BROTHER DRAGON
"And in the news today. Jefferson Tracy, eccentric billionaire and recluse was pronounced dead at the Texas A&M Research Hospital for Cardiac Care. The ex-astronaut is survived by five sons. More on hurricane Matilda as it spreads a swath of destruction across the Carribean and the latest news from Hollywood on the nostalgic return of the 2D-movie..."
Scott Tracy waved the remote on the wall to wall tv and it shut off to return to its role as a normal wall.
"Hey! I was watching that." Alan protested from the depths of his chair.
"Me too!" said Virgil. He stood up and stretched - a bone cracking stretch. "What's up?"
"I'm making some changes in the duty roster. Instead of Alan going up to Thunderbird 5, I'm sending Gordon."
"But..." Alan began, and shut his mouth as Scott gave his sternest look, one that seemed almost etched constantly on Scott's face now that he was in charge. Gordon had been up to Five before, for short stints. He seemed okay with the idea, though every time Gordon came back down to Earth, he would kneel down and kiss the ground.
"So, will I be handling Four?" Alan asked. He'd driven the little yellow sub a couple of times. It wasn't a bad ride.
Scott frowned again. "Don't interrupt. I'll tell you your assignment in a minute." There was also no humor in Scott these days, not a smidgen. "Virgil, you'll be first on the scene in Thunderbird 1, but I'll be making the assessments, as usual, based upon your reports, so they better be succinct, but detailed."
"When are they not?" Virgil raised an eyebrow at his brother who raised one back. It should have been funny, but somehow it wasn't.
"John will be on Thunderbird 2, with Alan assisting as needs be, however, Lady Penelope has asked for a favor. She and I discussed it and decided that Alan would be the best man for the job. BUT," and the BUT was underlined and in caps in Scott's voice "you have to do exactly what she and Parker tell you to do, no skylarking, no tricks, no backtalk."
"Hey, I'm not a kid anymore. I can follow orders. Is it some sort of spy thing?" Alan tried not to bounce like a kid.
"I suppose, though why she thinks you can do the job..." Scott muttered.
Alan turned pink and opened his mouth to have a few scathing words with his eldest, overbearing brother when Virgil popped him on the back of the head and mouthed a 'Shut up' at him.
"Good. Alan, take Gordon up to 5 tomorrow morning and bring John back right away, I have work for him to do." He looked at his watch. "I'll be in the kitchen with Grandma discussing our diets for the next hour, Virgil, you can do some simulations with Thunderbirds 1 and 4, Alan pack for three days. That's all the time I could give to Lady Penelope without straining our resources." Scott then limped out, leaning heavily on his cane. His crutches had only been put away two days ago and the transition was still painful.
Alan turned to his older brother and opened his mouth to complain. Virgil held up a hand.
"Not a word, Alan. Scott is having a hard enough time."
"As if we all aren't!" Alan tried to rein in his temper. "Father..." his voice dropped miserably, "I wish he was still here."
Virgil gave his brother a hug, and then, not to seem too unmanly and sentimental, gave him a half-hearted noogie. "I know," he sighed, "me too."
TBTBTBTB
Brains checked the manual readouts against the information he had from the computer. It wasn't that he didn't trust the system, but this ...this was the last order he'd received from Jeff Tracy and he'd follow it through to the best of his most meticulous abilities. The multicolored lights and dials danced momentarily as his glasses misted up with tears. He brushed them away impatiently, now was no time to get emotional. He laid a hand on the frozen glass surface for a brief moment and then went back to work.
TBTBTBTB
The Chinese ideograph for war is two women in the same kitchen. Grandma ruled her kitchen like a kingdom. She and Kyrano had long ago settled their boundaries and had a mutual respect for each other's talents and abilities. Each had learned to defer, when necessary, to the other. But, anyone on the outside trying to come into their domain would face hostilities. Parker had learned, the hard way, that all he was allowed to do was make a cup of tea for Lady Penelope and perhaps beg a cookie or two (if he called them biscuits he got a completely different kind of edible) from the kitchen gods.
Scott presented a menu and a list of prohibited foods to Grandma.
"This is a high protein, low fat diet that the military uses for combat troops. We cut out most of the sugar input, cut down on carbohydrates, and increase roughage and supplement with some natural vitamins, algae, seaweed and yeast by-products." Scott handed over the list to his astounded Grandmother. "I've given the same list to Kyrano, as well. I've already changed this month's grocery order to take into account the new menu." Scott continued, "Really, Grandma, a 100 lb. sack of sugar for one month? No wonder, Father" Scott shut his mouth with a snap. "Um, uh nothing, uh, I ordered a month's supply of sugar substitute that should be quite enough."
"Scott Carpenter Tracy!" Grandma got an evil glint in her eye. "You are not too old to get a broom to your backside! How can you come in here and complain about me and Kyrano's cooking?"
Scott looked slightly startled, but then set his mouth in a grim line, an expression his family was beginning to dread. "No one likes your food better than me, believe me when I was in the jungle eating half-cooked lizard, or kibble, all I could think of was your cooking. But I am responsible for the health and well-being of my brothers. I had hoped you would want that as well."
Grandma was in a tough spot. If she said no, she was against the well-being of her grandsons, if she said yes it would be a big change.
"Kyrano and I will look at your suggestions and make some changes." the elderly lady said valiantly, "But you have to trust us. Will you do that?" Grandma reached a hand out to touch Scott's cheek lightly.
Scott swallowed and looked unhappy. "Yes Grandma. Of course." He left the kitchen looking like someone had eaten the last piece of chocolate cake. Of course, that was the first thing on the list of things to go.
TBTBTBTB
A few days later...
"Er Ladyship needs you to be 'er escort to this ladies 'ouse." Parker held up a suit on a hanger. Alan eyed it doubtfully. The shoulders were cut extra broad and the robin's egg blue was shading toward neon, not to speak of the liberal spreading of braid trim and sequins.
"Um, costume ball?" Alan fingered the sleeve. "What kind of material is this?" It squeaked faintly as he rubbed it.
"Somfing rare..." Parker assured him. "I believe it was known as polyestra or somfing like that..."
Lady Penelope swept in, dressed in something quite diaphanous, revealing and in a color that just didn't quite match the suit Parker was holding. There was something else about her that gave Alan pause, but he just couldn't put his finger on it.
"Now Alan, Scott and I agreed that you would be perfect for this job. All you have to do is be yourself." The blonde smiled brilliantly at him. Parker gave a snort. "Now dear boy, hurry and get dressed, we don't want to be more than fashionably late." She whipped out of the room in a cloud of rather strong musky perfume.
"You 'eard 'er Ladyship." Parker added and then bolted from the room, Alan wasn't sure, but he could swear that the man was laughing his head off on the other side.
"What the hell has Scott got me into?" he said out loud, stripping off his shirt to dress in the bright blue suit.
"What the hell has Scott got me into?" Alan muttered to himself, trying to keep a potted palm between him and the hostess of the party who had been stalking him aggressively for the last hour or so.
As he had noticed, his suit and Lady Penelope's dress clashed in color and style just enough to cause nausea. Sitting in the back of FAB 1, he also noticed that the English aristocrat looked, well - old. There were spider lines of wrinkles around her eyes that the heavily caked make-up couldn't hide, and her lips drooped in an expression that looked bored and petulant. She had Alan fetching and carrying like a servant until he had been 'rescued' by Mrs. Merryweather-Gaufier. Alan had been brought up to respect and be polite to women and he found it no problem to be charming at first. Then she grabbed his butt and giggled like a schoolgirl when he turned red.
"How sweet!" she gushed, "I simply must steal you away from Lady Penelope!" She reached a diamond clad hand for his hindquarters again. A pilot like Alan has to have the reflexes of a mongoose. They failed him. She had a hold of his haunch like it was the last cream puff on the desert tray.
"Uh, Mrs. Merryweather-Ga-Gaufier." Alan stuttered and pulled away, leaving a nasty bruise.
"Call me Louise," she purred and licked her lips. "I know a boy like you doesn't come cheap, but believe me, I'll pay you twice what Penelope is giving you, and maybe a nice little gift on the side? You do like-" she paused significantly, "toys, don't you?"
"Toys?" Alan found himself backing up slowly.
"A nice suit," the matron's eyes undressed him rather than imagined him in a change of clothing. "A little sports car, maybe even a little trip to the south of France to..." her pause was only too suggestive "gamble?"
"Louise, darling. Do unhand Alan." The rescue from Lady Penelope was timely, but confusing as she immediately put a possessively firm hand around his waist and pinched his cheek.
"He is all mine, aren't you my dear?" If Alan found Mrs. Louise Merryweather-Gaufier scary, Lady Penelope downright terrified him. He turned bright pink and then white and then pink again and let himself be dragged out to the waiting pink car, which now matched his complexion. Once on their way, Lady Penelope let go of him and gave him a warm smile which made him cringe into the seat.
"Well done, Alan. You were the perfect distraction for me to get the secret files that Louise had been 'hiding'. Parker, good job on the safe."
"Yes, m'lady. Always pleased to be hof service, m'lady." Parker's satisfied voice floated back from the front seat.
"Scott was right. You were the perfect one to be my toyboy and distract Louise." Lady Penelope took out a compact and began to scrub away make-up that made her look older.
"What?" Alan choked out. "Scott said I was a toyboy?"
"Well, yes dear, Virgil is much too sophisticated to play the part, John, while quite scrumptious, is too serious, and Gordon...well let's just say Gordon wouldn't blush as prettily as you. Scott practically guaranteed you would blush and I'm not disappointed." She patted him gently on his knee and the polyester squeaked faintly.
"I'll kill him." Alan muttered under his breath, "Scott is dead meat."
TBTBTBTB
Scott signed and signed document after document. It seemed that the paperwork of managing Tracy Industries was endless. He'd delegated a lot to the Board of Directors and many of the mangers around the world, but there were still things that only he was able to sign off on. Besides, IR took a lot of time. He absent mindedly rubbed his leg. The pain was a dull, aching reminder of what had happened to him, to his father who paid the price with a heart attack. It was his fault, no matter what everyone said. If he hadn't been captured, shot, and executed...The vidphone beeped and business pushed aside the thoughts until they would come back to interrupt his sleep with nightmares.
TBTBTB
Virgil had guided Thunderbird 2 to the nearest landing spot that Scott had indicated to him. Gordon, up in Thunderbird 5 for a change, had pinpointed the safest spot relying on satellite imagery and on-the-ground reports. Earthquakes and mudslides had plagued the remote mountain region of Argentina for weeks. It was a sparsely inhabited area and it had taken the locals some time to get a message out to International Rescue. Alan and Virgil had to take ATV's from the landing site to the remote farms that dotted the terraced mountain side. They found themselves saving goats, donkeys, and livestock just as much as people. Virgil found his high school Spanish stretched to the limit as the local dialect and patois was very hard to understand. Luckily, they had John's brand spanking new language identification program, LIP. John was justifiably proud of the achievement as it was head and shoulders ahead of anything else on Earth. Within minutes, LIP would identify and produce a working vocabulary in most known languages known to man.
Virgil parked his ATV near a mudhole, where a donkey stood patiently. On the other end of a rope, tied to the donkey, was a man shouting imprecations from being up to armpit depth in the nasty sucking mud. Virgil added his muscle to the rope, but the man wasn't going to come out easily. He began to yell what sounded like instructions to Virgil, but Virgil couldn't understand a word.
"Virgil to Scott, I need some of John's LIP service here." As soon as he said it, Virgil cringed inside. But there was no laugh, no snort of humor, just a very serious FAB from Scott.
The last couple of weeks had been grim. Alan had come back from his trip to England so pissed at Scott that he refused to speak to him, or tell anyone what had happened. He finally told Gordon, who luckily was beyond reach in 5, because the redhead broke into hysterical laughter. Alan fumed for all of five minutes and then saw the humor in the situation and then laughed with his brother. The rest of the brother's were soon privy to the joke and were highly amused. Virgil had even mentioned it in passing to Scott with a smile and clap on the shoulder. Scott looked at his brother like he was laughing at a cripple.
"It was a serious situation. Alan did the best job. What's so funny about that?" He turned away, slightly shrugging off the friendly hand on his shoulder.
"Oh man..." Virgil breathed sadly.
By the time Virgil got the man out of the mud hole, his ATV was sunk up to the gunnels in the sticky stuff, Virgil was coated in the stuff and the donkey still stood patiently, not moving an inch until his owner was extracted. John's new program came up with words like, glue, trade, now, and then fizzled to an annoying " 'bleep' untranslatable" notice. This was followed by words spoken by John that were only too clear, and mentioned scatological improbabilities with a computer.
"Get back to the Thunderbird as fast as you can." Scott commanded. "Commandeer the donkey as you have lost the ATV." Virgil would have felt the bristles on the back of his neck go up if they weren't caked with mud. "FAB." He gritted out and smeared the back of his hand across his forehead where a headache was beginning creep up on him.
The old man dragged on his arm and then took out a dark bottle that had been stored in the pack on the donkey. He pulled the cork and offered it to Virgil.
"Sorry, don't drink on the job." Virgil shook his head. The man raised his voice and waved the bottle closer to Virgil's face. The stench alone coming from the bottle would have felled an ox. He again tried to force it toward Virgil.
"John! What the heck is this guy talking about." Virgil said fending him off with one arm and shaking mud off his boots. Virgil's tone was less than patient.
"I don't know! Must be some mountain dialect, or patois?"
"Well, you are the miracle man. Give me something to work with." Virgil found himself haranguing his little brother.
"I. Am. Doing. The. Best. I. Can." John's temper was slow to burn, but once ignited could out burn anything Thunderbird 3's engines could produce.
The impending fight was interrupted by Scott. "What did I tell you about unnecessary chatter? You two can scrub down launch bay two for breech of radio protocol."
Virgil was left with his mouth open and then closed it with a snap. That was almost the last straw. He was going to punch out his older brother's lights when he got back. And he was sure that John would be willing to have a go as well.
Arm waving and the presentation of the mud soaked ATV as incentive got Virgil a donkey ride back to the waiting Thunderbird, only to find out that the mud had hardened onto his body into concrete. He was stuck on the donkey's back and had to face the humiliation of spending the ride home stuck on the critter's back. The donkey was rather phlegmatic in the way of donkeys, up until Thunderbird 2 started her engines. It gave out a shrill bray and pooped enough donkey shit to make Grandma's roses happy for years. The smell was incredible, the noise evil and Virgil found himself getting stiffer and stiffer in his concrete oversuit of mud.
TBTBTBTB
Only a few more weeks and then they would know if this great risk worked or not. Brains sighed wearily. John called daily, if not twice in a day, to get updates. Virgil was just as solicitous and punctual. Alan called less often, and skirted around the subject by talking about the latest sports news, which they both knew Brains had no interest in. Gordon would always have a joke or a funny story to tell which brought some mental relief to the strain.
Scott hadn't called once.
Reading between the lines of the gossip from Alan and Gordon, Brains got the idea that Scott was acting efficiently, but driving his brothers, and others on the island, crazy. He wished there was something more he could do, but for now his place was here. His heart leapt into his throat as one gauge fluttered into the red and then began to move steadily back into green. The worst thing was that if anything went wrong it would be the lawyers that would know first, not the doctors, nor the Tracys. He tapped the ice cold dial just to make sure, and went back to his waiting vigil.
TBTBTBTB
Virgil was lucky only to lose a fair amount of skin and one eyebrow to the nasty mud. It gave him a constantly surprised look. Brains had consulted with them over the vidphone about its removal and, for a moment, the tired scientist looked almost enthusiastic over a new material with such hard setting qualities. John had gotten the LIP working and found out that the old man had been offering Virgil not a drink of the local hooch, but some sort of solvent for the sticky mud. The donkey was exchanged for a bottle of the solvent, allowing Virgil to keep most of his hair. Even Scott cracked a small smile, but then got a haunted look in his eyes and excused himself to do some work in the office. If he felt the eyes following him into the office, he gave no indication of it until his back was to the door and his leg gave out from under him. He pounded it futilely, bringing himself a reminder of pain, pain he did not want to forget, could not forget.
TBTBTBTB
John folded himself into the cockpit of Thunderbird 4. He was used to cramped quarters on space ships, and figured himself lucky to have such a great view out of the windows, something most spaceships lacked. Thunderbird 5 was different of course, she was more his home than anywhere else now and he was used to her, all the little movements, the smell of the recycled air, the little creaks and groans of shifting gears and electronic clicks.
Technically, this seat should be adjustable, but the mechanism hadn't been used in years. Alan usually was the one to take Four out if Gordon wasn't available, and the two young fellows were about the same height. John however, was a good four inches taller than Gordon and didn't like the idea of his knees jacked up around his ears. The chair finally gave in with a rusty screech and bump to a better fit for his long legs. He adjusted the five point seat belt to fit and cracking his knuckles (a habit his brothers abhorred) put his hands on the controls.
Brains once complimented John (or at least he meant it as a compliment) that he had the brain of a woman, capable of multitasking on a natural level. Most men, he explained, had problems walking and chewing gum at the same time. Men could learn, like the rest of his brothers, to multitask, but John had it naturally. Coming from any of his brothers, the comment would have him checking his masculinity, but he understood where Brains was coming from and repaid the compliment back at him. Brains blushed, stammered, and modestly thanked him and replied that he was too single-minded and often needed to be reminded to eat. Both men nodded and acknowledged each others genius and left it at that.
Lately, however, it seemed that Scott expected miracles from him. So, the LIP program had some glitches, it was pretty new technology and it took him a good three months of programming to get even the basics up and running. Father, even Father, who didn't understand half of what John talked about, was much more understanding than Scott. John sighed, he missed his father, they all did. Scott probably more than anyone else, he came straight from the hospital into his father's place, running International Rescue, and dealing with Tracy Industries. They had all tried to lend a hand, but got a patient grimace from Scott who pointed out that as long as he wasn't able to fly, and was still on crutches, he could handle the paperwork and leave the rescues to the others. It made perfect, logical sense, but John hated it. What's more, Scott refused to talk about his escape and survival in the jungle. He kept them all at arm's length and seemed to go out of his way to aggravate them.
"Thunderbird 2 to Thunderbird 4, we are ready to drop the pod."
"FAB Thunderbird 2, on your count."
"On my count of five, four, three, two, one. Bombs away!" Alan added gleefully.
John had experienced free fall, and massive G-forces before, but the drop of the pod and splashdown was like riding a roller coaster that slammed off its rails. It rattled his teeth and made his backside ache. The rolling out of the pod was a piece of cake compared to the drop, and John entered his little brother's world.
Iceland has a high concentration of active volcanoes due to the unique geological conditions of its location on the mid-Atlantic Ridge, a divergent tectonic plate boundary. The island has about 130 volcanic mountains, of which 18 have erupted since the settlement of Iceland in 874 AD.
Jolnir, a subsea vent of Surtsey, which erupted last in 1963,* had been showing signs of rising water temperature. A four man team in a mini research sub had been sent out to place probes and take readings. Jolnir burped a cloud of superheated steam which immediately fried the research sub's electronics and guidance systems, they were, for all practical purposes, dead on the bottom. And Jolnir wasn't settling down. *Wikipedia
The closer John got to the danger zone, the hotter the temperature got, fish were floating belly up, half cooked. It was enough to put one off of the seafood platter for long time.
"Approaching danger zone, temperatures are climbing, but still within acceptable parameters." John reported, though he was beginning to feel sweat beading on his forehead and running down his back. He kicked up the cooler a notch and immediately noticed that the little sub slowed down, he sighed and turned the cooler back down, speed was more important than a little discomfort.
John could feel the turbulence in the water even before he could see it. The wheel shivered and jerked in his hands and he had to struggle to keep trim. The closer he got, the harder the little sub was to handle.
"Thunderbird 4 to base, I'm having real trouble holding level due to turbulence."
"What kind of trouble? What is your problem?" Scott's tone sounded slightly accusatory, or maybe it was just the sweat pouring down into his ears.
"Fill the ballast tanks to one quarter, it will give you more weight in the water and make it easier to manoeuver." Gordon's voice cut in from Five. "Use the side rudders rather than the rear steering gears."
"Thanks Gordon." John flipped open the ballast switches and using his feet gently steered the sub towards the whirling subsea volcano. "Oh yeah, much better. You should be here, Gordon, this is really your forté."
"Um, yeah, and you should be here." There was silence on the line.
"Thunderbird Four what is your status?" Scott's voice gave no indication of his brother's words that essentially complained about his decisions.
"I've got the research sub in sight, she's got emergency lights on, signaling now with Morse Code." John sent a brief message to the sub and got a flickering of lights in reply.
"Thx ir, we R happy to B resQd." It was amazing how many people thought Morse Code could be texted.
John maneuvered the sub with precision and extended the magnetic cables which would fix onto the research sub's hull. Even though they were roughly the same size, Thunderbird 4 had more than enough power to pull the other sub out of the danger zone. Pulling it to the surface took a lot more skill, as the other sub was unable to do more than pump their ballast tanks by hand, but eventually they made it to the surface where the research sub's mother ship waited to hoist it out of the water.
John didn't wait to even wave, he just turned his boat (he knew better than to call a sub a ship) back to the pod to be picked up by Thunderbird 2. He did okay, but he was no aquanaut. Things were going south fast with Scott in charge.
TBTBTBTB
Holding a secret meeting on an island is not the easiest thing in the world. Holding a secret meeting about Scott Tracy was even more difficult. John was stretched out on Grandma's sofa, he was talking with Gordon up on 5 on his pad computer.
"Do you think we could add dolphin or whale to the LIP program?" Gordon asked half-seriously.
John pursed his lips and looked up at the ceiling. "Maybe." he drawled, "Let me get the human languages down pat first, then I'll look into it."
"Really! Wow! That would be such a breakthrough, just think of the ramifications, the difference it would make to deep sea research!" Gordon tended to run loquacious now he was isolated up in the space station.
"Gordon." John interrupted his brother. "It will be years."
"Oh. Well, okay." Gordon looked crestfallen for a micro second. "Have the rest of the conspirators arrived?"
"This isn't a conspiracy Gordon." Virgil entered somewhat stealthily into Grandma's living room. "It's a ..." he looked at John. "What are we calling this?"
"A meeting behind Scott's back to see what we can do to get our old jobs back." Alan said holding the door open for Grandma.
"No," It's a meeting to see what we can do to help Scott." Grandma reminded the brothers gently, but fixed a stern eye on all of them.
The brothers were quiet and looked at each other waiting for someone to say or do something.
"Humph!" Grandma Tracy declared, "And you call yourselves 'men of action'. Scott needs you."
"We've done everything he wanted us to do." Alan protested and rubbed his backside without thinking.
"I've tried talking to him." Virgil shook his head. "He changes the subject, gets angry, or worse gets silent and gives that disapproving look that he learned from Father."
"Ooo, that's creepy." Gordon chimed in from the pad, "I'm kinda glad I'm not there. But, I wish I was."
John said. "He just won't listen to any of us."
"And this stops you, how?" Grandma persisted.
"Hey, this is Scott. I mean, it's not as if he's doing anything wrong." Virgil said.
"It's just the way he does it." Alan added.
"Grandma...?" Virgil began and the other two looked up at her with beseeching eyes, just like they always did when they wanted an extra piece of cake or pie, only now they wanted their older brother back. "Would you talk to him?"
"Oh boys," Grandma could never resist the melting looks, and from three at once, it was irresistible. "I already tried. What we need to do is work together, all of us. Including your father."
"All right." John said decisively. "Let's call Brains."
"And bring Gordon down from 5, he's been up there more than three weeks." Alan chimed in.
"And I'm going to make a chocolate cake." Grandma stated firmly. And they looked to Virgil for confirmation.
"FAB. Thunderbirds are go!" Virgil said and smiled for the first time in weeks.
TBTBTBTB
The Texas A&M Research Hospital for Cardiac Care was a vast sprawling institute which pioneered the latest procedures in heart surgery, organ cloning, and the application of cyronics, which is the low-temperature preservation of humans and animals who can no longer be sustained by contemporary medicine, with the hope that healing and resuscitation may be possible in the future, it was first proposed in 1962.
Jeff Tracy needed a heart transplant, it would take between two to three months to successfully clone a heart for him, and in the meantime he would be frozen, held in suspended animation until his faulty organ could be replaced. While this was a fairly new method, it wasn't by any means the first to be done, but the number of successful freezing, thawing, and organ transplant were still less than 100.
In the case of Jefferson Tracy, the fact alone that he was a multi-billionaire, had the lawyers in a frenzy of red tape, thus he was announced legally dead and the reins of Tracy Industries, and known to a select few, International Rescue, was laid on the shoulders of his sons, and for none more heavily than the eldest, Scott Tracy. In the United States, cyronics can only be legally performed on humans after they have been pronounced legally dead as otherwise it would count as murder or assisted suicide.
Brains, a.k.a. Dr. Hiram Hackenbacker, oversaw the whole cyronics and cloning process. His sharp brain had already come up with several new adjustments to the cyronics chamber that would be of great value in the future. Though at this point in time, all he wanted to do was see Jeff Tracy, alive and well.
The chamber, which looked like nothing more than a giant thermos, had a myriad of hoses, tubes, and other odd-looking protrubences. The only thing that made it seem at all possible that a human being was inside, was a small window in which the shadowy, frozen visage of Jefferson Tracy could be made out.
Brains talked to Jeff Tracy all the time. On a conscious, scientific level, the man was dead, but to the imaginative side of his brain, he was in the room and Jeff deserved to be talked to.
"The boys called today, and I called Scott." Brains took off his glasses and polished them on his lab coat hem. "I gave him your message." Strangely enough, or not strange at all, Brains lost his stutter when he was alone.
"I don't think he is doing well. He looked worse than you." Brains gave a little wry chuckle. "You were right, I would know when to give him your message. He needs it. Oh, and you will be going into preliminary defrost tomorrow. Your heart is ready." The scientist stuffed his hands into his lab coat pockets and rocked back on his heels. "It will be good to have you back Jeff, good to have you back."
TBTBTBTB
Scott fiddled with the computer. All he had to do was open the file attachment that Brains had sent him. A message recorded by his father just before, just before - he died. Maybe he would wait a while. Alan and John had gone up to get Gordon and bring him home after three weeks on 5, the longest the aquanaut had ever been in space. He'd done a good job, and sounded bright and cheery. The others would be glad to see him. He wasn't sure how he felt.
Scott knew he was depressed, and it was like wading through molasses these days. He closed his eyes and waited for the parade of events to play themselves out.
International Rescue tried to be as apolitical as possible, so when people called for help, they didn't decide not to go because they didn't like the politics of the country they went to, to give aid and assistance. The earthquakes shook a country already shaken by civil war. Yet, aid agencies did not hesitate to send in workers being assured by the government currently in power, that they had nothing to fear.
A burgeoning aid community had sprung up around the shadows of Thunderbirds 1 and 2. Within six hours there was a field hospital manned by the Medicins sans Frontiers, a Red Cross tent, and about thirty volunteers for search and rescue. Scott and Virgil were actually on nodding acquaintances with a few of them.
Already, requests for aid from outlaying areas were pouring in. A priest and several scruffy men had come to beg for help from International Rescue itself, for they had put all the children in the village in the church for safety, and now, they were trapped. The men begged with tears in their eyes. Scott delegated control to Virgil and set out with the men. Word spread quickly and before he knew it Scott was joined by about twelve people. A doctor, a young fellow about Scott's age just clapped him on the shoulder. "IR can't have all the fun." They all laughed, even though no one thought this was going to be a picnic. They hadn't gotten far when the priest pulled a machine gun out from under his robes. Out of the thick jungle that covered most of the country, a ragtag army surrounded them.
"You are now the prisoners of the People's Glorious Rebellion." Scott surreptitiously keyed an alert button on his watch, letting Virgil know something was up. Scott tried to reason with their captors into letting them go, but they found themselves with hands tied behind their backs and marched through the jungle to a very primitive camp. There, Scott was singled out as a member of IR for 'special treatment'. The beating wasn't bad as far as beatings go. What he worried about were the rest of the aid workers with him. Three were women, and he was hoping they wouldn't be raped.
He would find out much, much, later from Virgil, that the local military government told him that they would handle the rescue and retrieval of the aid workers and that IR need not be involved. Virgil fumed, but Jeff backed up the government. It would be a decision he would bitterly regret in the weeks to come.
In the evening, they were tied to one another and guarded. That didn't stop them from making escape plans. Nine of them got away, before they were discovered. Two doctors, one quite elderly, the other about Scott's age, and all the rest got as far as the edge of the camp when the cry of escaping prisoners rang out. Scott had taken the rear position as the only one with any military experience. He felt someone push him over and he tried to get back up only to have a fiery pain run down his leg. He'd been shot. The rest of the group picked him up and hauled him into the jungle to hide. They all could hear the uproar their escape had made. Then it got quiet, too quiet.
"We only want the man from International Rescue. If he surrenders himself, we will let the others go, if not we will shoot them. You have two minutes to show yourself."
"Let me go..." Scott grunted, but was easily held down by the elderly doctor. "You are not going anyvere," he said in an eastern European accent. "You are shot and vill stay put."
"Do you think they are bluffing?" One of the women asked. The answer was the sound of a shot and a choked off scream.
"Here, let's get his shirt and sash off." The young doctor began to strip them off Scott. "Why? He's not shot in the chest." The older doctor began, "Oh, ya, I see."
"I'll take your place." He stood up and put on Scott's jacket and sash. He was about the same height as Scott and had the same dark hair, but dark brown eyes and a square chin. "They only look at the uniform, never the man. Or so my sisters tell me."
"No..." Scott's voice trailed off as he felt the cold wave of shock pass over him. He was helpless. He had no control over what was happening around him.
TBTBTBTB
Alan had flown Thunderbird 3 up to the space station to bring Gordon home. The redhead had been overjoyed to hear he was going home. John was looking forwards to the peace and quiet of 5 after all the contretemps with Scott.
No sooner than the light flashed green than Gordon was undogging the hatch.
"Boy! Am I glad to see you guys! I thought you'd never come. Nice to see you John. Alan! What a surprise. I thought Scott was coming to get me. Well, never mind. Let's go." He looked hopefully at his brothers and then opened his mouth for another torrent of words. "Oh we should check the station over together first, huh? I mean protocol and Scott dictates. Hah! Scott dictates, that fits doesn't it. Funny huh? I'm all packed. Been packed for hours, maybe days even. Wow, I mean ready to go. I didn't think I would like it here, but it has been just fine. Slept like a baby. Though everyone said I was a restless baby and learned how to escape my crib. Virgil told me that you know. Imagine Virgil remembering things like that? Great, huh?" He paused for breath grinning broadly at his brothers. He opened his mouth and Alan grabbed his arm and John pushed him into Thunderbird 3's hatch.
"Go." He said succinctly. "I'm sure everything is fine. We double checked on the way up together, remember?"
"Yeah. Great! You guys are the best!" Gordon grabbed his brother in a stranglehold hug and turned to grab Alan."
"Don't damage the pilot." Alan warned and Gordon just gave him a jaw cracking smile. "Guess you missed us." John heard him say as the hatch hissed shut.
"Nah. Not that much," was the last reply he got from the redhead.
John floated leisurely toward the command center and slung his bag with a satisfied sigh toward the sleeping cabin. It spun slowly toward its destination just as he felt the faint nudge and vibration that meant Alan was wasting no time getting home.
His bag was making a leisurely reappearance apparently having bounced off the wall in the small cabin. John went to sit and found himself hovering over the seat. What the hell was Gordon doing cranking up the zero G gravity settings? John then grinned and tilted his head up to look for water balloons, bags of flour, anvils, squishy tomatoes, and other ACME paraphernalia that would drop onto his unsuspecting head once gravity was increased to a more normal level. There was nothing there. He floated gracefully into the sleeping cabin pushing his bag as a shield in front of him. The bunk was unmade and the sheets haphazardly floating about. Nothing out of the ordinary was there.
He keyed the communication band to Thunderbird 3.
"Oh Gordon." He started sweetly and began to increase the gravity in Thunderbird 5 by careful increments his ears tuned to any odd creaks, groans, and thumps.
"Oh, yeah I didn't make the bed did I. Didn't really sleep in it the last couple weeks. The sheets are almost clean. Told ya, I slept like a baby. Even tied myself to the bed so I wouldn't float away."
"You slept in zero G?" Alan cut in.
"Yeah, it was great! Man you guys have been holding out on me! It was like swimming without tanks or having to hold your breath. Once I got the hang of it, I was terrific! You can get me up on Five anytime you like!"
John grinned and began typing in the commands for a systems report. "And you had to be dragged kicking and screaming up here...say...did you have it on just for sleep?"
"Ah noo, just about all the time...geez Alan do you have to pile on the g's so hard?" both astronauts could hear the whistling gasp from beleaguered lungs.
"Alan! How far are you into re entry?"
"Too far in, if I pull out now, I'll probably do more damage than good. Gordon, I want you to lie down flat on the deck, now!"
The aquanaut looked slightly bewildered at the tone of command in his little brother's voice, but obeyed unhesitatingly and was more surprised to find himself half falling, half fainting as gravities pounded a body pampered by zero G for weeks.
John was alerting the command base.
"Thunderbird 5 to base. Come in Scott. We have a situation with Gordon."
"What now!" Scott snapped. "Tell me."
"He's been using zero gravity for the whole time he's been up here, give or a take a few days."
"I can bring him in fast and hard or slow and tortuous." Alan cut in and glanced at his brother who was trying to lift a hand up to wipe blood away that was trickling out of his nose.
"I'm bleedin..." Gordon wheezed, struggling to breathe.
"Bring him in as quickly as you can." Scott said tersely. "Sorry, Gordon this will be very uncomfortable."
TBTBTBTB
The last time they had used the infirmary was over Jeff's heart attack. The news clip showing the brutal execution of the man in the International Rescue uniform was top news and was being constantly played, and replayed, comments were made. People shook their heads and the World Government called a special session. Jeff Tracy merely turned gray and folded to the floor in a heap at the apparent death of his eldest son and the Field Commander for IR. It was John's sharp eyes on Thunderbird 5 that noticed that the man executed was not Scott at all.
Gordon fidgeted with his blankets. If he even tried to sit up, he got a nose bleed, and his ears bled, and his...well any orifice in his body had bled. He'd been reamed out good by Scott, but then got a pat on his shoulder that made him feel even better than the IV of fluids Virgil had set up for him.
"Idgit." Alan said sitting next to him.
"Twit." Gordon countered.
"Doorbell."
"Sheep dip." Gordon yawned. Darn he felt like he weighed a ton. "It was kinda fun." He whispered.
"Yeah. I know, but why do you think we always exercise while we are up there? It's like if you didn't decompress and got the bends." Alan explained.
"Bad enough Scott yelled, now my little brother rakes me over the coals." Gordon's eyes slid shut and then opened. "Did John find my 'surprise' yet?"
"Huh? What surprise?" But Gordon was already asleep and snoring lightly. Alan figured he'd better call up John and warn him that there was a Gordon style surprise waiting for him somewhere. He turned off the lights leaving the faint glow of the diagnostic's panel above the bed that kept an electronic eye on the bed's inhabitants vital signs.
It wasn't but a few minutes later when Scott slipped in to sit by his brother. He touched the back of the lax hand. "I'm sorry." He whispered. "I got you into this mess."
"I'm sorry I got you into this mess." Scott felt a low groan come from his throat as the doctor replaced his bandage.
He got an inelegant snort from the elderly man. "Ve make our own choices, young man. Do not disrespect our decisions. Any of us would make the same choice. Even that," he raised a finger in warning. "Of making a sacrifice like young Dr. Mike did." The whole group had been in a state of shock after the senseless shooting of their colleagues and the filmed execution of 'International Rescue'. But they were a tough bunch and were managing to survive and avoid any armed parties. They found the hard way that the government troops were just as happy shooting at them as the rebel factions had been. Their only hope was to get to the capital city as well as they could.
Scott spent most of the time in a mist of pain. His wound had become infected leaving him weak and delirious. Little by little, the hostile environment, the wildlife and the plants had taken their toll on the group. One man died of a snake bite, dead before he even hit the ground. Another was shot by 'friendly fire' from government troops. One woman ate the wrong kind of berry and was poisoned. The elderly doctor one morning just didn't wake up again. By the time the special forces group sent in to find them had mounted a rescue, only three of them remained. Scott came back home to find his father already frozen and the running of Tracy Industries and International Rescue waiting for him.
Surgery on his leg gave him some respite, but his dreams were filled with nightmares of snipers shooting his brothers one by one, or seeing them drown in a swiftly flowing river, or snakes falling from the roof to kill with one bite. He suffered from flashbacks so strong, he didn't dare fly. Throwing himself into work until he dragged his tiring body to bed to sleep a few hours was the only way he had to survive.
His dreams were coming true. Look what he did to Gordon. Gordon was an aquanaut, not an astronaut. He didn't have to be in space. This was his fault.
"It's not your fault, dear." A pair of arms curled around his shoulders as his grandmother gave him a warm hug. "And no, you didn't say it out loud, but I know you Scott Carpenter Tracy, you would carry the whole world on your shoulders if you could." She gave him an extra squeeze. "Now, go get some sleep. I put a glass of warm milk and a slice of chocolate cake in your room."
Scott patted the hands that embraced him. "Thanks Grandma."
Once in his room, Scott bypassed the warm milk with a wrinkle of his nose and went straight for the chocolate cake. The smell alone, made his mouth water. He turned on his computer, switched the monitor to his wall screen, and opened up, with some trepidation, the message from his father.
Jeff Tracy was propped up in a hospital bed with all kinds of machines blinking and bleeping around him. His face had slightly more color that the white sheets.
"Dear Son. If you are watching this now, it means you and I have to talk. I can never express just how proud I am of all of you and especially of you Scott. You will have some tough decisions to make, I know because I've had to make them, too. And yes, I've made mistakes as well, some which have cost me dearly, and some which I know only those who come after me will benefit from. But, that is the price we pay for being doers. It is better to make a mistake than to make no effort at all." Jeff paused for breath. "Don't tell Grandma, but this is actually my third heart attack, so you can also put away any guilt you have about having caused this. My doctor says that space travel, too much coffee, and not enough exercise got me. I gotta cut down on the sweet stuff, too. Well, all the more for you boys. No matter what the outcome of this heart thing, I'll be okay and so will you Scott. I know it. Now eat the cake Grandma gave you and get a good night's sleep. Things will be better in the morning. Good night, son. I love you."
Scott stared at the blank screen for a moment and then sat on his bed to enjoy the cake. With a deep heartfelt sigh he leaned back on his pillows and closed his eyes. He felt the months of tension drain out of him. Yes, everything was going to better in the morning, much better.
"Good night, Father. I love you, too." Scott murmured sleepily and slipped into a dreamless sleep.