Thunderbird Two spun in her hanger, completing her landing cycle and Virgil prayed they didn’t get another call out today. Though considering it was eleven thirty at night, the chances weren’t high.
Don’t jinx yourself, you idiot.
Unstrapping himself from his seat, he wearily walked across the cabin and grabbed the damaged fuel intake valve he had replaced mid-mission – there had been swearing, having to climb up and inside his girl to prevent her combusting on the spot. The manufacturing company involved was definitely going to see some Tracy fury let loose upon it, probably followed by a large dose of Hackenbacker. They’d be lucky if they were still in business by the time Tracy Industries itself got her turn.
His life and the life of sixteen rescuees had been under threat due to the faulty valve. It was definitely something he could have done without during the third rescue of the day.
Lowering the hatch to the floor of the hanger, he stepped out into the cooler atmosphere and revelled in the remnants of the island breeze let in before the hanger doors had closed.
Workshop, dump the valve for tomorrow’s assessment, then shower, and hopefully a welcome home from his fiancé. She was due back tonight. She hadn’t confirmed, but he certainly would love to see her.
And curl up beside her.
First step, workshop.
Scott had no doubt already beaten him home, and was probably headed to his own shower now that TB2 was down safe. Alan was still up on Thunderbird Five with John for training. Gordon had been out earlier in the day, to a nearby rescue. Unfortunately, he was now on repair duty thanks to an idiot fishing trawler captain who had not taken Gordon’s directions seriously and had consequently tangled TB4 in one of his illegal drift nets. This would not have been much of a problem except the net had gotten caught in one of Thunderbird Four’s intakes and effectively crippled half the craft’s propulsion.
The words Gordon had been using were not repeatable. That had been Virgil’s second callout for the day – fishing his brother out of a fishing net.
Virgil, as the older brother, had had a few words for the fishing trawler captain as well – as he handed him over to the GDF. Even Gordon had been impressed with Virgil’s vocabulary, despite its refinement.
So Gordon had spent the rest of the day digging net filament out of his ‘bird.
Basically there had been better days. There had definitely been worse, but yeah, better days.
His workshop light was on. Virgil blinked tiredly. He didn’t remember leaving it on, but then who knows, maybe Gordon needed something.
At this point he didn’t care, he just wanted his girl and his bed.
Striding through the door, he threw the damaged valve up onto a bench and turned to leave.
He jumped. A man was leaning against one of his work benches, twirling a spanner in his hands.
Virgil’s jaw dropped. “Kyrano?”