Any day that I have to send my brothers in three different directions is not exactly my idea of a good day – and not just because it's three times the amount of work on my end.
I'm very good at multitasking – actually, scratch that…I'm phenomenal at multitasking. It's my whole job, and I love it. I know Thunderbird Five's systems inside and out, and simultaneous rescues allow me to utilize her amazing capabilities to the fullest. I can pull up any data my brothers ask me for in seconds, my fingers dancing across the holographic screens, my mind racing to keep up with the different threads of conversation.
To be honest, I thrive under the pressure.
So it's not the mental and physical challenges that I dislike.
It's the fact that with three brothers at separate rescues, things are three times as likely to go wrong, and I can't send them in to back each other up the way I normally would.
There have been times that Virgil really shouldn't have flown Two home, but he had no choice, because his copilot was halfway around the world and a couple thousand feet below the surface of the water.
Other times, Gordon has really needed the power of Two's magnetic cables to supplement Four's grasping arms, and he's had to either wait a long time or come up with some other creative solution.
And then there's Scott, always going off on his crazy, impulsive little ventures. If I had my way, he'd never go to any rescue without backup, but unfortunately, that is a wish that International Rescue simply cannot cater to. I just have to keep on trusting that the idiot won't get himself killed.
Today, Virgil's in Switzerland, Gordon's in the Marshall Islands, and Scott's in trouble.
It always starts out sounding so innocent.
"Hey, I'm just gonna check out this one other building," he'll say. This is what he told me a few minutes ago, in fact.
He'll be quiet for a little while, and then, all of a sudden, all I'll hear from his comm. line is yelling. Today it seems to involve gangsters – oh, wait, no, that's "banisters."
He's either telling me that he's found the world's best stair railing to slide down, or that the banister has broken, and he's fallen off the stairs.
Based on the groaning, I'd guess it's the latter.
"Thunderbird One? Scott, come in. Are you all right?"
Gordon interrupts at that moment, unintentionally drowning out Scott's answer. "Yo, Johnny, you got a sec?"
"No, as a matter of fact," I snap. But, unfortunately, he's on a rescue too, so I can't tune him out completely. "What do you need?"
"Just an updated seismic scan. Uh, pretty please?"
"Here you go," I say, shoving the data toward the blip on the screen that represents Thunderbird Four.
"Thanks!" he says cheerily.
I don't bother to reply. "Thunderbird One, do you read me?"
"I'm here," Scott mutters. "I'm just not so sure where 'here' is…can you do a scan of my location and tell me if I've fallen through into the basement?"
My fingers are in the process of obeying when Virgil's voice, crisp and urgent, booms over the line. "Thunderbird Five, I need a replay of the satellite feed for this avalanche, ASAP," he says.
"On it," I reply.
That one takes a bit longer to pull up, but in less than a minute, I'm sending the data Virgil's way. "All yours, Thunderbird Two," I tell him.
"Thanks, Thunderbird Five," he says.
I jump back onto Scott's frequency. "Sorry, Scott, I'm back now. And yes, the scans do confirm that you're in the basement. What floor did you start out on? Are you hurt?"
Scott doesn't reply, and my pulse speeds up ever so slightly. "Scott? Thunderbird One, come in, please." In the span of half a second, my brain flips through a few of the multitude of possible reasons for his silence – he's crushed under debris. He's impaled on debris. Every bone in his body is broken from the ten-story fall.
Oh, wait…I do a quick double check of my scans.
The building's only two stories tall.
Well.
Anyway.
That's still a bad fall.
"Scott, do you read me?"
"Thunderbird One here," he says calmly. "Sorry, John, I was just talking with the apartment manager here, making sure everyone's out of the building."
I lean back with a sigh. Of course that's what he's doing. Everyone pauses for a bit of conversation after a two-story fall.
I watch Scott's blip on my screen move as he escorts the manager to safety.
My heart rate is almost back to normal when Gordon's voice suddenly explodes in my speakers. "Thunderbird Five, I'm gonna need some backup out here," he says. "Can you put me in touch with the GDF?"
"I can do better than that," I say. "Scott's done at his rescue. I'll send him over."
"FAB," Gordon says.
"Thunderbird One, I've got another job for you."
"Great!" Scott replies enthusiastically. "Where to?"
I plug in the coordinates and watch my screens as the sleek rocket plane begins its round-the-world trek. I sigh. Well, at least Scott and Gordon can back each other up now.
An alert dings, and I grimace as I glance at the symbol on my screen.
So much for keeping my brothers close together.
I ping Tracy Island, and my hologram appears over the coffee table just in time for me to see Alan jumping into his seat and bending studiously over his homework, pretending as though he's been working.
"International Rescue," I say. "We have a situation."
Alan's face lights up, and I can't help but smile in return.