Part Two - Waiting in the Wings
It feels strange to be back down from the space station. Last time I breathed this air, my orbiting home was in ruins, and my body was bruised and broken. This time, it's only my spirit that is struggling to find peace.
The man we're here to face is the one who fired a missile at me. That should anger me. It should shape my world and my emotions, but it doesn't. I've come to accept that I was only a cog in the wheel - no more than a minor element in his grand plan. But he's also the man who tried to kill my brothers. He took Alan and tried to twist him, robbing him of his innocence, and I don't know that I can ever forgive him that.
Does that make me a bad person? I don't know. Perhaps if he showed even a little remorse for what he put us through six months ago, things would be different.
The unfamiliar pollen in the air is making my skin itch, and the gravity seems to drag my shoulders down towards the ground. This isn't like a furlough on the island. There is none of the camaraderie and comfort I know to expect there. This is an ordeal each of us is trying to face in our own way. And more than anything, I wish I was in Thunderbird Five and not having to endure it.
The others were surprised that I wanted to go back into space. They don't seem to understand that it was never my Thunderbird that failed me. Despite everything, the station survived. That reassures me, although I'll admit that the interceptor lasers Dad's fitted have helped along the way. The downlink to the ground has been limited too. The life support and other systems can be activated or enhanced remotely, but they will never drop below safe levels in answer to base's command.
When the time comes to de-orbit Thunderbird Five, we'll give the orders from aboard her, saying goodbye properly before Thunderbird Three takes us to safety. Thank God that won't be any time soon. Despite what The Hood tried to do to us, International Rescue has survived.
My eyes linger on Alan as my mind runs through that time. He's pacing the small room they've put us in, his expression determined but tense. Our kid brother really has sprouted these last six months, living up to his nickname. He's as tall as Scott now, and he exudes much of the same easy confidence, but there're moments still when you can see the frightened child peering through those blue eyes. I didn't see the ordeals he went through, but I know they still trouble him, from time to time.
Alan pauses in his pacing, not far from where I'm sitting. I feel a flash of sympathy as his eyes widen and he starts to tremble. As I reach out a gentle hand to touch his arm, I wonder whether to draw attention to his panic attack in front of the others, or to spare him the occasionally overwhelming love of our concerned brothers. His symptoms worsen. He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking and pale, and now I'm on my feet, wrapping my arms around him reassuringly.
The others gather round and Alan relaxes, his breathing becoming more even as he shrugs off our concern. His eyes pick out Tin-Tin and Fermat where they stand arguing quietly in the far corner. Tin-Tin glances up at him and looks away quickly before I can see her expression. Like Alan, the kids left their uniforms on the Island, although the IR emblem is displayed proudly on each chest. Dad wants the jury to remember that these three were children when the man on trial attacked us. They haven't been since.
Virgil and Gordon exchange glances, teaming up to distract our little brother with taunts about his unruly hair. Alan's answer is spirited, and now I begin to relax as I ease him into the chair beside me. Dad gives me a nod of gratitude for spotting Alan's problem, but I don't need any thanks. I'm just wishing my own big brother Scott was here, so I could step back and let him be the strong one, the watchful one. I remind myself that he will be … later. In the meantime Scott and Penelope are keeping an eye open for Thunderbirds business. International Rescue is not shutting down for anything, not again.
A voice echoes down the corridor and an usher enters our waiting room, his eyes on Alan. Our little brother stands, confirming his name with a steady voice. Again his eyes seek out Tin-Tin and this time she nods reassuringly. She won't have long to wait. They're going to start with Alan and then the other kids before moving on to adult testimony. I'm not sure whether the thought is to spare them the stress of waiting, or whether they're being called first simply because they endured the most. Either way, all I can do is give Alan an encouraging smile and settle back into my chair, trying to soothe Virgil and Gordon's nerves with a more tranquil presence.
We've dealt with what happened to us all. We're not going to be shaken. And when Alan is through, we'll be here to add our two cents.
Waiting in the wings.