'Gregory,' Wayne Simpson placed a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder, 'you knew this would never be easy.'

'I just didn't think,' Greg shook his head with disalusionment, 'it would be this hard either. I entered the International Rescue Organisation to help people.'

'You have,' Wayne consoled. 'You're forty one with a career spanning twenty years. You've moved around the various departments within the IRO, mastered every position you've gained and have a reputation as a fair but disciplined leader.'

'I've achieve nothing,' Greg turned on his younger brother. 'You're ten years younger, married, expecting your first child soon. What do I have but a head full of dreams I can't get anyone to listen too?'

'What happened to Sam?' Wayne questioned with a concerned expression.

In his heart he knew. It had always been the same for Greg where the men in his life were concerned. They took second place to his dream, a dream that had once again been rejected by the World Council, more narrowly than the last time. Greg's ideas had been formed at the knee of their aging grandfather. Suffering early dementia and living incognito with his only daughter, by the time a grandchild had been born, he'd told stories of the glory days. The man passed away before Wayne arrived.

'He took a posting in Japan,' Greg frowned. 'It's taken a lot for me to come to terms with my sexuality, Wayne. I'm still not ready to completely leave the closet.'

'I don't think you ever will be,' answered the younger man with sad grimace. 'Your first love has always been continuing Grandfathers legacy.'

'How can I not,' challenged the new Commander. 'With the changes in technology, people moving into space habitats, living on the ocean floor and other formerly uninhabitable places, a new breed of vehicles is needed for emergency situations. Why can't people see the future? It's not here on Earth. It's out there,' he pointed to the sky, 'or under the oceans.'

'The problem with you, Greg,' Wayne smiled humourlessly, not at his older brother's ideals but the situation in which he found himself, 'you're too much like our Grandfather.'

Sighing heavily, Greg agreed, 'I know. If only Jeff Tracey were still here, I might be able to talk about my ideas. All of our uncles gave their life to the service of humanity. Not one of them married or produced a legitimate grandchild.'

'You and I,' Wayne's expression saddened, 'are the only living remainder of a great family the world has practically forgotten.'

'Jeff Tracey's only legacy remains a greatly expanded IRO,' Greg agreed, 'at least humanity gave our Grandfather that epitaph.'

'I don't think they had a choice,' Wayne disagreed. 'The world needed the hope International Rescue provided. The Thunderbird Machines grew old, just as our uncles did. They'd had their time and slowly declined into obscurity. Grandfather didn't play the political game, that's why he kept Tracey Island's location a secret. His efforts died with him and his sons because he wouldn't let anyone in, anyone help or expand to include others. The newly created World Council had the funding to take over the role but didn't want the responsibility. International Rescue became a watered down version of Jeff Tracey's ideal when they created the organisation you work for.'

'Did you know,' Greg rubbed his chin thoughtfully, 'I still have the original blue prints for the Thunderbird vehicles. It wouldn't take much to redesign them with today's cutting edge technology, incorporating new equipment and expertise. I want to create a special rescue squad, an élite team based on the formula our grandfather perfected.'

'With you as team leader,' that brought a delighted smile to Wayne's face.

'I'd like that, but the person chosen to lead the squad,' Greg turned serious, 'needs to be politically savvy. They need to play the game and negotiate a mind field of bureaucratic red tape. Jeff Tracey self-funded the Thunderbirds and trained operatives to keep complete control. It can't be done if the world is to become truly interdependent.'

'It's a huge responsibility,' Wayne watched his brother's reaction. Greg's glare stated he knew the personal and professional cost and would willing accept it.

'It requires someone to walk a tight rope between funding, politics and administration,' Greg let out a heavy sigh. He thought about the role of Commander, heading up this elite squad for years. He wanted the position, understanding the enormous cost. 'The members of the team would have to conform to some pretty tight discipline, both in their work and home life. They would be following in the footsteps of the original Thunderbird team, in machines based on the design and technology of Jeff Tracey. The media interest alone would be intrusive.'

'Have you told Grandmother?' Wayne asked. 'I'd like to know her thoughts on your plans.'

'Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward,' Greg responded with a frown, 'is completely opposed to the idea. We both know she only acknowledges the relationship with Jeff Tracey to the family and refuses to allow his memory to be desecrated. As far as the world is concerned, no one knows Mother is the only living relative such a great man.'

'Or,' Wayne, the much softer natured of the two smiled, 'that Lady Penelope had an illegitimate daughter. How she managed to hide the pregnancy is beyond me. My wife is complaining about her size and we still have three months to go. I'm just thankful mother married a man with a nice simple name and bank account to match, much to Grandmother's displeasure. It divorces us from the family politics.'

'It divorced you from the family politics,' Greg stated. 'Your birth occurred after Grandfather's death. I still remember Lady Penelope visiting as a child. Jeff Tracey's eyes would light up. Of course, all five of his son's had passed away by then and she proved the only link to his past.'

'Poor Grandfather,' Wayne offered, 'I can't imagine what it would be like, to lose both your wife and children years before your own death. I think the relationship with Grandmother and her pregnancy might have been a protective factor.'

Giving his brother first a curious, then a sad smile, Greg answered, 'it's not something I'm ever going to have to worry about.'

'It might be,' Wayne offered with a sly smile. 'If you start this team, choose young people like yourself, Gregory. That way you might think of them like your own children. You're a tough, disciplined, but fair man. Underneath that sometimes threatening exterior there's a reason for everything you do. I'm sure the team will come to understand that, just as they'll come to understand you, eventually.'

'Any other words of wisdom,' Greg allowed his voice to carry a note of distain.

'Include at least one woman in this elite squad,' Wayne couldn't help chuckle at his brothers' expression. 'Just make sure she doesn't fall in love with a man on the team. That could spell disaster.'

'The love part,' Greg humoured his sibling, 'I can cope with. It's the political ramification and destabilising effect on funding that would be a major problem. Not to mention leaving after the specialist training to have a family. Replacing a single person, even temporarily might destroy the level of trust within a tight team. If I manage to get this party started, I want a group of pilots with at least ten years longevity, so they might prove themselves before expanding the squad.'

Shaking his head, Wayne Simpson knew his brother would one day follow in the footsteps of their grandfather, Jeff Tracey. He bet the man would be knee deep in designing the Thunderbird vehicles within ten years. Eventually the World Council would see the need for such a highly trained and equipped squad. A few years after that, Greg Simpson would command the new Thunderbird team, if Wayne didn't miss his guess.