Moonstrike! Chapter 9 - Rescue!
Disclaimers, et al.
Chapter 1: Discovery
Chapter 2: Enemies
Chapter 3: Trust
Chapter 4: Disappearance
Chapter 5: Alarms
Chapter 6: Contrasts
Chapter 7: Reasons
Chapter 8: Travels
The danger zone...
"How do you think we should handle this, Scott?" Virgil and Gordon stood beside Mobile Control, waiting for instructions.
Scott rubbed his chin. "We're going to have to attack this from below the boy's position. Grab him from there and pull him down into a tunnel." He glanced up at the gathering storm clouds. "I've plotted the best route for the Mole, but we can't get it too close. You'll have to dig to get to the drainpipe, then use the lasers to cut a hole."
"Do you think there'll be working room in the pipe for head and shoulders?" Gordon was already wearing his protective suit, and had his bright orange hard hat under one arm.
"Don't think so, Gordon. From what the camera shows, there was enough room for little Jintao to slide in easily, but not much more. It's a miracle that he got caught by that root. Otherwise he would have fallen the entire length of the pipe."
They were responding to a call from a small Korean village. A four-year-old boy had tumbled deep into one of the town's storm drains while chasing his soccer ball. It had stopped just out of reach near the edge, but when the boy grabbed for it, it had fallen into the open drain, and he had followed. The pipe was too small for anyone to climb down; the villagers had no equipment to see or speak to the boy, and heavy rains were on the way.
The first thing Scott did was send their new mobile camera down into the pipe. The new device was a little smaller than a volleyball, and studded all over with tiny camera lenses. A ring of light surrounded each lens, providing illumination in the darkest places. The anti-gravity field emanated from thin grooves that divided the sphere into eighths, and enabled it to move easily. The images showed the boy had been stopped by a tree root that had broken through the PVC pipe. He was wedged in at an awkward angle, the soccer ball beneath him contributing to his plight. He was conscious and crying when Scott had first arrived.
"Use the thermal imager to keep track of his position," Scott reminded his brothers. "I'll keep an eye on the camera images."
"F-A-B, Scott," Virgil said, giving him a thumbs up. He clapped Gordon on the shoulder. "Let's go."
They ran together to the pod, slipping inside through the smaller access door. A few moments later, the larger door slowly lowered, and the throaty roar of an engine sounded. The crowd that had gathered gasped, making other sounds of awe and wonder as the Mole trundled out on its trolley's caterpillar tracks. It made a wide turn to the right, and trundled out of sight down the town's one paved road.
"Where are they going, sir?" came a man's voice. The child's parents stood near him, the father draping a protective arm around the mother. Her hands were clasped tightly together, the tracks of now long-dried tears still marked her dust-covered face. The man who had asked the question was Kwan, a local IR agent who had been summoned to act as liaison. The father, it seemed, spoke little English, though the mother understood more. However, since Scott couldn't understand her through her accent, he was glad for Kwan's intervention.
Scott beckoned the trio to join him behind Mobile Control. Touching a screen, he showed them a simulation of what was about to happen. "You see, since this is a relatively shallow tunnel we are digging, we have to start farther away from the well."
He waited for Kwan to translate before picking up a stylus and touching the screen. The viewpoint on the simulation zoomed in. "We'll stop here," he indicated the spot with the tool, "and dig the rest of the way. Then we'll cut into the pipe here, slice through the root, and pull him down."
"Ah, it is awesome!" the mother said slowly, her eyes tearing up again, as Kwan translated. Her husband smiled at her and squeezed her to his side.
Scott smiled. "I've got some pretty amazing men working with me," he said. "Now, I have to check in with our base. Please excuse me."
The father nodded, and drew his wife away from Mobile Control. Kwan turned around, eying the crowd as if daring them to bother the IR operative. Scott put on his headset. "Thunderbird Five from Mobile Control. What's the weather doing, Alan?"
"It's not looking good, Scott." Alan checked the satellite images he was getting from the area. "You should begin to feel some light rain any time now, and the heavier stuff should reach you in about twenty minutes."
"Sounds like we need to get this done fast, then," Scott said.
"Mobile Control from Base," Jeff's voice called.
"Reading you five by five, Base."
"It might help, Scott, if you could get that drain covered. Divert the water, and keep it as dry as possible."
Scott thought a moment, then got up to look at the drain again. It was uncovered; one of the townspeople had told him it had recently been cleaned out as far as they could reach with the equipment they had, and they'd been arguing about a plan to rid it of roots further down. The grate hadn't been put back because it was the rainy season, and the grate usually became so covered with debris at times that the drain was useless. He shook his head. This won't do. What can I use to cover this once the rain starts? As if to make his thought reality, a droplet of water hit his cap and rolled off, feeling cold as it coursed its way through his hair. Another drop hit, and the crowd around him began looking up, holding up their hands. Some began to make their way to shelter, and little Jintao's mother started to cry again.
He glanced from Mobile Control to Thunderbird Two and back again. I can move Mobile Control into Two's pod and use Control's rain tent to cover the site, but how to divert the water? First things first; get that tent set up. Then I can worry about Mobile Control. And, hopefully, there'll be something in the pod to help me deal with the water.
He sprinted back to Thunderbird One and opened up the lower hatch, dipping inside and pulling out a long white bundle. Running back to the drain, he began to set up his tent, the lightweight, waterproof fabric emblazoned with IR's logo. It didn't take long; he placed it right over the drain, oriented it so that two corners were perpendicular to the street, then he went in and cut the center of the floor out so he could have access to the drain - and the automatic camera that still hovered within, providing the boy with calming light.
Kwan stuck his head in. "The parents want to know what you are doing."
"I'm trying to keep the drain dry," Scott explained. "The tent will help, but I have to find something to divert the water that'll soon be running down this road.
"Ah, I see. I will tell them." Kwan turned to explain this to the parents outside the tent.
"Tell them to come inside." Scott finished his cutting job. "They might as well keep dry and stay close. I need to move Mobile Control into shelter. If you could help me with it, I'd appreciate it."
"Certainly." Kwan said as he again turned to say something to those without. Then he held open the tent door to let the parents in. They came in timidly, looking around as if they shouldn't be there. Scott smiled at them and waved them in. Kwan got them settled on the floor, then he and Scott left to move Mobile Control into the pod.
When they moved the unit into the pod, he scanned the area. Since they knew they'd be working in a rainy situation, they had loaded up some highly-absorbent materials, made from the latest generation of polyacrylamides, a material that could absorb hundreds of times its own weight in water. Scott locked down Mobile Control, then selected a spool of thick, flexible, tube-like stuff, and hefted it over one shoulder. It was lightweight, but he knew it wouldn't stay that way long. The rain was beginning to pick up, and so was the wind.
Once back at the tent, he started at just past the widest point, and began to measure out the water absorbing cable. "Hold onto that end!" he called to Kwan. The Korean nodded, and put a foot down where Scott directed. Scott played out the amount he needed, making a blunted wedge shape within which the tent rested. Once he'd cut off the length, he moved back about a foot, and did the same thing again, then out another foot for a third layer. As an added precaution, he lined the outer edges of the tent itself with the stuff. "That should do it."
He beckoned to the agent, and handed him an earpiece with a boom mike attached. "I've got to tend to Mobile Control and see how the Mole is doing. You take this and be my liaison with the parents. I'll give you updates as I have them."
"Okay!" Kwan said. He took the device, gave Scott a sharp salute, and hurried off to the tent, jumping over the lines of defense. Already the first bit of hose was slowly expanding as rain from further up the road headed for the drain and was absorbed before it reached the tent.
"All right now," Scott muttered as he ran back into the shelter of the pod. He took off his hat and shook the water from his hair on the way to Mobile Control. "Now to look in on the little guy, and to check in with the Mole."
xxxx
"Alan. What can I say about Alan?" Rhea sat back and steepled her fingers. "He hasn't been racing much lately, kinda phasing it out, if you know what I mean. A lot of what he's been doing lately has been testing various engineering designs for Tracy Ventures, things that can be later adapted for other uses. He's been playing a lot of tennis and golf, too. In fact, I think he's in the line-up for one of the charity golf tourneys this year." She shrugged. "I guess, out of all my brothers, he's the one who's closest to fulfilling the rumors about the playboy lifestyle."
"Phasing it out..." Alan snorted softly as he paused the interview. "Just wait until Paris to Dakar comes up. She'll be eating her words." He glanced over to the weather satellite. "Scott's getting drenched now. I'd better give him a call." Flipping a switch, he activated his microphone. "Mobile Control from Thunderbird Five, do you read me?"
"Reading you five by five, Alan," Scott said. He boosted the volume on his headset. "Man, it's loud in here! The rain sure is pounding on the pod! How long is this supposed to last?"
Another glance at the weather images, and Alan replied, "It should ease in about fifteen minutes, but don't expect it to stop. This is a sizable front coming through." He paused. "What's the status on the Mole?"
"I'm about to find that out. I'll patch you through on the tri-channel." Scott touched a couple of switches, and called, "Mobile Control to Mole. Come in, Virgil."
"Mole here, reading you three by three, Scott." Virgil frowned and exchanged glances with Gordon. "What's all that racket in the background?"
"Rain on the roof, Virge. Never realized how much these pods could echo." Scott shook his head. "What's your status?"
"We're two minutes from our target, and slowing down," Virgil replied. "We don't want to go too far."
In the background, Gordon could be heard saying, "Ten meters... seven meters... full stop!"
"How close are you?" Scott asked, suddenly worried.
"Final distance is two meters, just as I'd planned." A quiet satisfaction was evident in Virgil's voice. "Now we'll back up a few meters so we have room to work, and get out the hand equipment. I'd give it another forty-five minutes at least."
"F-A-B," Scott said. "I'm keeping an eye on the rain here. I set up the tent over the drain, and have buttressed the area with polyacrylamide tubing to keep it dry. So far so good - no sign of dripping in the pipe. The little guy looks scared though; he may have heard the Mole coming."
"We'll get to him as quickly as we can, Scott," Gordon chimed in.
"F-A-B. Get to it. I'm leaving the channel open."
"Be careful down there," Alan added. "This rain's going to soak the ground but good."
"F-A-B," Virgil said, squelching the temptation to say more. "We're on our way. Mole out."
In the Mole, Gordon put an air tank on his back, and made sure it was connected to the helmet of his protective suit. Virgil did the same, and each helped the other fasten pencil-thin lights to both sides of their helmets. They each clipped a longer, more powerful flashlight to their tool belts. Then they went back to the storage lockers behind the main cabin. Together, they wrestled a bulky piece of equipment to the door that would allow them egress. It looked like a modified snowblower, but with sharper blades, and a tank arrangement before the outlet spouts. Gordon climbed down the portable ladder to the ground in the little cavern they'd made, and Virgil used a powered block and tackle on a telescoping arm to lower the machine to the ground. Then he went back for a spade, a laser cutter, and a hand-held thermal imager. By the time he'd reached the ground, Gordon had already started up the mini-excavator, and was hard at work.
The mini-excavator ate into the moist earth, cutting up roots, picking up rocks, and sending them through a chemical bath before shooting them out around Gordon on both sides. The materials stuck to the walls and ceiling, contracting to half its bulk, then hardening to a near cement consistency,. The result was a lumpy, crusty concrete tunnel, one that would hold for a time while the operatives worked. Virgil smoothed it down in spots with the spade, careful to walk right behind Gordon as he followed. He couldn't help getting hit by some of the spray, which coated his suit with a light, sandy crust. It didn't take much to remove, just a couple of sweeps from his gloved hands, but he was too busy aiming the thermal imager over Gordon's shoulder to worry about it.
"Not far, not far," he said as they climbed past the wide cone that had been made by the Mole's propeller wings. "Just another meter or so, then it's spade work."
"Am I on target here? Do I need to adjust this up or down?" Gordon asked.
"Up a little, I think." Virgil checked the readings again. "Yes, up about ten degrees."
Gordon leaned on the handles, lifting the cutting edges upward. The display, mounted between the base of the handles, helped him judge the distance. The hole he was digging was smaller now, only the height of the excavator's blades; soon, he and Virgil would have to resort to shovels.
"Okay, stop!"
At his brother's call, Gordon cut the motor to the blades, and when the all the excavated material had been spewed out, he shut that off, too. He blinked in the sudden darkness; the mini excavator had bright headlights.
"Let's get this back to the Mole, and pick up the shovels," Virgil said.
Gordon pulled the machine back and leaned it up so Virgil could close the blades off with a safety cover. Then, between the two of them, they hauled it back to sit beside the Mole and picked up their shovels.
"This is the hard part," Gordon remarked. "Looking for that pipe, and digging a hole big enough to do what we need to."
"That's why I gave Scott the time I did. I knew this wouldn't be easy."
By this time, they were crouching at the end of the tunnel they'd dug. With a sigh, Gordon shoved his spade into the damp earth, and began to pull it out, dumping it behind him. Virgil checked the readings on the thermal imager, and shoved the dirt further back.
They went at it for twenty minutes or so, taking turns to spare their strength and their backs. They used the laser cutter to slice through roots, some of them as thick as their arms. They pulled out at least one rock the size of a basketball. Finally, Virgil's spade scraped across something hard that wasn't rock or root.
"We found it!" he said, his voice eager as he swiped off the dirt. "Yes, this is it! Quick, Gordon! How much do we clear away?"
"According to the readings," Gordon replied, wiping dirt from the imager's screen, "we're about a quarter meter down from where he is."
Reaching up, Virgil cleared a little more with his hand. "Here. This must be the root he's sitting on. Let's get this cleared. We've got to widen the hole; we can't do this unless we can get around the root."
"F-A-B. I'll let Scott know." He pulled back a bit, and folded back his thick gauntlet. "Mobile Control from Gordon."
"Mobile Control here, reading you four by four. What's the news?" Scott could barely see Gordon's face; the faceplate reflected any light.
"We've found the pipe, and we've cleared a space just below the root the boy is sitting on. We're working on digging out some more space so we can cut a hole in the pipe and pull him out directly."
"Can you do that without cutting him?" Scott frowned. This was an unexpected change to the plan he'd devised. Gordon relayed the question to Virgil.
"How thick is this pipe? It's PVC; I can cut through above and below him, then cut nearly through on two sides. As long as I can get a hand hold in there and pull..." Virgil huffed as he cleared out dirt on either side of the root. He paused to wipe a sudden shower of it from his faceplate. Gordon sighed, and once again acted as relay.
"Why not go into the pipe below him as outlined? Or even above him?" Scott was manipulating the automatic camera, turning the sphere, changing the banks of camera eyes at the equatorial level to a different mode, one that could detect the differences in the composition of any given material. It would take five minutes or so to complete the scan and come up with the results, but it would give Virgil the information he'd requested. He glanced up. The rain was still coming down in sheets, and from where he sat he could see that his first line of defense around the tent was filled to capacity. It'll still divert the water, but whatever gets past it will be taken care of by the next level. Hopefully they're still dry in the tent. I'll check with Agent 44 in a minute. He glanced up at the sky. It's getting dark. They'll need some kind of light...
"Scott, Virgil doesn't like the fact that we'd have to cut through the root, then try to get the ball out before reaching him. Digging up above him is going to take longer, and the ground will be more unstable." Gordon said. "And I'm going to take his place right now and dig some more. You two can hash this out in person."
With that, Gordon's image cut off, and Scott heard Virgil call, "Mobile Control from Virgil. Do you read?"
"I read you four by four, Virgil." Now Scott was annoyed, first by Virgil's proposed change in plans, then by Gordon's abrupt cut off. But he swallowed his annoyance. He was the field commander; he didn't have time for it. "Now, what's this about pulling him out directly?"
"Gordon's given you the whys, Scott. I think it'll be quicker and less stress on him to cut a hole right where he is." Virgil glanced over to where Gordon was crouching, shoving the sharp edge of the spade upward and bringing down showers of dirt and rock. "If we remove the root, then the ball, he might think he's going to fall further in. No reason scaring the kid more than already he is. And we do have to bring down more dirt in order to have the standing room to pull him out from above. We're in tight quarters as it is."
Scott checked the scan. "Okay. You go with it. The pipe is fifteen millimeters thick."
"F-A-B, Scott, and thanks. We'll give you an update in fifteen, if not sooner. Virgil out."
Scott sat back, shaking his head. He glanced outside again; the rain looked as if it had let up a little. I'll check in with Kwan, and tell them what's happening. Bring them a lantern, too, while I'm at it, he thought as he turned the scan back to simple video. Flipping a switch, he locked down Mobile Control, and went in search of a battery-operated lamp.
"Right here, Virge." Gordon pointed to the spot where the root, as thick as his upper arm, had gone through. "We can clear out some of this cracked and broken stuff on top; it'll keep us from having to cut so much at the bottom."
"Good idea, Gords. Clear it away while I set up the laser. This will be tricky work."
For a few moments, shards of thick piping dropped, one by one, onto the pile of dirt they'd made. Virgil paid strict attention to the laser, calibrating the length of its beam to exactly fourteen millimeters. I can press it close to the side of the pipe, and still not cut all the way through when I do the sides. Then I'll recalibrate to a slightly longer cut for the top, and make a hand hold for myself - or Gordon. We can score across the center, too, so breaking off the pipe will be easier.
He glanced down at a gauge clipped to his shoulder. Hm. Looks like we'll both need fresh air tanks soon; we've been down here longer than I estimated. And we could probably use a luminous marker to set the lines on the pipe. "Gords?"
"Yeah, Virge?" Gordon stopped wiping the pipe with his gloves. He'd managed to scrabble out enough room for one of them to half-crouch, half-stand sideways.
"Keep digging. I'm going back for a couple of air tanks and a marker." Virgil put the laser down next to the thermal imager.
"Can you bring a medikit back with you? We may need it." Gordon surveyed his handiwork and frowned. This isn't big enough for us to work in. Time for the shovel again.
"Yeah, I can bring that, too." Already Virgil was going over a mental step-by-step of what he was going to do. "I'll be back soon."
"Right! I'll have this cleared a little more, too." Gordon picked up the spade, not even checking to see if his brother had gone. Sticking it up into the mass of roots and rocks, he began scraping again, this time back towards the tunnel. Every few minutes, he'd shovel the stuff he'd scraped off behind him. He was sweaty and wished he could wipe his brow, but the helmet prevented it. He glanced down at his own air gauge. Hm. Hope Virgil gets back here soon. I'd better rest for a bit; conserve air. When he comes back we can finally cut this pipe and get this kid out of here.
When Virgil came slogging up the tunnel a few moments later, the solidified debris crunching underfoot, he found Gordon sitting with knees drawn up, his helmet resting on his arms. "Gords?"
Gordon lifted his head. "Oh, hey, Virge. Just resting for a moment. Got that air tank?"
"Right here. I put mine on before I left the Mole." Virgil hefted the tank. "Got the medikit, too. Need any help getting this changed?"
Gordon groaned as he got to his feet. "Nah, I can do it. There might be enough room in there to work, now."
"Great!" Virgil handed the tank to his brother, then looked around. "Where's the thermal imager? And the laser gun? I don't see them."
In the midst of changing tanks, Gordon stopped, pulling out his torch and flashing it around. "I dunno. I don't remember seeing them..."
"Dammit, Gords! You buried them!" Virgil was kneeling by a slightly larger pile of dirt, shoving it aside. "Didn't you watch where you were throwing this stuff?"
The aquanaut groaned. "What was I supposed to do? I didn't know where you'd put them!" He crouched down by Virgil. "Here, let me help!"
"No, just get that tank on, and pray they'll still work." Virgil thrust a hand back at his brother, then bent once more to the task.
Gordon shook his head and returned to hook up his fresh tank. "The laser should be fine. The thermal imager, too. Brains designed them to take a beating." He completed his task, and breathed deeply. "Ahh. That's better. Now I can help find them."
"I've got them." Virgil irritably shook the dirt from the laser cutter, then handed it to his brother. "Here, finish cleaning this. I'll take care of the imager."
They worked in silence for a while, using their hands within the clumsy gauntlets to clean their equipment. Finally, Scott's voice broke in. "Virgil and Gordon from Mobile Control. Status report."
Virgil answered. "We've had a little equipment snafu here, Scott. But it's fixed now, and we're ready to roll."
"F-A-B," Scott replied. He frowned, wanting to ask what kind of equipment trouble they were having, but squelched the question, filing it away for the debrief. "The rain is slacking off a bit now, but I'm seeing some drips getting in. The polyacrylamide buffers may have reached their limits. Not to mention the Penelon tent. Let's hurry it up, guys."
"F-A-B, Scott." Virgil was already moving into the narrow space with the thermal imager. "I'm marking my cut lines right now. Get back to you soon. Virgil out." He cut communications with Scott. "Gords, double check the readings on that laser. I don't want to cut this kid."
"F-A-B," Gordon replied. There was no sign of sulkiness in his reply, but a resigned tone. "Thanks, Virge."
"For what?"
"For not telling Scott what kind of 'snafu' we had."
Virgil hummed a little as he made the first line on the pipe. "Don't thank me yet. You know it'll come out during debrief." He huffed a little. The line wasn't straight, and it irked him, but he knew he had no time for finesse. He quickly made the line across the top, then the bottom, using the imager to "see" the boy's body through the pipe, and his own hand as it drew the luminous marker across. Another long line down, then one at the midway point, and he was through. He ducked back down and handed the imager to Gordon. "Time to cut."
Gordon gave him the laser. "It's set for fourteen millimeters."
"Good. I'll do the sides first, then score the center as a fold mark. Then I can cut above and below and pull this out." He took a deep breath to steady himself. "Here we go."
Carefully, cautiously, holding the laser firmly in both hands, he began to follow the glowing line he'd drawn. He had to stand to one side a little as the space wasn't wide enough for him to hold the laser directly in front of him. Sweat began to bead on his brow as he worked, his only focus the line on the pipe, his world narrowed down to there and then, and that short, glowing red beam. The left hand side first, then the right; beads of plastic congealed on the edges of the thin cuts, hardening, looking like dull gray pearls stuck to a dirty wall. He ducked to avoid the root, knowing that removing it could shift the balance of things within the pipe and make all their preparation and work for nothing. When he'd finished with the score across the middle, he relaxed and took a couple of deep breaths.
"Virgil and Gordon from Mobile Control." Scott's voice sounded again. "Are you cutting?"
Virgil's heart contracted with panic as he replied, "Yes, Scott. Is the kid okay?"
"Seems to be, but I think he's heard you. He's stirring." That was something Scott had been concerned about as the rescue progressed; little Jintao had become more and more listless. There were a dozen reasons why he would, and all of them made Scott antsy, especially since he could do nothing about any of them.
The relief in Virgil's voice was plain. "Whew! Okay. I'm going to cut across the top and bottom, then pull this section off. Gords, have the medikit ready."
"F-A-B." Gordon had already started taking out the bits and pieces they'd need right away: a blanket of shiny silver, a small oxygen mask with a proportionately sized flask, a child-sized neck brace, and a backboard that folded out to full-size and locked into place. There was more, but he wouldn't do any other triage or first aid until they were in the Mole, with better light and more room to work. It would be just enough right now to transport their rescued child out of the dark.
Virgil took another deep breath to steady himself. He increased the length of the laser to sixteen millimeters, just enough to cut through. His goal was to make a handhold for himself at the top, and one at the bottom. Then, by brute strength, rip the pipe section out, whole if he could manage it, in halves if he couldn't. He raised his arms and began to follow the glowing green line, moving slowly, making sure the plastic was cut clear through. Once that was done, he cut another, parallel line about an inch higher up, then connected the two with short perpendicular cuts that matched the slices he'd already made.
Below the boy was trickier, but easier at the same time. There were already sections of broken pipe pulled away, but he didn't want to cut the root that held the child in place. Not yet. So his handhold took on a different shape, as did the lower cut. It was harder to see, and to work. He had to crouch somewhat, and move to the side, nearly back into the tiny cavern. The sweat hindered him as it ran into his eyes and stung. But he persevered, until, at last, the bottom was cut through. He found himself breathing strongly, and the relief he felt almost weakened him. He shut off the laser, and handed it without looking to Gordon.
"Let me try first, Virge."
Gordon's offer startled him, and he crouched all the way down, turning to look at his brother,, an amorphous figure, barely discernible in the gloom. The pen-sized flashlights on either side of his head looked like little white eyes looking at him. Need fresh batteries, Virgil thought.
"I can hear your breathing, Virge, and you're tired. I'm fresh, and if I can't shift it, then you can try once you've caught your breath."
Virgil hesitated for a moment. He'd come this far; he wanted to see it through. But his brother was right, he was tired. The tension of cutting had left him with joints that felt rubbery, and a short breather was called for. "All right, Gords. Go to it."
"F-A-B."
They changed places awkwardly, both trying to move at the same time. Finally, Gordon fell back to let Virgil through, and climbed up into the small space. He shone his larger flashlight around, taking a good look at his brother's handiwork, then he curled up his hand into a fist, and punched the top of the ragged rectangle. The handhold took two or three punches to clear, and for some reason, the curved plastic slice didn't fall all the way into the pipe. Gordon was able to tease it out and into his space, tossing it towards his feet. There had been a cry with the first punch, then another with the second; the third brought a string of language, high-pitched and sounding scared. Wish I spoke Korean. I might be able to comfort him and tell him what I was doing.
He leaned over awkwardly, and did the same to the irregular cut at the bottom. This one took more blows to dislodge; Gordon's unusual posture made it difficult to get enough force behind each blow. But he removed it, then shifted his position to give himself more room. Without any warning to his brother or the boy, he grabbed the hand-holds and began to pull. The narrow space didn't allow for pulling straight out; he had to pull sideways, and down, both hands reaching over the root. He gave a sharp yank, followed by a steady pressure, hanging on until he felt his fingers slipping. He readjusted his grip. Another sharp yank yielded him an equally sharp crack as some of the upper edges began to separate. There was another yell, and Scott's voice was heard once more.
"Virgil and Gordon from Mobile Control. I can see you're pulling and it's beginning to break! Keep it up, guys! Keep it up!"
"F-A-B," Gordon said through gritted teeth. His grip began to falter again, and he straightened once more to renew it. Giving another hard jerk, he heard more cracking, felt more giving way, and he put his weight into it. The pipe began to pull towards him, and he got his fingers into the crevice that he'd made. One last powerful wrench, with all his strength behind it, and the pipe peeled back like a door half off its hinges.
"Got it!" he cried triumphantly. "Virgil! Come give me a hand!"
Before his brother could lever himself off the ground, Gordon had wriggled in under the "door" he'd created. There, in the dim light of his fading helmet lights and the illumination provided by the automatic camera, was a wide-eyed little boy, who let out a whimper of fear. His back was braced against the left side of the pipe, one leg was folded under between his rear and the ball. His right arm now dangled by his side, the left elbow was jammed into his ribs and held there by the pipe. The left leg seemed to be caught by the ball, too, but Gordon couldn't see just how. Dark hair was plastered down by the little rivulets that darkened the walls. It confirmed that Scott's defenses against the rain were weakening.
Gordon took his flashlight and turned it on his own face, hoping that the boy could see that there was a man, not an alien, inside the helmet. A tug on his pant leg told him that Virgil was standing by, but was unable to move into the space. "Virge, I'll pull him out partway. You cut that damned root out so we can work!"
"F-A-B!" Virgil sounded rejuvenated, ready to go. This last phase of the rescue had given him - and Gordon - a much needed boost in morale and energy. He ducked back in to find the laser, and set the cutting beam for a much longer "blade".
Meanwhile, Gordon removed his gauntlets, hanging them on his equipment belt. He eased his fingers gently down the boy's cold, limp right arm, trying to ascertain if anything was broken. The child's lower lip wobbled, and fat tears ran down his cheeks, adding to the tracks that were already there. He didn't cry out, which Gordon took for an encouraging sign. He slid a comforting hand through the boy's wet hair, then draped the skinny arm around his neck. Nudging the child's torso forward, he scraped his knuckles on the pipe as he worked his hand behind the youngster. There came a point where he couldn't go any farther; to do so would be to bend the boy double. So he left his hand where it was, and waited for his brother.
By this time, Virgil was working on the end of the root nearest the pipe. He was cutting carefully; any variance and he'd end up slicing Gordon. He knew that once the root was cut, there was a good possibility that it would shift under the boy's weight. "You ready, Gordon?" he asked quietly.
"F-A-B," was the reply.
The root was already shifting, splitting, one side heading down outside the pipe, the other within. Virgil chanted, "Three... two... one... done!"
As he shouted, the root gave way inside the drain, and it, with the soccer ball, dropped. Gordon clutched for the boy, who gave a scream of pain as the ball released the pressure on his legs. "Got him! Virge, cut the rest of this pipe away!"
Virgil reset the laser's length, then began to cut off the remainder of the "door" in the pipe. The child was still screaming, whether from pain or relief, Gordon couldn't tell now. He seemed to be shouting something in Korean. "Thunderbird Five from Gordon!"
"Thunderbird Five here, reading you three by three, Gordon."
"Alan, I need a translation, now!" Gordon held his wristcomm close to the boy's head as Virgil pulled the pipe off and tossed it into the wider part of their tiny cavern. With more room to move, Gordon eased his way out, then he and Virgil laid the howling child down on the backboard, covering him with the blanket, fastening still limp limbs with firm straps, and immobilizing his head and neck with the soft collar.
Alan recorded a bit of the screamed syllables, and sent it through Thunderbird Five's translation programs. "Gordon from Thunderbird Five."
"Go ahead, Alan." The screams had turned into hiccuped crying, muted now as the oxygen mask was slipped into place.
"You're not going to believe this, Gords. He's screaming, 'My ball! My ball!'"
Gordon shook his head slowly and snorted. "Figures."