Introductions.

Day 2.

The next day dawned as bright and sunny as the first. So different from England in late November.

Penny stretched, luxuriating in the large bed with its soft sheets and pillows. She really did not want to get up. But at least she was being served tea, not coffee – and proper breakfast tea, at that, with a teapot and a china cup.

"Thank you, Kyrano," she purred. "Where did you learn to make tea like this?"

He named a prestigious London hotel.

"Nothing but the best."

He half-bowed. "Nothing but the best," he agreed.

"So how long have you been with the Tracys?"

"Sixteen years, my lady."

"Sixteen? My goodness. You must have known the boys since they were children."

"Yes, indeed."

"Did you know Jeff's wife?"

A shadow crossed his face. "I did meet her briefly, a few years before I came to work for Mr Tracy."

"What happened to her, Kyrano?"

"Her last child. There were…complications."

"She died in labour?" Penny frowned. Wasn't that very unusual these days? She thought of Jeff. What must it have been like to be left with a newborn and four other boys? "With Alan, I take it?"

A slow smile spread across Kyrano's face. "Surely you wouldn't expect me to answer that, my lady?"

Penny remembered the previous night's wager. "Of course not, Kyrano, I'm sorry. Tell me about your daughter."

He shrugged a little. "What is to tell? Her mother died some time ago, and she came to live with us. Mr Tracy has been very kind. He has sent her to the finest schools, and paid for it himself."

"Don't you worry about her being the only female on the island?"

"Tin-Tin can take care of herself." There was a glint in his eye.

"I'm sure she can."

...

It was already hot. Penny had eyed up the pool with a longing eye after breakfast, but Jeff had ignored her and drawn her into his office. Plainly he meant this to be a working holiday.

"I have to work, this morning, Penny, but I'll get Scott to come up and give you a tour."

- Delightful. Severe weather warning -

"This is the hub of operations."

It didn't look like much. The rather modest executive office of a businessman. A desk, a computer, some filing systems.

"You look disappointed."

"I suppose I expected a little more of the centre of operations of a top-secret organisation, darling," she said lazily.

Jeff grinned. He pressed a button on his desk. "Something more like this?"

Penny swayed, then realised it wasn't she who was moving. The wall behind Jeff had swung away and the floor was doing a complicated little jig to rearrange the room. The desk shifted soundlessly to one side. The light levels dropped, and she found herself staring into a darkened computer room, illuminated by a screen at the far end, and banks of LEDs, gleaming computer terminals showing what appeared to be satellite data, and other equipment the function of which she couldn't begin to guess at.

As the wall swung back, John and Hackenbacker, who had been poring over one of the terminals together glanced up, nodded an acknowledgement, and went back to their study.

It all looked extraordinarily high-tech.

"Something like that, yes." She tried not to sound over-awed, but in truth, she was suddenly struck forcefully by the notion that Jeff's ramblings might not all be fiction.

"International Rescue…?"

"…started basic operations a few weeks ago. We're about to go fully public. We really need you on board now, Penny. Now…" he leaned forward and hit another button on his desk. "Scott will show you around the rest of the base. I'm pretty sure I'll be finished in time for a late lunch."

He gestured her into the operations centre, and as she crossed the threshold, the wall behind her slipped smoothly back into place, cutting her off from Jeff's office. She hesitated, feeling suddenly awkward.

John's blue eyes alighted on her, and she immediately felt a little better.

"What do you think, Penelope?" he held out a hand.

"Well, I'm rather astonished, dear. I must admit to suspecting that International Rescue was a figment of your father's over-active imagination."

"Not a figment. A product," he replied. "Come and look." He held out a hand to draw her close.

"Are these satellite pictures?"

"They certainly are." His tone of voice was approving, as though she'd said something especially bright. "We have a space station in geo-synchronous orbit above the base, and a network of other spy satellites around the earth to relay signals. Not much can go on that we don't know about."

Momentarily, one of the many doors that led from the operations centre swung back and Scott appeared. He peered over John's shoulder, leaning casually on his brother who made no move to shoo him.

- Tactile bunch, these Tracys -

"Anyone needs us," John continued, "And the space station tracks the signal. We can usually get some pretty good visuals on a situation before we send our people in."

"Doesn't anyone object to being watched?"

"Not if they don't know we're doing' it, ma'am." He flashed her a disarming grin.

"How can you keep a network of spy satellites secret?"

"To all intents and purposes they look like industrial satellites. We have some pretty sophisticated ways of hiding what we're up to."

"You do this yourself?"

"I dabble in communications."

"Johnny's underselling himself," Scott said dryly. "He collects college degrees. What are they in, John? Computer hacking, texting and astrology or some such thing?"

"Scott struggles with words of more than two syllables." John's tone was disparaging. "Computer technology, communications, and astronomy, if you really want to know. And I'm about to complete my doctoral thesis. I have been known to hack the occasional mainframe, it's true, but the texting and astrology we leave to Tin-Tin."

- All this and time for women, too? -

"He and Hiram here have most of the bases covered in our technical department." Scott told her.

"Wh-wh-when you're not sabotaging them."

"Something you want to say to me, Hiram?" The tone was mild enough, but Penny could detect a dark undercurrent.

The scientist rounded on him. "W-w-well, since you m-m-mention it, you know d-d-darned well that Thunderbird One is not d-d-d-designed to come down the w-w-way you brought her d-d-down last night.."

"There'll be times when I've no choice but to bring down faster than I did yesterday. You should have factored that in when you built her," Scott said shortly.

"She can handle the stresses when you l-l-land her horizontally. She's not designed to c-c-come in that fast nose-up. You could have done untold d-d-d-damage."

"I did. I broke Dad's favourite coffee table. Live with it, Brains." Scott waved a dismissive hand.

The scientist scowled heavily and turned back to his work, chuntering distractedly to himself.

Scott smiled at her. "You ready to move on?"

...

"So this is Thunderbird One?"

"This is my 'bird." There was a slight note in his voice.

She gazed down into the silo. The craft looked like a cross between a guided missile and a fighter jet. What exactly did it do? She didn't think she dared ask this question.

"So, tell me all about her, dear."

"She's the fastest thing on the planet."

"When you say fastest…?"

"We pushed her to Mach Eighteen in tests. We think she might go a bit faster."

In truth, Penny didn't quite know what that meant. He caught her expression.

"Maybe fifteen thousand mph at sea level. Even allowing for acceleration and deceleration constraints I can reach anywhere on the globe inside an hour."

She stared at him in astonishment.

"I thought only missiles can go that fast."

He shook his head. "Nothing on earth can match this baby when she's really flat out. There are a couple of experimental fighter planes out there that might be able to give her a run for her money in a year or two."

"So what do you use her for?"

"She's an RRV – rapid response vehicle. We get an emergency call, I get there and assess the situation before we bring in the heavy gear. Our main vehicle is a monster – you'll see her in a moment – and one of my jobs is just to make sure we can land her without causing a landslip."

Scott gestured her to walk on. She had discovered, much to her relief, that he was capable of ambling along at a pace she could keep up with. Down to a surprisingly relaxed and manageable force four, today.

- Of course. Grandmama is going home and Daddy is stuck in his office all morning -

"And what is all this business about the swimming pool?"

"The most suitable place for the silo was the other side of the island. But the speed advantage we gain in her design would have been lost by the time it took me to reach her and fire her up. The only area that's close enough to the house and has enough space underneath for the thrusters turned out to be underneath the pool. Solution – retract the pool. So we drop her into the lower silo and fire her up like a rocket. If you happen to be swimming when the alarm goes off, make sure you hightail it on out of there just as fast as you can. The pool drains pretty quick."

She grinned at him. "Ten seconds, I believe. Do I get a ride sometime?"

He smirked. "Believe me, she isn't designed for comfort. There's a passenger seat, but unless you're used to pulling six Gs I wouldn't recommend it."

"Scott – is this what your father meant by the family business? Are all you boys involved in International Rescue?"

"We sure are." He shrugged. "Dad never planned it that way. But one by one we all kinda got on board with it."

Penny stopped, startled, as the door in front of her slid open.

"Oh, my goodness!"

The hangar below her made Thunderbird One's silo look like a thermos flask. The walkway extending in front of her hung above it like a thread of gossamer stretched out between two cliffs. The metal was wrought, and she could see through the gaps straight down to the floor of the hangar three hundred feet below.

"Are you okay with heights?" Scott asked cautiously.

She nodded.

"Good. Because we still haven't managed to coax Gordon across this thing."

"It's the heels, dear. They'll get stuck in the grating. I'll tiptoe."

"Let me know if you need to be carried." He kept a perfectly straight face.

She began to cross the walkway, peering down into the hangar as she did so. The reason it needed to be so big was that it contained an awful lot of equipment. The most obvious and impressive was a huge green transport plane, rising upwards towards them on metal rests. The design resembled nothing she had ever seen before. The front end was round-nosed and stubby, but there was a gap in the central area. Penny could see why.

Running underneath the main body, a set of container pods were strung along what looked like a giant conveyer belt.

"What are those?"

"We keep the equipment we figure we're most likely to need in the pods – ready to load to the transport before launch. Some of the other stuff…" he leaned precariously out across the safety barrier and waved a hand "…is down at the sides of the hangar. I'll take you down there later if you're interested. Gordon won't forgive me if I don't show you our submersible, Thunderbird Four."

"I thought a Thunderbird was your plane."

"Nope. She the GXP7005, mark 1. It just makes sense to refer to them all by our call signs. Mine's Thunderbird One. Virgil flies the heavy duty transport down there – Thunderbird Two. Three is our space rocket – we're in the process of training Alan to handle her. I'll show you in a few minutes. Gordon is our water-baby. He handles Four."

"And John?"

"The space station, Thunderbird Five. He's a fully trained cosmonaut. We kinda snuck him out from under the noses of NASA." There was an edge of pride in his voice that was at odds with the sparring she had heard previously. "We managed to drag him home for thanksgiving this year, but he's spent a lot of his time up there in space getting the station systems ready. Once she's fully operational, though, he'll be able to run most of the show from the operations room on the island." He glanced back down at Thunderbird Two. "This is our main rescue vehicle. She can transport a huge amount of equipment – or casualties, if need be – to and from danger zones."

"She doesn't look as though she should get off the ground."

"Neither does a bumble bee, ma'am. Thunderbird Two can reach Mach 5."

"And how can you keep something that size a secret? Surely when you launch you must attract the attention of every satellite over the hemisphere?"

"We have the most sophisticated stealth technology on the planet. Hiram can be a pain sometimes, but he really is an exceptional engineer. To all intents and purposes we're invisible to all satellites except our own. If we do get any slippage on radar, we plan to use Tracy aerospace as a cover."

He indicated to her and they began to move on.

"Experimental aircraft testing. That's what the guys who built the base think we're doing here. The planes we shifted over in parts. The computer systems for the planes are fully internal to the base. Someone would have to physically access the silos or the planes themselves to steal the specs or do us serious damage, and we've made that pretty well impossible, too. I guess as we do more rescue work we may attract trouble, but that's partly where you and folks like you come in." He didn't elucidate further.

They reached the far end of the hangar, and Scott led her through a maze of corridors and up a flight of steps into a third silo. Beneath them, a rocket rose needle-like out of the gloom. It was considerably larger than Thunderbird One.

"Thunderbird Three, yes? And you use this…?"

"Mostly to reach the space station. But we could potentially tackle a space rescue we think. We haven't started training procedures for that yet, but as soon as Alan is fully trained up, I'm going to mock up some emergency scenarios and we'll see how far we can push this baby."

He gestured her into a lift.

They emerged into the brilliant sunlight out of the gloom of the hangars, and he reached for his shades. Penny wished she had had the foresight to bring hers. She realised, suddenly, that they were almost back at the house. An all-weather tennis court lay to the left, and the swimming pool lay just in front of them. Someone was in there, doing laps at a furious rate. Gordon, she thought.

As they skirted around the edge, Scott suddenly broke away from her and snatched up a towel. A moment later she realised why as he flicked it expertly at the rear end of a brother who was sun-bathing au naturel – though thankfully face-down – on one of the loungers.

"Ow, Jeez!"

"Cover up, kid." Scott growled as he tossed the towel to land expertly over the offending backside. "Why aren't you at work, anyway?"

"I'm on standby, remember?"

"This is not what we mean by being on standby. Go and check the duty log before I bust your ass all the way back to boot camp. I'll talk to you later."

Alan turned, positioned the towel. He was foolish enough to continue to argue. "Gordon isn't working." He gestured at the pool.

On cue, Gordon powered past them, showering them with droplets.

"He's working out."

"Well, how come you get the good job, bro'?" Alan objected, glancing up at Penelope.

"Dad's busy, Virgil's halfway to Kansas and John's recalibrating Five's sensors. Now stop arguing with me, and go."

Alan got to his feet and moved off, trailing the towel and grumbling.

"I apologise for that, your Ladyship," Scott said.

She suspected that he was reserving the real ticking off for a moment when she wasn't around.

She looked out over the pool. "Gordon's quite the swimmer, isn't he?"

"He surely is, ma'am." Scott's voice warmed. "As a matter of fact he took an Olympic gold when he was just sixteen. We were all real proud of him."

"A gold?" She was surprised. Gordon had not struck her as the sort to have the self-discipline necessary to make the school swimming team, let alone win an Olympic medal. She thought of the upper body strength.

"Butterfly stroke?"

"That's right."

"Well I thought it was just Jeff that was the dark horse. Turns out there's a whole stable of you. And where did you learn to fly?"

"Dad's crop-duster." He gave a brief grin.

"I meant grown-up planes, darling. Top gun or air force?"

"Air force, ma'am." He was polite, but his tone betrayed what he thought of the navy.

"Darling, I know you're American, and you probably can't help yourself, but I do wish you'd stop calling me 'ma'am'."

"I'll try." He sounded dubious.

"Now, tell me, Scott…" Penny stopped, rested against the patio door momentarily.

He looked up at the note in her voice.

"….how is it there is no mention of any of you on the internet?"

"Your ladyship?" Faintly mocking.

"I did my research before I came here, and I assure you that I turned up nothing on any of you. Five sons of a billionaire. And, I mean, a man doesn't win a gold medal without there being some record of it."

"Sure there's a record." He looked down and smiled. Unlike John, he wasn't one for a lot of eye contact. "But we have our own primitive stealth technology." He shrugged. "The kidnap attempts got kinda tiresome. If you want to read about Gordon's gold medal try entering 'Gordon Cooper' into the search engine."

"You use aliases."

"That and John has a neat little bug crawling around cyberspace. It's set up to look for our names or photos on the net. Any reference to us vanishes into cyber room 101."

"And what alias do you use, dear?"

He gave her one of those looks she could not interpret.

"I just keep the name on my birth certificate, ma'am."

The tone was snappy. He swung on his heel and strode off, leaving her to keep up as best she could. She wondered what she had said to offend him.

- Back up to storm force -

...

They'd stopped for lunch. This appeared to be a moveable feast in the Tracy household. There was a cold buffet on the table, and Scott explained that the members of the household wandered in and helped themselves as their timetables permitted. He had regained his equanimity quickly enough. Food seemed to have that effect on him, she noted.

"I wonder how Virgil will get on taking Grandmama home. Does she know about what you all do here?"

"I'm not sure how much she's grasped. This is the first time she's been here while we've launched. She seemed to get the idea of complete secrecy, but there's always the possibility she might let something slip to one of her gossips. Dad's seriously thinking of moving her over here full time. She'll soon get to the stage where she needs some looking after anyway."

His voice was flat. He did not sound like he was looking forward to the prospect of his grandmother's permanent presence.

Jeff's office door opened. "Sorry, Penny. I woke up to some problems at Tracy Industries this morning." Evidently the line that he got most of his business sorted out before breakfast was a minor exaggeration. "It's going to take some of this afternoon, too. Scott – you'll carry on with the tour?"

"Yes, sir."

"How far did you get?"

"Silos…" he gestured faintly.

"All of them?"

"All? Sure, the hangars, not much…" He shrugged.

Apparently he had lost the power of coherent speech again.

"He's given me a wonderful tour, Jeff," she said warmly. Scott's shoulders visibly relaxed and he shot her a grateful look.

"Yes…?" Jeff looked doubtful.

"Darling, I'm truly astonished. I can't wait to see you all go out on a rescue."

"Well I plan to leave the heroic stuff to the boys and coordinate from this end. Much as I fancied some field action, it turned out that I'm getting a little old for it all."

"Surely not," Penny purred.

"I can still fly a plane as well as these young pups. But my field commander was kind enough to point out to me that I can no longer hack an assault course at the required velocity." His voice was sour. "I guess years behind a desk don't help. Talking of which…I need to get back to mine, I'm afraid."

He threw some salad onto a plate and headed back for his office. "I promise to be done by three. Take her to the play-pen, this afternoon, boy."

...

The 'play-pen' turned out to be another part of the base largely but not entirely dedicated to International Rescue. Apparently the boundary between business and pleasure was a fine one here on the island. There was a fitness centre - games rooms, squash court, fully equipped gym, training suites, what looked like an indoor assault course together with an extraordinary suite of laboratories, a medical centre…

"Goodness, you do stock a lot of medical supplies here. Are they for rescues?"

"Not really. We store most of that stuff down next to the silos. Most of this is for our own use. We're inclined to be injury prone – goes with the territory. If it isn't too serious we can handle it in-house. We've all had some basic acute medical training."

The next door down the corridor opened up into a huge indoor arena. Penny stared in surprise.

"My goodness. This looks like it could be one of those police shooting galleries."

"That's pretty well exactly what it is. It's a virtual target range."

She shot him a sideways look. "How thrilling, darling. But I thought you were in the rescue business, not the firearms business."

Scott perched himself on a cabinet. "Dad ever tell you why we decided to go into the rescue business?"

"Not really."

"Tracy Industries has a sister organisation. Have you heard of Tracy I.D.F?"

"I believe so."

"It's the charity end of the enterprise. A humanitarian outfit. We go in when natural disasters hit, and so on."

"Like the Red Cross and Oxfam, yes, I know."

"The main difference is it that it's a private enterprise. Income is generated solely by the business and channelled directly to aid. Our people go into some pretty volatile situations. Ten years ago we lost half a dozen aid workers when the village they were helping was attacked by militia. The nearest government troops were hours away, and it was a moot point whether or not they'd have turned up anyway. Dad was pretty cut up about it. International Rescue was set up in support of T.I.D.F. Sure, we'll go in to help if there's a major disaster – a 'quake or tsunami. But we'll support the aid people who go in, too – not just our own - and we'll defend them with force if it becomes absolutely necessary. We figure we're pretty well equipped to handle some other kinds of hostile situations better than most outfits, too – mid-air-'jackings, in particular. So we hope we won't have cause to use guns, but we're not taking chances. We need good people, Penny, and Father says you're the best." He raised his eyes to meet hers. "What do you say? Are you in?"

Penny was silent for a moment. For someone who couldn't string more than two words together in his father's presence, Scott Tracy seemed to have found his voice.

"Is any of this legal?"

He gave her one of those slightly unreadable looks. "For a ten mile radius around the island. The rest we're kinda looking into. But we're hoping to make friends, not enemies."

- Shady -

- Sounds like fun -

"I think you and your father can count me in," she said, finally.

"Good."

He stood up and reached inside the cabinet. After a quick glance, he picked out a weapon and tossed it to her, together with a magazine clip. "You know if you'd turned us down, I'd have had to use real bullets." He selected a weapon for himself. "Fancy singing a duet?"

She suspected this was a set-up. She could almost hear Jeff's voice.

"Put her through her paces, son."

She tested the gun. Perfect choice. She rammed the clip in. "Certainly."

He gestured. "You might want to change your shoes."

"Darling, the men in the black hats don't wait for a girl to change her shoes. Besides, a stiletto heel makes a formidable weapon."

"Fair enough." He booted up the computer, entered some instructions.

"Three-D environment's controlled by the machine. Virtual targets. Changes every time, so we don't know what's coming, nor do we know how many targets. Watch my back. If you get out of your depth keep your head down and stay out of my way."

Penny felt herself bristling.

"And please don't shoot me in the butt."

"Don't tempt me, Tracy."

He grinned but almost immediately darted to his right. She broke left to cover and watched as he took out a masked man with an uzi. But he was immediately targeted by a sniper and Penny busied herself with bringing down his would-be assassin.

Afterwards, she reflected that it was as though they had been working together for years. For all that she had found Scott inscrutable at times, here she could read him like a book. She was sure he felt the rapport too.

The ambidextrous thing she had seen the previous night seemed to come in handy, Penny reflected, as did the eyes in the back of the head. He could take a shot with either hand and seemed to have a knack for knocking out targets without apparently having seen them.

On the other hand, he had hesitated momentarily over the woman cradling the 'baby'. Penny, who had spotted a minute quantity of trip-wire extending from the swaddling, took her out before she blew both of them to kingdom come.

She rolled for cover as Scott brought down the final target with a neat underhand shot behind him and to the left.

- Showing off a little now, Tracy -

Penny rose, panting a little.

"Game over," a female voice announced.

Penny glanced warily about. "How do we know if she's telling the truth?"

"Boy, are you are devious! That's a thought. I might add a few alterations to the program; see if I can catch the others out. Hey!" He studied the read-out with interest. "We set a new record. That'll break hearts."

"Scott, tell me the truth."

He raised a startled eyebrow.

"What does F.A.B stand for?"

He considered this for a moment and then met her eye coolly. "Tell you what, your Ladyship. I'll tell you what F.A.B. means if you'll tell me, truthfully, which of us you thought were twins."

"Alan and Gordon?" she suggested hopefully.

He shook his head. "You're a terrible liar."

He knew.

- Dammit. -

...

"You broke the Scott-Gordo combo?" Virgil asked in some surprise. "They've held the record for months."

"Well, not any more."

Gordon, sitting on the opposite side of the dinner table, scowled. Evidently he was not happy about having his place as his brother's favourite shooting partner usurped by a mere woman.

Scott caught his expression. "Never mind, Gordo. You still hold the solo record. For the moment."

He caught Penny's eye.

- Challenge? -

She smiled at Gordon. "Perhaps you and I could go around together tomorrow? See if we can beat today's record?"

Gordon brightened. "Sure thing, Lady P."

"Me too?" Alan proffered, oblivious to Tin-Tin's glare. He had been quiet for most of the meal, and Penny had a shrewd idea he'd received a royal chewing about the sunbathing stunt.

Scott shook his head. "No way. Remember I warned you not to shoot me in the butt, Penelope? Ask me if I speak from experience. You do not want to go round that course with Alan."

"It was a blank for Pete's sake," Alan grumbled. "Get over it."

"So, Lady Penelope," Gordon said. He carefully extracted his wallet from his pocket and started languorously counting out a wad of twenty dollar bills.

"Ah, the wager. Indeed. Get your money out, boys. I believe I started well enough last night but I see my mistake and I do think I have the full picture now. Here we go, then. From the youngest up again…

..Alan…"

- you're buying into the dream, but don't yet quite realise that it isn't all just going to be another game of hide-and-seek with your brothers -

"…then Gordon…"

- not a twin but a beloved younger brother who must have come within a whisker of death…those scars I saw on your body in the pool –

"…John…"

- struggling to find your own identity – but – number of women notwithstanding - you are not going to make alpha male, darling, however hard you try -

"…Virgil…"

- who figures big brother needs a little protection of his own now and then -

"…and finally Scott."

Gordon's mouth twisted slightly. He rolled the bundle between his fingers, then with a single, regretful gesture, flicked it up the table to Jeff.

...

Grandma Tracy safely ensconced in Kansas, Jeff visited the guest bedroom that night.

Penny giggled as she slipped under his arm.

"The boys won't mind?"

"They'll be green with envy." He gave it some more thought. "Scott won't like it, he never does. It's the only thing he and his grandmother see eye to eye about. They seem to think that I should have taken holy orders after Lucy died. Whenever I brought a woman home Scott orchestrated this kind of underground resistance routine. He had the rest of them thoroughly trained in sabotage by the time he was ten."

"Oh, dear. And he and I were getting on so well." It was true. She realised that she liked the eldest Tracy a lot. In fact, she liked them all a lot.

Jeff chuckled. "He's more relaxed about it these days. Now that he realises I'm not trying to replace his mother he contents himself with the odd backhanded comment."

"You'd think he'd be more sympathetic. A man has needs. How do they all manage out here, dare I ask? There isn't much of Tin-Tin to go round."

"Perish the thought," Jeff responded sternly. "Though she has a bit of a thing for Alan."

"And the others?" She pulled fondly at the hairs on his chest.

"I don't enquire too closely. Virgil has a part-time artist friend in Seattle. They don't see each other often, but I gather they make up for it when they do. Gordon – how can I put this?– is not very discriminatory. In his own terminology, swims with the sharks, paddles with the dolphins."

She giggled.

- Okay. Didn't see that one coming -

"John - well you know about John. Scott, I have absolutely no idea. Could be celibate for all I know. He did bring some woman back for a visit once, so I guess it must have been getting serious. She was quite a looker, some kind of model, I think."

"What happened to her?"

"Oh, she was way out of his league." He chuckled. "She married John. Briefly."

Penny gave a short laugh then hesitated momentarily.

"He's afraid of you, you know."

"John?" Jeff sounded startled.

"Scott."

Jeff grunted. "We have some mutual baggage. My fault, mostly. You don't have kids, Pen. You make most of your mistakes with the first one. But it's what I need in my field commander. I don't want some hot-shot flyboy who thinks he knows better than I do and goes rushing in to every situation half-cocked because he's too stupid to be afraid or to take orders. I want someone who is going to look after his brothers. Scott's intelligent and cautious but he gets the job done." His tone lightened. "Now, are we going to psycho-analyse the family or are we going to have stop talking and have some fun?"

So they had stopped talking and had fun. Things progressed in an entirely satisfying manner for the next half hour or so. There were, she mused, lots of good things about older men. Experience. Endurance. She made some encouraging noises to let him know how much she appreciated these qualities. Events began to rise to a natural conclusion.

The moment was lost as her body froze, her whole being arrested by the most ear-splitting of explosions.

The silos? There must be a huge amount of rocket fuel stored almost directly beneath them…she drew back from Jeff, her eyes wide in horror.

There was a second explosion, a little less violent, followed by a series of firecrackers. Out of the window, she could see the night sky light up with reds and greens and yellows.

"Gordon!" Jeff hissed. He heaved himself furiously up off the bed.

"Jeff…."

"Little b…" he choked the words back. "This time he's gone too far, Penny. I swear I'm going to throttle him."

He grabbed his bath-robe and headed for the door. Penny collapsed into helpless laughter. Outside the window the fireworks continued. Jeff flung open the guest-room door.

"GORDON?!" He started off around the circle. "F…!! ALL, BOY, you are not too old to have your hide tanned!!"

Penny lay back against the coolness of the pillows, and contemplated the events of the day, wiping away a tear from her eye.

- F.A.B. -

...