've been back! That counts for something, doesn't it?"

Scott gave him a grudging smile. "It does. I think my uniform might be a little loose for a while, but it's definitely a step in the right direction."

In an emergency, few sights were more welcome to weary eyes than of the 'boys in blue' and their mighty machines. However, no complete photos of the uniforms existed, thanks to specialized image scrambling technology embedded in the suits themselves. Remembering his own sons' childhoods, Jeff had been shrewd enough to grant toy companies licenses to market 'International Rescue' costumes, and toy replicas of the vehicles were popular with children and collectors the world over. Of course, none of those copies held a candle to the real thing.

Unlike their kiddie counterparts, each of the real uniforms was different from the others. Even the shades of blue, were Virgil to lay them side by side on his canvas, were distinct. John's blues were meant to mimic the contrast between Earth and deep space. Alan's blues ran the gamut from troposphere to thermosphere. Gordon's blue was deepest sea, rich and vibrant with life. His own was the steady blue of the horizon, solid and unwavering. Scott's were nothing but sky: the pure powder blue of daylight and the deep blue of midnight.

Each uniform, along with its baldric and accompanying tools, was scanned after each use for wear and replaced as needed, their materials recycled as much as possible. This completely automated process took place in a specialized fab shop deep under the island. Any errors in manufacture could leave the wearer dangerously vulnerable, so each uniform was examined down to the microscopic level several times before joining the half-dozen available to each member.

As Virgil knew it would, 'a little loose' turned out to be a marked understatement, rendering all of Scott's six uniforms unusable-for the moment. However, he needed a space-rated uniform as well as a refit, so Scott had stripped to the skin and stepped into Brains' scanner, just as he had for his very first fitting. Virgil watched as his brother stood behind the frosted privacy glass (more to spare Brains' sensibilities than anything) and submitted to his new scan. While Scott's expression was sliding towards annoyed at his still-recovering body, Virgil knew his own was more concerned. Scott had gained muscle in the weeks since returning to the island, but he was still nowhere near his former self. Once again, Virgil hoped he was doing the right thing by putting Scott back into uniform.

Twenty-four hours later, Brains stepped back with a smile and surveyed the fabber's handiwork. "I think you'll f-find that's much more comfortable," he said, adjusting his glasses on his nose. "How's the fit?"

Scott stretched his arms up high, nearly standing on his toes, then sunk into a crouch. He flexed his hands, rolled his wrists, and shook out each foot in turn. "Feels great," he chirped. He bounced on the balls of his feet a few times, then raised first one knee, then the other. "Feels awesome, in fact." He let out a long, satisfied sigh. "I forgot how good it feels when you first put it on."

Gordon snickered. "And how it chafes when you've had it on for two days straight."

"As you regain your muscle m-mass, we'll refit you," Brains said. "Let me know when it begins to get too tight."

Gordon looked Scott up and down, then jogged forward in a playful boxing stance. "Looks good, bro," he said, throwing a gentle mock-jab as Scott brought his vambraces up with a fond smile. "Nice to have you back in blue."

"Nice to be back." He held out his arms from his sides and revolved slowly for Virgil's inspection. "How 'bout it, boss? Do I pass muster?"

"I think you and Alan could wear the same size right now, except that you're taller," Virgil quipped. "Seriously, you look good. I'm with Gordy; it's great to see you in uniform."

"Thanks." Scott flexed his hands in the full-fingered gloves. "When do I go up?"

Scott waited anxiously for the elevator to dock and the airlock to cycle, and broke into a wide smile when the door finally irised open. John stood waiting, his eyes alight with pleasure.

"Hey, big brother," John chirped as Scott stepped into the station. "Welcome aboard." Scott found himself wrapped in a gentle hug, then John stepped back and looked him over from head to foot. "You look great. How are you feeling?"

"Doing good," Scott assured him with a smile. "Glad to be here."

"Let's put your stuff away." John led him to the crew quarters, and Scott dropped his bag on the bunk opposite John's. "At the risk of setting off a cascade of events, things have been quiet today."

"Well, that won't last long; it never does." Scott unzipped his bag and stowed the battered copies of 'Catch-22' and 'The Right Stuff' he'd brought, along with a small model of Thunderbird One, a plastic zip-top bag of toiletries, his shaving kit, and a few changes of the arming tunic and shorts they all wore under their uniforms. He shoved his pillow into the remaining space above the bunk, then shut the door securely over all before turning to his host. "There. All the comforts of home." He grinned at John. "Please tell me you're gonna let me have some coffee."

John laughed and followed Scott out of the small space. "I had to promise Grandma to make it decaf." Scott groaned, and John held up a placating hand. "All right, we'll compromise: Half caff, plus sugar. But don't tell Grandma."

"You're killing me, spaceman," Scott whined. "I'll be floating around here half asleep."

"That's actually not a bad idea; several studies have suggested that zero-g sleep is-"

"John-"

"I just don't want you overextending yourself."

"Stop it. I'm fine." And he was, really; he was feeling stronger, sleeping better, and most definitely eating better than he had in a long while. For some reason, he thought sourly, it seemed like his family was overlooking those facts and just focusing on the muscle mass he'd lost. And that, too, was beginning to creep back, along with his endurance-a bit slower than he would have liked, but it was coming.

"Almost fine," John corrected him as they made their way toward the galley. "Dr. Morton said he wants to see how you do up here before he gives you the final countdown back to active duty.'" He arched a ginger eyebrow. "By the way, nice of you to offer yourself up to the cause of science. What did Dr. Morton say-that he was going to write a paper about traumatic brain injury recovery in low-orbit space, with you as the subject?"

"Yeah," Scott said, rolling his eyes. When Morton had proposed it, he'd been eager to help, but now he wondered what he'd gotten himself into. "Nice to know I'm useful as a guinea pig."

"Now you're the one who needs to stop," John chided, reaching out to catch a bagel in his right hand, then another in his left as EOS chucked them from the provisioning locker. "You'll be doing us both a favor, and getting back into the swing of things as well. I'd say that's-"

"John, there is a distress call coming in. You are needed in the commsphere," EOS broke in from the speaker overhead.

"Oh, uh-" John tossed the bagels at Scott, who caught them and laid them on the table. "Hold that thought. Go ahead and have something to eat. Coffee unit is on the wall, and mugs are in the cupboard. Everything's labeled." He zipped out the door, and Scott turned to the food prep unit, scratching his head.

"Now, where can I get some cream cheese in this joint?" he muttered.

As if on cue, a small door popped open, revealing a miniature refrigerator. A moment's searching among the condiments and perishables revealed a pint-sized silver tub labeled 'cream cheese' in John's clear, precise writing on the lid. Cackling to himself, Scott snagged the tub, shut the door, and addressed the air again. "How about a knife?" This time, a drawer popped open to reveal a set of plastic cutlery. "Nice," he said, retrieving the plastic knife with a grin. "How about a beer?"

"Alcoholic beverages are strictly forbidden within the station, Scott," EOS replied. "Besides, in your continuing convalescent state-"

"I know, I know." Scott chuckled. "I was just joking with you. Hey, does John have a toaster?"

"Yes. Please reinsert the bagels into the delivery chute," EOS instructed. "John often consumes his plain in the interest of time, but the galley is equipped with a toasting function."

Scott did as he was bade and slipped the bagels back into the chute they'd been launched from. In just a few moments, another drawer slid open, revealing two perfectly toasted bagels, each sliced precisely in half. Scott took a long sniff of the comforting scent, and was smiling as he grabbed two paper plates from a dispenser under the cabinet. "Can you start the coffee while I finish this up?" he asked, prying open the lid of the tub.

"Of course," she answered. "John can prepare the coffee manually, but I often engage the automated process so it is ready at the precise moment he awakens."

Scott spread cream cheese on the bagel halves. "You really take good care of him, don't you?" he asked, his tone thoughtful.

"John is my creator," she reminded him. "Without John, I have no reason to exist. A great many of my subroutines are dedicated to his care." She was silent a moment. "He is my best friend. He kept me safe from those who would use me for their own selfish aims." The silence was several heartbeats longer. "I would do anything for him."

Scott's eyebrows climbed. "Yes, I believe you would."

"Does that worry you?"

"Maybe a little," Scott allowed. "I've seen what you're like when you're angry." He retrieved a cup decorated with the old-style serif IR logo and poured it full of rich-smelling brew from the thermal pot set neatly into the wall, then added sugar from the covered container built into the coffee service unit. "However I've also seen how you two work together. He was a little lonely, I think, before you came along." Scott sat and pulled a plate with two halves toward him, looking up as John walked through the hatchway.

"False alarm." He retrieved his own well-used MIT mug and filled it with coffee. "Controlled burn jumped a freeway in California. I redirected the call to the local authorities; turns out they've been working on it for a while. I told them we'd keep an eye on them just in case. Hey, this is a big treat-toasted bagels with cream cheese." He sat opposite Scott and picked up his snack. "I usually scarf mine down as is and get back to the comm."

"EOS told me." Scott smiled behind his mug. "So what are those 'little jobs' you need help with?"

John chewed a mouthful of bagel and chased it with a sip of coffee. "Well, the hydroponic farm needs tending," he replied. "I think the light needs to be adjusted; my strawberries are a little pale. The zucchinis need to be harvested again; they're just as prolific here as they are Earthside." He blushed. "I've already given several pounds to Ridley and her crew; they said they've got all they can eat."

"You signed me up to play space farmer," Scott laughed. "Wait till I tell Virgil." He took another sip of coffee. "Speaking of Ridley...we didn't even think about how my being here is gonna throw a spanner into your love life. Sorry about that."

John blushed even redder. "It's okay. It's not like we go at it like bunnies up here. No, wait-" His eyes widened as Scott sprayed a fine mist of coffee all over the table. "What I meant was-"

Still laughing, Scott got up from his seat to retrieve a sanitizing wipe. "I know what you meant. You're both way too busy to be having sex marathons." Scott wiped down the table, then tossed the disposable cloth into the recycler. "You're an adult, you're entitled to a life of your own outside of International Rescue. Captain O'Bannon-Ridley-is a nice girl. Woman. If you two need to spend some time together, I can go EVA and scrub the hull with a toothbrush or something."

"I'll keep that in mind," John said as the edges of his ears went pink, "but yeah, she's...special." His gaze went soft and far away for a moment, then he blinked and brought his eyes up to Scott's. "She was really worried about you."

"I got the flowers she and her crew sent." Scott stopped and he, too, blinked. "No, she didn't send them. She brought them to me." He shook his head. "I was still kind of out of it when she came by."

"She told me you were friendly but a little vague when she saw you." John shrugged. "I guess she just wanted to see for herself that you were all right. She's like that; she doesn't let anyone do anything she thinks she ought to be doing herself."

"Ah, a girl after my own heart," Scott quipped. "That's why she's the captain of Global One."

"What about you?" John asked, leaning his elbows on the table, coffee mug between his fingers.

Those turquoise eyes were much too knowing, and Scott glanced down into his own mug to avoid them. "What about me?"

"Is there a girl after your own heart?"

Scott's eyebrows went halfway to his hairline, and he uttered an embarrassed laugh. "Okay, so I dunno how we got on this subject."

"Just a question." John sipped from his mug. "You've been saying lately that your accident has made you think about a lot of stuff. Has it made you think about finding someone?"

Scott nudged the uneaten second half of his bagel around on the plate. "A few times," he admitted. "No one comes to mind, really."

"You've had plenty of girlfriends," John said, a smile ghosting across his lips. "There must be someone you'd get serious with."

Scott winced as his face grew uncomfortably warm. "The last person I was serious with was Astrid Farrow." Everyone after that had been after his money, his body, or both, and he couldn't envision spending the rest of his life with any of them.

"Astrid, that girl you dated in high school? How about her?"

"She came to our ten-year class reunion. Married, four kids." Scott sighed. "Still a knockout."

"Oh." John shifted on the bench. "Well, I know we said we would never date rescues, but I guess I broke that rule." He grinned. "You should call up Marion Van Arkel and ask her out. Or that cargo pilot, what was her name? June?"

"Jane," Scott gritted, feeling his own cheeks heat up. "Jane Carter."

"She seemed nice. You should give her a call sometime."

Scott stared at him. "I can't believe I'm taking relationship advice from my space monk of a brother."

John sighed, the picture of long-suffering. " I was attracted to Ridley in a...different way. I didn't immediately think 'wow, she's cute.' She was my friend, someone who knew what my life was like day to day...then I realized that I missed her when she wasn't around. Turned out the feeling was mutual." He shrugged. "Honestly, I'm just as surprised as you are."

"So you're saying that if you can fall in love with someone and make it work in space, that I should be able to find at least one woman who'll take me on?"

"Yeah, I guess I am." John polished off his coffee and got to his feet, adding a long stretch. "You finished?"

Nodding, Scott tossed back the remainder of his coffee and handed the mug to John. "When's your sleep cycle?"

John fished a plastic container from a cabinet and boxed up the uneaten bagel halves, then stowed them in the fridge. "Was supposed to start 'bout an hour ago." He wiped the mugs with a paper towel, then replaced them back in the cupboard and shut the door securely. "I wanted to make sure I was awake when you got here."

"Aww, Jay, I could have held off for a few hours." Scott gave him a brotherly thwap to the back of his gelled coif. "How about you give me a ten-minute refresher course and then hit the hay?"

Scott was not surprised when the 'ten minute refresher course' turned into almost an hour of detailed instruction. By the end of it, John was beginning to droop, and Scott sent him toward the crew quarters with a gentle push. "Okay, bedtime for you."

"I'm going." John unsuccessfully stifled a yawn. "Wake me if you need anything, okay?"

"Don't worry, I won't."

Standing in the hatchway, John turned back to survey his older brother with a raised ginger eyebrow. "You won't wake me, or you won't need anything?"

"Yes." Scott shooed him toward the door. "Say goodnight, Johnny."

"Goodnight, Johnny," the astronaut quipped, and Scott was alone in the commsphere.

Well, not precisely alone: "Good evening, Scott."

"Good evening, EOS." Resisting the urge to look up-his ersatz niece could scan him from anywhere in the station-Scott turned his attention to the main communications array, which was peacefully humming to itself at the moment. Just for practice, Scott initiated a scan over the planet that began at Tracy Island and moved over the Earth in ever-widening rings until it ended back at the Island. Satisfied that all was well, Scott retraced his brother's footsteps out of the comm room."What's first on our to-do list?"

"As John mentioned, the hydroponic farm's artificial sunlight needs adjusting."

"Oh yeah, the strawberries. Hang on a minute." He ducked into the crew quarters for a moment to check on John, smiling fondly at the sight of his brother's long, lean form stretched on the bunk, a book dangling from one hand. As John rolled over, the worn volume fell with a plop onto the floor. Scott scooped up the book and placed it in the compartment above the bunk, then gave his sleeping sibling a gentle pat on the shoulder before continuing on his way toward the hydroponic farm.

"There, that's got it," Scott muttered to himself, giving final turn to a screw holding a panel flush against the wall of the bathing facility. "Okay, that's one hydroponic light adjusted for optimum strawberry ripening, six zucchini harvested and boxed up, three marks of unknown origin scrubbed from walls, one replacement squash ball inflated, and three wiggly panels tightened." Scott clapped non-existent dust from his gloved hands. "A productive evening, if I do say so myself."

"Thank you, Scott," EOS chimed. "John will be pleased at your efficiency."

"You're welcome. Leaves plenty to do though," Scott mused, scrolling through the holographic list on his wrist comm.

"Many of the items are experiments suggested by school children through the 'Junior Astronaut' science unit," said EOS. "It is a source of frustration for John that many of the students must wait for an extended period of time before he is able to conduct their experiments."

"I know," Scott said, eyes still on the list. "I was all for this, but some of these sound pretty off the wall." He chuckled. "'Have a zero-gravity pillow fight and measure the force needed to convey your opponent varying distances.' Is that scientific?"

"Maybe not, but it sounds like fun."

At the sleepy voice, Scott turned to see John standing in the doorway to his quarters. "Hey, good morning, sunshine. We didn't wake you up, did we?"

John waved his question away even as he yawned against the back of his hand. "No, my body pretty much knows when it's time to wake up." He smiled. "Been doing this for a while."

"Yeah," Scott allowed, watching his brother amble toward the main terminus of the station. "I picked your zucchini for you. Got some of the flowers, too."

"Oh?" John's voice floated back to him from the galley, then came back. "That's right; Alan likes fried stuffed squash blossoms," he said around a bite of cold bagel. "Never had a taste for them myself."

"Me either," Scott said, wrinkling his nose. "I-"

"John, there are two distress calls coming in simultaneously," EOS broke in.

"Are they from the same emergency?" John asked, voice immediately falling into his 'command and control' register.

"No. This is an ideal situation for Scott to take the second call."

John grabbed Scott as the gravity turned off, expertly pushing off the floor and pulling Scott along with him. "Right. That's a luxury we don't usually have." They gained the main commsphere, which was lit up like a Christmas tree, twin red icons floating over the massive holographic globe. With a sweep of his hand, John tossed the icon hovering over Belarus to Scott. "Stretch it out, and the sitch data will populate: Area affected, likely population, suggestion of Thunderbird best suited for the task." John cracked a smile even as he got to his own work. "Brains thought of everything."

"Hello?" shouted a woman's voice with a thick Baltic accent. "International Rescue? Please, we need help! The river, it is rising!"

Scott did as John bade, his eyes scanning the information pouring into the station. "This is International Rescue," Scott said. "I need you to stay calm. Can you safely get to shelter?"

"Yes, but water coming very fast!" The voice broke off in a torrent of Baltic syllables, directed to someone out of the camera's range. "I send others away from river. I do not know how long is safe."

Scott knew, and he hoped it would be just long enough for Virgil, Gordon, and Alan to get there. "We have eyes on your situation and are sending help."

"O dziakuj Hospadu," she burst out, relief evident in her voice. "Thank the Lord. We will wait for your coming, but hurry please."

Soon Thunderbird Two was en route to Belarus, which was still a tricky assignment even though eighty years had passed since the terrible accident at the Chernobyl power plant. The no-fly zone had shrunk over time, thanks to the engineers who had built a sturdy containment structure around the plant, but the area was still a hotbed of radioactivity-and the rising water would sweep even more contaminated soil into the area.

A name from his earlier conversation with his brother pinged against his brain: Marion Van Arkel. Spirited and headstrong, she had grown up in a South African uranium mine, and when he'd tried to rescue her from its ruined halls, he'd gotten a stinging earful about her 'happy childhood' when she'd spent hours exploring bore tunnels and mine shafts. These days, she acted as a consultant to the GDF, helping to decommission and clean up old nuclear power sites. A trip to Chernobyl would be right up Marion's alley.

In fact, he mused, keeping one eye on the current rescue situation and simultaneously thumbing through the iR files for his own report on her rescue, he wondered if she might have a permanent presence in the area. He called up the window where his rescue contact was still visible, directing people in the background toward a long, low concrete building in the distance. "I have someone in your area who may be able to help. Do you know this lady?" He pulled up a photo of Marion he'd grabbed from the GDF database and sent it through the link.

The woman, the brim of her ripstop rain hat flapping in the wind, squinted at the display. She frowned for a moment, but then recognition dawned in the smoky quartz irises. "Miss Marion, da. She is nice girl. Ask many questions." The woman raised an eyebrow. "Is your girlfriend, yes?"

Scott felt his cheeks go instantly hot. "Er, no-She's a friend of mine. She's an expert on radioactive zones. I'm going to contact her and see if she can assist my team with your evacuation."

Despite the real danger she was in, a small smile flitted across the woman's face. "Thank you. We will be all right now, I think."

He smiled back. "I think so, too."

After connecting Virgil with the helpful citizen in the rain gear, Scott opened up another window and reached out to an IP address that as the head of International Rescue, he knew by heart.

"Hello, International Rescue," said Col. Valerie Casey, a smile lighting her cognac-colored eyes. "It sure is good to see you in uniform, Scott. How are you doing these days?"

Scott couldn't help returning her smile; Val Casey had been a friend of his father's, and she'd been part of the Tracy family since he could remember. "Doing better, thanks. Right now I'm easing back into duty up here with John-which leads me to the reason for my call. I need to ask a favor."

She nodded. "Okay, shoot."

"Can you put me in contact with Marion Van Arkel? I have a situation in Belarus near Chernobyl, and I think she'd be just the person to help us out. I hear from folks at the scene that Marion is a regular visitor to the area."

"That she is." Casey looked away for a moment to consult her own screen, and her eyebrows rose. "This will probably come as no surprise, but she has an apartment in the town of Slavutych, about fifty kilometers to the northeast of Chernobyl. You might try her there."

Scott snagged the IP address and stashed it in another window. "Thanks, Aunt V. I owe you one."

She laughed. "I'll put it on your tab." Her smile softened. "Take care of yourself, kiddo."

When it came to rescues, Scott prided himself on knowing his job so well that hesitation was never a problem. Everything he did had been coded into his brain and his muscles from long practice, every action so well-rehearsed as to be automatic. This practice saved not only the lives of his rescues, but those of his team-and, if he was honest, his own.

However, as he keyed Marion's IP address, he felt oddly at sea. His hands were fully encased in space-rated gloves, but he still felt the need to wipe his palms against his uniform. He shook off the sensation and concentrated on being Thunderbird One, the Field Commander of International Rescue, and not Scott Tracy, eligible bachelor.

The window opened to reveal her face, brows knitted and russet irises playing hide and seek behind a charming pair of reading glasses. Her hair was shorter than he recalled-but no, now that she turned slightly, he could see that she'd bundled it into a messy knot at the back of her head. Her slender neck sloped into the soft folds of her sweater, and dots of light danced at her earlobes: small diamond studs, perhaps, or pearls. "This is Dr. Van Arkel," she said, the words limned with irritation as well as the remnants of her Afrikaans accent. Then she blinked, and the line between her brows disappeared. "Well, hello, Scott Tracy of International Rescue!" She tugged off her glasses and gave him a smile. "This is a surprise."

Professional. Keep it professional. You can do that, right, Tracy? "Hello, Doctor," Scott replied, giving her a smile in return. "It's been a while."

"It certainly has. Shackelton, wasn't it? With that big brute in the purple armor?"

His eyebrows rose. "Right. Congratulations on the degree, by the way." He hadn't heard her referred to as 'Doctor' before, so he surmised she'd earned it in the time since they'd talked-which had been, what, a year? More? He'd have to look up the Shackelton case later.

"Thank you." She beamed with pride and pleasure. "I'm fairly certain you didn't comm me up in the wilds of Northern Ukraine just to chat."

"Unfortunately, no." He called up his rescue sitrep and culled the pertinent information, then sent it over to her with a swipe of his fingertips. "The Pripyat River is rising, and I've got some folks in the exclusion zone who need evac. Would you be available to consult?"

She slipped her glasses back on and turned her attention to the window he'd sent. "I know this village," she mused, the window reflecting in her lenses. "I spent some time there last summer. Hardy folk, to stay where they do." She sighed. "But home is home, ja? Just because some people in white coats tell you that the air or the water or dirt is going to give you leukemia-even that isn't enough to make some people budge."

Scott arched an eyebrow. "Reminds me of a girl who made a playground out of a uranium mine."

She blushed, but didn't take her eyes from the sitrep window. "Touché."

"Sorry. Couldn't resist."

He could have, but he recalled how satisfying it had been during their first meeting to trade barbs with her. Yes, she'd been hostile and had nearly gotten them both killed, but he'd felt her trembling against him after they emerged from the crumbling mine. Wedged together in the back of the Mole, they'd shared a shaky 'I can't believe we're alive' smile. He'd had an unexplainable urge to wrap his arms around her, maybe even to brush a kiss against those quivering lips. He'd met plenty of pretty girls on rescues, but something about her tenacity to hang on to her past made him feel as if they were kindred spirits. He'd recalled her determination to cling to her legacy in the days following the retrieval-and subsequent loss-of TV21, but the circumstances of his daily life had swept away the thought of getting in touch with her, and he hadn't seen her again until he'd stepped into the power station at Shackelton. Even then, they hadn't had time to exchange more than the barest of pleasantries before they were in the thick of things once again. When it was over-

He gave an internal sigh. He was lucky that the bulk of his memories were intact, but some things were still missing. He couldn't recall what had happened after they'd left the shadowed power plant-or, if he was honest with himself, what exactly had taken place while they were there. He remembered Fuse, and donning the specialized orange radiation-proof version of his uniform, but the rest was a blur.

Belatedly, he realized she was speaking to him. "-can be at the checkpoint in about an hour. Do you think your crew will still be there by then?"

Scott scanned the area map again, and tapped into the data flowing into the commsphere from Virgil's suit cam and datapad. "They'll probably be there all night. After everyone's safe, I'll do another sweep and make sure there's no one still in the village. Then they'll work on shoring up any existing structures and demo any unsafe ones."

"They'll need special protection for that," Marion said. "Do you have any, or should I bring some?"

"According to our supply list, we've got orange suits for everyone," Scott informed her. He was very glad that Virgil kept meticulous records of what was aboard his 'Bird; he couldn't remember commissioning the special gear. "They should be all right, but thanks for the offer."

"Hey-" She bit her lip, and she blushed again. "Thank you for thinking of me." She frowned. "I'd heard from someone that you'd gotten injured on a rescue recently. How are you doing?"

"I'm doing better," he answered, wondering what she'd heard, and from whom. "I was laid up for quite a while. Still not back in the pilot's seat yet, so I'm visiting my brother John and giving my doctor a chance to see if injuries heal faster in zero-g." He grinned. "Currently I'm twenty-two thousand miles above you."

Marion blinked. "Wow! I had no idea your rescue operation was in space as well."

"It's sort of a need-to-know kind of thing," Scott hedged. "Say, Marion…" He swallowed. "When I get my feet back on the ground...may I give you a call? I'd like to take you to dinner." There, that hadn't been so hard, had it?

"Dinner?" Her eyebrows rose. "Scott, are you asking me on a date?"

Now it was his turn to blush. "That was the intent, yes."

Her face relaxed into a soft smile. "Good, because I'd like that." Then she shook herself and removed her glasses. "Well, I'd better get going. Please inform your ground team that I'll be in Pripyat inside two hours, and keep me posted if the situation on the ground changes."

"Will do." Scott added Marion's contact info to Virgil's feed and relayed the message so that he would see it on his HUD display and his wrist comm. "Be safe."

Her eyes twinkled. "Will do."

As her window winked out, John floated over. "How's it going?" He gave his big brother a quizzical smile. "Who were you talking to? It didn't sound like a rescue."

Scott kept his eyes on the suit cam window and dialed down on the terrain where the twisting line of the Pripyat River marked the divide between Ukraine and Belarus. "No, I was talking to Marion Van Arkel." He glanced over at John, who looked a bit confused. "I called her in as my expert. And, if you must know, I asked her on a date when I'm dirtside."

"You actually took the advice of your space-monk of a brother?" John chuckled and floated back to his own windows. "Good for you. I hope it works out."

Scott leaned back and put his hands behind his head, feeling buoyant with more than just the effects of zero-g. "You and me both."