A/N: Unlike last chapter, this one will be a sequence of short pieces, each unrelated to the others. Long format will be back next chapter.
Trusting in Thunderbird Two's imminent arrival, Scott jetted in the direction of the access hatch in the center of the collector - just as the sun peeked over the mountains. Argh! I knew I should have started earlier!
"I'm at the hatch."
"Scott, you need to get in there or you'll be a baked potato."
"I feel like one already!"
He reached the hatch without much trouble, and a Scott Tracy Signature Jetpack Maneuver transferred him from the lip of the hatch into the passage behind it. Or it would have, had his jetpack not picked that exact moment to cut out. "Argh!"
There was silence - apart from some exertive noises, which he didn't broadcast - until Virgil checked in several seconds later. "I've arrived. All right, I'm going to - Scott! Get through that hatch!"
"I'm - urgh - trying! Jetpack's fried!"
"You need an assist?"
Silence.
Scott let go of the hatch lip and tumbled down the collector dish. That looked painful.
"Scott! Come in!"
Silence.
Scott's body hit the rocks limply. That somehow looked more painful.
"Thunderbird One, talk to me!"
Dead silence.
In the wake of the failure to redirect the dish's component mirrors, Scott came to a sudden realisation (and not a second too soon). "We need to destroy this dish... I need options, Brains! Fast!"
"Here! T-the primary support beam. Remove it, and the dish will detach! I'm s-sending you coordinates now."
"Virgil, get those engineers out. I'm taking out the dish."
"Are you sure about this, Scott?" Of course Virgil just had to interject.
"It's what Dad would have done." With that, Scott bolted for the back of the dish, and the primary support beam.
He eventually got to a 'stable' perch, and began to cut through the beam. Brains' souped-up long-range laser cutter proved surprisingly effective. "Virgil, I'm cutting my way through."
Virgil was evacuating the trapped collector staff and didn't have time to respond.
Forty seconds later, having evacuated the collector staff, Virgil wondered what was taking Scott so long. He swiftly found Scott on the ground, his neck broken; he'd clearly slipped while cutting.
Virgil tried to pigeonhole his grief as he directed Thunderbird Two to rip out the primary support beam at the weakened point.
"It's what Dad would have done." With that, Scott bolted for the back of the dish, and the primary support beam.
He eventually got to a stable perch, and began to cut through the beam. Brains' souped-up long-range laser cutter proved surprisingly effective. "Virgil, I'm cutting my way through."
Virgil was evacuating the trapped collector staff and didn't have time to respond.
In some ways not a moment too soon, but in others all too soon, enough of the beam had been cut through that the rest gave way under the huge load of the collector dish. Scott, following his instinctive directional sense, held on tight as his world turned sideways, then clambered up the back of the dish as it fell.
Taiwanese cleanup personnel eventually found Virgil's mangled body, his hand still on the remote controls for his Thunderbird. He'd misjudged the falling dish's position, left his escape too late, and been crushed by its sheer mass as it made its inexorable way down the mountain. The three workers he'd saved said he'd stayed back operating the 'rescue couch' to make sure they were safe - he'd just stayed back too long, and ended up giving his life to ensure theirs.
"It's what Dad would have done." With that, Scott bolted for the back of the dish, and the primary support beam.
He eventually got to a stable perch, and began to cut through the beam. Brains' souped-up long-range laser cutter proved surprisingly effective. "Virgil, I'm cutting my way through."
Virgil was evacuating the trapped collector staff and didn't have time to respond.
In some ways not a moment too soon, but in others all too soon, enough of the beam had been cut through that the rest gave way under the huge load of the collector dish. Scott, following his instinctive directional sense, held on tight as his world turned sideways, then clambered up the back of the dish as it fell.
Taiwanese cleanup personnel eventually found Virgil's mangled body. He'd misjudged the falling dish's position while operating the 'rescue couch' and left his escape just too late; he'd made a futile flying leap to try and grab the rescue couch even as he retracted it to safety. The three workers he'd saved with that rescue couch spoke fondly of his selflessness and determination; he'd tried briefly to outrun the dish, and then made a desperate attempt to climb up it as it bore down on him, but had failed and been crushed beneath it as it made its inexorable way down the mountain.
"It's what Dad would have done." With that, Scott bolted for the back of the dish, and the primary support beam.
He eventually got to a stable perch, and began to cut through the beam. Brains' souped-up long-range laser cutter proved surprisingly effective. "Virgil, I'm cutting my way through."
Virgil was evacuating the trapped collector staff and didn't have time to respond.
In some ways not a moment too soon, but in others all too soon, enough of the beam had been cut through that the rest gave way under the huge load of the collector dish. Scott, following his instinctive directional sense, held on tight as his world turned sideways, then clambered up the back of the dish as it fell.
As he crested the edge, he was greeted with the relieving sight of all three workers - and Virgil - on the 'rescue couch'. (Well, he wasn't entirely sure how Virgil was hanging on, but whatever.) Thus satisfied in mission success, he fired up his jetpack to escape. Or would have, had it responded.
"Gaah! The heat must have fried my jetpack!"
"Scott!" How Virgil was talking and still hanging on, neither of them really knew.
Scott could only scream as he careened down the face of the mountain.
"Scott! Scott! Do you read me?!"
He didn't.
Taiwanese cleanup personnel eventually recovered his mangled body from the dish's final resting place. Nobody could recover his Thunderbird from under it.
"One more thing. There's an automated status signal sent every thirty seconds. You'll have to attach the bypass module between bursts."
"Sure." Alan mentally steeled himself to open the hatch.
"Stand by," called Thunderbird Five. "In three, two, one, -"
Beep!
Alan opened the hatch.
"You have twenty-nine seconds, Alan."
I know that, John. Start with the red one-
"One false move, and the Hood will be alerted."
"No pressure." You're not helping, John. Now, was it purple or blue next? Purple. I think. Maybe it was blue. No, green comes after blue, and green is before purple. Or maybe that was pink. No, wait, I'm meant to start with orange. No, red. No, I always thought it was orange!
"It's just like fixing a TV, Alan," Kayo's voice floated over from Thunderbird Three. "You can do this."
Hokay, I can. I know the order. Red, blue, green. Don't touch purple. One, two, three, done! "Bypass module attached. ...The hatch is sealed!"
Thunderbird Five should have been happy with that pronouncement. Instead, "Uh oh."
"Uh, John? What's wrong?"
"Shut them down, Brains! All of them! ...I hate to say it, Alan, but you were milliseconds too slow on that hatch." A few seconds passed while Alan stewed. "No dice on the shutdown. The Hood got a command in first. They're self-destructing."
Kayo sounded confused as she interjected. "I didn't see a self-destruct in our sample."
"Simple," John replied sadly. "They stop listening and shake themselves apart. And whatever's around them."
Alan was really getting that sinking feeling now. "H-how long will that take?"
"Brains is telling me several hours. Thunderbirds One and Two, if you want a rest stop, now would be a good time. It's the worst case."