Uncooperative Conditions

"This is Lisa Lowe at Royal Australian Navy headquarters in New South Wales..." The roving reporter stood before a naval official, sticking her microphone in the admiral's face.

"How does she g-get around so f-fast?" Fermat quietly asked.

"Shhhh!" Alan and Jason both hissed at once. "I want to hear this," Alan added.

They were in the common room on Jason's floor in Oakwood, watching the news report. Curfew was only twenty minutes off, but the boys were certain that they could beat the bell.

The admiral was talking now. "Yes, Lisa. Helicopters from the Fleet Air Arm have been deployed to aid International Rescue in airlifting three injured sailors to hospital. Our assistance in the matter has been hindered by some extreme weather at the rescue site." She smiled slightly. "It seems that the International Rescue craft are made of sterner stuff than our helicopters; flying into a strong supercell is dangerous business."

"But it's what they do," Lisa pontificated. Alan rolled his eyes as Fermat surreptitiously elbowed him in the ribs.

"Any sign of the weather abating, Admiral?" Lisa asked.

It was the admiral's turn to nod. "Yes, Lisa. Our meteorologists are sure the supercell will be less intense by the time our people arrive."

"Thank you, Admiral." Lisa turned to face the camera. "To recap, International Rescue was called out to aid the research vessel, Scrutiny, off the coast of New South Wales. From all reports, the ship was damaged by a powerful waterspout created by a severe supercell thunderstorm. Three sailors have been injured and contact was lost with the Scrutiny's submersible. The Fleet Air Arm of the Royal Australian Navy has dispatched helicopters to aid International Rescue in this endeavor. We will have updates as they come available. This is Lisa Lowe in Australia for I.W.N News."

Jason sighed. "No pictures of the Thunderbirds." He turned to Alan. "I'll keep an eye on the story after lights out," he said softly.

"Cool," Alan replied, trying to sound interested but not worried. "I so wish I had a vid like yours. I'll have to see about getting one."

"Y-Your dad might n-not approve," Fermat warned as he rose to stretch.

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," Alan returned irritably. "I'll see what I can do with my allowance, that's all."

Fermat shrugged, and slipped his jacket on over his good arm. "See y-you in the m-morning."

"Yeah, see you, Brain," Jason replied. "See you at lunch, Pinky."

"Yeah later, Jase," Alan said, raising his hand in farewell. He and Fermat left together, taking the stairs down from Oakwood's second floor.

"I hope everyone's okay," Alan murmured. "If your dad's at Command and Control, it means that Gords went out. That's got me worried."

"Your d-dad wouldn't let G-Gordon go if it wasn't o-o-o... all right," Fermat reminded him.

"Yeah. You're right." Alan sighed heavily. They had reached the walkway in front of Oakwood. "I just wish I was there."

"M-Me, too," Fermat admitted. He looked around. "L-Looks like rain tonight."

Alan glanced upward to the dark clouds. "I hope it doesn't rain in the morning. I've got to run in it."

"Coach will make you r-run in the r-rain?" Fermat asked.

"I suppose so," Alan replied. "After all, the soccer games go on in the rain, as long as there's no lightning." He put his hands in his jacket pockets. "In any case, I'd better go. Good night, Fermat."

"G-Good night, Alan," Fermat said. Then the friends turned and headed off in the opposite directions.

"Thunderbird Four to Sealink submersible," Gordon called. "Come in, Sealink."

Static greeted his call. He glanced over to Jeff, who was piloting the mini-sub, his muscles as tense as Virgil's had been. They had been dropped off at the Scrutiny's last known coordinates, and Thunderbird Two was hovering above, waiting for them to surface.

"Try again, Gordon, but alter the frequency," Jeff instructed. "They may have been using the whole band while trying to re-establish communications with Scrutiny."

"F-A-B," Gordon said. He fiddled with the radio frequencies, and called again, "Thunderbird Four to Sealink. Come in, Sealink."

"Huh? What?" The burst of confused voices was welcome to both Tracys, and they exchanged grins. "This is Sealink. Repeat identification, please."

"This is International Rescue Thunderbird Four, Sealink," Gordon replied. "Status, please."

"International Rescue? Oh, man! Are we glad to hear from you! We can't raise our mother vessel, Scrutiny." The female voice sounded relieved.

"Copy that, Sealink. Scrutiny tangled with a tornadic waterspout and sustained both structural and communication damage. Now, your status, please." Gordon was firm and businesslike. Jeff smiled as he listened to his son deal with the woman.

"Status? Okay. We're structurally intact. All personnel are uninjured and accounted for. Propulsion systems are green. We didn't know what happened to Scrutiny, so we hesitated to surface. Now that we know, and you're here, we can begin our ascent."

"What is your current depth, and how is your air supply?" Gordon asked.

"Current depth is 910 meters. Our air supply is fine; we have enough to get topside. Back up life support is green." There was a wry tone to the woman's voice. "In our last contact with Scrutiny, they told us there was a thunderstorm. We were just waiting around down here for the weather to clear."

Gordon chuckled slightly. "I copy that."

"Thunderbird Four, you said that Scrutiny has structural damage. How bad is it?" The voice on the other end was suddenly sober.

"Your docking cradle is damaged and unusable. Their communication antennae were ripped off and GPS was down. There are three badly injured people; the Royal Australian Navy is on the way to help airlift them to shore." Gordon was succinct in his recital of the Scrutiny's woes.

There was a long whistle, maybe two as someone in the background added their wordless assessment of the damages. "Uh, one quick question here, Thunderbird Four. If our docking cradle is damaged, how is Scrutiny going to pick us up?"

"You leave that to us," Gordon replied, sounding firmly encouraging.

Jeff turned to him. "We have them on visual. They've got the porch lights on."

"We have you on visual, Sealink," Gordon relayed. The relatively small form of the Sealink could be seen through the clear portion of Thunderbird Four's hull. It was a tangled looking affair, a clear half bubble set in a metal frame that was dotted here and there with lights, hoses, grills, and other paraphernalia. Not the most graceful looking thing on the planet, Gordon thought, but then, it doesn't have to be.

"We have you on visual, too, Thunderbird Four." Jeff could see the pilot peering through the clear bubble, trying to get a good look at them. The three researchers who had accompanied her on the dive were on either side of her, pressing up against the hull to get a good, long gander at a Thunderbird.

"Wow," the pilot said, sounding both awed and disappointed at the same time. Jeff and Gordon could catch snatches of conversation in the background and got the distinct feeling that the researchers were less than impressed. "Neat machine," the pilot continued. "Very sleek. But..." Her words trailed off.

"But what, Sealink?" Gordon asked wryly. He and Jeff exchanged amused glances.

"Well, uh," she stammered. "I guess I was expecting something... bigger."

Gordon's eyes snapped over to Jeff, who chuckled and turned on the communications link for himself.

"Good things come in small packages, ma'am," he said, his humor very evident in his voice. "Let's get you folks topside and then you can see something a bit closer to your expectations."

"So, h-how did the c-call from your father go?" Fermat asked A.J. They hadn't had time to talk about it at dinner; the fracas with Trey Mackenzie and Alan's current trouble had been the main topics of conversation.

"It was great!" A.J. enthused. He pulled on his pajama shirt and began to button it. "He asked me for the chorale's schedule; says he'll try to make a performance." He smiled widely. "It was great to get a call from him and be able to talk about... stuff. I think he's been surprised at the emails he's been getting from me. I don't know why, but I've just started telling him everything that's been going on instead of just asking for money."

The boy moved to the end of the bed and started to climb up into the top bunk. "I guess it's because I see what you and your dad have going. I mean, you're sorta in the same situation I am, and I dunno... you're so close to your dad." Crawling across the mattress, he pulled back his covers, then stopped. "I think it's neat, and... and I want that for me and my dad," he said, his voice getting quieter. "I mean, all that we have is each other... even though my mom is alive and all..." He frowned a bit at Fermat as he climbed between the sheets. "D'you understand?"

Fermat set his glasses on his desk. "Yeah, I d-do." He crossed to his bunk, and pulled back the covers. "It's gotta be awfully l-lonely for our f-f-f... dads. Sometimes I w-wish I were home w-with him, but then the t-time we s-spend together wouldn't be so sp-special." He sat down and slid between the covers. "We'd more l-likely get on e-each other's n-nerves. And my d-dad wouldn't be a-able to f-focus on his w-work as well if he h-had to s-see to my schooling, I think." Fermat stopped and sighed. "Still I get h-homesick sometimes. And I m-miss him."

"Same here," A.J. said softly. "But I'm finding that it helps to have friends." He stuck his head over the edge of the bunk. "G'night, Fermat."

"Goodnight, A.J."

The lights went out, and the two boys lay back on their respective pillows. Soon, Fermat could hear the regular breathing that indicated his roommate was asleep. But he found it hard to follow suit.

I hope the Tracys are okay out there. A tornadic waterspout sounds pretty serious.

"Thunderbird Two from Thunderbird Four," Jeff called. "How's the weather up there?" He had swapped places with Gordon for the trip to the surface, and was now outfitted in SCUBA gear, just in case he had to help attach Thunderbird Two's grapples to the Sealink.

"Thunderbird Two here." Virgil sounded tense. His face was a study in extreme concentration. "Things are quieting down now. Precipitation has dropped off, but there's still a lot of lightning. Seas are still pretty choppy, too."

"Will we be able to transfer the Sealink to Scrutiny?" Jeff asked, concerned.

"I think so," Thunderbird Two's pilot replied. "The swells are heading in pretty much the same direction. It'll take some maneuvering, but I think I can handle it."

"Good. ETA to the surface, three minutes."

"F-A-B."

"Mobile Control from Thunderbird Four. Scott? What's the Scrutiny's ETA to our position?"

A slight static colored Scott's voice as he replied. "Mobile Control here. Scrutiny's ETA is fifteen minutes. We've just fixed the GPS and radioed our position to the Australians. But there's still a helluva lot of lightning..." There was a flash of light that illuminated Scott's face and larger burst of static nearly drowned out his words. "That was close."

"F-A-B," Jeff replied. "We'll see you on the surface." He cut communications and glanced over at Gordon, who gave him a slight shrug. Frowning, Jeff put in another call.

"Thunderbird Five from Thunderbird Four. Come in, Thunderbird Five."

John's face appeared in the main computer screen. "Thunderbird Five here," he said crisply.

"John, I need a weather report."

"From what I can see," John began, "things are beginning to taper off, and the supercell is almost out of your area. The good news is that the wall cloud has passed your position and you shouldn't encounter another waterspout. Just diminishing rain and lightning for the next twenty minutes or so."

"F-A-B," Jeff said, relieved. "Thunderbird Four, out." He glanced upward as Thunderbird Four broke the surface. The unexpected rolling of the sea's surface caught him off guard. "Whoa!"

"Sealink to Thunderbird Four." The pilot's voice, laced with humor, crackled over the radio. "I see what you meant when you said something more to our expectations!"

Jeff looked up and grinned. Hovering above, steady despite the wind, Thunderbird Two certainly looked impressive.

"Thunderbird Four and Sealink from Thunderbird Two." Virgil's face popped up on the computer screen. "Prepare for magnetic grabs, Sealink."

"Thunderbirds Two and Four from Mobile Control." A window opened on the screen to show Scott's relieved face. "Scrutiny's ETA now ten minutes."

"F-A-B, Mobile Control," Jeff replied. He turned to watch as a set of bright yellow magnetic grabs were slowly lowered from the underside of Thunderbird Two's chassis. "Come on, Virgil," he murmured softly. "You've nearly got it."

In Thunderbird Two, Virgil was maneuvering his 'Bird on manual control, trying to compensate moment to moment for the wind that buffeted the cargo carrier, the poor visibility, and the rolling waves. The gusts whipped the cables away from their projected target more than once. He muttered curses under his breath and finally pulled the grabs back up.

"This isn't working. I have to get closer," he announced.

"F-A-B, Virgil," Jeff called to him. "Just be careful of your VTOLs. They can cause as much trouble as the wind."

"Thunderbird Two, this is Sealink. We'll do what we can to maneuver towards your grabs."

"Copy that, Sealink," Virgil replied. "Starting descent now."

Jeff and Gordon watched as the green bulk began to lower, getting closer and closer to the ocean's surface. The force of the VTOLs fired made ripples on the surging swells. Gordon manipulated Four's controls, easing them toward the Sealink, even as the other submersible moved closer to Thunderbird Two.

The grabs appeared again, playing out on their cables, the stiff wind blowing them at an angle toward the submersible. Virgil fingered the controls, trying to edge his Thunderbird closer, trying to maneuver the grabs into position. They were tantalizingly close, but he was still having trouble getting them close enough to make contact. Finally, a hatch opened on the Sealink, and a flotation vest, followed by an arm, then a head, then a body, appeared. It was the pilot. She slipped into the vest as soon as she was clear of the Sealink's narrow hatchway, then she balanced herself on the tubular construction that surrounded the bulbous capsule.

"Gordon," Jeff said tersely. "Move us in closer, and fast." He turned. "I'm heading for the airlock."

"F-A-B," Gordon replied, his voice tight. Thunderbird Four's speed increased.

Virgil's eyes widened in shock when he saw the woman standing on the tubular structure, her short hair whipping in the wind. He pulled Thunderbird Two back up a little so that the wake from the VTOLs wouldn't knock her off her perch, and he let out more of the line. The grabs dipped further down toward the Sealink, and the pilot leaned out, reaching for them. One flailing attempt, another, then she had the closest one. Virgil uttered a hissing, "Yes!" and played out some more cable.

The second grab was easier to catch. The pilot kept the cables in one hand as she backed up a bit and clambered down so she was sitting on the outer structure, her legs locked around the pipes. She guided the first grab to lock onto the pipe she was sitting on, then moved gingerly across the viewing globe to the other side, pulling the cable along with her.

By this time, Gordon had pulled Thunderbird Four to within a meter of the Sealink's bow. His muscles were tense as he tried to maintain the distance despite the swelling seas that wanted to force the two submersibles apart. Jeff waited in the airlock. He knew that if the pilot went into the drink, he might be her only means of rescue.

Virgil's hands were feather light on Thunderbird Two's controls, feeling the slightest movement of his 'Bird, playing her as if she were the piano back home, and he was trying to get every iota of emotional nuance from his chosen piece. Every change in the engine's pitch, the slightest shift of position registered with him, and he compensated for it with the most delicate of touches. By now the pilot had finished her move; she was guiding the second grab to the superstructure. He activated the magnetic clamp, and felt the increased drag on the cables. The only thing left was for her to get back inside, then he could lift Sealink clear of the waves.

Gordon held his breath. The hatchway into the research submersible was very, very narrow; for the pilot to get back in, she had to remove her flotation vest. He watched as she began to unfasten the jacket... then it happened. The Sealink shifted with a large swell, and the pilot was swept off into the sea.

"Dad!" Gordon shouted as he hit the button to flood the air lock. "She's gone overboard!"