Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Thunderbirds Are Go - they belong to the late Gerry and Silvia Anderson
Author's Note: Oh my gosh! I really didn't expect to have a second chapter out so soon! But I'm currently spending another lovely weekend indoors because I've not been well (and even worse that our neighbours were drunkenly singing karaoke until the early hours of the morning and waking everyone in our apartment up!) so I've had time to rest and carry on writing!
I've upped the rating on this fic now because of swearing - so yes, warnings for some potty-mouth language!
'A needle in a haystack...'
That was what ran through the mind of Thunderbird Five's space monitor as he surveyed the information projected before him: A combination of data gathered from his array of hypersensitive systems alongside whatever live infographics could be collated and fed back from the heavily-damaged Thunderbird Three.
"John?"
Aquamarine eyes closed for a moment and John Tracy inhaled gently, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had been busy handling calls for the last fifteen hours straight - liaising with the other members of International Rescue for the high-priority call-outs and diverting the more manageable incidents to the more local authorities.
Long story short; he was exhausted.
"John, do you read me?"
And this was the last thing he needed right now.
"Receiving you, Thunderbird Three," he responded to Alan's call. "EOS and I are still searching."
"But what about-"
"It's not evidence of anything, Alan," John interjected, his voice calm and steady. "I'm trying to run suit diagnostics but there's too much debris in the way. Just keep your eyes peeled."
Besides, Scott could have cut his jetpack at any point during the mission... It would not have been the first time their impulsive brother had made the decision to jettison the propulsion kit - much to Brains' dismay.
It was time like this when John wished that Virgil had gone on this mission instead of Scott. Sometimes, things required someone a little more... level-headed...
However, Virgil and Gordon were still on-site in the middle of the Indian Ocean; dealing with a volatile situation involving a collision between two ships in stormy seas - one of which has been carrying a particularly nasty cargo of high toxicity.
And Kayo had been sent to assist Lady Penelope and Parker (and Sherbert, of course) on a mission of the utmost priority which involves Her Majesty's crown jewels - or rather the lack thereof.
John let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his temples in circular motions with gloved hands.
He really needed to remember to ask Brains for a space-safe, automatic coffee machine...
"EOS, try to enhance section Charlie-three-five-Alpha," he instructed. "Zoom in on the new grid coordinates Foxtrot-seven-nine-Delta."
"Calculating..." EOS abided. The A.I. seemed to pause for a moment before her volume decreased a notch. "It is my understanding that Alan seems to be displaying high signs of apprehension. Suit diagnostics have picked up an elevated heart and respiration rate, alongside an increased activity of sweat glands. I would recommend communicating and placating him in order to minimise the margin for human error in piloting Thunderbird Three if his symptoms continue to worsen."
"Alan can handle his own," John almost snapped at his orbital companion. "He's seen a lot worse in this line of work. Besides, I'm not Virgil."
Which was why John kept telling himself that he was best-suited for duties on-board Thunderbird Five. Very much the introvert of the family, the redhead very much enjoyed the minimalist company up here in the confines of space. Sure, he was professional about his demeanour when dealing with calls. But when it came down to acting as a family counselling, Virgil was the best person for the job.
Not him.
EOS seemed to understand the gist of her creator's reasoning, the A.I. choosing not to pursue the topic further as she quietly cleared her virtual throat, directing herself back to the main task at hand. "Foxtrot-seven-nine-Delta is showing no signs of organic activity."
The tension in John's shoulders increased as he subconsciously clenched his jaws tighter. "Shit."
'Come on, you cocky bastard... You've gotten out of tight situations like this before...'
All of them had experienced their fair share of near-death encounters. It was an occupational hazard of being a member of International Rescue after all.
But John really did not want the responsibility of reporting to the others that one of them would not be returning...
...Again.
And there was the downside of being so isolated: When their father had gone missing, John did not even have the company of EOS to talk to. The others had been frantically searching their father's last known coordinates in between call-outs that they had almost run themselves into the ground. John had considered taking the space elevator down to the island, but a notably bad fight had broken out between Scott and Gordon as a result of fatigue, worry and frayed nerves. Subsequently, the space monitor had come to the conclusion that the path of being a recluse was much more beneficial for him considering how much he despised family confrontations.
"Thunderbird Three's fuel tank has been severely damaged," EOS reported, snapping John's thoughts back to the present. "The nanobots have repaired the rupture, but I have calculate that there is a maximum of twelve minutes flight time remaining if Thunderbird Three is to make a safe re-entry and landing back to base."
As if the day could not get any worse...
"Thunderbird Three, do you copy?" John's lips had tightened into a thin line. "EOS estimates you have no more than twelve minutes worth of fuel before you need to commence your re-entry to land."
"But, John..!"
"No 'buts', Alan," John bristled. "Eleven minutes."
"We can't just leave him out here!" Alan's voice increased tenfold with a mixture of emotions. "What if he's hurt?"
'Or worse...'
John took a deep breath, maintaining his composure. "You need to think about getting those dormant researchers and Brains back in one piece."
Jesus, John! Are you even listening to yourself?!" Alan was both angry and incredulous. "You're telling me to leave him to die!"
"No," John's voice stayed calm but the firmness and authority was evident. "I'm saying you have ten and a half minutes to keep searching before EOS locks your controls and brings Thunderbird Three back to base. Thunderbird Five, out."
The redhead swiped the transmission off, growling in agitation. Part of him understood Alan's frustration. He just wished that the young blond could accept the reasoning behind the ultimatum that John had to issue: That they had completely exhausted their options. Aquamarine eyes glanced back towards the holographic map before him and he let out a sigh, slender shoulders slumping forward.
He really needed that coffee.
Author's Note:Once again, I really hope that you enjoy this chapter – Many thanks for your reviews so far – I look forward to more feedback!