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				EXPOSURE by Fran Lavery Chapter One       It promised to be a beautiful day. Business men and holiday-makers, high above the Pacific Ocean aboard a Fireflash, noted with drowsy awe how the sleepy night sky was fast becoming a brilliant turquoise blue, and the sea was shining and calm as the sun rose above it. The plane sped on, swooping over the shimmering water and the occasional nondescript island, with none on the plane, and a bare handful in the world knowing that one of these tiny green specs was far more than what it seemed. Tracy Island by name, the home of the most famous team in the world; the fabulous International Rescue organisation and their fleet of famous Thunderbirds!       The distant roar of the Fireflash's atomic jets in the comparative silence of a Pacific morning stirred Scott Tracy in his bedroom on Tracy Island. Stretching out contentedly in his bed, he turned his head on his pillow, and opening his eyes, got the shock of his life when he saw two more eyes attached to a blonde head staring back at him!       "Aaahhh!!!" yelled Scott, almost falling out of bed.       "Goooood Morning!!!!" two voices chorused. Sitting upright he saw that Gordon was kneeling on the end of his bed, and Alan was laid beside him. Scott knew them well enough to know that nothing short of the house burning down removed them from bed before ten, but there they were, his two youngest brothers, fully dressed and looking almost human at the crack of dawn. What was going on?       "Alan! You scared the hell out of me! And what are you two playing at anyway? If you were trying to put water-bombs in my slippers again, I've nailed my cupboard shut, so don't bother!" His brothers hesitated a moment, grinning, before bursting out in song again.       "Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you!!!"       Scott sighed and collapsed backwards, listening to Gordon and Alan serenade him. Gordon had decided to impersonate Pavarotti, while Alan had favoured Kate Bush, and it sounded so dreadful that Scott had to laugh.       "Ok, ok, thank you! But what possessed you to get out of bed so early anyway? It'll still be April the fourth at eleven, and I'll be dressed by then too! What's wrong with that picture?"       "Well," Gordon tried to explain, "the mail plane came last night while you were out, and we decided, well, you're always up before us. We haven't watched you open a card since the turn of the century!" He grinned wickedly. "And thirty! You're practically an old man! We have to take all the chances we get now, since you may not even be with us much longer."       Scott laughed all over again, and, sitting up cross-legged, accepted the brightly coloured envelopes from where Alan had piled them on his duvet.       He had received a very elegant card from Lady Penelope and Parker, a home-made card from his New York friend Monica, a joint letter from his North England penpals, Frances and Hannah, (Frances was in love again, no surprise, and Hannah was still wondering out loud and indiscreetly if Virgil was single) and an assortment of postcards and letters from college buddies. And that was the mail finished.       "No, wait," Alan insisted, "there's still one more, in a red envelope." He winked at Gordon. "Ooo la la!"       Scott took it, a little curious. Off the top of his head, he couldn't think who else had written to him. All he had really expected was now propped up on his bedside table. He opened the envelope, read down to the bottom of the card in silence and collapsed backwards, his mouth open in shock. Alan whipped it from his hand, curious.       "Scott," he queried excitedly, "is this the same Jessica Howe I think it is?!"       Scott was perfectly aware that he lived in an eccentric family, a family who needed only the slightest excuse to party. He had eventually gone downstairs to find that the living room had been highly decorated the night before, after he'd been out on a rescue and gone to bed early. Big, colourful streamers and a large banner, in Virgil's brushwriting, that read "The Big 3-0! It All Goes Down-Hill From Here!" He wondered vaguely if he was adopted, before remembering that he loved to do this sort of thing on his brothers' birthdays too, and that he was just as mad as the rest of them.       The entire household congregated in the lounge to watch him open his presents. His father, all his brothers, barring John who was in the space station, Brains, Kyrano and TinTin. From them, he had received a variety of his favourite things. A rock and roll compilation, sunglasses, a piano book, a small mountain of brightly coloured socks, ("You can never have too many socks!" Scott would state,) and more confectionery than he could shake a stick at. Scott had had a sweet tooth since childhood. ("Clever!" was Scott's analysis of Brains' gift; a large test-tube, filled with his favourite pink bonbons.)       Grandma was visiting friends in Canada, but she had sent him a parcel containing a woolly, blue jumper, home-made biscuits and a birthday cake. ("She knows we live on a tropical island, right?" Gordon wondered, eyeing the big, thick jumper.) His father had also bought him tickets to see his favourite comedian.       "Now all you need to do is to decide who to take," grinned Jeff, handing him the gift. Virgil fluttered his eyes at Scott, but Alan jumped in, before they could say anything.       "That should be easy enough. He got a card this morning from a chick we all know named Jessica Howe!"       "Jessica Howe?!" Jeff and the boys looked as surprised as Scott had.       "Who's she? Who's she?" TinTin demanded, mad with curiosity. "Ex-girlfriend?"       "Yeah, she's an ex. They split when they headed for different collages on opposite sides of America," Virgil recalled. "It was so sad to watch!"       "Could you please stop talking about my life as if I'm not here?" Scott sounded both outraged and highly amused at the same time, "It's no big deal…"       Scott was cut off by an insistent bleeping from the portrait of his brother, John on the lounge wall, eyes flashing in time with the sound. Gordon was sat in his father's chair with his feet on the desk. He nudged the microphone button lazily with his foot, allowing the picture to slide back, revealing a video/radio link with John in the International Rescue Space Station. Jeff spoke up; "Go ahead, John."       John's movie-star looks appeared on the screen, tense and urgent, "Father, there's been an explosion at a house in Ohio. A highly populated area with the injury rate soaring already, and the fire brigade say if they don't get it under control soon other houses and more people could be in danger. There's a dreadful panic broken out, and the authorities are having trouble controlling both the public and the fire. They say that our arrival would help calm them down and save other houses, many with people possibly trapped inside. What do I tell them?"       "Tell them we're on our way, John! We don't have much time if this as bad as they make out." He turned to Scott. "Thunderbird One can be there in twenty minutes. Get going. Be calm and help the authorities with the injured and panicked. Assess the situation so that you know exactly where Virgil can best use the Firefly as soon as he arrives. Move, Scott, we may have very little time!"       Scott was barely across the room when Jeff spoke next.       "Virgil, pod three. You go too, Brains, and see if you can't figure out what sort of situation we're up against. Better take double crew…" Jeff looked at his two remaining sons, knowing that things, as usual, had been quieter for Gordon than for Alan. He was the only aquanaut in the family, and Jeff preferred him to be on hand and alert at base during situations like these, since he was harder to interchange with his astronaut brothers, awaiting underwater rescues that rarely came. They could all do each other's jobs, of course, but Jeff liked to have the best man for the job at his post. Today, however, would be an exception.       "Gordon, you haven't seen any action in at least two months. Don't want you getting rusty! Double crew with Virgil, and make it snappy." Gordon's face, a mask of sudden surprise and excitement, was worth leaving Alan in charge of Thunderbird Four if the need arose before he returned.       "Gee! Thanks Dad, you're the best!"       And they were gone. Scott had disappeared into the wall, behind which was Thunderbird One silo. It was mere minutes before the swimming pool outside the lounge window was sliding back under the patio, revealing the secret launch pad of the super-sonic reconnaissance craft that Scott piloted. Virgil had been swept off his feet by a different section of the wall, a tall painting of a rocket ship, and was sliding down a chute leading him straight into the pilot's seat of Thunderbird Two, the huge, green transporter craft of International Rescue. While putting on his uniform, Virgil selected pod three, the fire-fighting equipment, and was joined by Brains and Gordon a moment before he set the great craft trundling through the exit revealed by the automated cliff face that hid the hanger, and along the launch pad. The palm trees leant back obligingly, to allow the giant transporter it's wing clearance, before the automatic runway tilted it towards the glorious turquoise skies.       "It would appear," said Alan to his Father, as calmly as if he were stood watching Scott and Virgil do the dishes, not launching equipment that fascinated and baffled the entire world, "that Thunderbirds are Go." On to Chapter Two.