Unexpected Encounter

AN – I've been going through this story to update it now that I'm reaching the end of Decisions Decisions – mainly because I have a third story in my mind that will be a sequel to both. So I am going to report the whole story, starting with this one – mainly updating parts that I haven't been happy with for a while. For all those who read it the first time around, I either hope that you don't mind (and maybe enjoy) re-reading it, but the essence is the same so you could skip straight to the second instalment to catch up before I publish the third (and probably final) arc of this story.

DISCLAIMER – I have no rights over the Thunderbird characters, they belong to Gerry and Silvia Anderson and them alone.

Chapter One – Everything Starts Somewhere

The flames were slowly dying down as International Rescue's impressive fire truck went to work. There were fewer explosions now and many buildings no longer glowed red, but instead long tendrils of dark smoke emitted from them that had turned the morning sky as dark as dusk. The chemical factory had been ablaze since the small hours and had been completely out of control when International Rescue had been called to help out the local fire crews that had been working fruitlessly on the ground, unable to contain the leaping flames with their inferior equipment. International Rescue's intervention was seemingly just in time as set away from the rest of the factory to the west was a huge warehouse that contained barrels and barrels of a highly explosive fuel compound. The fire containment and prevention system in place for the explosives shed, and the whole factory generally, was woefully inadequate – probably due to the owner trying to maximise profit through penny pinching over a number of years. Luckily, the fire hadn't reached the volatile warehouse yet and it now looked as though it wouldn't have an opportunity to.

Not that International Rescue had much to do with that piece of luck, the wind was in their favour tonight and the fire had started in the furthest corner of the site. When Scott Tracy had arrived at the scene an exhausted fire officer had informed him that should this warehouse catch on fire, it would be a disaster beyond anything experienced in recent years. In short, since before International Rescue had been working precisely to stop this type of disaster occurring.

As Scott watched the flames dying further, he saw the fire truck backing away from the smouldering ruins that once had been a state of the art synthesis plant. Millions of dollars' worth of damage must have been done by this one fire and earlier he'd seen the managing director and principle shareholder of ChemDeli being taken away to recover, as he had come to witness the destruction of his company. Now he saw his middle brother Virgil coming out the fire truck in his heat proof suit to talk to the chief fire officer at the scene. The grey overalls and large mask were a far cry from the crisp blue suits the Thunderbird pilots usually wore on duty, and that he himself was wearing, but those were hopelessly inadequate for withstanding the heat of the flames when approaching as close as Virgil had just been.

The fire truck was now approaching mobile control where Scott stood waiting, with the high tech machinery he used to coordinate the rescue activities. As Virgil got closer Scott could see that the fire had taken its toll – both his brother and the fire truck were blackened by the smoke, and there were some large dents that hadn't been present before they'd left Tracy Island earlier that day. Looking over at his fourth brother Gordon who was driving the Firefly vehicle to backup Virgil's work, he could see they were in a similar state.

"Brains isn't going to be happy you've messed up his toys," he commented, referring to Tracy Island's resident engineer and genius who designed all the machines the brothers used in their call of duty. Virgil smiled wearily, taking off the large mask that had been protecting his face.

"I'll clean it down later, he'll never know."

Scott smiled at his younger brother in response, before joking 'Get Alan to do it – as he keeps complaining he is left out of the action." He then gestured to the Firefly that was slowly making its way back to Thunderbird 2, parked a long way from the fire and well out of harm's reach. "I'm guessing this means you're finishing up?"

Virgil nodded in reply, "The local crews can take it from here. You want help packing up mobile control?"

"No, you've done enough today. Head back home and get some rest – I'll be on my way soon enough."

Virgil smiled, and climbed back into the fire truck before driving off towards Thunderbird 2. Scott watched him as he drove into the pod, and then as the large green aircraft settled back around the pod like a bird sitting on eggs. With a roar, the craft's thrusters jumped into life, and the giant cargo carrier took off, spinning onto the correct bearing before heading home. Next to where it had been, his sleek silver Thunderbird 1 was waiting for him to load up and follow.

Looking from it to the mobile control station he was stood by, he sighed. He couldn't have accepted Virgil's help in packing up given how tired his brother had been, but it was going to be arduous packing up the unit. He couldn't help the wry smile flit across his face as he thought how inaccurately named mobile control was. With all the technological advances Brains had made, you'd have thought it would be a bit more lightweight but with everything built to an incredibly robust specification, as well as able to serve about a million different functions, it was about as mobile as a small elephant.

Before he started to pack it all away, he put in a call to the headquarters. "Hello Scott," his father Jeff replied when his face swam into view on Scott's monitor. "Is the fire under control?"

"Yes father, the local crews have taken over," Scott replied. "Virgil and Gordon are on their way home, you should hear from them with an ETA shortly. I'll just pack up and head back myself."

"That's great Scott, good job today. Let me know an ETA when you're airborne."

"FAB father," Scott replied, and signed off. He began packing the unit, and slowly wheeled the first half back towards Thunderbird 1. He put the boxes on the ground beside the craft, and went for the rest of the control centre. This time, as he returned he thought he heard a noise, a faint rustling that he could distinguish even over the sounds of the continuing fire. Putting down his cargo he looked around for its source. Out the corner of his eye he saw a shape flitting, and spun around to look for it. "Who's there?"

No reply came back to him so he flipped a torch out of his utility belt, and as he shone it around in the unnatural darkness caused by the fire he saw the disappearing haunches of a deer vanish into the undergrowth.

"Scott Tracy, get a grip," he muttered to himself, and turned back to start loading the packages onto Thunderbird 1. He was nearly finished when he heard the same rustling noise as before. This time he was more thorough in his sweep, walking all around his machine with the torch penetrating the gloom in front of him. Still finding nothing, he shook his head at his own paranoia before turning back to load the remaining boxes onto Thunderbird 1. The only problem was that his access was blocked by someone leaning against the craft.

The figure was lean and very feminine, reclined against the side of his machine as though it was a wall. She was inspecting her nails, not looking up at Scott despite the fact she must have known he was there.

"Who are you?" Not the most eloquent start, but Scott blurted out the first thing in his head. His mind was torn between very inappropriately checking out the figure of the person stood in front of him, and outrage that she crept up on him and was now standing between him and his machine.

"Such an unusual fire," the character said quietly, still not looking up from her nails. Getting closer, Scott could see that she was wearing a mask that covered the top half of her face, only her mouth and jaw showing from underneath. She was dressed head to foot in a skin tight, dark coloured suit, and the thought flashed across his mind that she resembled a character from a comic strip such as the ones Alan and Gordon used to read, instead of a real person. She spoke diffidently as if commenting on the weather, with none of the admiration that most expressed when coming up close to a Thunderbird machine. "How lucky that it started such a long way from the fuel depot."

What concerned him most was that she had voiced some of the thoughts running through his mind as they had fought to bring the blaze under control.

"What do you want?" He commanded, pulling himself together and using his most assertive incident commander voice.

"I have no quarrels with International Rescue." The stranger now, finally, brought her gaze to meet Scott's and despite the darkness of the unnatural dawn he found himself arrested by her eyes. "It seems like a perfect opportunity to distract you, to enable cameras to be placed inside your machines."

Scott frowned at her, any spell he was under broken. "Are you trying to steal our technology?"

"I'd be a pretty poor thief if I gave myself away by talking to you. Only morons actually disclose their plans to their victims. And I'm not a poor thief, I'm the best there is. So consider this a...friendly warning, if you must. It wouldn't hurt to do a check when you get back to inspect the machines for interference would it? As I already said, I have nothing against you or your organisation." Her accent was British, Scott could recognise that much, but not the clipped English tones he was familiar with through their long-standing association with Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, International Rescue's London intelligence agent. Nor was it a rough, almost vulgar tone like her reformed butler, Parker. The stranger's voice was softer, with a slight lilt to her accent that he couldn't place.

"Were you involved in the fire?"

She looked away then, gazing at the still smouldering buildings that would cost ChemDeli billions to replace. "ChemDeli has an interesting history. Several years ago they were implicated when a batch of industrial chemical waste was deposited in a river in India, a river used by many local families as their only water source. Funnily enough, they were never prosecuted."

"Then there must be another explanation. If they were responsible then the law would have penalised them."

"Do you think?" The stranger started drumming her fingernails against the side of Thunderbird 1. Except... looking closer Scott could see that protruding from the gloves she was wearing there were sharp points, almost like claws. He could also see that they were damaging the paintwork of his beloved Thunderbird, and he was just drawing in breath to scold when she stopped, and began walking away. Scott watched her go, his mind reeling.

"Hey!" he called, starting after her, and when she didn't respond he called out the first thing he could think of. "Excuse me! Thief lady!" Seeing her turn to look at him, he asked hurriedly "What happened to the families?"

She paused and half turned to him, her profile illuminated by the low morning sun that was slowly beginning to filter through the dense smoke cloud. "Thief lady? That's the best you can come up with? Most of my associates know me as Cat. I like you Thunderbird, I'll see you again." She resumed walking away, then said softly over her shoulder so that he could barely hear her, "They went blind. Whole communities of people went blind and starved." A cloud of dust and ash was kicked up by an eddy of wind, causing Scott to cover his eyes and cough slightly. When he could see again, she was gone.

Scott stood for a moment, processing all that had just happened. He was jolted from his reverie by the sound of his intercom beeping loudly inside Thunderbird 1. He scrambled inside his machine, wincing at the scratches in the paintwork by the door. Finally able to answer it, he found it was his father looking concerned. "Are you alright Scott? I expected to hear from you by now. There's nothing wrong, is there?"

Scott was about to explain about the stranger, but as it was at the tip of his tongue he hesitated. Perhaps it was because the encounter he had just had didn't seem...real, somehow, or perhaps it was related to the embarrassing effect she'd had on him that honestly had no place on any mission. Whatever the reason, for one of the first times in his life Scott lied to his father. ""No father, I just had some trouble packing up mobile control. I'm on my way home now. ETA is 14:00 hours your time."

"FAB Scott," his father replied, and signed out. Scott strapped in and launched Thunderbird 1, setting the course for Tracy Island. He then sat back and spent the whole journey wondering what on Earth he had done, fervently hoping that this wasn't the start of something he wouldn't be able to control.