Prologue: Expectations

It had been four full months and a bit since she first set foot on the island. The exoticness of it had been replaced by an every day expectation of what she would see, and feel, and smell. It felt comfortable now, somehow, and she enjoyed that feeling of comfort.

She sat on the beach, watching her children cavort in the waves, bodies tanned, hair lightened by sun. A breather between her last project and the huge new one looming on the horizon was just what she needed. Time to reconnect with her children, her life, and her self. She opened the fat mystery novel she had started before she came here and tried to pick up the narrative from the place she last read. It was no good, she was going to have to go back to the beginning. Maybe this time she would be able to finish it.

The children stopped running around, alerted by a now familiar sound. The silver rocket plane flew swiftly over their heads and out to sea, but not before giving a little wiggle of its wings in greeting. A few moments later, a huge aircraft, looking like a gigantic green beetle, followed in the rocket plane's wake. Its external lights blinked on and off quickly, acknowledging the presence of the family on the beach. The children waved wildly to each one.

She closed her book and sighed. The mystery would have to wait. She was needed elsewhere.

She rose from the sand, picking up her towel, giving it a good shake and wrapping it around her waist.

"Come on, children. It's time to go back."

Education

"Y'know, I was just thinking..." Dr. Rebekkah Barnes, known to her friends as Bekkah, leaned back in her squeaky wooden desk chair, causing it to groan alarmingly.

"Dangerous occupation, that, Bekkah." interrupted Brains, also known as Hiram K. Hackenbacker. He didn't even look up from the computer in front of him.

"I roll my eyes in your general direction, Hiram." riposted Bekkah. She interlaced her fingers behind her head.

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I was thinking that the scientific part of International Rescue should have its own uniform." She reached across and slid a piece of sketch paper to the third party in the room, Tin-Tin Kyrano. Tin-Tin looked up briefly from the slides she was observing and burst out laughing.

"I don't think that would work for all of us, Bekkah," she said, getting control of herself.

"No? The tankini top too modest?" Bekkah asked, humor in her voice. Tin-Tin slid the paper back to her.

"Doesn't matter anyway," Brains interjected. "I have one already." He was the only member of the scientific team who could wear the same uniform as the active members of International Rescue. The only difference between his outfit and the ones that the pilots wore was the color of his sash. It was brown.

"Yeah, but we gals won't look good in that sash thing." Bekkah complained. "That is, if Jeff ever let us wear one at all." She looked at her sketch, which actually was of a one-piece coverall, the same blue as the other uniforms, with a red belt and stripe down the outside of the pants leg. Under the coverall, a long-sleeved red turtleneck was pictured. Ankle-high work boots and a red baseball cap completed the picture. The thing that struck Tin-Tin so funny was the caricature of Brains that Bekkah had drawn to give the uniform body a face.

Bekkah folded up the picture and stuck it in a folder on her worktable. Then she put her magnifying viewers back over her eyes and resumed her soldering job. She was nearly finished preparing the motherboards for a microcomputer to be installed in Thunderbird 2.

"Are you finished with that paper you're preparing for the conference next month?" Brains asked.

"Yeah, just about. I have to go over some of the visuals I'm going to use. I am so not looking forward to this conference. I was hoping to have time with my in-laws when my kids visit them next month. Also more time with my own parents." Unlike the other scientists in the lab, Bekkah had three young children. She had made plans for her in-laws to take the kids while she was at the conference, and then spend some time over the Thanksgiving holiday with her own parents in South Carolina.

"Who says you can't?" Brains looked over at her.

"Jeff says, that's who." Bekkah continued her work. "He says it will be hard enough sparing all three of us for the conference. Plus he can't spare any one to fly me from New Mexico to Greenville for more than one day. Good thing he at least gave me Thanksgiving week."

"Do you have anything planned for the 'We're not all geeks' night?" Brains asked.

"Yeah. I sent music off to Maxine and Donna so we can do our close harmony trio again. Also sent Tyler the music. He said he'd make the appropriate copies for the band. Hope he remembers to send a copy on to Jimmy."

"What numbers are you doing?" Tin-Tin wondered.

"Ah, little sister, that would be telling." Bekkah grinned below her magnifiers. "You'll just have to wait in suspenders like everyone else." She put her microcomp interface in her right ear and her separate speaker in her left. "Computer, play songs under file 'Boogie Woogie'." She began to bob her head in time to the music.

Gordon Tracy popped his ginger-haired head into the door of the lab.

"Bekkah, you ready for another shooting lesson?" he asked. She looked over at him and nodded.

"Computer, end playback," she ordered. "Coming!" She got up and left with Gordon.

Bekkah put the headphones over her ears. She loaded the pistol with ease. Gordon had given her several lessons as time and rescues permitted. She now knew how to load and maintain a pistol and a rifle. Next would come automatic weapons. But first she needed to become a better shot with a pistol.

She raised the weapon in both hands, right index finger on the trigger. She sighted down the barrel, and squeezed the trigger. The shot landed in the outer ring of the bulls' eye.

"I'm still having trouble with the recoil," she complained to Gordon.

Gordon stood behind her. Reaching forward, he put his hands over hers.

"Now try."

She squeezed the trigger. The recoil was marginal and the bullet pierced the center of the bulls' eye.

She swiveled her head around to look at him.

"It's easy when you do it. How do you minimize the recoil like that?"

"It's not the recoil that's giving you trouble. You're dropping the barrel slightly as you fire. Try this."

He took her left hand, and placed it under her right wrist.

"Now relax your elbows and bring the gun up to your sight." She did as she was told.

"Fire."

The bullet hit the outside of the inner circle.

"Much better!" he praised.

She finished shooting out the clip, then put down the pistol and picked up the rifle.

"Now with this, you are having trouble with keeping the barrel up and with the recoil," Gordon informed her.

She groaned. And the lesson proceeded.

When she was finished with her shooting lesson, she headed upstairs to the classroom. One of the smaller guest rooms had been turned into a classroom for her children, who were being homeschooled. She had chosen to use a satellite program, where the children were taught by a faculty quite some distance away. Some of the courses were recorded at their end, and replayed later, but at least two hours daily were live instruction. Each child had their own computer, and could respond to the teacher online. Right now it was Terry's turn to have live instruction and Bekkah wanted to sit in on it. Terry was having trouble with his multiplication tables.

Bekkah came quietly into the room and sat near the door. Chell looked up from her seatwork and sketched a small wave at her mom. Bekkah responded with a smile. Joey was watching a pre-recorded session on his computer screen, headphones on so he didn't disturb his siblings.

The teacher, a pleasant-looking blonde, spoke to her far-flung students.

"Now, you will find a list of your multiplication times four on your screen. This will be timed. Answer as many of the problems as you can in one minute. Ready, set, go!"

A timer appeared in the upper right hand corner, counting down the seconds. Terry answered the questions slowly, having to think about many of the answers. He had only completed 17 out of 50 problems when the timer went off. And Bekkah could see that three of the answers were wrong.

"Okay, students, let's do this again. I'm going to shuffle the problems. One minute. Ready, set, go!"

The timer counted down from one minute again. This time Terry did better; he answered 20 questions and all were correct.

"Remember, our goal is 30 or better. Some of you are still having trouble with getting your multiplication facts memorized. If you got less than thirty correct today, you must use your flash cards as part of your homework tonight."

Terry groaned. The teacher went on to another math subject.

"Terry, I always have trouble with my multiplication tables, too," Bekkah said, putting an arm around her oldest son. "I sometimes have to stop and think about an answer. Especially with the times sevens. You will get this; you just might not be very fast at it." She gave her son a hug. "Now, back to work."

Bekkah took a minute or two to see how Chell was doing on her history seatwork. Then she checked on Joey's spelling. Joey sometimes had to be watched closely; he was known to switch over to a computer game instead of watching the pre-recorded lessons. Bekkah checked the folders of seatwork. Time to mail some more in, she thought. She pulled a large craft envelope from a folder, put the seatwork papers inside, added postage and return address, then sealed the envelope.

"I'm taking this out to the mailbox. I don't think the mail plane has come yet, so it can go out today." She left the classroom, and walked down to the airstrip, where a big, black mailbox stood. She looked inside, saw only outgoing mail, and added her envelope to the pile. As she turned to go back to the villa, she saw the mail plane coming in for a landing. So she waited until the plane made its landing and taxied up to the box.

"Hi, Juan!" Bekkah called.

"Hey, Dr. Barnes." The mail plane's pilot walked up to her. "Nothing for you today, I'm afraid."

"No problem, Juan. No mail means no bills," she quipped. "I'll take the rest up to the house. Any packages?"

"Yeah, but a cargo flight will be out with them. Too big for my little puddle jumper." The mail carrier opened the box and took the outgoing mail with him.

"Fair winds to you!" Bekkah wished him as he turned around his little plane and taxied out to the sea again. Then she headed up to the villa, her arms full of mail.