Unsatisfactory Answers

The ball bounced off the hoop, making the goal reverberate. Alan changed position quickly to catch the rebound. Scott waved his arms, getting in Alan's face. From the corner of one eye, Alan could see Fermat moving below the hoop, arms outstretched to indicate he was clear.

Feinting to one side, Alan drew Scott away from Fermat, then passed the ball to his younger friend. Fermat dribbled a few paces away; Scott came for him but before the taller man could reach him, he took a clean shot. It wound once around the hoop and dropped through the net.

"Nice one!" Alan called, as Scott collected the ball.

"Thanks!" Fermat replied, breathless. He and Alan both converged on Scott, who kept his body between Fermat and the ball as he dribbled. Before Alan could reach them, Scott straightened, jumping up a little as he shot the ball through the hoop without touching the edges.

"Three points! Nothing but net!" Scott crowed as Alan took control once more. He watched his brother as they easily paced each other down the half-court. "How're you doing now?"

Alan smiled a bit. "Better."

The basketball game had been Fermat's idea. "I h-haven't played in so long because of my arm. Since S-Scott's here, maybe we can p-play a half-court game."

"Wouldn't be fair, would it? Two against one?" Alan protested.

"I'm willing to take you both on at once." Scott grinned. "I outclass the two of you separately and together!"

"I'll t-take that as a ch-challenge." Fermat grinned back, rubbing his hands together. "C'mon, Alan. Let's sh-show the junior b-birdman who's better."

"Junior birdman?" Scott feigned outrage. "Who are you calling 'junior', Junior?"

Alan shrugged. He took a few minutes to change out of his formal uniform and into some casual clothes, then met Fermat and his brother at the courts.

He had to admit, the idea was a good one. It felt good to just spend time goofing off, particularly with Scott. The fresh cool air made it feel good just to breathe, and the calls and shouts of boys playing ball around them faded into the background.

"Hey, Pinky!"

Alan turned to see who was calling, and Scott took advantage of the distraction. He slapped the ball from his brother's grasp and headed back toward the goal with it. Fermat chased him, but wasn't quite fast enough.

"You'll never make the team if you let yourself get distracted like that, Pinky!" Xavion entered the court area through the chain link gate, basketball in hand, followed by Jason and Qaeshon. Alan jogged over to meet them. A loud "Yee-hah!" sounded in the background, and the small group turned their attention to Scott, who had made another basket.

"Which brother is that?" Qaeshon asked as Scott and Fermat joined them.

"This is Scott, my oldest brother. Former Air Force." Alan introduced his friends. He was secretly pleased to see that Xavion could look Scott square in the eye.

"So," Zave asked, showing off a bit by spinning the basketball on a finger, then nonchalantly letting it fall into his palm. "You guys up for a game? Three on three?" He tossed the ball at Fermat, who caught it easily. "I see the Brain here is ready and raring."

Scott took a glance at his watch and swore under his breath. "I'm sorry, guys, but I need to get back to my hotel for a shower and change of clothes. Got a date for the evening, and I wouldn't want to stand her up."

"A d-date?" Fermat gave Scott an almost unbelieving look.

"Yeah, a date. Dinner and a movie." Scott clapped a hand on Alan's shoulder. "You probably know her; she works here. Alan..." He grinned. "I mean, Pinky, here, introduced us."

Alan turned to his brother a look of incredulous horror on his face. "No. No, you didn't. Not Sable."

The grin got even wider. "Yeah, that's the one. Sable." He looked at his watch again. "Nice to meet you all. Alan, Fermat, I'll see you again before I leave for home." With that, Scott tossed the ball to Fermat, then picked up his jacket and slung it over a shoulder. At the multiple good-byes behind him, he gave a two-fingered salute and walked off.

"Sable?" Jason turned on Alan, his voice squeaking. "Why on earth did you introduce her to your brother?"

Alan mumbled something. "I didn't hear that, Pinky," Xavion said, raising an eyebrow.

"I said that it was payment for something she helped me with." Alan gave both Zave and Jason glowering looks. "I mentioned he was coming and she wanted to meet him. The date was his idea."

"Wonder what else he has p-planned." Fermat spun the basketball in his hands, looking thoughtfully after Scott's retreating form.

"I dunno, and I don't really care." Alan shrugged, then glanced around at his friends. "So, we gonna play or not?"

"Sure, Pinky." Zave tossed his ball up and caught it again. "You and me against the terrible trio here."

"Hey! That's not fair!" Kay's protest sparked a friendly discussion that ended when Alan agreed to play with Jason and Qaeshon, and Xavion taking Fermat on his team.

"Well, this is déjà vu all over again," Gordon quipped as he stepped into the rescue basket. He clipped safety lines to the sides of the platform. "I'm secure, Tin-Tin. Let 'er rip!"

Standing by the winch controls, Tin-Tin focused on directing the rescue basket down to its target: the sloping helipad of the SBX-2, a sea-based radar platform that was listing to one side. A sizable group of civilian technicians and non-essential personnel were waiting for pick up. Though the platform was made for use in high winds and heavy seas, it wasn't made to do so with a dozen or more holes punched through the thick metal of its port keel. Divers were trying to repair the mysterious holes, and they, with the military personnel considered essential, were to be airlifted if the situation got any worse. Since the radar facility was currently sitting in the middle of the Pacific, military airlift and rescue by sea were hours away. International Rescue could get there far faster... which was good, considering that Typhoon Faxai was on its way.

"They've got the platform partially submerged to starboard." Jeff's voice sounded inside her helmet. Tin-Tin was fully uniformed today, wearing the green piping of Thunderbird Two. "It messes with their stability, but makes things easier on the divers. They can work nearer the surface. I might offer to deploy Thunderbird Four to give them a hand and hurry things along. How it going down there, Tin-Tin?"

"Gordon's almost down," she replied.

"F-A-B," Jeff said as he made another sweep around the platform. "I have visual. Virgil? Any problems?"

In Thunderbird Two's cockpit, Virgil tweaked his 'Bird's trim. "None, Thunderbird One. Winds are steady, and so are we."

"F-A-B." Jeff sounded pleased. He took Thunderbird One down carefully, keeping far enough from the platform so that he wouldn't interfere with the repair work going on, but close enough that he could observe with a long-range viewer. He glanced upward. The morning sky was still blue, but off to the west long tendrils of clouds were reaching in their direction. Beyond them, the sky looked gray and sullen. "Thunderbird Five from Thunderbird One; what's the status on that storm?"

John checked his satellite radar screens again. "Thunderbird Five here. You've got fifty minutes to an hour before the leading edge reaches your position. Winds should be picking up in about thirty."

"So, we should get as many of these people up in the next half hour as we can." Jeff paused, thinking. "Let's see. Full complement is currently eighty-one, of those, twenty-six are considered 'essential', including seven divers. Leaves us with fifty-five. Carrying eight each trip..."

Jeff was interrupted by Gordon's call. "I have the first group ready to go, Thunderbird Two. Haul away!"

Using his viewer, Jeff could see the bright yellow platform rising slowly and steadily in the air. Only when they reached the corona of winds that surrounded Thunderbird Two's hover jets did the basket show any signs of sideways movement, and that was minimal. "Looking good, Gordon. Now, keep it up."

"F-A-B," Gordon replied. "No barfers on this trip, thank God!"

Tin-Tin made a face. "Eww! Gordon! That's gross!"

"Well, you don't want to wash it off, do you?"

The rescue basket slid into the bay, and Gordon locked it into place. Tin-Tin waited for the light on her console to go green before giving a thumbs up. "Okay. You're locked in."

"F-A-B." Gordon opened the gate to the rescue basket, and stepped down, helping the first of their passengers, a pregnant woman, from the platform. "Please watch your step."

Tin-Tin moved in to help, and when the platform was clear, Gordon jerked his head toward the interior of Thunderbird Two. "Go ahead and help guide these folks to the passenger bay. I'll do the safety diagnostics for the next trip."

"F-A-B." Tin-Tin was wearing her helmet, so her voice sounded different coming out of the external speakers. "Please follow me. Watch your step."

She led them to one of the pod's interior compartments. Ten rows of ten seats sat in the middle of the compartment. More seats, folded up to allow for freer movement, lined the walls. This pod module could hold 150 people for safe transport. She guided the little group to the back and had them fill in the last row. "Please buckle up. I'll be back in a few moments to help if you need it."

With that, she left, securing the door and hurrying back to the winch room. The platform was already on its way down. "Gordon, you're supposed to wait for me!"

"Don't have time, Tin-Tin." Gordon's disembodied voice crackled in her helmet. "The diagnostics came up green. Just keep an eye on things for me."

"Gordon." Jeff cut in. "We do this one by the book. You wait until Tin-Tin is available to spot you."

"But the storm..."

"Gordon..."

There was a pause, then a chastened, "Yes, sir." Tin-Tin let out the breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding.

Once Gordon was safely down, Tin-Tin went back to the passenger compartment. "I'm sorry I took so long," she said as she checked the passengers' harnesses. She helped one of the men to undo his and get rid of the twists he'd managed to put in the belts, then tweaked the fastenings for the pregnant woman.

As she leaned over to make sure all was well, the woman said, "You seem awfully young to be doing this."

Tin-Tin smiled, though the woman couldn't see it behind the helmet. "Thank you for your concern, ma'am. Believe me, I wouldn't be here if the commander didn't have faith in my abilities." She straightened. "Now, I have to leave again. I'll be back shortly."

On her way back to the winch room, she heard Jeff's voice. From the volume, she could tell he was speaking to her and her alone. "Nicely handled, Tin-Tin."

Within the confines of her helmet, Tin-Tin blushed. "Thank you, sir."

"Damn. I never knew Sugi could be so stupid." Zave finished his soda with a loud slurping noise.

The group decided to skip dinner in the dining hall and instead hold conference in Jason's room. Jason still didn't have a roommate, which meant more space, and fewer listening ears. Zave had made a quick run to a local Chinese restaurant and come back with combination platters, one for each boy, and a twelve pack of soda. During dinner, Alan recounted his confrontation with Lee Sugimoto.

"Wish A.J. were here; we'll have to bring him up to speed when he gets back from Connecticut." Kay balled up a napkin and shot it toward Jason's wastebasket. "He shoots, he scores!"

"Too bad you weren't making shots like that during the game!" Jason quipped. He forked up a mouthful of fried rice. "Hey, Zave?" he asked, spitting out little tidbits as he did so.

"Man, eat with your mouth closed," Xavion said, disgusted. "Ask me when you're finished chewing."

Jason rolled his eyes, but followed his friend's instructions. After he'd swallowed, he pointed his plastic fork at Zave. "I wanted to know how the team did today."

Alan straightened up, his interest piqued. Zave snorted and shook his head. "We blew it again." He nodded toward Alan. "I'll be real glad to have you back on the team. Maybe we'll win an event or two."

"I'll be glad to be back." Alan poked around his sesame chicken with his chopsticks – having Onaha as a cook meant that using chopsticks was a common occurrence – and found a bite to his liking. He popped it in his mouth. "Once I hear what they're going to do with Sugi, I'll be able to focus on the rest of my life."

There was a moment of quiet. Fermat glanced at Alan, a concerned look on his face. Alan didn't meet his gaze, so Fermat transferred it to Qaeshon, saying the first thing that came to his mind. "I w-wonder how Scott's d-date is going."

"I still can't believe he asked her out," Alan said, shaking his head. A gleam came to his eye, and he patted his pocket, then dipped in to pull out his phone. "I really should check in with him..."

The others laughed, all but Zave. "Ooh, that's cold, man. Real cold!" he said, wincing, shaking his head and trying to hide a smile all at the same time.

Jason grinned. "Do it! Do it!"

"Okay, okay. " Alan put out a hand, forestalling any more conversation. "I need something good here. Let me think."

His friends looked at him expectantly, eagerly waiting to see what Alan would come up with. A slow smile crossed his face. "Got it." He opened his phone, and amidst the chuckles of his friends, he dialed Scott's number.

"So, how does someone as talented as you are come to be working in the kitchen at Wharton?" Scott poured a little more red wine into his glass. He had chosen, without knowing, the same restaurant that Jeff had visited on his last night in Pittsfield, and had met his date there.

Sable, dressed in a black and red corset top with no-nonsense black trousers and heavy-looking platform shoes, took a sip of her soft drink. Scott had offered to buy her a drink, but she'd politely turned him down with an enigmatic, "I'm on duty."

"Gotta pay the tuition somehow," she replied, putting down her tumbler and picking up her fork. "The work schedule fits around my classes at the moment and I should be able to continue working just mornings once rehearsals start." She took a bite of her entrée, and when she'd swallowed it, she gave him a speculative look. "What about you? Where did you go to school?"

"The US Air Force Academy," Scott replied, pouring a touch more wine into his glass. "After graduation, I rose up quickly through the ranks – on my own merits, and not because of my name, I'll have you know. I was a top fighter pilot."

"Well, that explains a lot," Sable said, a sly smile playing around her heavily rouged lips.

"Such as?"

"Your tendency toward arrogance."

Scott raised an eyebrow and smiled. He opened his mouth to say something when his phone vibrated. With a sigh, he said, "Excuse me," and opened the phone so see who was calling. "Alan?" His face took on a more earnest and serious look as he said, "I need to answer this."

Sable nodded, waving a hand in his direction as permission. Scott pressed a button, and held the phone to his ear. "Hey, Alan. What's up?"

He listened for a few moments, then frowned and suddenly said, "Cute, Alan. Goodbye." With a sharp snap, he closed the phone and tucked it in his suit jacket pocket. He gave Sable an apologetic look. "Sorry about that." He shook his head and made a sour face. "Little brothers. Sometimes, I want to wring their necks. Especially his."

"Little sisters aren't much better," Sable said, sounding sympathetic. "They're just sneakier."

"Then maybe my brother Gordon should have been a girl. He's the sneakiest person I know."

They both laughed, then Sable said, "So, you're a fighter pilot, huh?"

Scott shrugged a little. "Well, I was one. I'm not in the Air Force anymore."

"How come? Or are you just a reservist or something?" Sable asked, then went back to eating, her eyes fixed on him.

"I got a better offer," he replied, smiling. "Working for my dad."

"That must have been a big change," Sable said, biting into a soft breadstick. "I'd probably be bored to tears."

"A big change, yes. But never boring."

They continued their meal, fitting in small talk between bites, and had just begun to talk about which movie to see when a soft beeping came from Sable's boxy black handbag. "Hold that thought," she said as she fished around, until she came up with a pager. The message on it made her scowl, then sigh in a resigned way.

"I'm sorry about this, but I have to go," she said, gathering her things. "Duty calls."

"Duty?" Scott rose as she did, a puzzled frown on his face. "What duty?"

"Don't have time to explain, Mr. Wing Commander," she said. She let him help her with her coat, then kissed him quickly on the cheek. "Enjoyed the dinner, though. Raincheck on the movie, okay?"

"Anything I can help with? Do you need a ride?" he asked, feeling a little stunned.

"Nope. My ride's outside." She gave him a wide smile and blew him a kiss as she headed for the dining area door. "Later, flyboy!" Then she was gone. The other customers, who had watched her leave, now turned their gaze to Scott for a moment. When he sat back down, they returned to their meals, their topic of conversation now changed to the scene they'd just witnessed.

The waiter came up to Scott's table. "Is there anything I can get for you, sir?" he asked.

Scott seemed to ponder the question for a moment, then blew out a long breath, passing his hand back through his hair. He turned to the waiter. "Yeah. A cup of strong coffee."

"Thunderbird Four, ready for launch."

"F-A-B," Virgil said. He lowered Thunderbird Two close to the choppy surface of the sea. The edges of the storm had moved in, and the divers had to abandon their work. The captain of the radar installation had given them the go ahead, and had provided a number of replacement panels for Thunderbird Four to laser on.

"We have at least three more sizable holes, and perhaps another two smaller ones," he told Jeff. "Your help in getting the keel patched up is greatly appreciated. With the patches, we should be able to get under power and meet the USN Sentinel, which is en route."

"Any idea what made the holes?" Jeff asked.

The captain paused for a moment, as if trying to decide what to say. "Not yet. Our experts speculate that it was some sort of equipment failure."

That conversation stuck with Jeff as he watched Thunderbird Four's cradle lowered. Gordon's voice sounded in the cockpit. "Launching Thunderbird Four."

"F-A-B." He watched as the bright yellow craft plunged into the waves and disappeared from sight.

"Thunderbird Two from Thunderbird One."

"Thunderbird Two here, go ahead."

"Time for you to get your passengers to safety, Virgil. Hickam Air Force Base at Pearl Harbor is waiting for them."

"F-A-B." Virgil retracted Thunderbird Four's cradle and lifted the transporter slowly into the air. "ETA Hickham: 57 minutes."

"F-A-B, Virgil. See you in a couple of hours."

Thunderbird Two turned gracefully, and headed off to the northeast. Jeff took Thunderbird One for another turn around the SBX facility. "Thunderbird Five from Thunderbird One."

"Reading you five by five, Thunderbird One. What's on your mind?" John maneuvered his chair closer to the video panel where his father's uniformed image could be seen.

"Any results on that search I had you initiate?" Jeff glanced down at the installation; they'd adjusted the ballast on the port keel again so that both sides were underwater, and they'd have better stability in the storm. This also allowed Thunderbird Four easier access to the damage. A strong gust of wind had Jeff hanging on tightly to the control yoke as he kept Thunderbird One flying smoothly despite the buffeting. He was tempted to set Thunderbird One down on the newly stable helipad, but thought better of it – for now.

"I haven't yet come up with any threats against the SBX," John said, glancing back at the streaming data on his search screen. "But my search has barely started, and the military would be pretty close-mouthed about such a thing, anyway."

"Hm." Jeff frowned, rubbing a hand across his chin. "Who do we know in Military Intelligence that might be able to give us a hand here? Because I've got a hunch that this was not equipment failure."

"I can talk to Tim Casey. He might have heard something," John offered. "He's not military intelligence, but he has plenty of contacts who are."

Jeff nodded slowly, looking pleased. "Tim is just the man. Give him a call and ask him to dig around a bit. Use priority channel one. He'll know its from us, but not who is calling."

"F-A-B." John paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his handsome features. "You know, you really should make him an agent, Dad. He'd be a great help."

"I've been thinking about that, John. We can discuss it more when the rescue is over."

John took the hint. "F-A-B. I'll let you know as soon as I find anything. Thunderbird Five, out." His picture winked out.

Jeff rubbed his chin, thinking about Tim Casey. He knew his old friend was a good man, but had been hesitant to ask him to put his loyalty to his country ahead of his loyalty to International Rescue. If push came to shove, Tim would have some pretty sensitive information that he could use against us should we ever get on the military's bad side.

He shook his head. No sense thinking about it now. Time to check in with Gordon. "Thunderbird Four from Thunderbird One," he called. "How's it going down there, Gordon?"

Gordon's face appeared, looking ghostly in a flickering yellow light. He was wearing welding goggles, so Jeff could barely see his eyes, but the rest of his face was set in a mask of concentration.

"Thunderbird Four here. I'm almost done with the first patch." Gordon snorted. "I'd like to know what standards they use to classify a 'sizable' hole. This one's nearly a meter across."

Jeff's eyebrow went up. "Really. That's an interesting piece of news." He paused. "Tell me; does it look as if the hole was created by pressure from the inside or from the outside?"

"Inside, definitely. All the edges are on this side of the hull." Gordon leaned forward a little, making a grunting sound. "Just a little more."

"Go carefully then, son. Since we don't know what caused this, we should be on the alert for any possible surprises."

"F-A-B, Dad. I'll be careful." Another little grunt and Gordon pulled back, removing the goggles. He pinched his nose at the bridged and blinked. "Even with the goggles there's an after image."

"Take a few minutes to rest your eyes, then tackle the next big one."

"F-A-B. Moving to the next site. Thunderbird Four out."