Thunderbirds: Operation Asteroids

OPERATION ASTEROIDS

By John Theydon

Edited by Ross Arrowsmith

Anderson Entertainment Limited

The Corner House, 2 High Street, Aylesford, Kent, ME20 7BG

Thunderbirds: Operation Asteroids by John Theydon.

First published in 1966 under the title ‘Operation Asteroids’ by John W Jennison.

Hardcover edition published by Anderson Entertainment in 2022.

Thunderbirds ™ and © ITC Entertainment Group 1964, 1999

and 2022. Licensed by ITV Studios Limited. All Rights Reserved.

www.gerryanderson.co.uk

ISBN: 9781914522284

Editorial director: Jamie Anderson

Editor: Ross Arrowsmith

Cover design: Marcus Stamps

Typeset by Rajender Singh Bisht

Table of Contents

Lunar S.O.S.

Destination Moon

The Power of The Hood

Hijacked

Beyond Mars

Marooned in Space

Return to Earth

Tibetan Hideout

Roof of the World

The Pit of Suspense

Ambush

Monastery Showdown

Chapter One

Lunar S.O.S.

A HUNDRED-KNOT gale screeched and howled across the tiny tropical island, and the palms bent and whirled their feathery fronds like weird mopheaded creatures writhing in agony under the lash of a giant whip.

Huge waves raced in from the gloom of the storm-wracked Pacific to explode in fury against the cliffs which sheltered the secret base of the organisation known to the world of the twenty-first century as International Rescue.

Jeff Tracy, founder and commander of the organisation, stood at the wide window of the luxurious lounge of the white concrete and glass house nestling against the cliff wall. His rugged, tanned face crinkled in a challenging grin as he watched.

Blow your durnedest! he growled. This place has been built to withstand the worst you can conjure up, old man of the sea!

Just the kind of weather that could bring a call for our services, Mr. Tracy, said a quiet, musical voice at his elbow.

Jeff turned and smiled fondly at the lovely raven haired girl - the daughter of Kyrano, his servant - who stood there in a blue silk kimono, a tray bearing biscuits and steaming coffee in her manicured hands.

Guess you’re right, Tin-Tin, he said, taking the cup. A ship sinking suddenly, a plane struck by lightning and forced down. We never know when we’ll be needed -

He broke off as an urgent bleeping sounded across the room. He looked up at the row of life- size oil portraits which hung there - portraits of his five sons and of Lady Penelope, his special agent in England.

The eyes of John Tracy’s portrait were flashing rapidly in time with the bleeps. Putting the coffee cup back on the tray, Jeff crossed the room in rapid strides to touch a button on his desk. A glass ashtray rose on one hinged edge and from the cavity beneath appeared a microphone.

Space station from base, he said crisply. Come in, John!

The picture slid away to reveal a television screen. Staring out from it was fair-haired John Tracy in his lilac-trimmed blue uniform with the clasped hand insignia of International Rescue on the shoulder band.

Emergency call, son? Jeff demanded.

John smiled. Guess not, father - unless you figure the fact that I’m five minutes overdue for relief is an emergency. Where’s my kid brother, Alan - still in bed?

Jeff chuckled. The last time I checked he was knocking spots off Scott at table tennis. I’ll get them to blast off right away, son. But I’m warning you it’s blowing half a hurricane down here right now.

After a month up here, I’ll welcome a hurricane, Dad. Haven’t even had an emergency call for thirty- six hours.

Okay, John! I’ll get Grandma to pop one of her special apple pies in the infra-red oven. Should be done to a T by the time you touch down,

Jeff signed off and switched on the intercom to the games room. He grinned when excited shouts sounded over the speaker.

Alan! Scott! he bawled into the microphone. Action stations!

A moment or so later his eldest and youngest sons, Scott and Alan, charged into the room, good- humouredly jostling each other in their eagerness to be first. Behind them their brothers, Virgil and Gordon, followed at a more sedate pace.

What is it, Dad? Scott asked eagerly.

Guy in space wants rescuing, Jeff drawled with a straight face. Name of John Tracy. Says he’s sorry to drag you two fellers out of bed, but his relief’s five minutes overdue.

Oh, he does, huh? Alan snorted indignantly. He would quibble about a little thing like that when I’d got big brother all set for the licking of his life.

The blazes you had! Scott exploded. Why, you positively yelled with relief when Dad said action stations –

Now, boys - break it up! Jeff intervened with a chuckle. Get cracking! Sooner you’re away the sooner you’ll be back - and we might get a call meantime.

Okay, father!

Alan picked up a ready-packed holdall and sat down on the couch in the centre of the room. Scott joined him.

Excuse me, Mr. Tracy! Tin-Tin said eagerly.

Jeff smiled at her. Well, honey?

Can I go with them - please? I need all the experience I can get at handling the electronic equipment.

Guess you do, Tin-Tin. Okay!

Tin-Tin sat down on the couch between Scott and Alan, and Jeff moved to his desk controls.

All set?

Sure, Dad! Alan said. Be seeing you!

With a muffled whine of hidden motors, the carpeted section of the floor on which the couch stood sank slowly out of sight, taking Tin-Tin and the two brothers with it.

In a shaft below the house, hydraulic legs lowered the couch gently on to twin rails, along which it glided smoothly and swiftly into a tunnel leading to the vast underground bunker that housed the two-hundred-foot space ship known as Thunderbird Three.

Behind it another identical couch rose into the lounge, so that, to a stranger, apart from the disappearance of Tin-Tin and Scott and Alan, the room would have appeared to be the same. Such elaborate precautions were necessary, for there were unscrupulous enemies of International Rescue who would have given much to learn its secrets.

Down in the bunker the first couch came to rest under the tail of the rocket ship. A hatch opened above it and another hydraulic hoist arm raised the couch until it emerged through the floor of a circular, windowless rest-bay halfway up the hull of the spaceship.

Okay, Alan said, getting to his feet. Launch positions! Strap up!

While Alan crossed the bay and opened the sliding door of a glass-walled elevator, Scott and Tin- Tin settled into the special launch seats and strapped themselves in.

Scott listened to the low whine of the elevator taking his young brother up to the control cabin in the nose. There was a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Anything wrong, Scott? asked Tin-Tin anxiously. You - you look kind of tense.

Scott laughed shortly. Guess I feel it, Tin-Tin. Funny thing - there’s not much difference between blasting off in this space ship and blasting off in my own craft, Thunderbird One, but - well I always get the jitters in here.

It is understandable, Scott, she smiled. In Thunderbird One you are in control. Here, you are just a passenger who has to sit and wait - with time to think.

Guess that’s it, Scott grinned. I never did make a good back-seat driver —

Retracting injection arm! cut in Alan’s toneless voice from the intercom speaker.

Scott heard the whine of motors as the hydraulic arm which had raised the couch into the rest bay was withdrawn. Once it was clear, the blast duct would automatically move into position.

Stand by for blast off! ordered Alan. Sixty seconds... fifty-nine ... fifty-eight... Scott instinctively braced himself and found he was clenching his teeth.

He knew that if he did this space take-off a thousand times his reactions would be the same.

He’d never met an astronaut yet who was so relaxed that he did not feel a little twinge of apprehension before blasting off.

In the lounge, Jeff, Virgil and Gordon stood at the window looking out over the storm-swept island. Through the gloom and the hurtling sand and spray, the strange circular building known as the Roundhouse, standing on its massive concrete pillars, was dimly visible.

Mister Tracy! Where is Tin-Tin?

Jeff turned as the quiet voice sounded behind him. Kyrano, his devoted servant for many years, was standing there, his kindly face creased in a quizzical smile, his arms folded in the wide sleeves of his yellow and blue silk robe.

Jeff had not heard his soft-footed approach, even though the insulated walls of the house muted the sound of the raging storm.

Tin-Tin? he repeated. Why, she’s just about to blast off in Thunderbird Three. John’s due to be relieved and she said she’d like to go along.

A strange expression came over Kyrano’s face.

What’s wrong? Jeff asked anxiously.

It is just that I have - what you call the premonition-

That something’s going to happen - that there’s danger? If you’d be happier if I stopped them —

Jeff checked. The deep thunder of rocket jets had sounded above the howl of the storm.

It is too late, Mr. Tracy, even if I had wished you to stop Tin-Tin from going, Kyrano said quietly. But if there is danger she must face it. It is her duty as a member of International Rescue. I would not wish it otherwise.

I appreciate that, Kyrano, Jeff said gruffly. But don’t worry. I guess this premonition of yours will prove wrong. Nothing much can happen on a simple routine trip to the space station.

Kyrano made no reply. Impassively he watched as the nose of the giant rocket ship rose into view through the centre of the Roundhouse. Then the flaming columns of the rocket jets pierced the gloom beneath the superstructure of the building.

Slowly the space ship climbed until it appeared to be standing on a three-pronged tail of flame and smoke.

Faster it rose... faster... faster... With a whooshing roar that seemed to shake the foundations of the wind-buffeted house, Thunderbird Three hurtled up through the black clouds and vanished.

From the intercom speaker, a few moments later, came Alan’s voice.

Blast off O.K. ! Now in Orbit Five!

FAB, Jeff said, and turned to Kyrano with a smile. Well, they took off all right.

He checked. An urgent bleeping was coming from John’s portrait again and the eyes were flashing.

Anything wrong, son? Jeff asked anxiously as John’s image appeared on the video screen.

Emergency call from the Lunar Mining Corporation, Dad. A duranium mine shaft has collapsed. A technical supervisor and robot miners are buried. They can’t reach them with their rescue equipment. The Controller says can we help?

Jeff didn’t hesitate.

Contact Alan in Thunderbird Three. Tell him to proceed to the Lunar base at maximum velocity. Scott will make a preliminary survey. If we’ve got equipment that can help, I’ll make arrangements to have it ferried out.

FAB, Dad!

As John signed off, Jeff turned to Kyrano with a wry smile.

Seems like your hunch or premonition or whatever it was came up, Kyrano. This isn’t going to be a simple routine trip for Thunderbird Three.

No, Mr. Tracy. But –

But what? You still think there may be danger?

With a weary gesture, Kyrano passed a hand across his lined brow.

I do not know, Mr. Tracy. I cannot be sure, but — there is something the nature of which I cannot understand yet.

Jeff said nothing, but his jaw tightened