VSM - Vital Signs Monitor
PolyHeme - artificial blood
A/N: this chapter refers to events in Boomercat's story "Perceptions". You won't have to read it to follow the chapter, but it's a good story and well worth the read.
"What happened to your arm?" Alan demanded as Virgil struggled to untie a knot using only one hand.
"It's broken." Virgil grunted. "It'll heal."
"Scott's still unconscious."
"Yeah."
"Well shouldn't you shift the VSM to him?"
Virgil hesitated, then shook his head.
"I can't hook it up again one-handed anyway. Best to leave it where it is."
"Well I could help. I'm awake now, and I feel fine."
"No, you're staying right where you are. You've lost a lot of blood."
"I have? Funny, I feel fine."
"Yeah well... ow, that hurts!"
Alan winced in sympathy as he saw that Virgil had torn a fingernail trying to undo the rope. Yet his brother barely paused before he was trying again.
"That's going to catch on everything." Alan observed.
"Tell me about it." Virgil grumbled.
"Look, I might be a bit weak, but I can help." Alan tried again. "I'll tell you if I get dizzy."
"No." Virgil told him flatly. "You're better staying put. Besides, at this rate I'm not going to be able to get you free anyway."
"You could cut the rope."
"With what?"
"Um..." Alan floundered.
"Exactly."
Alan frowned.
"No, there must be something. Wait, Scott keeps a fire axe in the hold."
Virgil paused.
"Oh now there's an idea." he said caustically. "You just lie still while I swing at you and hope I don't hit you."
"You're ambidextrous, aren't you?"
"Yes, but my strong arm's my left, which is all bound up right now. Besides, axes really aren't made to be used as scissors. Any other ideas? Maybe one that one that won't end up with more bloodshed?"
"You could use your penknife." Alan offered weakly.
That suggestion did not even merit a look.
"Do you have any idea how long it would take to cut through one of Brains' strengthened ropes with a penknife?" Virgil asked, finally unravelling the knot that had caused so much trouble. "We'd all die of old age first. No, Alan! Stay right where you are."
"But you need help." Alan argued, frustrated, trying to free himself from the pile of shirts wrapped around him.
"Not from you." Virgil insisted, leaning over him and looking him directly in the eye. "Alan, listen to me. Listen to me. I had to give you some davopax, you need to stay still."
Alan stared at him, feeling suddenly like a deer caught in the glare of oncoming headlights.
"Davopax?"
"I had to. You were going into shock, and we had to move you."
"What... where'm I hurt?"
Alan felt dizzy again, but this time with fear. If they had used davopax on him, he might have lost a leg and not know it yet. It could be anything at all.
"When the ship rolled, you fell onto a box of tools and got gouged." Virgil told him, nodding to Alan's stomach. "It's a bad cut. About a hand-span wide, but not too deep. We bound it up and managed to block most of the blood loss, but we need to get you to a hospital. That's why the VSM's on you and not Scott. Once we get back to Two, I'll hook him up on another."
"Back to Two? But Virgil, with your arm broken you can't fly us out of here!"
"Let me worry about that."
"Where's Gordon? What's he doing? He's not hurt too, is he?"
"Calm down." Virgil instructed, going back to his task. "Adrenaline makes the davopax fade quicker, and you're not getting a second dose. Gordon's fine. He's gone across to Two to get the stretcher covers so we can move you two."
"So he can fly us out, then." Alan said, mainly to himself.
That was a relief. If he was badly hurt - and he now had no doubt that he actually was - then he wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. He did not want to still be here when the drug wore off.
"Jeremiah Callenson."
"Dr Callenson, hi it's John Tracy here."
"John Tracy! Well, it's been a few months, son. How are you?"
John was not in the mood for small talk and ignored the opening. It was not as if he could answer that question honestly right now, anyway.
"Dr Callenson, the last time I spoke to you, you said if I ever wanted to tell you what was really going on at home I should call you."
The doctor's humour dropped away.
"Son, do you want me to call for the police? Are you safe? Has he hurt you?"
John rolled his eyes at the blank screen.
"Scott isn't beating up on any of us, doctor, we've told you that. But I do want to tell you what's going on. I'm perfectly safe, but I need you to come out to the island. Scott and Alan've gotten hurt and we need your help, but I swear this time we'll tell you the full truth. Please, will you come?"
"No more deceptions?"
"No more deceptions. I swear."
"And you'll be there to meet me yourself?"
"Ah, that I can't do right now but you'll understand when you get there. Tintin will meet you on the runway."
"John, why don't I come to wherever you are?"
"I'm a bit further away at the moment. Look, doc, Scott and Alan really do need you to be at the island. Please just go there. When you're in the air, call out to me on the radio and I'll start to explain."
"What frequency?"
John smiled mirthlessly.
"It doesn't matter. Trust me, I'll pick you up. Communications are my specialty."
"I thought your specialty was astronomy?"
"That's my hobby. Please. The quicker you come, the better."
"Alright, alright, I'm coming. But I expect a full explanation."
"You'll get it, sir. I promise."
Gordon crawled into the hatch and collapsed on the floor gratefully. He had honestly not been sure if he would make it back, and now he only felt like going to sleep for a very long time. It was not an option, of course, but for now he could not bring himself to move.
The next thing he knew, there was a steadying hand on his shoulder. It went away, and then a piece of hard plastic was fumbled awkwardly over his face, gouging into his cheek a little. Drawing one hand up painfully, he adjusted the purifier mask and concentrated on his breathing, trying to ignore the pain from his back. Virgil, meanwhile, was disconnecting the guide line from Gordon's harness and securing it to something in One's cockpit. It could not be easy, one-handed, but for now Gordon had other demands on his attention.
After what felt like hours, but was probably only minutes, Virgil was back with him.
"Wind's gotten stronger, has it?" he asked almost jokingly.
Gordon gulped, nodding. Virgil leaned closer, whispering now.
"I'm trying to keep Alan from knowing you're hurt. He's getting edgy."
Gordon screwed his eyes up tight, wanting to scream in frustration. He was in pain, here! But then he exhaled slowly and reminded himself that Alan's condition was more serious.
"It's hellish out there." he answered as normally as he could manage. "We're going to have to do the stretchers one at a time, even with the guides."
"Right. I'll put these covers on. We'll start with Alan, then come back for Scott."
As he spoke, he pressed something into Gordon's hand, then turned away. Gordon looked at the object - it was a needle, pre-charged with simazopan. Not as strong as davopax, but still not exactly the sort of analgesic you could buy at your corner pharmacy. It would reduce the pain, and it was also a muscle relaxant, but it would leave him physically weakened and drowsy. He could not be trusted to do anything without dozing off if he took it. On the other hand, was he going to be any use at all if he did not? Virgil had left the choice up to him.
He stared at the needle. When he had been learning to walk again, after the accident, he had practically lived on analgesics. He rarely took anything stronger than an asprin these days, preferring to tough out the pain. Yet these were not normal circumstances. Gritting his teeth, he stretched his other arm out in front of himself and rolled back the sleeve. It was going to be awkward, given the angle and the fact that he was lying on his stomach, but he had to do it. And then Virgil was back.
"You want a hand?" he asked, taking the needle and checking it.
"Just half." Gordon whispered, then added more loudly. "I'm getting my breath back now."
"That's good." Virgil agreed blandly.
The needle stung a little as it went in, and Gordon bit his lip. Virgil was usually the most gentle of his brothers, but he was obviously rattled today. For a second there was an icy coldness that took over from the sting, and then it dispersed. Virgil showed him the needle was still half-filled, then put it away in the medkit. By the time he turned back, Gordon was able to carefully move onto hands and knees. The pain was still there, but he could handle it. They had a job to do, and he was going to help do it.
"Ready?" Virgil asked, holding out a hand to help him up.
"On three." Gordon suggested, sitting back on his heels.
"Right. One, two, three."
"Jeremiah Callenson calling John Tracy. Come in John Tracy. God this is stupid. John Tracy, can you...?"
"Reading you loud and clear, doc."
"That was fast."
"Yeah, well there's a reason for that. It's part of what I do, you see. Pick up radio calls."
"Don't you spend all of your time writing astronomy texts?"
"That's what we tell people, yes, but it's not quite true. I have another job. We all do. Okay, I've secured the frequency now so we can't be overheard. Right. Have you set the autopilot yet?"
"Not yet."
"Then do that - I don't want you missing the island or crashing because I'm talking to you."
"Alright, alright, hold on... right... okay, go ahead. The autopilot's on."
"Good. Doctor Callenson, this is going to be a bit of a shock, but our home - Tracy Island - is actually the base of operations for International Rescue."
There was a pause.
"John, I always thought Gordon was the joker of the family."
"This is no joke, sir. Right now I'm sitting up in Thunderbird Five, monitoring distress calls from around the world. From orbit. That's why I'm hardly ever home. When I am home, it's because Alan's up here. That's why you never get to see all five of us at once."
"John..."
"Scott and Virgil go on more rescues than the rest of us, that's why they get hurt most often. Scott's our field commander, though, so he co-ordinates and leaves Virgil to do a lot of the frontline work. It makes him sick when he doesn't get an order out quick enough to stop one of us getting hurt, he blames himself. And you accusing him hasn't helped any, but we all know it isn't true. He does his best.
"Think about it, doc. Every time one of us has been hurt, it's coincided with a rescue. I know how furious you've been with us for moving victims, like when Gordon broke his ribs last year and we told you he'd fallen on Satellite Hill, and you told us we shouldn't've moved him back to the house. But we had no choice. He got hurt in a cave-in just west of Johannesburg when there was a gas pocket explosion. The time Virgil had that concussion and the burns on his hands. I can't even remember what excuse we gave for that one, but what actually happened was some Navy admiral took a potshot at Thunderbird Two and Virgil nearly crashed trying to land her.
"International Rescue is a family operation. It always has been. There are just the five of us. Tintin and Brains designed and built the equipment, with Virgil's help and dad's money. It was dad's idea from the start. He's been planning it pretty much since mom died. That's why we all live at home and... hold on, I've got a transmission coming through. I'll leave your speaker on, so you can hear."
John flipped a switch.
"Go ahead Virgil."
"John, Gordon's just got back." Virgil paused meaningfully and John's eyes widened.
Gordon was having back trouble? This was not a good time. But who was Virgil concealing it from?
"We're about to take Alan over." Virgil continued. "When we've got him set up in Thunderbird Two, we'll come back for Scott. Tell Brains we're going to have to abandon One for now and come back for her later. We can't even secure her at the moment other than close the hatch but the weather out here's so atrocious I don't think anyone'll be coming near. We'll need him and Tintin to come out to get her right again asap, or at least find some way of towing her home. How's the weather picture looking?"
"Not good." John admitted. "It's probably hit its peak, but it's moving very slowly. You're looking at an hour or more before it begins to clear."
"Well that's no good. We have to get out of here before then. John, can you get dad to organise a cover for Callenson for us? We should probably divert, but we may need next-of-kin permission and that's easier to do as the Tracys."
"We're organising Callenson's assistance now." John nodded. "Don't worry about that - you just get home asap."
"F-A-B. I'll call in once we're all aboard Two. Thunderbird One out."
John shut down the channel, then returned to the first conversation.
"Doc? Are you still there?"
There was a pause.
"John?'
"Yes, doc?"
"If this was all planned since you were kids, why didn't one of you study medicine?"
John laughed.
"Good question - I don't know. I think we just ran out of brothers."
Scott opened his eyes, but the view was blurry. He blinked a couple of times, but nothing came into focus so he closed them again. His leg was throbbing painfully, and so was his head. An itch developed above his right eyebrow where a lock of hair from his fringe was dangling down and he tried to shake his head to move it away. The attempt at movement did not work - the collar and backboard held him immobile. Restraints kept his arms pinned too. Groaning, he tried to blow the hair out of the way, but it only made the itch worse.
"Virgil!" he croaked. "Gordon? Alan? Is anyone there?"
There was no response. He could still hear the storm, but it was muffled. It was getting colder now too, and he shivered. Was it actually getting colder, or was he suffering from shock?
"Virgil?" he called again, trying to raise his voice above the din of the storm.
It hurt. His chest hurt when he breathed in and seemed to sap his strength and his voice. But his brothers would not have abandoned him.
"Vir...argh!"
His attempts to talk had gotten too painful, and now he felt like he had a dagger sticking into his throat. It hurt even just breathing in and out. Where was everyone?
Virgil gave the med-unit a hard glare, daring it to bleep again. He had been away from Scott for far too long - first with the struggle to get Alan across to Thunderbird Two, then shifting him from the stretcher to the sickbay diagnostic bed. The readouts were truly not much more extensive than what the portable VSM units provided, but were far more precise. Besides, it meant they could hook him up to a steady, adjustable oxygen supply. And begin the blood transfusion.
For victims in rescues, they carried bags of PolyHeme, but for themselves they had three pints each of their own whole blood. PolyHeme was the trauma-specialist's best friend in cases of heavy blood loss, coming into common use at the end of the first decade of the twenty-first century and refined over the past five decades into a product that saved millions of lives every year all round the world, but nothing was better than whole blood.
He jumped as the machine bleeped again, and once more examined the setup. There were no airbubbles in the bag or tube - the shunt ensured that. Yet the supply was being blocked somehow. How? What had he done wrong? The line was not twisted or buckled at all that he could see. It was feeding straight into the canula which he had inserted into Alan's arm. He knew he had done that right - he had done it a hundred times on rescues, and Alan was at least fit and healthy with strong veins that he did not have to go searching for. He hated doing that.
"Go and get Scott." Alan huffed at him through the mask.
"Not until I get this sorted out." he grumbled.
"It'll be fine. Just go."
Virgil shook his head in frustration. He hated leaving Scott alone, but he would not risk Alan bleeding to death while he was out of the room. Gordon had collapsed in the pod and would not be any further help for now, though Virgil had lied to Alan telling him that Gordon was heading up to the cockpit. Alan did not need to know how dire the situation really was. Virgil wished he did not know, himself. Or rather, he wished he were not the one having to deal with it. Crisis management was Scott's specialty, Virgil just followed orders. As he watched, the scanner registered another pause, and he grit his teeth.
"Right, we'll start over."
"What are you trying to do - turn me into a pincushion? It's fine!"
"No, there's something wrong."
He stopped the flow, disconnected the tube, then carefully removed the canula and examined it. Peering at it closely, he saw the problem. Torn between relief that it was as simple as a crushed needletip and anxiety over how long this was taking, he said nothing as he put it in the medical waste container and stripped a fresh shunt out of its wrapping - none of which was easy to do with one arm splinted and throbbing maddeningly, but he made no comment. A minute later, he watched the screen again and was pleased to see the fluctuations had disappeared from the readout.
"Better. Okay, will you be okay for a while?"
"I'm fine. Go! The sooner you're back, the sooner we can get to a doctor."
Virgil nodded. The sooner that happened, the happier he would be. Out of Alan's sight, down the corridor, he paused to lean against a wall. His arm was hurting so much it almost hurt to breathe. He had had to loosen the inflatable cast so that he had more mobility with his hand for guiding the stretcher and settling Alan. It was not a clever thing to do but what choice did he have? None at all. Staring out into the rain again, he dreaded making the trip again, yet knew he had to.
"Never give up." he reminded himself.
His brothers were counting on him. He had to get them out of here, and he would. God help him, they were all going home or none of them were.
Gordon lay face-down on the floor where he had fallen, fighting the urge to curl up. That would help for a second, but then it would make everything worse. He needed to sleep. He needed to access a stronger muscle relaxant, and to soak in a hot bath, and to get out of these cold damp clothes. But he could do none of that. Right now all he could do was lie here.
About five minutes earlier he had heard Virgil heading back over to Thunderbird One. He had expected the pilot to look for him and make sure he was alright and was more than a little peeved when it did not happen, but he knew that Scott took priority right now. A weak chuckle burbled up in his throat as he considered their situation. Anyone else caught in this sort of crisis these days would call for International Rescue. What a pity they could not do the same. The momentary lapse into humour gave him a little more determination and he forced himself up again.
"Come on." he grunted to himself. "On your feet. Just like when you were learning to walk again. Push the pain behind you and move."
Drawing on strength he thought he had already exhausted, he crawled along the corridor to the passenger assembly area. It was where they put victims of a mission until they could drop them off, unless they needed the sickbay. He should probably be in the sickbay, to be honest, but Alan and Scott would be there and they did not need any further worries. Groaning, he pulled himself up into a chair. He would have preferred a bed, but he would have to make do. Tightening the restraints until they held his weight securely against the back of the chair, he finally let himself slump. Everything was up to Virgil now. He just hoped his brother could handle it alone.
