The second chapter in A Whole New world. The boys finally get ready to set off on their long journey into the unknown, complete with radio-active monsters and world domination to boot...

KimiRaikkonenFan2709: Thanks for reviewing again – seems we both like each others stories! Thanks for all the support!

tmw: Thank you and glad you like my stories!

Ms Hobgoblin: It good to know someone found the story amusing and that they liked it!

OK, enough of the exclamation marks; they do seem to have arrived with vengeance I feel… and back to the story! (See they just won't go away now!)

The K+ rating is based on the inclusion of some mild coarse language.

Disclaimer: I do not own Thunderbirds (they belong to someone who is not me, I don't actually know who it is now) and I am not making any money from this story. None of the characters are intended to portray any living or dead person and any similarities are entirely coincidental.

Also I do not own anything to do with Cessna aircraft, before you throw something at me.

Again, a few more of those much needed edits. I discovered (after Cathrl pointed them out – thanks for that) that in fact some of the ideas I had are wrong and need to be changed where possible, I found a fair amount of mistakes that I had made when I had entirely intended to write something else and, finally I found that my grammar still leaves a lot to be desired (although to be honest I should have known this already!).

There is a reason I gave up English this year (which was as soon as I could)… I can't spell more than about six-letter-long words and punctuation is my biggest enemy. How I passed with my school year's highest grades I will never know… Think I may have been subject to some supernatural help that day...

2. World Domination

Finally the large black SUV pulled onto the side road that ran around the perimeter of Wichita Airport, Kansas. Small-automated forklift trucks darted across the road, taking baggage and crates to various aircraft on the site. The airport was small, but worked well as a reserve for the larger Kansas City Airport a further hour down the road. It took many small flights and private jets, making it an ideal location for Jeff Tracy to leave a couple of his top of the range aircraft there, in case of emergencies he had always said.

It was one of these craft that Scott Tracy was to pilot to the mysterious island in the Pacific where all five sons had been summoned.

"Third exit." Someone, he hadn't noticed who, seemed to believe that Scott was in need of directions.

"I know. I've been here before." Scott exasperated.

He'd had enough of the close proximity to his four younger brothers and was dreading the idea of the cross-continent hop they were planning to undertake. Scott, the driver of the vehicle, carefully kept to the five miles an hour speed limit, a precaution taken to protect both the craft and vehicles travelling on the perimeter road. It was a rule designed to ensure that drivers had enough time to concentrate on their surroundings. Aeroplanes taking to the air could be extremely dangerous at times; many airport employees could hold testament to that, as could the main reason that the forklift transporters were automated now.

As the third exit loomed, the eldest Tracy flicked on the indicator, filling the car with the soft clicking emitting from just behind the dashboard. While they were the only human travellers on the perimeter road currently, the automated vehicles had sensors designed to recognise the soft pulses transmitted by indicators, a safety design to avoid accidents and Scott wasn't one to ignore any type of procedure.

The gentle sound roused the third Tracy from the gentle slumber he had fallen into and he reached over to prod the sleeping form of his youngest brother. Shaken quietly awake, Alan brushed the sleep from his eyes and turned to look out of the window. The vehicles exterior blocked out most of the noise made by the loud jets of the aircraft, but the gentle rumbling of a nearby aeroplane firing up it's engines vibrated through the car, causing all the occupants to turn and look at the final sleeping form in the car.

The troublesome red head had finally fallen asleep while playing computer games on John's PDA, which had been carefully removed from his light grip. Now the remaining four Tracys feared that their last hour that had been peacefully quiet was about to be broken, they need not have worried however, the notoriously heavy-sleeper was living up to his hard earned reputation. All present released a collective sigh when Gordon simply mumbled in his sleep and let out a soft snore.

"Should I wake him?" John whispered quietly. Virgil shook his head and simply raised his finger to his lips. Silence would be a better option until they were ready to load up.

Looming ahead was the large private hanger, with TrAC emblazoned on its exterior. One of the doors was a jar, although due to the size of the hanger this meant a small truck could have driven in without actually opening the door further. Staring out of the window Alan wondered if his father's hanger was actually the largest in the airport or whether that was just his imagination. Money sure could buy a lot he decided. Just visible behind the alloy metal sheets that made up the walls was a large white aircraft.

It was a developed Cessna design. TrAC had brought the local Wichita-based company when it first started booming, and the new aircraft still kept elements of the original Cessna designs that had made them so famous the world over. The masterpiece hiding just behind the hanger door was the TrAC-Cessna 510; also known as the TrAC CMB (Citation Mustang Business Jet if you were being fussy). The old names of the Wichita-based company's planes were now being recycled and pinned on to the new aircraft that had been made in their place, albeit with the new tag TrAC that was recognised the world over.

There had been weeks of deliberation over what Jeff Tracy's company would be named. He had decided on Tracy Aerospace Corporation but had also decided that it was too much of a mouthful to become world renowned and thus had set about finding a shortened name that would appear on all of its manufactured goods. TAC, Jeff's intelligent blond son had pointed out, had the potential to be said; T. A. C. Which in itself was fine… but it could be pronounced 'tack', and that he had said made their products sound cheap, and well tacky.

It had been Gordon, who was now sleeping quietly in the back of the SUV that had pointed out that 'tack' sounded like 'track' and from there the eldest of his sons had pointed out that the 'r' in Tracy could be put after the 'T' but in lower case, creating the TrAC brand. It had been a moment of genius from all of his five children and their father had never been prouder.

Now all five of his precious sons were pulling into the shelter of his hanger, safe underneath the logo they had helped to create. Scott opened the driver's door and looked over his shoulder.

"Guess it's time to wake Trouble. I'm not carrying his cases for him." The blond nodded and set about the unfavourable task of waking the sleeping form that was his brother, who had travelled beside him. Then turning to the dark haired third Tracy, Scott continued. "Come on, Virge. Let's go and find out which one of these planes, Dad's given us. Better not be the twin prop, it was vibrating like hell last time I took it up." Virgil smirked, opened his door and the two brothers walked off to find Mick, the man in charge of their father's hanger. They found him perched on an upturned steel bin, eating a sandwich in the shadow of one of the smaller plane's wings.

"Hey, Mick." The older man looked up and smiled.

He had worked with Jeff at USAF, been his personal flight engineer. When his wife had had twins, he had pulled out of the Air Force, but struggled to find work. No respectable company wanted a man without any qualifications in this day and age, who had gone straight into the military at sixteen and whose only skill wasn't even certified. Eventually he had found work at an aircraft repair shop, servicing engines and air ducts for a living. When Jeff began TrAC he had looked around, checked out the competition as such, and found his old right-hand man in the run-down, shabby, bits-and-pieces workshop in a New York suburb, from where he rescued him and brought him to work for himself.

Mick loved seeing Jeff's boys. They were all full of life and a certain couple of the boys had even tried it on with his twin daughters, not that he would have complained if it had worked out. Who wouldn't have wanted his daughter to be happy with a dashing, intelligent and substantially wealthy young gentleman?

"Scott. Virgil. Your father said you'd be coming." He mussed the younger one's hair, and would have done the same to Scott if he could have reached. At five foot nine, Mick wasn't the tallest and Scott had grown into a wonderful specimen of a man, the seventeen year old standing at around six foot three, and incredibly his grandmother was adamant he was still growing. "I've got you a five ten, the one you probably saw driving in. I was getting it ready for you before I broke for lunch. You're father said you could handle it fine..." He paused. "…and it's large enough that you can put, Alan and Gordon far away from you, if the occasion arises." He joked.

Scott and Virgil shared a knowing glance; maybe that extra space would be useful. The aircraft was built for two pilots and five passengers. It had a toilet, which would come in useful on the long flight, Scott was sure. The young pilot walked over to the craft and ran his hand along her side.

"Thirty-nine eleven long, forty-two three wing-span, thirteen nine high." He murmured. Virgil made a gesture to Mick, suggesting something about the state of Scott's sanity, who laughed in return, drawing Scott's attention back.

"Thirty-nine feet, eleven inches long." He mimicked. "What are you a flying encyclopaedia, Scott?"

He shrugged and put his hands into his pockets, although he did step away from the aeroplane.

"It's going to be my job, Virgil. You wouldn't know about these, freshman."

"You don't think I get to hear enough about planes and other boring contraptions during the holidays at TrAC? I don't need it from you to, oh, and I'm not a freshman anymore, I'm 10th grade come September." He shot his eldest brother a sharp look.

"Come on, Virge, let's get the others." Mick waved the boys away, and set about prepping the craft muttering something about Scott being just like his father.

As they approached the car Virgil stopped. "Back there, you were insinuating I don't work when I'm at TrAC or at high school."

"And it dawns. So what if I was?" The older boy laughed.

"I do a hell of a lot more work than you, fly boy."

"Sure thing, Virge. Sure thing." Pulling open the tailgate on the SUV, Scott sighed at the amount of luggage five people seemed to need. Cases and cardboard boxes were stacked high. They were only supposed to be staying on the island for a week, maybe two. Scott for one wasn't planning on spending his whole summer in the middle of an ocean somewhere. He had female company he was planning on entertaining back in Kansas, specifically Hazel; after he had carried out his brotherly duties to Gordon and Alan. With a sigh he began to pull the first case out, ready to drag it over to the waiting craft behind them.

Stacking the cases beside the black vehicle, Scott paused to find out where his other brothers were. Moments ago Virgil had been right beside him and he realised he had suddenly disappeared; he hadn't seen or heard the others since they had pulled up in the hanger. They should have been unloading their own luggage. Looking around he spied all of his brothers together. Virgil was getting nearly as good as John at this sneaking business.

Gathered in a small ring his four youngest brothers were clearly up to something. John had noticed Scott staring and joined his elder brother at the SUV, helping to unload.

"What's so interesting?"

"What are you lot doing?" Scott countered. He motioned to John to pick up one of the cases to take it over to the TrAC Cessna 510, the fifteen year old went to comply and suddenly the young pilot realised John had just seen his get out of jail free card.

Scott looked at the young blond genius. Not much ever seemed to go unnoticed by the intelligent teenager, although that probably had something to do with how, when all else failed, he'd hack into anything vaguely electronic if he was that desperate to know what was going on, not that his younger brother knew he knew about his 'extra-curricular' activities.

Lifting a second case into his own arms the pair started across the hanger.

"So what were you doing?" The two brothers continued to walk, a silence present made Scott sure that his brother was about to lie to him.

"We were checking out the Island. Seeing whether there's any chance of radioactive monsters."

"Uh-huh." Scott muttered sceptically. In reality this wasn't far from the truth. The two youngest Tracys really had wanted to know if they were likely to find scary species on the Island, and the two middle Tracys had wanted to know what was really going on out in the middle of the Pacific ocean.

The genius, come skilled fifteen year old computer hacker had used his PDA's internet access combined with a couple of programmes he had written himself and saved to a small giga-byte-memory-flash drive and connected to the handheld, to break into the U.S. surveillance satellites and re-configure one of the less used ones towards the Pacific ocean, specifically the co-ordinates of their father's newly acquired land for just long enough to download some photographs of the area.

His efforts hadn't revealed anything though, and the fair haired youngster wasn't about to reveal his criminal activities to his eldest sibling, it was enough of a risk showing the twelve year form of his brother, Alan, who was renowned for having an inability to keep secrets too well.

A payment of such had been offered to Alan to ensure his silence. More accurately a blackmail list the size of Canada had been offered as an alternative to keeping quiet by Gordon to the youngest of the family. Alan had wisely agreed to the terms of secrecy, there were times when you just knew Gordon wasn't messing around, and this was one of them.

Apparently the middle of the Tracy boys had become bored with whatever it was that they had been doing, because as Scott pulled his head back out of the luggage-hold he was met with the grinning tanned face of his fourteen year old brother.

"Finished taking over the world?"

Virgil continued to grin.

"Heard John filed you in on our monster hunting past-times. Don't quite get how that's related to taking over the world though?" He cocked an eyebrow in his older brothers direction. "Unless of course, you're just trying to hide your own secret activities?"

"Ha, ha. I know you weren't looking for monsters, Virge. Give it up."

Ignoring his brother Virgil continued. "John's getting the last couple. Then we're done." Scott raised his eyebrows but shrugged off any questions that had been forming in his mind. Maybe he didn't want to know what his brothers had really been up to.

Any awkwardness was banished from the warm hanger air when Mick and John arrived with the last boxes. Scott stowed them safely in the hold and slammed the door shut; double-checking it was securely locked.

"All done?"

"Yup. We're ready to go when you are… and when they are." He nodded in the direction of the two youngest, still huddled around John's PDA.

"Well she's fuelled to the other side, but you know you'll have to stop at Peterson Airfield just outside San Francisco to refuel?" Scott nodded confidently. "I called ahead a few days ago when you're father said you were taking the trip so they're expecting you, they'll have the fuel ready. The tank's not quite large enough to take you all the way."

"Yeah, Dad said we would have to stop up by San Francisco, I checked it all out when he mentioned it." Mick nodded his approval. "Come on guys. Time to go." Scott called out to his brothers who slowly turned and boarded the plane. "Thanks, Mick."

"Anytime. You ever need anything just call."

"We will." A brief handshake was exchanged, cementing the already solid bond shared between the boys and their 'adopted Uncle Mick'. Climbing into the large white aeroplane, Scott pulled the door shut behind him and settled into the pilot's seat, instinct taking over. He barely noticed John come into the cockpit and seat himself in the co-pilots chair.

The busy flashing of lights became part of his vision, blinking on and off, imprinting the data into his mind. Microphone pulled down to his mouth, Scott heard his voice but barely recognised speaking into it. He was on autopilot, about to soar into the air, the one place where no one could catch him.

John sat contented beside him, knowing that there was no one he would rather have fly him somewhere, no one he felt safer with. The sky was the one place where Scott was completely and utterly in control and where, he was almost certain that very soon, there would be no one better in the world.