Look in a mirror and what do you see? Yourself and yet...not. Everything looks the same at first glance. Then, upon further inspection, you realise that left is right and nothing is quite how it seems. Similar, yes. But there are differences – and sometimes they are quite profound.
When Alice went through the looking glass, she found a whole different world. Not quite the same and yet, in some sort ways, not so different from her own. Alice found a portal to another world.
As it turned out, she wasn't the only one.
~oOo~
"M-day, mayd-!"
The stilted words rang loudly through Thunderbird Five's control room. Alan spun around in his chair, stood and jogged to the control panel. Its lights blinked and shone with each syllable.
Plucking up the microphone, he spoke as clearly as he could.
"This is International Rescue, receiving you strength five. What is your situation?"
There was a moment of static on the line. Then the speaker's voice cut through.
"-national Rescue? Who are you?"
Furrowing his brow, Alan spoke again.
"This is International Rescue," he repeated. "What goes on there? How may we assist you?"
More static. The voice - male, middle aged and gruff - cut in and out again.
"Can't...-nderstand...going down...-ohn...help!"
Fingers flying over the controls, Alan did what he could to try to triangulate the signal position.
"Keep broadcasting," he said. "I'm trying to get a fix on you."
"Who...you? Emergency...oing down -"
The transmission broke off with a crack. Alan's nose crumpled with confusion and he tapped in a few more commands. But it was no use; he couldn't get the signal back. Dammit.
"Base from Thunderbird Five," he said.
After a brief moment, Jeff picked up the call.
"Go ahead, Alan," he said.
"Dad, I received a call a few minutes ago but the signal was very weak. Whoever it was seemed to be in some kind of danger. I couldn't make out much but I did hear 'going down.' I managed to triangulate the last position of the signal, but I've lost it now."
"Okay, Alan," Jeff said. "I'll send Scott out to recon the area. Transmit the co-ordinates to Thunderbird One when he's airborne."
For a moment, Alan paused. At the silence, Jeff grunted.
"Alan, do you hear me?" he asked.
The sharp edge to the words snapped Alan back to reality again.
"Yes, Father. Sorry. Will do."
"Alright."
Sharpness turned to suspicion in that word. To avoid further questioning, Alan cut off the comm. line. He stood for a moment, running over what had happened in his head.
If I thought it wasn't crazy, I'd swear to God that the voice sounded like, well, Dad... He shook his head. Of course it wasn't. It just...really sounded like him. And it's just unnerving to think about Dad being in trouble.
Pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind - or at least trying to - he waited for Scott to radio in for the co-ordinates. And yet the niggle was still there. It reallysounded like Dad...
~oOo~
It took few scant minutes for Scott to make it to the location. The call had come from only two thousand miles away, a distance that passed in the blink of an eye for a craft like Thunderbird One.
When he got there, he found he wasn't the first one to arrive at the party. That's a Stingray class vessel, he thought as he turned One around to get a clearer view, hovering far enough above not to disturb the water's glassy sheen. I wonder if it's Stingrayherself?
The submersible had surfaced and Scott could make out a figure swimming across the surface of the water - towards the rapidly sinking fuselage of a plane - a plane with a configuration he didn't recognise. I've never seen that design before, Scott thought as he reached for his communicator. It looks...strange. Could it be some kind of prototype?
But there was no time to ponder further. With the flick of a switch, he opened a comm. channel.
"Stingray class vessel," he said. "This is International Rescue. Do you require assistance?"
"International Rescue, this is W.A.S.P. vessel Barracuda." The speaker had a distinctive Dixie accent and a friendly air about him. "Captain George Sheridan here. Ah think we're alright. There's just one passenger and my lieutenant is recovering him from the wreckage now." Sheridan chuckled. "Ah guess we get to be the heroes today."
Scott joined in with a brief laugh and shook his head.
"Don't try and put us out of business, Sheridan," he said.
The captain chuckled.
"Don't you go worryin' about that, International Rescue," he said. "We just happened to be on manoeuvres in the area when this poor fella came down."
Through Thunderbird One's cockpit window, Scott saw the lieutenant disappear into the wreckage, then reappear again with another body in tow. After a moment, Sheridan called through again.
"The fella seems to be alright," he said. "Lieutenant Coral says he's a bit shook up, but he doesn't seem to be too badly injured. Can't say the same for his plane, though. Sure looks like a strange one. Can't say Ah've seen anything like it before."
"Me neither," Scott replied. "Well, if you have everything under control here, Barracuda, I'll be on my way."
"That we do, International Rescue," Sheridan said. "That we do. Thanks for droppin' by!"
As the rescued man was pulled inside the submarine, Scott brought One up and turned her nose back in the direction of the island. Then he changed comm. channels once more.
"Base and Thunderbird Five from Thunderbird One," he said. "On arrival, I found that the W.A.S.P. vessel Barracuda was already carrying out a rescue operation. They've extracted the pilot from the wreckage."
"F.A.B., Scott," Jeff said. "If there's nothing more you can do, head back to base now."
Another voice sounded through the comm. It was Gordon.
"The Barracuda?" he asked. "Who was in command? Was it still old Fish Face Fischer?"
"No," Scott said. "Someone named Sheridan."
Gordon gave a bark of incredulous laughter.
"George Sheridan? George 'Phones' Sheridan? A fella who sounds as if he's dropped right out of an old Western movie?"
"Could be," Scott said. "He did have the accent."
Gordon huffed out a breath. His smile was clear in his tone.
"He finally made it to captain," he said. "I wonder how Captain Tempest and Stingrayhave coped without him?"
Chuckling, Scott pushed the thrust lever and started the short journey home. He felt the familiar pressure as One took off.
"Who knows?" he asked. "I'm just glad the Barracuda was in the right place at the right time."
The next few minutes of his journey passed in relative quiet. Only the whirr and click of One's internal systems kept Scott company. Then, the comm. beeped again.
"Thunderbird One from Thunderbird Five," said Alan
Scott frowned. Something doesn't sound right. Indeed, his brother's voice was tight with tension.
"Go ahead, Thunderbird Five."
"Scott," the youngest Tracy said. "Did you happen to get a good look at the pilot?"
Brows creasing, Scott shook his head - even though Alan couldn't see the gesture.
"I'm afraid not, Alan. I was too far away to make out any fine details." He paused. "Why do you ask?"
"It's nothing, Scott," Alan said.
Scott snorted.
"Wow. Convincing."
Alan gave a snort of irritation.
"Never mind," he snapped.
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Scott tried to be conciliatory.
"I'm sorry, Alan," he said. "What's on your mind?"
"Scott. I know it sounds crazy but... The pilot's voice. It sounded a lot like Dad. Listen."
There was a moment of tapping and clicking before the playback of the emergency call sounded through One's speakers.
"M-day, mayd- ...national Rescue? Who are you? Can't...-nderstand...going down...-ohn...help! Who...you? Emergency...oing down -"
The tone of the tinny voice made Scott's blood run cold.
"That really does sound like Dad," he said. "But Father's at home, safe."
"I know," Alan said. "It's just a coincidence but... I gotta say, it unnerved me."
"I can understand that," Scott said. "It's pretty eerie. There was something strange about the plane, too. It was a design I've never seen before."
"Weird... Anyway, never mind," Alan said. "The pilot, whoever he is, is in safe hands now."
"Right," Scott said. "My ETA to base is only six and one half minutes now."
"F.A.B.," Alan said. "Safe journey home."
With that, he cut the comm. and Scott was left alone with his thoughts once more, amidst the familiar heartbeat of One's systems.
And yet something lingered from the call. Something...strange. Weird, Scott thought. Alan was right. That was very weird...
Things were quiet on the island for the rest of the afternoon. As soon as One was snug in her hangar again and he'd had a short debrief with his father, Scott settled down in the kitchen to a late lunch. His grandmother bustled about the kitchen, still active even approaching ninety as she was. Missing nothing, she planted her hands on her hips as she watched him push the pasta around on his plate.
"Scott Tracy," she said. "It's just not like you to play with your food like that. What's on your mind?"
Sighing, Scott let his fork fall with a clatter and folded his arms.
"Nothing much, Grandma," he said.
At the glimpse of her one raised eyebrow, Scott chuckled and held up his hands.
"Alright, I give in," he said. He laid his hands back down on the table. "I've had this feeling that I can't shake ever since I came back from the last mission - if you can even call it a mission."
Sitting down across from him, Grandma Tracy tapped her short fingernails on the table top.
"What's the feeling?" she asked.
"It's just... Alan played me back the emergency call and I'd swear that if I didn't know better, I'd say it was Dad. No doubt about it."
"Oh, I can understand why that might unnerve you, Scott," Grandma said, reaching out to take one of his hands. "It's awful to imagine any of you in trouble. I didn't sleep for a week after the incident with that crook Grafton's monorail - or when you were shot down - or when Virgil crashed - and Gordon's hydrofoil accident - and when Alan and I were stuck on that bridge - and when John went missing..." She shook her head and gave a tiny chuckle. "It's not a safe business that we're in. I'm surprised I get any sleep at all!"
Scott squeezed her fingers. Her skin was cool and almost felt like crepe paper.
"I know that, Grandma," Scott replied. "There's just something about the whole thing that doesn't sit right with me. That plane was something like I'd never seen before. It looked almost futuristic, if you can believe that. I've never seen anything like it, not even in the Air Force."
Grandma Tracy frowned.
"Could it have been an experimental thing?" she asked. "Something top secret?"
"Maybe, Grandma," Scott said. "But the combination of the crash and the voice - and the fact that Alan can't find any record of a flight plan being submitted that would match the course the plane was on - it just doesn't sit right with me."
Letting go of her grandson's hand again, Grandma Tracy nodded.
"Maybe in order to put your mind at ease, you need to ask your father to send Gordon out to have a look at the wreckage," she said. "If part of it is still out there, it might give you some answers - or at least put this issue to bed."
Scott nodded.
"That's a great idea, Grandma," he said. "I'll go and -"
He went to stand but he was held in place by the wag of a wrinkled finger.
"Not yet young man," his grandmother said. "Not until you finish your lunch."
Scott couldn't help but laugh at the seriousness in her voice. He planted himself back down onto the chair and plucked up his fork with a grin.
"Yes, Grandma."