Author's Note: The rescue wraps up and Jeff and Lou come to an understanding. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading and being a sounding board.

Disclaimer: I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. I may be reached at my email of record. Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent.

Enjoy.

Tikatu

As Jeff's bellowed demand for information mixed in Scott's ear with John's taut call for the same, Scott looked down at the toolbox. His momentary shock dissipated as he found he had a solution to the problem he was facing. "Alpha to Thunderbird Five and base. I won't need that damned code. I'm going to cut my way through!"

He pulled out the laser cutter, fired it up, and began to use it on the door. "Commander, I have reason to believe that Leeds is on the other side of the airlock door with Alan. As I've stated, a shot has been fired. Alan is armed, but we assume that Leeds is as well. So I have no other information to report at this time," he stated tersely.

There was a momentary pause, and then Jeff, his voice down to a tolerable rumble, answered, "F-A-B. Update us as soon you can."

"F-A-B." Sweat formed on Scott's brow and upper lip and a drop or two ran in a rivulet down the back of his neck. The laser put out a good deal of heat while cutting through the sliding door and he was in an enclosed space, which amplified the problem. The thumping on the other side of the wall hadn't stopped, but the thumps had become much less frequent. The yelling, however, had ceased, and Scott savagely pushed away the images of what he might find on the other side of the door when he finally broke through. He wasn't bothering to be careful but found the new gloves and visor to be a Godsend as he worked with the hot, bright, cutting beam. He also wasn't too particular about how big he was making the hole. He just wanted something big enough for him to squeeze through.

Finally, he got the less-than-perfect square cut to his satisfaction. It was still attached to the door by a thin sliver of metal. Deactivating the laser, he cast it aside and unholstered his pistol. Gritting his teeth, he kicked hard at the obstruction and it fell away with a noisy clank. He stepped through, first putting a foot and leg through, then his armed hand, followed by his head and wide shoulders. He could smell his uniform singeing from the heat of the metal he had just cut but he didn't care. "Al... Sigma!" he called, as he pulled the rest of his body through.

"Over here, Alpha," came the sound of his youngest brother's weary voice. The pair of blue boots that stuck out from between two piles of empty crates moved, and Scott hurried over to help pull Alan to his feet. His brother was banged up, bruised, and held his free hand to his head, where a small gash trickled blood down the side of his face. He was missing cap, visor and earpiece, but still had a grip on his gun.

"Where's the other guy?" Scott asked.

"Over there. From the description we were given, it's that Leeds character."

Both brothers moved over toward the fallen figure. The man was big, taller than Scott, and wider, with a muscular build and a shock of bright red hair. He had a beaut of a shiner developing and lay there unconscious. Scott examined him with an eye for other injuries, then turned to Alan with a frown. "Who got shot?"

"Neither of us. He held his gun on me and when you started pounding on the door, it distracted him long enough for me to get hold of it. We struggled and I managed to prise it from his hand and throw it over there. It went off while we were struggling." Alan made a movement with his head and winced. "We went a couple of rounds, then I managed to shoot him with the trank gun."

"Trank gun? You had your trank gun with you? Not your regular ordnance?" Scott asked, incredulous.

"Uh, yeah. I know what would happen if a bullet went through a wall of the station. Major trouble," Alan said wearily as he collected his things. He put his earpiece in and called, "Base and Thunderbird Five from Sigma. I'm all right."

"Stand down code red," Scott added.

"F-A-B," the response in two voices again, relieved ones this time.

Scott looked around at the trashed docking arm. "Any idea what he wanted?"

"Yeah. When he first attacked, he managed to get an arm around my neck, and put his gun to my head. Threatened to blow my brains out if I didn't cooperate," Alan replied. "Said he wanted me to take him aboard Three. Him and this box over here." He moved over to the box, one of the totes like others, except that when he opened it, it was obvious that this one wasn't empty. It was filled with six plastic bottles, each holding roughly five liters of a clear fluid.

"The drug?" Scott asked. Standing over the box, he tapped his earpiece. "Base from Alpha. What does this Frenzy stuff look like in its natural state?"

Jeff shot a glance at Lou, who went back to her research. "It's a colorless, odorless fluid. Gives the caffeinated drink a slightly sweeter flavor."

"We seem to have a box full of it here, all bottled and ready to go," Scott reported. He exchanged glances with Alan. "I guess we'll be giving this Leeds character and his... cargo... a ride Earthward after all."

"No!" Lou cried. "Don't do it!"

All eyes in the lounge turned to her. She looked around, then said, "Alpha, Sigma, if you take him and that drug onboard Three then fly them down to Vancouver, it will give the RCMP a legitimate reason to impound Thunderbird Three and arrest everyone aboard her."

There were a variety of reactions to this, from Virgil's surprised, "What?" to Tin-Tin's audible gasp. All reactions of shock... except from one quarter.

"And just why would the Mounties arrest someone from International Rescue?" Eleanor asked, her face and voice both showing her skepticism.

Lou took a deep breath and let it out. "Well, ma'am, it all has to do with the sovereignty of nations. A space station is considered a part of the country that built and/or owns it, and as such, is subject to the same laws as that country."

"Yes! I remember now," John piped up. "If a station is owned by, say, some Brazilian outfit, it's subject to Brazilian law if some kind of crime is perpetrated on it. Even if it's staffed entirely by foreigners."

"Exactly," Lou said with a smile. "In this case, if you transported the drug from that space station to Vancouver, it's just the same as transporting illegal drugs within the national boundaries of Canada, and carries the same penalties."

"That's right," Jeff said, nodding. "American space stations are under the jurisdiction of the Department of Justice, usually the FBI. They consider any criminal activity that happens on one as 'crossing state lines'."

"Where does the International Space Station fall under this?" Tin-Tin asked.

"It's under the jurisdiction of Interpol," Lou replied. "Each part of that station was built by a different country and through some convoluted logic, they decided that crimes committed there would be treated as 'crossing national borders'. Ergo, it's under World Gov laws and that's Interpol's jurisdiction."

"This is all very interesting, but doesn't address the current situation," Scott muttered. "Namely, what do we do with this Leeds character and the drug?"

There was a brief pause, then Jeff waved a hand at Lou. "You know more about this than I do."

"Get someone from the station to put Leeds and the drug under lock and key," Lou counseled. "And let the station's owner know that there should be an RCMP presence aboard that shuttle when it goes up."

"What about Harris?" Alan asked. "Wouldn't the drug be evidence against him, too?"

She shook her head and waved a dismissive hand. "I wouldn't worry about Harris," was her answer. "I doubt that Leeds will want to take the fall all by himself. He'll probably be more than eager to roll over on his partner. Plus you've got the testimony of the station's people to strengthen the case against him."

"F-A-B," Scott said. "I'll call the station. Thunderbird Five, we may need that code after all in case no one can open that airlock."

"F-A-B," John replied. "I'm on it."

"Well, sounds like there's going to be more waiting for those boys to come back," Eleanor said. She rose carefully, hiding the slight sway of her body as she came upright. "I'll go down and help with dinner."

Lou looked over at her with a hesitant smile. "Um, do you need any help? With setting the table or something?"

Eleanor gave her a small, brittle smile in return. "No, I think we have it covered. We usually do. Besides, you're a guest."

Jeff rolled his eyes at his mother's emphasis on the word "guest", and shook his head as she left the lounge. "Lou, I apologize..."

"No need, Jeff," Lou put up a hand. "You didn't do anything wrong. And I expect some flack from her anyway." She smiled at him ruefully. "It's just I was taught that a good guest offers to help, especially around dinner time."

"Ah," Jeff said in reply before turning back to the ongoing rescue. "Thunderbird Five, it might be a good idea if Leading Edge contacted the RCMP about Harris as well as the situation with Leeds."

"Already on it, Commander," John replied.

"F-A-B," Jeff replied. He kept half an ear on what his sons were telling him and half his attention on the conversation that had sprung up behind him.

"Aunt Lou?" Virgil asked. "A couple of years ago, we had to rescue the crew of an illegal broadcast satellite before it entered the atmosphere, and then make sure the station came down in an uninhabited area. Who would have jurisdiction over something like that?"

"Hmm. Was the satellite itself illegal, or were its broadcasts illegal?" Lou asked.

Virgil and Tin-Tin exchanged glances. "Both, I think," she said. "But the main problem was that it wasn't registered and was in an illegal orbit."

Lou frowned a bit, a thoughtful expression. "I think that would put it in trouble with the International Space Control and the World Space Agency, both of which would fall under Interpol's jurisdiction. Why?"

"Just curious," Virgil responded. "Thanks for the information." He folded his arms across his chest. "I was sure surprised that Rick O'Shea was able to broadcast again so soon after we pulled his fat out of the fire."

"He was? Like how soon?" Lou asked, frowning again.

"The same day," Tin-Tin replied. "After he got out of the hospital, I think."

"I'm surprised, too," the older woman remarked, an expression of mild surprise on her face. "Either he had some pull somewhere, or he was broadcasting from jail. Usually Interpol would be all over him like jam on toast."

Their attention turned to the wall of portraits as Alan's finally changed over to a live shot. Virgil winced, and Tin-Tin clucked her tongue when she saw the damage to the youngest Tracy's face. "Oh, Alan," she murmured.

"Wonder what the other guy looked like?" Virgil commented in a loud whisper.

"Base from Thunderbird Three, come in," Alan called.

"Base here, Thunderbird Three, go ahead." Jeff shook his head slightly. ~I hope the other guy looks worse than he does.~

"The station personnel have taken care of Leeds, and have put both him and the Frenzy under lock and key. Alpha is on his way back from observing the process. But we have another problem."

"Another?" Jeff groaned. "What is it this time, Sigma?"

"It's Rho," Alan said. "We found him dozing while sitting on the floor of the sickbay. He was supposed to be guarding the patients and keeping an eye on them medically. I woke him up and he seems to be alert now. Fortunately there didn't seem to be any change in the patients' conditions."

"Hmm. Let me talk to him," Jeff said, turning to his computer. "Rho from International Rescue base, do you read?"

A CGI representation of Brains popped up in a window on Jeff's screen. "Rho h-here. Go, uh, ahead, base."

"Is there a problem? Sigma says you dozed off."

"N-No, no p-problem, sir. Just, uh, a b-bit sleepy, that's a-all. I'm awake n-now."

"Good. Just stay awake for us, okay? The patients will need you on the trip back."

"F-A-B," Brains replied, stifling a yawn. "Rho, uh, out."

"Commander?" Tin-Tin called quietly. When Jeff looked her way, she continued, "Rho has been working very hard lately. Possibly too hard. There are so many projects on his plate right now and all of them seem to be of equal and high priority." She glanced down at her hands. "I'm afraid I haven't been as much help as I should be, with the new uniform project and all." Raising her eyes to meet his, she sighed. "He could really use some more help and he's been waiting on you to decide whether or not to approach his friend, Dr. Macias."

Lou looked from Jeff to Tin-Tin and back again, a pleased smile on her lips. "You're thinking of recruiting Dee?"

The commander sat back in his chair and sighed. "Yes, but let's discuss it when we don't have an open comm channel, please."

"F-A-B," Lou replied, a little smirk on her face.

Tin-Tin caught it and thought, ~Mrs. Myles seems to be having fun with that code word. I wonder if Mr. Tracy will be recruiting her, too?~

xxxx

"Pull back! Pull back! It's going down!" Captain Jules Juvenal called into his communicator. The warehouse was nearly gutted by now; all they could do was keep pouring water on the fire so it wouldn't spread to its neighbors on either side. There was a loud crash, and a portion of the front wall collapsed inward, sending the flames shooting higher into the air.

Sweaty, soot-covered, and eyes stinging from smoke despite her face mask, Brigitte Andersen held tightly onto the fire hose, helping ground it so that the man in front of her, Charlie, could aim it at the flames without losing control. It was the biggest fire Unity City had seen so far this year and it lit the early morning sky, the glow of the flames visible for kilometers. Brigitte wondered fleetingly if it was arson for she knew something about the building that her fellow firefighters did not; it had been the scene of a vicious double murder just weeks before, a murder that she was involved in, though indirectly.

~At least there was no one inside,~ she thought thankfully. ~The loss of an empty building is nothing compared to the loss of a life.~

Elsewhere in the city, Ren�e Baptiste, IR Agent 38, watched the fire's glow from the balcony of her apartment. She sipped some hot herbal tea, hoping that the concoction would help her sleep. She had awakened to the sound of the sirens as the local fire tenders passed by her building, on the way to the blaze. ~I wonder if Brigitte's station was called, and if she was on duty? I feel I know little about her; we were and are just getting to know one another. Still, I worry. We have International Rescue in common, and that makes us sisters of a sort. I will have to email her and ask her to me call later.~

Thousands of miles above the Earth, someone else was wondering and worrying about Brigitte. Thunderbird Five's computer sorts through calls from all over the world, and anything with the words "rescue", "help", and several dozen other code words, are flagged and filtered through to the space monitor, who listens to see if the mighty Thunderbirds will need to be launched. A fire in Unity City, though it had potential to be a call for his organization, normally wouldn't arouse such a high level of interest in the space monitor. Until now.

Now, John listened with more than half an ear to the chatter surrounding the blaze, his hearing attuned to the mention of one particular name. The space station rescue was winding down; his brothers and Brains had landed safely at Vancouver and were transferring the two patients to the waiting arms of the company they worked for. Within the next ten minutes, they would be airborne again, orbiting the globe once to confuse anyone who might think to track them, and hopefully freezing any devices surreptitiously planted on the red rocket. It was a precaution that had never been deemed necessary before, but their father's suddenly intense interest in security had prompted his insistence on the procedure. The lull in the rescue enabled him to listen more closely to what was going on in the early morning hours at Unity City.

"Thunderbird Five and base from Thunderbird Three." Alan's voice cut through his worry and dragged his attention back to the matter at hand. "Standing down from rescue, 00:04 hours local time. We are lifting off from Leading Edge pharmaceuticals. ETA to base, forty-eight minutes."

"F-A-B, Thunderbird Three," came Jeff's deep voice. "See you soon."

"F-A-B," John replied. The call for stand down meant John was officially off-duty, though he never truly felt as if he was until his brothers were home safe and sound. But this time he felt he could take a moment to warm up a prepackaged meal from the cryofreezer, eat, then come back out to listen some more to the fire and police communications out of Unity City.

"I'll take it now," Brigitte called, giving Charlie a heavy tap on the shoulder. It was draining to hold on to the end of the hose, to keep the nozzle that spewed forth water under such strong pressure aimed where it would do the most good. It was draining and it could be boring, but it was never the "quick, get in and get out" rescue runs that finally wore the fire down and removed its threat. It was the steady stream of water from hoses just like the one she held now and the constant, vigilant, wearying duty that kept the stream flowing.

She smiled slightly. This was her job, her career, and she couldn't think of anything else she'd rather be doing. If she spared a thought for the young man from International Rescue, it was a fleeting one. It was time to be focused on the here and now, on the fire, the smoke, and the water. When she got back to the station, back to her home, she could and would think about him. But not now.

John listened intently to the chatter, small reactions crossing his face every time he heard her particular company mentioned. He was sure she was working, and hoped she was okay. As his tension increased, he realized he needed something to do, something to keep his mind off of her very present danger. Glancing at his computer terminal, he decided that, yes, it was time for another email, one that told her what he had heard and how he had felt knowing she was out there, doing her job, expressing in inadequate words the worry he felt.

xxxx

Jeff perused the data pad that Tin-Tin had given him, put down his fork, and frowned. ~She's right. Brains is working too hard. All of the security upgrades have fallen to him with the exception of the Heads Up tech for the visors; Tin-Tin's taken that on as part of the overall uniform upgrade. I need to prioritize this list for him so he'll be able to back off on a couple of projects.~

Getting up, he piled his supper dishes onto the small serving car that Kyrano had left behind. He returned to his computer, pulling up the reports that had been forwarded to him on Deirdre Macias. ~Things look good here, but... I'm just not sure. She's married and has children, and if anything were to happen to her because of us... after Peter's death I've begun to re-evaluate the part that agents with families play in our organization. How can I ask people like Dr. Macias, or even Kenny Malone, to put their lives on the line when the future of their families may be so terribly affected?~ He sighed. ~I guess I'll have to be careful about what I ask of them.~

A slight noise made him look up and he smiled to see Lou enter the lounge, carefully carrying a tray with two cups of coffee and two pieces of apple pie. She met his gaze and smiled back. "I offered to bring dessert to you, and Kyrano accepted before your mother could say anything."

Jeff chuckled, and took first the cup and saucer, then the plate of warm pie from her. "This will hit the spot... several spots, in fact." Taking a sip of his coffee, he asked, "How was dinner?"

"Interesting. Your mother had Kenny telling us all about his family. That man can talk when you give him the right subject, and his wife and daughter are among those subjects!" Lou said, sitting down in a chair close to the desk with her own coffee and pie. "How much longer until Thunderbird Three is back?"

"Current ETA puts them back within the next fifteen minutes," Jeff replied. He forked up a piece of pie. "Are you worried about your cats?"

"Yes, a little. Part of me wants to be there when the ship gets back, and part of me says, 'Girl, you'll be all over claw marks if you are'." She thoughtfully chewed her bite of apples and crust. "Mmm. I've always said your mother makes the best apple pie."

"Yes, and it seems she's pulled out all the stops this time," Jeff said, having tasted his own dessert. "This is the best she's made in a long time. She must be feeling her old self again."

"I'm glad she is. You seemed so concerned about her when we reconnected."

Jeff sipped his coffee while Lou watched him. Finally he said, "I was. Very concerned. I had been given a look at her relative fragility and her mortality." He trained his gaze on his pie. "I still need to talk to her about... final arrangements. But there never seems to be a good time."

"There never will be, Jeff," Lou said softly. "I know. I keep wishing I had talked these things over with my Dad before the dementia got a good hold." She shook her head slowly. "I don't know if Shelly talked to him or not. I hope so."

"Hmph," Jeff grunted in response. He applied himself to the pie again, putting the subject aside with a mental note to find time to talk to his mother soon. Lou watched him a few moments more, then went back to her own dessert.

"How's Shelly?" he asked, out of the blue.

Lou slowly huffed out a breath. "Okay, I guess. Rachel's last email said Shell's supposed to go home tomorrow, or today, or whatever day it is over there. She'll be out of work for another two weeks, then on light duty until the physical therapist clears her for regular duty." She scowled at her coffee. "Damn Franks! I... I'm glad he's dead. If anyone needed killing, he did."

Jeff gazed at Lou in silence. They hadn't had much opportunity to talk about what had happened in Maine, and though Jeff knew that Shelly, through Rachel, had told her sister about her ordeal in detail, Lou hadn't shared that with him. He only knew what he had gleaned from the Portland papers, and what local agents Paul and Angela had sent him at his request. He had also been getting reports from Ren�e Baptiste on Franks's Unity City connection. But as the incident's news-worthiness diminished, the sources of information dried up. The one thing that Paul in particular warned him of was that the police were looking high and low for Lou, both as a possible victim, and as a suspect.

His thoughts were interrupted by a beeping. Alan's portrait became active as he asked, "International Rescue base from Thunderbird Three, requesting permission to land."

Jeff put down his plate and pulled up the window on his computer that showed a scan of the surrounding area. There was no activity in the vicinity, no sea or air traffic, so Jeff replied, "Thunderbird Three from base. Permission granted, and welcome home." He heard the clinking of china and realized that Lou had put down her food and drink.

She smiled at him as she stood and moved toward the balcony. "I want to see this... but from a distance this time."

"Wait up. I'll join you."

The two of them walked onto the balcony and stood close together, leaning on the rail nearest the Round House. They both looked up to see the outline of Thunderbird Three moving towards the ground, chemical rockets firing to slow its descent, easing it downward, speed visibly diminishing as it approached the eye of the needle. The rockets flared brightly, shining off her hull, cutting velocity to a crawl as they pushed against the force of gravity, smoke and fumes fanning out in all directions, over and under the building. There was a dark hole beneath the space ship now, and its upper, inside edge was lit by the fiery exhaust, then the ship slipped smoothly through the opening, wreathed momentarily by the reflection of the flames and by the vapors they produced, then the hole sealed shut, and only the tendrils of smoke remained.

"How the hell does Alan do that?" Lou asked in awe. "I mean, getting it airborne is one thing, but landing like that? God, he's got to be so... precise or he'll take out the building!"

Jeff's pride in his son was evident in his voice as he replied, "There's more to it than just that, too. He has to set each nacelle onto its own blast duct inside the silo so Three is set for the next launch." He paused for a moment and smiled at her. "Alan's a fine pilot and he's had lots of practice over the years. Both he and John are very, very good at what they do."

"So, how long until they get upstairs?" she asked, turning her attention to his face.

"It will take a bit. They have to wait until the silo clears of heat and exhaust before they can disembark." Jeff glanced back at the lounge, and she turned to follow his gaze. "They'll come straight up to the lounge."

"The couch thingy?"

Jeff chuckled. "Yes. The couch thingy."

He made no move to return to the lounge, but leaned with his elbows on the rail, his fingers laced loosely together. She had her elbows there, too, but her forearms folded one over the other, hands lightly resting on the opposite arm just above the joint. She was examining the dark sky and the myriad bright stars that shone above the island, the constellations unfamiliar to her. "This place is so peaceful," she murmured. "Nothing to really disturb one. Just the sound of the waves... the wind..." her voice got a bit louder and took on a wry tone, "...the occasional rocket launch..."

Her sudden, droll comment made Jeff laugh. She joined him, chuckling over the humor of the situation. When the laughter had wound down, he commented, "Yes, it's peaceful... unless Gordon's played some particularly inspired prank on one of his brothers. Then you'd think you were at the zoo listening to the howler monkeys or something."

She grinned and chuckled again. Jeff turned around and leaned his back against the rail, hands supporting him, his legs extended and crossed at the ankles. "So... have you given any thought to my offer?"

Her grin simmered down to a small smile as she looked over at him. "Yes." She turned her eyes again to the night.

"And?" he prodded, turning his face from her to gaze down the length of the balcony.

She sighed lightly and turned to him again. "I said that I'd consider it when the situation with Franks was under control. And with his death, I consider that problem resolved." Standing up, she mimicked his stance, leaning back against the railing but folding her arms across her chest. "My only reservation about becoming an agent for International Rescue is that I don't know that I'd be much help until I returned to the States. Which is something that I really can't do at this point."

"You were a great help to us during this rescue," Jeff pointed out, uncrossing his ankles and scuffing the sole of his shoe along the cement surface of the balcony.

"I suppose I was," Lou said with a shrug. "But how often do your sons run into a situation like that one?"

"Not often," Jeff admitted. He paused then said, "Actually, I don't think they ever have before this."

"So, knowing that, how much help do you think I would be here on the island?" she asked, holding her hands out in a questioning gesture.

"Actually, Lou, I think you could be a great help," Jeff countered. "We're still trying to work the kinks out of our security procedures and you'd be a great resource, you and your experience in surveillance. You know what to look for, how others would gather information on us, and can help us deflect the kind of leaks that showed up on that damned disk. And you know how to research, to collect the kind of intelligence we'll need to help us defeat whatever machinations Belah Gaat has in store for us. Normally, we'd turn to Brains or to Penelope for such intelligence, but after looking at the list of projects Tin-Tin handed me, I think Brains has far too much on his platter right now, especially with the security upgrades. And Penelope? She's still trying to decide whether to stay or go. I don't feel I can call on her right now." He looked down at the toes of his shoes. "We need you, Lou."

He stopped, folding his arms as she had, unable to continue with what he really wanted to say. They hadn't talked much about the change in their relationship, but just let things go on as they had before, with just the easy friendship seemingly still in place. But things were different; they both knew it.

"International Rescue needs me?" Lou asked in a low voice, clasping her hands together loosely in front of her. "Or... does its commander need me?"

There was a long pause, then Jeff said in a hesitant but intense voice, "Both. Professionally and... personally."

He turned his head toward her as she moved closer and slid her hand lightly down his arm from shoulder to wrist. He felt her fingers questing in his palm and he dropped his arms, taking her hand in his.

"If that's the way it is, Jeff, then... you can count me in," she murmured.

Just then the pleasant tension that had been building between them was shattered as the door from the lounge opened and Alan leaned out, his form silhouetted by the lights within the room. They quickly broke their grip, each sighing in frustration.

"Oh, hey!" Alan said. Turning his head back towards the room, he called, "Dad's out here, Scott. With Aunt Lou."

The couple exchanged brief, sympathetic glances, and each smiled slightly. Then Jeff strode towards the lounge, greeting his son, his father/commander persona firmly back in place, with Lou following a few paces behind, intending to collect the remains of her dessert and leave the Tracys to their 'family business'.

No notes

No disclaimer