Little Things Mean A Lot

"Scott, here's one for you," Jeff handed his oldest son a brightly wrapped package.

"Uh-oh, this is from Gordon!" Scott shook it gently. "I don't know if I should open this one!"

From his position on the floor, Gordon snorted. "You think I buy joke gifts all the time?" He looked up and grinned as his father handed a parcel to him. "Ooh! Another one for me! I love presents! Thanks, Dad!" He began to pull off the paper slowly, taking special care with it so the opening process lasted as long as possible.

Scott carefully opened the gift from Gordon. He lifted the cover from the box and pulled out the item on top. He groaned. John saw what he had pulled out, and tugged on Virgil's sleeve, a laugh beginning to bubble up. Virgil turned to look and began to snicker, then tapped Alan on the shoulder. Alan looked, too, and stared at the item in Scott's hands before dissolving into helpless laughter. By this time, John was rolling on the floor, holding his stomach and Virgil was roaring with mirth. Jeff looked over and began to chuckle at Scott's gift.

"What's so funny?" Grandma asked. She sat in a chair behind him, so her view of Scott's gift was blocked by his head, and quickly he put the item in question back in the box and slammed the lid down.

"Oh, nothing, Grandma. Really, it's nothing." Scott stammered, his face bright red. Then he heard a definitely feminine giggle and turned even a deeper red when he realized that Tin-Tin had seen Gordon's gift.

"So, wh-what is it, S-Scott?" Brains asked, his voice dripping with innocence. Scott just knew that the engineer had seen it and was trying to embarrass him.

"Nothing interesting, Brains," Scott said, shooting him a sharp look. "Really."

"Nothing interesting?!" Gordon argued, feigning offense. "You don't know how much I paid for those....umph!"

His next words were muffled by the throw pillow Scott lobbed at him.

"Hey!" Gordon complained, picking up the pillow and returning the favor. Instead of hitting Scott, however, Gordon's aim went wide and hit Virgil, who was seated on the floor in front of Tin-Tin. Tin-Tin picked up the pillow and handed it to him, and he tossed it back at Gordon, who ducked, the pillow flying over one shoulder to land in Brains' lap. Brains took the opportunity to wallop Gordon on the head before putting the pillow behind his back. Gordon turned to give Brains an incredulous look, then shrugged his shoulders and returned to slowly open his gift.

Scott breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Gordon's gift was not one he wanted to share with Grandma!

Gordon had fnally finished opening his package. He pulled out the item within, holding it up, but missed the envelope flew out from between its folds.

"A new wetsuit!" He looked over at Jeff and smiled. "Thanks, Dad! It will be great for surfing!"

Alan reached over and picked up the envelope. "You missed something, Gords." He contemplated his copper-haired brother with speculative look in his eye, and then handed the envelope over.

"Good thing it was me and not Scott who picked that up, Gords. You'd never have seen it again if it were Scott," Alan warned.

"Yeah, right," Gordon scoffed, as he opened the envelope. His eyes widened, and he gave his father a big grin.

Jeff watched the by-play with a slight smile on his face. It's hard to come up with something that I know the boys will like and appreciate. I can buy them just about anything; it's the sorting through all the possibilities that gets tougher each year. In the end, my gifts don't usually fit under the tree. But this year I did something I should have been doing all along, and a little something extra that I should have done long, long ago.

"You've entered me in those three surfing competitions I wanted to go to! Wow! Accomodations already taken care of, a new board, and best of all, the time off so I can go! What a great gift, Dad! Thanks so much!" Gordon gushed. The promise of time off is the best part; Dad doesn't make those kind of promises lightly.

Alan opened the small box that his father handed to him. He pulled out a set of keys. "What are these keys to, Father?" He looked in the box again, and pulled out an envelope. Opening it, he looked over the papers inside. He looked up at his father in complete surprise.

"Y-you entered me in the Paris-Dakar Rally? That's a 20-day race, Dad! You're letting me have 20 days off in a row?" Alan asked incredulously.

Jeff nodded. "Actually, more like 25. You'll need time to get acquainted with the vehicle and to recuperate afterwards. I've had a team souping up a 4 x 4 skimmer using some of Brains' innovations so you'll have the best transportation possible for the race." He wagged a finger at Alan. "I chose this race because it won't conflict with your regular stint up in Thunderbird Five." He smiled. "I know that, win or lose, you'll make us all proud."

Virgil, Scott and John looked at their father with complete surprise. Their little brothers were getting large chunks of time off? Why? How was that going to work with their IR duties?

"Virgil, this is for you." Jeff said simply as he handed his second son a package. Virgil looked over at Scott and then at John, and opened the package. Inside was a slim leather briefcase, his initials embossed on it in gold lettering. And sticking out of the outer pocket was an envelope. Virgil pulled the envelope from the case and opened it. His face turned from pensive to surprised delight in a flash.

"Father! A three-week music history tour of Europe? This itinerary! These musicians! The chance to learn so much about composition and history and technique and... and... WOW!" Virgil looked up at Jeff, grinning. "What a F-A-Bulous gift, Dad! Thank you!" He looked over the materials again and a puzzled look came over his face. "Uh, Dad, how is International Rescue going to function if we are all going hither and yon for two or three weeks at a time?"

"Don't worry about that, son. I've made sure that these excursions of yours have been timed so that we have enough manpower here to handle a rescue if need be. And I also would like you men to do some more intensive cross training on each other's Thunderbirds. That way we'd still have Thunderbird Four available to us when Gordon is gone, or Thunderbird Three while Alan is in North Africa." Jeff explained. He handed a package to John. As the blond eagerly opened the box, Jeff continued.

"It's become clear to me that you all need more time away from the Island to pursue your interests. Short spaces of time, a week or even just a weekend, are fine for a quick rest, but a longer vacation, where you can immerse yourself in the things you love to do and come back refreshed in body and mind are really necessary for all of us to stay healthy."

John pulled out an arctic parka. An envelope fluttered to the floor and John snagged it before one of his brothers could. He opened it up and looked at the contents, then looked up at his father with a puzzled look.

"An Antarctic cruise?"

Jeff looked at John with an amused look on his face. "You sit up on 'top' of the world looking down at it. Thought you might like seeing the 'bottom' of the world up close and personal."

"It looks really intriguing, Dad. You got a scuba option, too, I see," John said as he read the itinerary and brochure. Then he looked up with a big smile. "Thanks, Dad! I'm looking forward to this."

"Here is your gift, Scott." Jeff said as he handed his oldest son a sizeable box. Scott opened his box to find a high quality camera kit, complete with long range and zoom lenses. The now familiar envelope was on top, and Scott opened it before taking a good look at the camera equipment.

"A safari! What a wild idea!" Scott ignored the groans engendered by his pun as he perused the brochure. "Starts in Egypt with a cruise on the Nile and then heads to Kenya for wildlife viewing." He put the brochure aside and took a good look at the camera equipment. "Wow! Digital, vid, and old fashioned single-lens reflex. I'll have a good time with this, Dad. Thank you!"

He looked up at his father with a serious face. "You're sure we'll be able to handle this? The drain on manpower? I mean, I know you've been really careful about scheduling....."

Jeff held up a hand. "I know we can work around your vacations. We will because we have to. You all deserve some time away. Brains and Tin-Tin, too. I've got similar gifts for each of you." He handed the two engineers each a box of their own.

Brains pulled out a pith helmet, and opened his envelope. "Three weeks exploring I-Incan ruins! Th-Thank you, Mr. Tracy! I will, uh, look forward to this."

Tin-Tin's package contained a stylish new purse and in the purse.... "Tickets to fashion shows in Paris and Milan and a cruise on the Mediterranean between them! Oh, how lovely, Mr. Tracy! I know I will enjoy myself." She got up and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"You're welcome, Brains, Tin-Tin. You need to refresh your minds and bodies as much as the rest of us." Jeff expounded. "We wouldn't have any Thunderbirds if it weren't for you, Brains. And you've been a great help in maintaining and upgrading our equipment, Tin-Tin."

"Hey, Dad? Are these more gifts from you?" Gordon asked.

Jeff nodded. "Just a little something. If you'd give them out, Gordon?"

Gordon handed out the packages, each identical in size. He sat back and ripped the paper off his. It was a picture frame, sitting face down in the box. He grinned up at Jeff, then flipped the picture over. His grin faded, and his fingers ghosted over the glass of the frame. Then he smiled again, got up from the floor and impulsively hugged his father, murmuring, "Thanks, Dad," in his ear.

"What is it, Gords?" Alan asked. Gordon turned the picture around to show to everyone; it was of him as a baby, sitting and bathing in the kitchen sink, splashing around with an infant look of delight on his face. His mother was holding a rubber duck and was making one of those silly "smile for me!" faces that grown-ups only do for babies. Water was splashed all over her dark shirt and droplets had been caught in mid-air by the camera lens.

Virgil watched the scene while absently opening his box from Jeff. He looked down to see a similar picture frame, and turned it over slowly, then laid it down in the box, staring at it. Looking over at Jeff, he caught his father's eye. "Thank you, Dad," he said, his voice full of amazement. He turned his frame so everyone could see.

The picture was of him and his mother at the piano. Her gaze was on him and she looked like she was caught singing. He was concentrating on the music as his little fingers spread across the keys. "Y'know, I think I remember this. I was five or six and Mom was trying to get me to practice more. So she sat down with me and made up words to the song I was playing. Silly words, too. By the end of the practice session I was almost on the floor with laughter," Virgil smiled.

Gordon had handed a package to John, who tore the box open, and turned over the frame. He stared at it for the longest time, shaking his head slightly and whispering, "Oh. Oh, Dad. Oh." over and over.

"John? Would you show us your picture?" Tin-Tin asked quietly. He looked up, startled at her question, then turned his gift so everyone could see. It was a very small version of himself, sitting on his mother's lap, head on her shoulder, eyes closed, thumb in his mouth. Lucille's head was bent toward his so her cheek lay on the downy white-blond fluff that was his hair.

"What a lovely shot!" Grandma said softly. "She's in that rocking chair she loved so much."

Alan took his present from Gordon's hand and opened it carefully. He blinked a few times, then looked at his father with a smile and said, "This is great, Dad. Thanks a lot!" He leaned over to share the gift with Tin- Tin.

"Share with the rest of us, will ya, Alan?" Gordon asked eagerly. Alan rolled his eyes and showed everyone the picture. The photo was one of his mother curled up on a couch, her head on a pillow in his father's lap. One of her hands was on his father's knee and they were looking at each other and smiling.

"Dad, why did you pick this one? I know that there probably aren't any pictures of Mom and me together...." Alan's voice trailed off.

Jeff chuckled. "You're in the picture, Alan. Just not visible. You're mother was pregnant with you when that was taken."

Alan grinned. "Ohhhhh, okay." He shook his head. "Man, Dad, I can't remember your hair ever being that dark! You look so much like Scott that it's scary!" A wave of laughter greeted that observation.

Scott was the last to get his gift. Like his brothers', his candid five by seven photograph was of him and his mother, Lucille. He was on her lap, a book open and both of them looking at it. "I couldn't have been more than three in this picture; Mom would have been pregnant with Virgil then." Scott looked up at his father who was watching him intently. He bit his lower lip to keep his welling emotions in check, and said simply, "Thanks, Dad. I love it." He turned and showed it to Grandma.

She gave Jeff a soft smile, and opened the package he handed to her. Her eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, my! Jeff! Where did you find this?" She turned the picture to face the assemblage. It was of her and her husband, sitting together, her husband holding a baby Jeff in his arms.

"Thank you, son. I'll always treasure this." Grandma said, rising from her chair. Jeff made his way over to her to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

There were photographs for the other members of the household as well. Kyrano got a candid shot of a pensive Tin-Tin. Tin-Tin got a double picture frame; one with a candid photo of her and Alan, the other was a shot of Kyrano in his garden. And Brains got a picture of himself with all of the Tracy sons, laughing at something or other.

The time of gift giving was over. Kyrano headed for the kitchen to prepare a brunch for the family. Each of the Tracys picked up their gifts and headed for their respective quarters to store their gifts and change clothes for the day. Before Jeff left the lounge, he went behind his desk. On the desk was a folded picture frame, one that held two pictures. He opened it, his hands trembling, his eyes threatening to fill with tears. He stood it on one end and looked at the pictures he had put there.

On the right was a wedding picture, a formal one of himself and Lucille standing together, looking happier than anyone had a right to look. The one on the left was a candid photo of Lucille's face, looking up at the camera and smiling her winning smile. Jeff drew in a shaky breath then sat down in his chair.

Lucy, I'm getting old. Soon I'll be gone and who will be left to remember you? To remember your smile, your laugh, the way you used to twirl your hair around your finger when you were deep in thought? Lucy, forgive me for shutting you up in my heart for all these years. Our boys need to remember you, and the only way they will, especially Gordon and Alan, is if I talk about you. It won't be easy, dearest, but maybe now I can. I must. For I will not have you forgotten when I am gone.

Kyrano's brunch was extensive and filling. Egg and sausage casserole, dense cinnamon rolls with cream cheese icing, Southern style biscuits, fruit salad, grilled steaks, corned beef hash, home fries, waffles, and plenty of fresh brewed coffee.

"Just to tide you over until dinner," the retainer quipped as the Tracy men sat back from the table, most of them groaning from having eaten a bit too much. Virgil headed back out to the lounge to play some of the family's favorite Christmas carols. Grandma took a seat in the lounge and looked at her pianist grandson meaningfully. He pretended not to notice her silent, but frankly apparent appeal. Finally, she coughed. Virgil sighed.

"Is something the matter, Grandma?" he asked in all innocence.

"Yes, there is, Virgil. I haven't had a chance to listen to my grandsons sing. Yet," she beamed at him.

"Okay, Grandma, we get the hint," Gordon said, standing and motioning his brothers to gather around Virgil and the piano. He knew, they all knew very well that the only one among them who had a decent voice and could stay on key was Virgil. The rest of them were hopeless singers other than perhaps singing in the shower. But Grandma didn't seem to think so; she insisted every year that the five of them sing together. And so they did, to their chagrin and the pained face of their father, who was often cajoled to join in.

"What do you want to hear first, Grandma?" Virgil asked.

"I'd love to hear 'Silent Night'," she answered with a smile.

Jeff groaned internally. This is the one song they really slaughter. Only Virgil can hit anywhere near that high note! He sat down at his desk to listen to the caterwauling begin.

Virgil played an introduction, and started the other four off.

"Silent Night, Holy Night. All is calm, all is bright....."

Their singing was interrupted by the emergency signal ringing through the house.

Saved by the bell! Jeff thought.

The family gathered around the desk as Jeff opened communications with Thunderbird Five. The shiny mechanical form of Braman filled the space where John's portrait had been a moment ago.

"Emergency. Protocol. Enabled." Braman said in his mechanical voice. "Relaying. Transmission."

"This is International Rescue, what is your emergency?" John asked, sitting down at Jeff's desk. It had been decided that since he was the expert in languages and communications, John would be the one to answer any call relayed over the holidays.

A burst of frenzied speaking in a female voice came over the airwaves. John began to make notes, and then answered in the same tongue as the caller spoke. The conversation went back and forth for several minutes, John writing furiously, getting down all the details. Jeff stood behind him, watching his son do his job, fascinated by the ease with which John conversed with the woman on the other end. John's voice soothed her, and by the time the dialogue was finished, she seemed to be calmer and even sounded hopeful. John signed off and turned to his father and siblings.

"An apartment fire in Southern China. The building is fourteen stories and there are people trapped on the top floor. The locals are trying their best, but they just don't have the equipment to get to anyone higher than ten stories up."

"No, no, no! Not on Christmas. I asked for no rescues on Christmas!" Scott groaned. Gordon gave him a puzzled look.

"Well, you didn't get your Christmas wish this year, Scott." Gordon said in a sympathetic tone.

"Do you have the coordinates?" Jeff asked. John nodded.

Jeff took a deep breath. Now is the time. They are not going to like this, not at all. But I want... I NEED to do this.....

"Okay, John. Give Alan the coordinates. Alan, you're taking Thunderbird One." Jeff held up a hand to forestall Scott's loud objections. "Alan, get going."

Alan looked at Jeff, then at Scott, shocked at his father's sudden order.

"Go, Alan!" Jeff shouted. The loud voice broke Alan's paralysis and he hurried over to the wall sconces that marked the entrance to Thunderbird One's hangar. He hesitated, looking to Scott for confirmation. Scott, annoyed, jerked his head toward the wall. Alan nodded slightly and pushed the buttons that made the section of wall turn 180 degrees and deposited him on the sliding ramp to Thunderbird One's cockpit. Boy, wish I could be a fly on the wall in the lounge right now, he thought as he entered the rocket plane.

"Dad, what's going on?" Scott asked in a reasonable voice, burying his annoyance. He's going to go out on this rescue, I just know it! How can I stop him?

"That's what I'd like to know," Grandma Tracy said, her hands on her hips and a no-nonsense look on her face.

"Well, I'm sure you've all been wondering why I've been working with the simulator lately, getting checked out on the Thunderbirds and the auxiliary equipment. I've been doing it with this goal in mind: it's time I went out on rescues." Jeff said, his heart racing at trying to explain his reasoning to his sons and to the other members of the household.

"Why, Dad? Please tell me why you want to go out on rescues?" Scott asked, a worried look on his face.

"Yes," Grandma demanded, glaring, "and this had better be good!"

Jeff took another deep breath. "Scott, Mother, we don't have time right now to go into my reasons for doing this. There are people who need our help. For now, Scott, you take the desk. Virgil, get Thunderbird Two ready. John and I will double crew with you. We should take the Firefly and the Fire Truck in pod six."

The lounge was silent for a few moments. John, Gordon and Virgil looked back and forth between their father, the commander, and their brother, the field commander. Grandma continued to glare at her son. Kyrano and Tin-Tin exchanged troubled glances, while Brains watched with a concerned look on his face. The rumble of Thunderbird One's departure made the lounge vibrate.

"Virgil!" Jeff barked. "Get Thunderbird Two ready!" Virgil started and moved automatically to the portrait entrance to his Thunderbird. It flipped him up and into the padded transport that would take him to Thunderbird Two's cockpit. His handsome face creased with worry as he thought about the confrontation between his oldest brother and his father. I hope Scott can convince him to stay home and monitor the situation from the desk.

"Dad, I know you want to go, but this is just too sudden. We all need to be better prepared if you're to go out on a rescue. I think we should leave things at the status quo for now and we'll talk when I get back." Scott urged.

"No, Scott." Jeff said resolutely. "I've made up my mind. John, you're with me. Gordon. If Scott doesn't want the responsibility of the desk, you take it." With that, Jeff crossed the lounge and headed for the passenger elevator to Thunderbird Two. John looked at his brothers, then followed Jeff, as did Scott and Gordon.

Grandma Tracy started to follow, but Kyrano took her arm and whispered in her ear, "Let his sons handle this, Mrs. Tracy. Let them try to make him change his mind." Grandma shot the retainer a doubtful look, but remained in the lounge.

"Dad!" Scott implored, trying to catch up with his father. "You're just not ready to go out on rescues! Please. We need you behind the desk, directing us!" His words fell on deaf ears. Jeff kept going, doing his best to ignore his oldest son. He reached the passenger elevator and stood in the box, waiting for John.

John stood outside the box, looking at his father intently.

"Are you coming? Or should I bring Gordon along?" Jeff asked, testily. "You did say you liked going out on rescues, John."

"I do, Dad. But you know this is... risky at best. You're just not prepared for this, Dad." John replied seriously. "Please, direct us from the desk. We need you there. You do it so much better than Scott does."

Jeff sighed. "Okay, John." John smiled, sure he had gotten through to his father. But his father's expression turned mulish. He reached out and snagged Gordon by the shoulders. "If you don't want to go, I'll take Gordon." He hauled the surprised Gordon into the passenger elevator and pressed the button to take them to Thunderbird Two's cockpit.

John stood there, stupefied and blinking. He turned an incredulous face to Scott. "What just happened here?" he asked, puzzled.

"Dad just left on a rescue," Scott said, shaking his head. "You'd better get down there and make sure the pod is loaded. I'd better get up to the lounge. I just hope that he doesn't get hurt out there today. What a rotten Christmas gift that would be!"

Inside Thunderbird Two, Virgil was going through his preflight checklist when the passenger elevator arrived. He turned, hoping to see Scott and either Gordon or John. Instead, he saw Gordon and... Jeff. He turned around and sighed.

"Are we ready for launch, Virgil?" Jeff asked, taking one of the seats behind his pilot son.

"Almost, Dad. We are waiting on the pod. But...." Virgil began, hoping to get his father to listen to him.

Jeff cut him off. "Check on the pod. Time's awasting."

Virgil sighed. He radioed the lounge. "Base from Thunderbird Two, is the pod ready?"

John's voice came through the speakers. "Thunderbird Two, pod six is ready for pick up."

"F-A-B," Virgil answered. He toggled the switches that lowered the body of his green Thunderbird over the pod and listened as the two parts became one with the help of powerful magnets. He then threw the switch that began to open the camouflaged door to Thunderbird Two's hangar.

"Thunderbird Two requesting permission to launch." Virgil asked as he guided his ship out through the doorway and onto the airstrip.

"Permission granted. And Virgil, tell Dad that we will discuss this when everyone returns." Scott's displeasure was very evident in his voice.

"F-A-B, Scott." Virgil didn't bother repeating Scott's message; he knew his father had heard it quite plainly by the "Hmph!" he heard coming from the passenger seat.

Virgil got Thunderbird Two in position on the ramp area and felt it move upward to the specific angle needed for best usage of the cargo carrier's thrusters. He felt the familiar rumble as the engines came to life, and his pride and joy lifted off, the g-forces pushing him back into his pilot's chair. He risked a glance back at his passengers. Gordon had his eyes closed; he looked totally miserable. But Jeff had a delighted smile on his face. He locked eyes with Virgil and gave him a wink.

Virgil groaned inwardly. Bad enough that we have a rescue on Christmas. But the fireworks that there'll be when we get home...! This is shaping up to be the worst Christmas ever!

"Where is your father?" Grandma demanded as Scott barreled into the lounge. He pushed past her with a mumbled, " 'Scuse me, Gramma" and sat down behind the desk. Virgil's voice came over the airwaves.

"Thunderbird Two requesting permission to launch."

"Permission granted. And Virgil, tell Dad that we will discuss this when everyone returns," Scott replied, making his displeasure at the situation known in every syllable.

John arrived back in the lounge, having seen Thunderbird Two trundle out to the airstrip. "I got the pod ready. They should have everything they need."

"Thanks, John," Scott said, sighing deeply. He looked up to see Grandma standing in front of the desk, arms folded, and one of her "I will not budge until I know what's going on" looks on her face.

"NOW will you tell me what just went on? Where is your father?" Grandma asked.

"He's in Thunderbird Two, going out on a rescue," Scott stated plainly.

"Why?"

"Grandma, I wish I knew for sure." Scott came out from behind the desk and sat her down next to him on a couch. "We've been trying to get him to change his mind about this, but we haven't been too successful at it."

"How long have you known he was going to do this? And why in heaven's name didn't you let me know what was going on?" Grandma's voice went from angry to indignant.

John sat down on the other side of his grandmother. "Grandma, we didn't know for sure until today that this was his plan. But we've suspected it for a few weeks now."

Scott nodded, "And we didn't let you know, because.... well, because...."

"You should have let me know. I would have taken care of the situation right away!" Grandma complained.

"Grandma, like John said, we didn't know for sure what his plans were," Scott reasoned. "And besides, what would you have done if we told you our suspicions?"

"I would have told him to put aside this foolish nonsense and focus on what he does best!" she exclaimed.

"And what would Dad have done once you told him that, Grandma?" John asked quietly, looking at her face. A face that quickly flamed pink as she thought through the implications of her proposed actions.

"I see your point, boys. Your father is just as stubborn as I am. He would have dug in his heels and done what he wanted anyway," she grumbled. "You'd think that the man would listen to his mother....."

John chuckled at his grandmother's last comment, and Scott looked away so she couldn't see his broad smile.

"The boys h-have been working hard to, uh, try and g-get Mr. Tracy to change his mind on his own," Brains explained.

"Yes, Mrs. Tracy. We all thought it was the only way to stop Mr. Tracy from going out on rescues." Tin-Tin added. Then she looked down. "The problem is, our strategy hasn't worked."

"We were even hoping that doing the run up to Thunderbird Five would satisfy his itch for adventure." Scott shook his head ruefully. "Guess it didn't."

"Well, now you know what he wants to do. And what we need to do is find out a way to stop him so that he won't go out again." Grandma Tracy looked at her grandsons, Brains, Tin-Tin, and Kyrano in turn. "I'll give it some thought while this rescue is going on. Scott, you'd better take your place behind the desk. Alan will be calling soon."

"Yes, ma'am." Scott kissed her weathered cheek and strode over to the desk, sitting in his father's chair behind it.

Alan found it easy to set up the new Mobile Control unit in the playground next to the burning building. The local fire fighters were doing their best to keep the flames from spreading to the whole building, but Alan could see that it was a losing battle. He could also see the figures of those stranded on the top floor, looking out of the windows down at the end of the building where the fire had not made too much of an inroad.

Just enough flame to keep them pinned up there, but not enough to hurt them. Yet. These "modern" Chinese buildings. They compartmentalize to keep out the fire, but this time they sealed in the residents. He shook his blond head. The fire chief spoke broken English, and Alan tried hard to understand him and be understood by him.

"Thunderbird One to base. I have Mobile Control set up and am waiting for the arrival of Thunderbird Two. I hope that John gets here soon; I could use the translation help." And I hope I can use the new features on this unit correctly. Talk about on the job training!

"International Rescue base to Mobile Control. Sorry, Alan, but John got left behind this time." Scott's voice and picture showed his frustration with the way that the rescue was already going. "See if you can find someone who speaks English well enoughto give you a hand. Or else keep your telecomm link open and John can translate from that for you."

"F-A-B, base. Thunderbird Two from Mobile Control. What is your ETA?"

Virgil had been pushing his green machine to the limit. "Thunderbird Two to Mobile Control. ETA, 40 minutes." All three of the Tracy men had changed into their uniforms. Virgil had been surprised to see that his father had put one of his own uniforms, complete with gold sash, into the crew quarters of Thunderbird Two. He's been planning this for a while, Virgil realized, groaning internally.

Gordon still looked miserable. He felt that his father had put him in the hot seat by dragging him along on this rescue. Now I'm the one who'll have to keep track of him, keep him from doing anything rash.

Jeff sat upright in the passenger seat, steeling himself for the rescue. I have no idea what we're going into here. The boys have done these types of rescues before, but I haven't. And up till now, I've had no idea what Scott would direct the boys to do out at the danger zone. He clenched his fists on his knees. Just don't flub it, Tracy. Keep your head and do as you're told.

His telecomm beeped, and he activated it. The face of a very annoyed Scott stared back at him.

"Yes, Scott?"

"I just wanted to remind you, Father, that in the field, Alan is the commander. Virgil and Gordon will take their cues from him and so should you. Since you left me in charge, that puts me over him as he is over you in the command hierarchy. We'll be listening to the rescue very closely, so please don't take any unnecessary risks."

"F-A-B, Scott. I'll be careful." Jeff signed off. That's irony for you. I didn't even think about who would be in charge here when I sent Alan out in Thunderbird One. So I get to take orders from my youngest son, eh? That will be a novel experience.

Scott was busy telling Alan the same thing. "Remember, Alan. Today, you're field commander. You're going to have to put aside the fact that it's Dad out there and treat him as you would treat Virgil or Gordon. I've reminded him who is boss out there. Hopefully he'll take my words to heart."

Alan's eyes were wide at the thought of bossing around his father, but he nodded in understanding. "Will do, Scott."

The rest of the trip in Thunderbird Two was made in tense silence, each man occupied by his own thoughts. About 15 minutes from the danger zone, Gordon tugged on his father's sleeve. "We'd better get our fire resistant suits on." He headed back to the lockers where the various specialized protective gear was kept. Jeff followed him, realizing as he did that none of said gear was fitted for him. Gordon realized this, too, and took an opportunity to look his father up and down critically.

"I guess you'll have to wear Scott's gear, Dad. John is too tall and slim for his stuff to fit you, and Alan is too short. Virgil will need his own." Gordon pulled a fire resistant suit from a hanger marked, "Scott" and handed it over to Jeff. He pulled his own outfit from the rack and headed for the crew quarters to change. Jeff followed. He watched as Gordon stripped down to his t-shirt and shorts, then put the heat resistant suit on. Jeff did the same but had trouble with the length of the pant legs and sleeves, and the depth of the crotch. I had no idea that Scott was so different from me in build; he doesn't look that different. Now I find he has a shorter torso and longer legs and arms than I have. I'll have to make sure that we order some of each kind of gear that will fit me properly. He pulled on the footwear. At least the boots fit. Almost.

Jeff and Gordon returned to the cockpit to find Virgil had landed at the coordinates Alan had suggested.

"I'll get suited up and join you two in the pod," Virgil said, moving out of his pilot's seat.

"F-A-B," Gordon said, heading back towards the equipment. Jeff looked from one son to another, and decided to follow Gordon. They left the cockpit and headed back to the laboratory, taking the two-man lift down and gaining access to the pod through what would become the ground level door. A moment or two later, Virgil joined them. He opened up a locked cabinet at eye level, exposing a complex keypad. With practiced ease, he keyed in a code and a green button lit up. There was a loud "thunk" as the electromagnets that held the pod fast released their hold. Jeff watched as Virgil's lips moved silently, counting off the seconds it would take for the body of Thunderbird Two to rise to its maximum height. Jeff looked over at the keypad to see a red button turn green.

"Let's go," Virgil said, running down the short flight of steps and opening the access door to the outside. The three men ran to Mobile Control. Jeff found himself at the rear, his younger sons sprinting ahead, much faster than he was. I'm in good shape for a man in his late fifties, but they are in good shape for men in their twenties! I hope I can keep up!

Alan had already started speaking by the time Jeff pulled up to Mobile Control. "According to the fire chief, the fire started on the fifth floor on the end of the building farthest from where the victims are now. The building is meant to seal itself off floor by floor in case of fire, and it did exactly that. The people on the lower floors got out without a problem, as did the rest of the building. But somehow, the fourteenth floor was sealed off prematurely. There's no roof access from anywhere inside or outside the building, and the fire has just about reached that floor on the far end from where the trapped people are."

"Can we cut a hole in the roof and take the victims out that way?" Jeff asked.

"It depends on how the building seals off." Alan tried to think of a moniker to use for his father. "A hole cut in the ceiling might act like a chimney and draw the fire up towards the victims." He glanced over at the building, and gave the roof a long look. "Plus, if we go in through the roof, we've got a ceiling to cut through as well."

"Then how are we going to get these people out?" Gordon asked.

"How many are there?" Virgil queried.

Alan shook his head. "The fire chief has no real idea of how many there are. The apartment complex managers have been as helpful as possible, and the fact that it's just another day here in China means that lots of people have gone to work and the children are in school. The estimate is about 15 to 20, mostly women and small children. They've all congregated in one apartment at the end of the building."

Virgil took a good look at the building. "The windows are really small. Would the victims be able to get out to, say, climb out into the rescue capsule?"

"We could cut out around one of the windows; make the opening bigger. The oxyhydnite cutters would be good for that." Gordon suggested. "It would mean going down on a harness...."

"Yes, but there's that chimney effect again....." Alan turned to the fire chief, who was trying to follow the conversation.

"How do the floors seal off? Do the windows seal? The stairwells?" Alan tried to ask.

The fire chief's face showed frustration as he tried to answer Alan's question. He said one word, "Wait." and went over to the crowd of people who had gathered to watch. He looked at the faces in the crowd and finally put an arm in and pulled out a Chinese woman. He spoke to her in rapid Mandarin and guided her over to Mobile Control. She spoke to Alan.

"I am Lu Ning. The fire chief asked me to translate for him." Her accented English was very comprehensible.

"Okay, Lunning. I need to know just how the floors seal off in that building. Do the stairwells seal? Are there compartments between parts of the building? Do the windows seal?" Alan asked their new translator who turned and repeated his question. After getting an answer in Mandarin, she turned back to Alan.

"He says that the corridors seal between the stairwells. The stairwells seal off to keep the fire from going upwards. The windows do not seal."

"Okay. Thank you. That means no problems with the chimney effect. Here's what we're going to do." Alan made a decision. "Virgil, you take Thunderbird Two up and lower Gordon down with the harness. Gordon, take an oxyhydnite cutter and make a larger opening in the wall. Since there are seals between the corridors, there will be less chimney effect. Then we'll use the rescue capsule like an elevator and bring the victims down to the ground a few at a time. Uh... Jeff? Your job is to keep the fire away from Gordon and the rescue capsule. I think using the dicetyline sprayers on the Fire Truck will do the trick. You checked out on the Fire Truck, right?"

"Yes, Alan. I went over all of the auxiliary equipment." Jeff replied with a subdued tone. He's giving the easy job to the old man. he thought with disappointment.

"Okay, guys, let's move! Don't forget your helmets!" Alan shouted. Virgil and Gordon turned and ran toward Thunderbird Two. Jeff sighed and followed, running as fast as he could but still falling behind. He opened the access door to the pod and looked around. Damn! I've got to move the Firefly before I can get the Fire Truck out of here. Well, Tracy. Don't just stand there. Get the lead out! He put on his helmet and climbed into the cockpit of the Firefly.

At least here the controls don't have that "different" appearance like Thunderbird Three's did. I familiarized myself with the actual equipment as well as ran the simulations, Jeff mused. He started up the Firefly easily and had his hand on the remote switch that would open the door to the pod when he happened to think, Virgil is probably bringing Thunderbird Two down over the pod right now.

"Firefly to Thunderbird Two," Jeff called into the communications system on Firefly.

"Thunderbird Two to Firefly, go ahead." Virgil's voice replied.

"Let me know when it's safe to open the pod, Thunderbird Two. I figure that you're going to need to take off before I can open the pod." Jeff explained.

"F-A-B, Firefly." Virgil responded, having just brought Thunderbird Two back down to ground level. He killed the electromagnetic clamps that would pick up the pod and fired the VTOL rockets that lifted his green machine from the ground. Inside the pod, Jeff heard the firing of the rockets and waited.

"Thunderbird Two to Firefly. All clear. You can open up the pod."

"F-A-B, Thunderbird Two." Jeff smacked the button that swung the large door down into a ramp, and when it was fully lowered, drove the firefighting vehicle outside. He pulled it well clear of the pod, then jumped out of the cockpit and ran back to climb up into the Fire Truck. This he pulled out even further from the huge green mobile garage. Then he backed the Firefly into its transport, closed up the pod's ramp door, and exited through the ground level access. Breathless from the unaccustomed exertion, he radioed Alan.

"Fire Truck to Mobile Control. Proceeding to rescue zone now."

"F-A-B, Fire Truck." Alan was concerned about the breathiness of his father's voice. He voiced his concerns to Scott privately.

"He's learning that we do a lot of running around, Alan. Running that he's just not used to, even if he does run on the beach for exercise," Scott replied gruffly. "Maybe he'll see now just how unprepared for rescue work he really is."

Jeff drove the Fire Truck over to the building. The flames had engulfed at least half and were coming closer and closer to the part of the building where the victims were. He looked up to see three or four women leaning out of each tiny window. They are in such a panic. I hope we can get them all out in time.

He keyed a measurement sequence into the onboard computer. "Now, how far back to I need to be and at what angle do the dicetyline cannons need to be for the maximum height and effectiveness?" he muttered to himself. The computer thought for a moment and spit out an answer. Jeff smiled grimly and set about moving his vehicle to the required distance from the building. Then he set the sprayers at the proper angle. "Here goes!" he said aloud, slapping down the button to start the flow of Brains' miracle fire extinguishing foam.

The foam shot out of the cannons under high pressure, and Jeff was pleased to find that the stream hit the thirteenth floor, breaking the windows and smothering the fire within. He played the blasters over the floor beneath the victims, keeping the fire at bay just below them. Little by little, he inched the sprayers down, catching the fire on the lower floors and extinguishing it. Then he swung them upwards again and maintained the fire- free area as Thunderbird Two hovered over the building and Gordon was lowered on a safety harness, oxyhydnite tanks strapped to his back and cutter in hand.

How is he going to communicate with them? Jeff wondered. Having heard everything going on during that last rescue back at base, I feel like I'm in the dark out here with just Alan or Virgil to talk to.

Gordon had wondered about the communication problem, too. Unlike John, he was not the master of several languages and he most certainly did not speak fluent Mandarin.

"Find someone who speaks English," Alan had counseled. Gordon didn't think much of that idea, but he realized his own shortcomings in this area. I'll find myself an interpreter. He sighed. There wouldn't be a communication problem if John had come along in my stead. Why did Dad have to get all stubborn like that?

"Mobile Control to Fire Truck, how's the dicetyline level doing?" Alan asked. Jeff turned his attention to the tank levels. His eyebrows rose when he saw how much of the stuff he had already used.

"Fire Truck to Mobile Control. I've used about 50 percent of the available dicetyline," Jeff responded.

"Let me know when you've get down to 25 percent, Fire Truck." Alan found it easier to use this form of address than to call his father "Dad" or "Jeff". "I'll see what I can do to get some more out to you at that point."

"F-A-B, Mobile Control." Jeff's attention was claimed by the sight of Gordon beginning to cut into the wall around one of the small windows.

Gordon rested one foot on the edge outside the window farthest from the fire, but let his harness take most of his weight. The women inside the apartment crowded around the window, those who could reach out shoving imploring hands to him, and one even grabbing his boot. The sight was so heart-rending that Gordon closed his eyes for a second to steel himself, to bring out the professional rescuer.

"Does anyone here speak English? English?" he shouted above the voices crying inside the apartment. "I need someone who speaks English!"

The crowd of women at the window began to draw back and allow two figures to approach the window. They were both girls, one about twelve, Gordon guessed, and the other around nine or ten.

"We speak English!" the younger of them said between coughs, shocking Gordon by her very American accent.

"Both of you?"

"Yes," said the older girl, whose speech was colored by a bit of Chinese accent. She was coughing too from the smoke that had been plaguing the women in this last apartment.

"Okay! What are your names?" Gordon asked, leaning in as close as he could and smiling at them.

"I'm Catherine and this is my sister, Megan," the older girl informed him. Again, Gordon was surprised by the English names.

"Nice to meet you, Catherine and Megan. I need your help. I don't speak any Mandarin, and I'm hoping you two can interpret for me. Will you help?" Gordon asked, a serious look on his face.

"Yes, we can help you. Megan's Mandarin is much better than mine, but there are ladies here who also speak Cantonese and I can help you with that," Catherine said, nodding her head.

"Very good. Here is the plan. I'm going to cut a big hole out of this wall so you folks can get out easier. Then I'm going to go back up to the ship up there," he pointed at Thunderbird Two and the girls both leaned out of the window to see it, "and send down a box like an elevator car. There's only room for four in the box, so children and pregnant women have to go first. We will get everyone out if no one panics and everyone waits their turn. Please tell the others who are with you what I just said." Gordon thought for a moment. "And please get a count for me of how many are in there. Women and children separately."

The two girls turned to the small crowd behind them and each spoke in turn. While Megan was speaking, Catherine took a count of how many people there were. Then the two girls turned to Gordon, who was already working on enlarging the exit.

"There are fifteen children and seven adults!" Catherine yelled to him. She oohed as she saw the oxyhydnite cutter in action. Gordon stopped long enough to shout, "Thanks!" over the sound of the cutter and to wave her back away from the window.

Jeff watched Gordon's progress from the Fire Truck, glancing up at him from time to time, then glancing down at his instruments and making sure that the dicetyline was still doing its job. The fire seemed to be contained and the local crews were making headway over at the other end of the building.

Still, Jeff knew better than to relax his vigilance. So many times rescues had seemed to be going along well and then something terrible would happen that would send everything and everyone into chaos. Those were the times that his stomach would tie into knots and he would have his head in his hands, racking his brains to think of something, anything that he could offer as a solution to the problem. Or those were the times when communication was cut off and he could do nothing at all to help his sons, nothing except wait for John or Alan to reestablish contact with Scott and try to keep the space monitor focused and hopeful when he himself was neither.

Why did I think that going out on a rescue would be any different? The only difference I see so far is that I have the work of the rescue to distract me. Thinking that, he looked down at his dicetyline supply. Just about down to 75 percent depletion. Better let Alan know.

"Fire Truck to Mobile Control. I have 25 percent dicetyline left. Three out of four tanks are empty. If you can get some more out here, Alan, I'd be obliged. I'll need it to clear the way for the rescue capsule, at least on the first trip down." Jeff radioed.

"F-A-B, Fire Truck. Stand by." Alan keyed in a command that locked the keyboard and readouts of Mobile Control, and would lock the actual computer panels when he closed them. An alarm was automatically set in case anyone touched the device or tried to photograph it. The code also transferred command of Mobile Control to a remote device that Alan then took with him as he ran for the pod. Once he was ready to resume his station, he would key an access code into the remote and everything would unlock itself. This was one of Brains' innovations that was being field tested to see if it was efficient and closed the unit securely.

He opened the locked access hatch with his own code and disappeared inside. Using an automatic winch on a block and tackle that he hung from the observation catwalk that ran down the middle of the pod near the roof, he maneuvered four barrels of dicetyline onto the the Firefly, using netting to hold them securely in place. Then he opened up the pod and drove down to the Fire Truck.

Jeff put the sprayer on automatic and jumped out of the cab to help Alan wrestle the barrels full of the fire extinguisher up onto the Fire Truck. They removed the empty tanks, substituting the full barrels for the ones that were depleted. Then the two manhandled the empty tanks onto the Firefly and covered them with netting for transport back to the pod.

They had just about finished the job when from behind them came a loud CRASH! and the tinkle of broken glass. Both turned, their hearts in their throats, but they sighed in unison when they realized that the noise was caused by the piece of wall that Gordon had finished cutting through and had pulled away from the building to smash on the empty ground below.

Jeff grinned at Alan. "That sure scared me!" he shouted over the roar of Thunderbird Two's jets.

Alan nodded and grinned back, yelling, "Me, too!"

"I'd better get back to it. Thanks, Alan!" Jeff waved back at his youngest as he jogged over to the Fire Truck and climbed back into the cab.

The rest of the rescue was boring by comparison. Jeff continued to keep the blaze at bay with the dicetyline while Gordon manned the winch that brought the rescue capsule up and down, taking the trapped women and children to the safety of the ground below. Looking out, Gordon saw his two young interpreters run over to a pair of adults who had a small boy with them; a Caucasian man and Lu Ning. The two girls were enveloped in the arms of the couple, then the girls said something to their parents, and the five of them began to wave in Gordon's general direction. He waved back, certain they couldn't really see him in the bowels of Thunderbird Two, but greeting them anyway.

Back at the unlocked Mobile Control, Alan called into his microphone, "Mobile Control to Thunderbird Two and Fire Truck. All victims rescued and accounted for. Stand down. Time: 16:27. Time elapsed: 2 hours, 32 minutes."

Back at base, Scott blew out some air. "Good job, everyone. Pack it up and come on home." He turned to John, who had been sitting on the couch listening to the whole thing. They looked at each other, despair in their eyes. John spoke first.

"After this, we'll never get him to change his mind. Everything went so smoothly."

"Too smoothly, John," Scott said, shaking his head. "At least this was a fire rescue and he was wearing the appropriate gear. No one could see who he was."

John sighed. "True. But we're not always going to be so lucky. Someone, sometime, is going to recognize him. Or something will go horribly wrong and he'll get hurt. Or... killed." He jumped up from his seat and began to pace. "We have to convince him not to go out!"

Scott put a hand on John's shoulder. "I think it's time to do what Kyrano suggested. Lay out our concerns to Dad. Let him see that we understand what he wants to do and maybe even why. But the risks are too great."

John nodded. "When everyone gets back and is cleaned up. After the debriefing."

"Sure, after the debriefing."