John knew that his life had always hung in the balance up here. He was in a hostile environment after all, the vacuum of space stretching around him into infinity. It was dangerous and his life balanced on a knife edge, but he had never expected to actually fall off that knife edge. Brains was one of the worlds best engineers, the technology they had at their disposal second to none. He wasn't bad at electrical engineering and mechanics himself, let alone coding – that was even without EOS to back him up. Thunderbird 5 was state of the art in terms of capability, communication and safety.
He had been up here watching meteor showers and solar flares without any thoughts about the risks. It's amazing what you can become used to really as in general he thought about his oxygen supply as little up here as he did when he was on the ground.
There were back up all over the station, but the only thing that couldn't have a reserve system was these panels. And the only way they could be damaged was via an emergency internal power vent. Which would only happen if he couldn't go outside when if he needed to. Now he thought of it the sequence of events stacked up perfectly: it seemed he was always heading to this point.
This point – stuffed in the skin of his station, fried circuits in front of him, shoulder broken and cut off from the rest of the world. He had never really let himself think of the possibility of dying in space, but on the occasional long nights when more morbid thoughts snuck in he didn't think it would be like this. More likely suddenly in an explosion or a meteor strike. Something dramatic and memorable that would make the news. Something quick. Not slowly, suffocating without even the comfort of hearing his brothers say their goodbyes. Not alone.
With a cry of anger John found himself launching the destroyed circuit board out his newly made access hatch.
It wasn't fair, it just wasn't fair! He spent so much time up here, listening to others call for help, sending help, being the reassuring voice for those in need. He kept them calm, found out where it hurt, and gave them promises of rescue and safety. The others did the practical work, got the job done, but he was always the first point of contact. His was the voice of hope when someone in need had none of their own.
Where was that voice for him? Where was his rock, his lifeline? Who was going to reassure him, talk him through the fear and panic? Where was is voice of hope to cut though the despair of the realisation that there was no way out.
Nowhere. He was adrift and alone. That probably wasn't fair, as he worked hard to keep a connection to the planet below, to not become too introverted. And the others worked hard at it too – they never let him forget that he was just as much a part of the family as anyone else, and could always see when he was beginning to withdraw. But right now all that didn't matter. What matter was that though he knew his smoke signal had been sent no-one was going to be coming for him.
The anger was gone as suddenly as it arrived leaving John drained and he put his head in his hands, trying to calm himself as he felt his vision blur. From pain or emotion he wasn't sure which. Damn headache. Damn damn shoulder. He found his thoughts turning to his brothers. In truth they never felt far away from him, despite the physical distance. They had all been very close as children and that closeness had continued to the point it would be hard to fathom living apart from them even if they didn't work together.
Scott who always had it together for the others but wasn't always able to ask for himself. Virgil who was the one who made the most sense and wouldn't sugar coat a hard truth for you. Gordon who always had a lightness to his step like he was about to take off running at any moment. Alan who had so much enthusiasm for just about anything except chores. He felt such pride at calling them his brothers quite separate from the pride he felt in what they had achieved alongside each other. He hoped it wouldn't end here, that they wouldn't let another tragedy pull them apart. After all they had so much they still wanted to do.
Slowly John felt another emotion creep in. Stubbornness. He still had so much left he wanted to do. He had not finished reading his latest book. There were more stars he wanted to study. He hadn't taught Alan chess yet. He was not ready to die yet. He refused to give up on those things. He wouldn't give in on any other day, why today?
He was a Tracy. Tracy's didn't step back when confronted with the impossible, they stepped up. They altered reality to make it not just possible but inevitable. He was unable to see the change in his posture, the set of his jaw or the glint in his eye, but he could feel his change in perspective.
He was always calm under pressure, it was one of his best characteristics. Could he stay calm enough to think this through again, to get himself out of this mess? He didn't have Brains, or EOS, or the computer. He didn't have his brothers, he didn't have the resources of International Rescue. All he had was his own brain, the Tracy family determination, a broken shoulder and – he checked his watch – 1 hour 45 minutes. How's that for pressure John?
