Chapter 1

I started writing UFO fanfiction in July this year – great fun, and I am currently working on three new stories featuring Ed Straker and Rachel as well as some of the other characters. However, this idea popped into my mind one evening and wouldn't let go. So here it is. A Thunderbirds/UFO crossover featuring some of my favourite people. If you enjoyed reading it, the rest of the UFO 'story' is in the SHADO Library and on the UFO section of Fanfiction. For the purists among you I have brought SHADO forward into the current time, and International Rescue back to now! If you like Alan you won't like this!!

Early December 2009

'Hey, that's my chair!'

'Yeh, well you weren't sitting on it. So it's mine now.'

'Look, I had it first. Get up right now and let me have it back.'

'Or you'll do what, little brother?'

The two glared at each other, scowling angrily.

'For heaven's sake grow up boys. Anyone would think you were spotty teenagers squaring up to each other. Alan, stop fussing over who owns that recliner. There are plenty of others and you, Scott, did you chose that particular chair just to annoy your brother?' Jeff Tracy put down his newspaper and stood up. 'If you have enough energy left to argue with each other, then I suggest you both go down to the maintenance bay and help Virgil finish the checks on Two. Go on, both of you, you're getting on my nerves.'

Jeff watched them both sulk off to the underground bay. 'I hate to have to say it, but we really need some action here. It's been so quiet this last month the boys are desperate,' he complained to Kyrano, standing behind him. 'I don't want to wish harm on anyone, but with the weather so hot and the boys getting on each other's nerves so much I wish John would get an emergency call for us.' He grinned ruefully at his friend.

'Scott is finding this hiatus particularly difficult to deal with, Mr Tracy,' Kyrano agreed, 'Virgil has his music and internet chess group to keep him busy and with Gordon and John both up in Five for the refits, Scott only has Alan to take his frustration out on. Some seriously hard work would probably do them both good. Perhaps you should get Scott and Alan to start renewing the paintwork on Two. She's looked a bit shabby since that last rescue. I noticed several patches of scuffed metal on her when I last looked.' He grinned slyly at Jeff and the two men laughed.

'Good idea. I'll get them on it as soon as they've finished the checks. That should stop them from annoying me anymore. I don't know whether Virgil will approve though; you know how overprotective he is of Two. And if they splash any paint about he will definitely not be pleased.

Jeff Tracy sat down again by the poolside, sipping his iced tea. It had been a very hard few weeks, not because of the emergencies that International Rescue had been called out, but rather the lack of them. Everywhere was quiet; volcanoes were sleeping, fault lines were holding still, space programmes were behaving perfectly and everyone in the world was being careful. He had to admit it, he was bored. Utterly, utterly bored.

Even John, who was used to a quiet life, based as he was for the most part on Thunderbird 5, the space station in geosynchronous orbit, had been heard to mutter that he was getting just a little fed up of listening to radio stations.

There would be trouble on Tracy Island if something didn't happen soon, Jeff realised. Scott and Alan were at each other's throats all the time, and he hardly saw Virgil during the day as the TB2 pilot preferred to spend his time servicing his huge VTOL transporter craft rather than endure the petty bickering between his brothers.

Thankfully, Gordon was due to arrive back from Five in the afternoon. Gordon had always been the calming force in the family, the only one who could deal with his brothers when they were in this sort of mood. Please, Jeff thought, even rescuing a stranded sailor from capsized boat would be better than sitting around all day, watching dire daytime television and bickering with each other. Wouldn't it?

The private jet, with its single passenger, headed across the South Pacific. The flight from French Polynesia had been uneventful, and the crew of three in the cockpit were relaxing as the autopilot controlled the craft. In the cabin, tired after an exhausting but ultimately successful business trip, the passenger reclined his seat, closed his eyes and drowsed, lulled by the smooth and steady noise of the engines.

'Dad. Can you get down here right away?' Virgil's voice had an undercurrent of anger and urgency.

'What's the problem Virgil? Do you need TinTin as well?'

'Not yet, but Scott and Alan will be in need of some serious medical attention if they don't stop messing about in here. I swear I am going to do something thoroughly unpleasant to both of them in the next five minutes if they aren't out of here by then.' Virgil, by now almost speechless with rage, put the intercom down.

Jeff sighed. More problems to deal with. He headed for TB2's hangar. Once inside he stopped, appalled at the sight. Puddles of thick, heavy duty green primer paint lay spattered and splashed on the once pristine floor. Scott and Alan were squared up to each other, armed with the metre long paintbrushes used to reach the slightly less accessible areas of Virgil's beloved craft.

'En guarde!' Scott called out and lunged at his younger brother, who promptly responded with a swift parry, his loaded brush sloshing paint across Scott's overalls and face.

Virgil turned to his father. 'Dad,' he said despairingly, 'please. Stop them before I do something I might regret later.' It was clear that he was at the end of his tether. Jeff stepped forward, with the intention of getting noticed by the two reprobates, but unfortunately he was not seen in time and Scott's riposte, aimed at the youngest Tracy, caught Jeff squarely on the chest. Green primer daubed itself across Jeff's shirt. He stood, stockstill for a long, long second, then exploded with barely contained rage.

'Upstairs, both of you. Now.'

They stared at each other, at the paint on the floor, at the paint on his shirt and face.

'Dad... ' Scott began.

'Don't 'Dad' me.' Jeff answered. 'Upstairs. You can both go to your rooms and stay there. If you behave like teenagers you can expect to be treated like teenagers. You are both grounded until I decide otherwise. Stay in your rooms. I don't want to see your faces until I am ready to. Go on. Move.'

They hurried out, not daring to look at him. Jeff turned to Virgil. 'I'm sorry son, I didn't realise they would get so out of hand. I'll help clear this up.'

'Thanks Dad,' Virgil was clearly upset by his brothers' inconsiderate actions. 'I am so angry. Neither of them would listen to me and I tried to stop them, I really did.'

'I know Virgil, I know. They have been behaving like this for too long now. A day or two spent in their rooms might just cool them down. At the very least it will give us a break from their incessant squabbling.'

The small plane veered across the sky, losing height with a swiftness that indicated to any onlooker that something was not right. With a worried expression the passenger put his mobile away in the briefcase, strapped himself in and prepared for trouble.