Uncomfortable Positions

Alan stepped into the games room and scanned the crowd for any sign of his friend. The pinball games proved to be manned by people he either didn't know or had a "I was in his class once" acquaintance with. Fermat must have gotten bored, he thought. Or maybe he's gone back to his room.

Temptation to use the communicator on his wrist rose up, but he batted it down easily. Emergencies only, he reminded himself, acknowledging the fact that he would lose the privilege of having the watch should he abuse it. Seeing someone he knew from Ms. Gerrick's class last year, he stepped over to ask about Fermat's whereabouts.

"Hackenbacker?" the boy said. "Israni came and got him. They went off together, talking about hitting the courts."

"Thanks," Alan said. Fermat, though seemingly the stereotypically clumsy geek, had surprisingly advanced hand-eye coordination, which he kept sharp through his rapid typing, and through playing pinball. Once he was on a machine, he zoned out just about everything else and played the game as long as one of the faculty monitors would let him. A half-hour was the usual time limit, and all of the school's machines had his initials at the top of the list of high scores.

Courts, huh? Alan thought to himself as he left the Student Union. With Dev, that's got to be basketball. The tall, gangly-looking Indian youth was pretty good at the sport but found the challenge of his academic studies to be more important than playing for the school team. Still, on the weekends he could often be found playing a pick up game or two on the outside courts.

He walked briskly toward the courts, arms swinging, then broke into a trot. He knew it would be a while before any footage of his family in action appeared on the televid, and figured that maybe he could get in a few minutes playing while he waited.

Approaching the courts, he grinned to see Dev score for his side, his long, lanky body leaping up and over his opponents, the ball swishing through the hoop, catching nothing but net. The action shifted to the other end of the court as the opposing side got control of the ball. Fermat was sitting on a bench nearby, watching, cheering on his friend, and talking to the dark-haired boy next to him. Alan came up behind him, and thrust his fist down over his shoulder, his thumb stuck between his fore and middle fingers. The gesture was the sign language letter "t" and it was a signal between the two boys that meant the Thunderbirds were go. Fermat glanced at it, then turned to look at him, an expression of delight on his face. He was itching to ask Alan for details, but knew he couldn't right then and there; it might compromise security. Alan sat down on the bare ground next to the bench and asked, "So, who's winning?"

"The o-other guys," Fermat said, rolling his eyes. "Wish I w-were o-out there. But I c-can't, not with this a-a-a... cast. C-Couldn't play p-pinball very well, either." He turned to his neighbor. "D-Dom? D-Do you know m-my friend, A-Alan?"

Dom leaned over a bit to look at Alan, then shook his head. "I know about him, but we've never been introduced." He held out his hand. "Dom Bertoli."

Alan took the hand and shook it. "Alan Tracy. We've got a mutual friend in Kay Lewis."

"Yeah, he's on the yearbook staff," Dom said.

They were distracted by Dev making another basket, and Alan put his thumb and forefinger in his mouth to whistle loudly while the other two cheered. The game went on, with the other team in possession of the ball, and Alan took a minute to asked Dom, "You okay? I heard about that attack..."

"I'm... okay," Dom said, nodding slightly. "They got the asthma under control at the hospital, and called my folks. But they're in Ft. Lauderdale and... I'm here." He shrugged. "The hospital got permission to release me. I expect my parents up here tomorrow." He turned to Fermat, and gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. "Wish I'd had this one along. Kay tells me he scared the guys away when they went after him."

"Well," Fermat began, blushing. "I-It wasn't j-j-j... only me, y'know. A-Alan here b-brought backup."

"Cool," Dom said, then went back to watching the game.

Someone from Dev's team scored again, and suddenly the game ended. "Who won?" Alan asked.

"The o-other guys," Fermat repeated with a sigh. "46 to 32."

"Well, I'd better be going," Dom said, standing up and stretching. "Nice to meet you, Alan."

"You, too, Dom," Alan replied. He gave Dom a thoughtful look. "Hey, is your roommate Trey Mackenzie?"

Neither Alan nor Fermat could miss the grimace that passed over Dom's face. "Yeah, he is. What about it?"

"Well, I'd like to talk to you about an idea I just got concerning him. It might be good for both of us."

Dom shrugged. "Sure. Why not? We can talk now, if you don't mind walking back to the dorms together."

"Great!" Alan turned to Fermat. "Hey, I'll meet you in your room in a bit, okay?"

"S-Sure," Fermat replied, a puzzled look on his face. "I'll b-be there. G-Got homework to d-d-do."

"See you soon!" the older boy called as he walked off with Dom.

"Damn, it's hot!" Gordon groused. He was dressed in his fireproof suit, air tanks connected to his face plate, spraying dicetyline foam at the flames in the path of the Firefly.

"What did you expect, Gords?" Virgil asked from where he was guiding the machine along. "It's a forest fire." He used the bulldozer blade to push aside the charred trees that blocked the bumpy, rut-filled, washboard of a dirt road to the camp. "Thunderbird Five from Firefly. John, how much farther?"

"You've got another kilometer, Virge," John replied. He was using a series of IR surveillance satellites to bounce the image to his screens. The camp was deep in the forests of Ecuador, in the Parque Nacional Yaguní, where a forest fire now raged. There were many small villages around the park, and a few small camps within, of which this was one. The camp was in the path of the fire, and would soon be surrounded. But the small villages were ill-equipped to do more than keep the fire from their own borders and so the sponsors of the camp, a missionary agency in Quito, had called upon International Rescue to pull the campers out.

It had quickly been decided that the easiest way to take the thirty or so teenagers and their adult counselors out was to clear the access road. The fire had cut across the road at one point and many fallen trees, some still on fire, blocked the way. So Jeff unloaded the Firefly, with its load of dicetyline and two of his sons, at the camp. Three campers who were having difficulty breathing were airlifted, along with an adult chaperone, to Puyo, the nearest town having the medical facilities necessary for their care. Since there was no really good spot nearby to set up a command post, Scott parked his Thunderbird on the larger access road leading to the camp and joined his father in Thunderbird Two, helping the folks they were airlifting.

Gordon risked a glance back the way they had come. The three ancient four-wheel drive trucks, each holding eight to ten people, followed slowly along behind them. The air was thick with smoke and still very hot, and he hoped that the air tank kits they had handed out would be sufficient to see the campers and counselors through. Taking a deep breath himself, he turned back and continued to spray his surroundings with green foam.

"Thunderbird One to Firefly," Scott's voice came over the communications links in both Virgil's and Gordon's helmets. "I'm baaaack!"

"Decided to stop shirking, huh?" Gordon quipped, his voice sounding breathy inside his face mask. "How about coming down here and doing some real manly work? The kind that gets you hot and sweaty."

"I have different and more enjoyable ideas on how to get hot and sweaty, Gords," Scott riposted.

"Oh?" Virgil chimed in. "What's her name?"

"Can the chatter boys," came Jeff's no-nonsense tone. "Focus on the job."

There was a chorus of "F-A-B" from the Firefly and Thunderbird One, and a quiet chuckle from Thunderbird Five. Unexpectedly, John's voice, tight and tense cut in, "Firefly from Thunderbird Five. You've got trouble. The wind has shifted and picked up speed. The fire's now ahead of you on your left. I suggest you pick up some speed, too."

Then they heard from Scott, who was flying along the route over them, "Firefly from Thunderbird One. I'd listen to what John says. You have a bridge ahead. Wooden from the look of it, over a good sized ravine. And the fire is racing you there."

"You heard the man, Virgil," Jeff said. "John, talk to the drivers behind the Firefly and apprise them of the situation. See if they can pick up speed."

"F-A-B," John replied. He turned and pressed a button. This was one translation job he could handle himself; he was fluent in Spanish. He began to rapidly inform the lead truck of the approaching problem.

Virgil began to coax the Firefly to go faster, pressing the pedal down slowly. But the increase in speed meant that the machine hit the bumps with greater force, and this had a decided effect on Gordon's perch.

"Hey!" he called out indignantly as the platform on which the dicetyline guns were located swung back and forth sharply. "Don't forget I'm up here!"

"I won't," Virgil answered through gritted teeth. "Just keep putting out that fire!"

The fact that they were entering an area where the fire hadn't been burning long meant that there were no trees fallen across the road--yet. But the fire was younger, hotter, and burning up the tinder of bushes and leafy ground cover quickly, moving fast as the winds fanned it, sending sparks to ignite more of the dry foliage. Gordon grimly held on tight and sprayed the green foam along each side, trying to aim in front of the Firefly and sweeping back to preserve the dicetyline they had left by not spraying it in the actual road.

Finally, they saw the bridge. Beyond it, the forest was untouched by flame and beckoned like a cool oasis. But Virgil took a good look at the span and groaned. "Firefly to Thunderbirds One, Two and Five. We have reached the bridge, but we've got a little problem here."

"Go ahead, Firefly," Jeff said. "What's the trouble? Is the bridge on fire?"

"Negative. The bridge is fine, but... it's too small for the Firefly."