"We are now officially in the Arctic Circle," Virgil said.
Gordon pasted a grin on his face and looked out the cockpit window. They were on their way to an oil field in Naryan-Mar, an autonomous okrug in the far north of Russia, where ground subsidence due to careless drilling had caused a disaster.
"Let's hope it wasn't Grandma who packed the auxiliary clothing this time, eh?" Gordon said.
With an obligatory chuckle, Virgil nodded. The reality was that neither of them felt much like kidding around. The first reason was that rescues were never funny; the second was that three days had passed and there was still no sign of John, Eli and Lyra. Not alive. Not dead. Just…gone.
Before he could think too much on the subject, Scott's voice rang through Two's cockpit.
"Thunderbird Two from Thunderbird One," he said. "Have arrived at Danger Zone. It seems there may be more trapped workers than we had first thought. What's your ETA?"
Without even thinking about it, Virgil replied.
"About fifteen minutes, Scott," he said. "How many people are we talking about?"
"Around twenty, now," Scott replied, his voice tight with tension. "There was a second subsidence a few minutes ago and the seismology suggests that there might be another. The faster you get here, the better."
"F.A.B.," Virgil said. "We'll be there as soon as physically possible."
Gordon knew from the pull of Virgil's thick eyebrows low over his eyes that he meant it. There was a sudden shift as he cranked Two up to her maximum operating speed; Gordon clutched the edges of his seat.
"Put the pedal to the metal, brother," he said.
"Right."
They were there within ten.
When they arrived, one particular thought made a burning hole in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't proud, but Gordon had to admit it: he was glad of the rescue. The constant motion, being forced to think on his feet, putting his hands onto those in need, using all of his strength to bring them back to the land of the living… It meant something. It was tangible, valuable.
It was better than thinking about how his brother had disappeared. Again.
Yet even as he pressed his lips to the blue-tinged face of a blonde worker who couldn't have been more than eighteen years old, he couldn't banish the thought completely.
He focused on rescue breaths and chest compressions. He mouthed silent curses in the darkness of the cavern that had swallowed the oil pumps and their crew. First aid. That was Eli's job, Eli's role, Eli's expertise.
And now he was gone too.
One, two, three. He pulled back and placed his hands on the girl's breast bone again. He started to press, feeling the give of her chest underneath his palms. Scott had rappelled into one of the deeper sections of this unexpected maw. Virgil was in a section nearby Gordon's, using a hand excavator to help dig out another innocent.
All around them was darkness, the smell of oil and the taint of blood in the air.
He couldn't help himself. Gordon looked at the girl's face. It was cross-crossed with cuts, blood congealing around her temples from a blow to the head. The red blood, her blue lips, her lily white skin… To him, once colours of freedom and success. To her? The colours of death.
Gordon snorted and he kept the compressions going.
The more he looked at her, the more her face morphed. The planes smoothed out, the hair lengthened and twisted into long braids – and then she was unbearably small, just a kid.
Lyra.
He froze.
And then she was a young woman again, coughing as life rushed back through her veins. She sucked in breath in whooping gasps – and Gordon snapped back to reality again.
"It's okay, it's okay," he said. "Вам будет хорошо сейчас."
Thank you, Johnny, he thought, recalling one of the very few Russian phrases he remembered from John's Essential Rescue Language 101 lessons. You'll be fine now… He had to admit, it was a good one for the business they were in.
The woman couldn't talk – nor was she in any condition to walk, either. Gordon reached for the collapsible back board and clicked it to its full length.
"You'll be fine," he crooned. "Вам будет хорошо сейчас…"
Five hours and twenty casualties later, Gordon clapped his older brothers' shoulders.
"Not bad for a Monday afternoon," he said.
Virgil reached up and briefly touched Gordon's gloved hand with his own.
"Yeah," he said. "Now that they're all processed and on their way for medical treatment, I think we can call it a day."
"Right," said Scott. "Let's go home."
As he trio turned to pad across the barren ground, a gust of icy wind whipped up. It was only then that Gordon felt the sting of half-frozen salt water on his face. He stopped. He remembered.
But Virgil's hand was on his shoulder this time – and it was just enough to keep him going. At least for now.
~oOo~
"Ah'm really not sure that it's a good idea, Jeff."
Sheridan's stony expression was unrelenting. Jeff didn't care. He folded his arms and spread his weight evenly between his feet.
"Neither am I," he replied. "But one thing I am sure of is that I can't stay stuck in this submarine for the foreseeable future."
The days of confinement on theBarracuda had drawn on and on – and when Jeff nearly came to blows with the food dispenser, he knew it was time to bring an end to it. I'm an astronaut, he thought, not an aquanaut. I've always left that field to Gordon. He was getting itchy feet, itchy hands – itchy everything – while trapped in the depths of the sea, so far away from his beloved stars. And my beloved sons, Jeff thought. Riding around in this bucket isn't helping me to figure out what the hell is going on.
That statement was mostly true, but he had to admit, being a side-seat researcher to Coral and Sheridan had its benefits. They had discovered that there was no discernible pattern to the disturbances in the air and the sea – but that every time an anomaly occurred, more canisters of nuclear waste were deposited somewhere within two square miles of the same patch of ocean.
As soon as they had drawn close enough to see one of the canisters, Jeff's heart had turned to stone. He knew the logo. He knew the company. And worst of all?
He had helped to start the damn thing.
Ascension Technologies had been one of his first ventures with an old friend, Paul Garnett, with whom he had been friends for decades. But it didn't make sense. Ascension Tech was all about renewable energy, Jeff thought. Paul has a Ph.D. in renewables, for Christ's sake. Why the hell would he be dumping nuclear waste? Nuclear power was outlawed after the Global Conflict. He invested in stoppingnuclear power. Whywould he be dealing in it now? And how the hell is he dumping toxic waste from what seems to be the middle of nowhere?
There were far too many questions – and so few answers could be found from the inside of an outdated submarine – outdated as far as Jeff could see. His own – time, place, universe, whatever – seemed to be half a century ahead in technology. I guess that's one of the consequences of war, he thought. Technology always advances in conflict.
And thus, Jeff had come to a decision. It was time.
"Ah just don't know what the reaction will be," Sheridan continued, leaning over the back of his chair. "And Ah don't even know if in our time or reality, whatever name ya wanna give it, that the Tracys are in charge of International Rescue. There's no guarantee."
"If they're not," Jeff said, "they'll just think I'm another crazy caller. I bet they get them all the time. If they are and they're willing to listen, we might just be able to figure something out. If their Brains is anything like my Brains, we will."
"Alright," Sheridan said, pulling himself out of the chair and standing. "Since it's your idea, y'all need to be the one making the call."
He gestured for Jeff to sit. Coral nodded.
Sliding into the chair, Jeff reached out for the comm. button. There was a moment's hesitation, his long fingers hovering. Is this the right thing to do? he asked. Is this what I should do? He took a deep breath. It's what Dad would have done.
Thus, he pressed the button – and made the call.
~oOo~
Tracy Island was quiet – too quiet for Tin-Tin's liking. Scott, Virgil and Gordon were still on their way back from Russia. Alan was on his way down from swapping duty with Matthew. Brains was tinkering, his reaction in any time of stress. Grandma was cooking – the same could be said for her.
And Jeff? She looked at the empty desk and shook her head.
Jeff was holed up in his office, as he had been ever since the rescue call came in. I do wish there was something I could do, Tin-Tin thought as she smoothed her hand over Adam's fine black hair. I just haven't the slightest clue what I cando in such a situation.
At five months pregnant, she had been confined to light island duties and Adam's education. Unable to take her mind off things by throwing herself into rescues and with only so many hours of instruction her son could take a day, Tin-Tin was left with a lot of time to think. And few of her thoughts were delightful.
She should have been thinking about baby names, about whether it was a boy or a girl, about what way she would decorate the nursery this time. She should have been explaining to Adam what was happening in her body, telling him that soon he would be a big brother.
All the boy talked about was his cousin.
"When is Lyra coming home?" he had asked a thousand times. "I miss her."
Each time, Tin-Tin would lean down and kiss his smooth forehead.
"I know," she would say. "I miss her too."
"And Uncle Johnny and Uncle Eli," Adam would continue. "I want them to come home."
"And they will come home," she said, the lie like acid on her tongue. "They will."
But in reality, there was no cast-iron guarantee. There was no assurance. There was no closure. They weren't absolutely alive, nor absolutely dead. They seemed to have ceased to exist – a concept difficult for even adults to comprehend, never mind a five year old boy.
Now, Adam was asleep on the couch, tuckered out after a day of lessons. He had been determined to stay awake until Daddy came home – but the changeover had been delayed due to the rescue and as the clock ticked on, Adam's eyes had slid shut.
Alan was on the way home now, though. Tin-Tin felt a little weight lifting from her shoulders. It was never easy when he was away. There was something missing from her life that went beyond just the warm figure in the bed. It was Alan's smile, his support, the way he gave everything he could to Adam and his upbringing. I can't wait to fall into his arms, Tin-Tin thought. I just need him to hold me…
Just then, there was a sharp series of beeps. Tin-Tin turned to look at the copy of Van Gogh's 'Sunflowers' hanging on the wall. The orange blooms were lighting up.
"Oh dear," she said, crossing to Jeff's desk. "I hope it isn't another rescue. The boys will be tired."
Sitting down, she reached out to accept the call from Thunderbird Five.
"Go ahead, Matthew," Tin-Tin said.
The 'Sunflowers' disappeared, replaced by a pale face that was scrunched with confusion.
"Tin-Tin," Matthew said. "I've had an… Uh, unusual emergency call."
"Oh?" she asked. "What's wrong?"
"Normally, I might have ignored it but this time… I think there's something genuine here."
Tin-Tin said nothing and leaned forward, awaiting the explanation.
"I think you need to get Mr Tracy," Matthew said. "Because there's someone on the line who sounds identical to him – and worse, claims to behim."
Feeling the blood rush from her face, Tin-Tin sat back.
"What?"
"Exactly my reaction," Matthew said. "But listen to this."
He leaned out of the frame for a moment. When his face reappeared, there was a new voice drifting through the lounge.
"Calling International Rescue."
Tin-Tin froze. That voice…
"International Rescue, please come in. Listen to me very carefully. I don't have an explanation and I don't know what exactly has happened, but I know that I need you." There was a pause. Then: "My name is Jeff Tracy and I need your help to get home to my sons: Scott, John, Virgil, Gordon and Alan. If you are who I think you are, you might think I'm crazy - but I'm not. It was me that was on the strange plane that crashed into the South Pacific. I know you were there to help me then and... I need your help now."
At that moment, Tin-Tin turned to see Adam hovering at her elbow. There were fat tears standing in his eyes.
"What's wrong with Grandpa?" he asked, clutching onto her arm. "Why does he need help?"
"And if that doesn't confirm the likeness," Matthew said, "I don't know what will."
Pulling her son in for a hug, Tin-Tin shook her head.
"Don't worry, Adam," she said. "Grandpa is fine. I'm going to call him now."
"Then who was that man?" Adam asked, wiping his nose on the back of his hand.
Tin-Tin automatically fished a tissue from her pocket and wiped his face. She shook her head again.
"I don't know," she said. "But I'm sure we'll find out." She looked at Matthew. "Stay on the line and keep – whoever that is – on the line too. I'll get Mr Tracy."
"F.A.B.," Matthew said. "Standing by."
Tin-Tin switched communication channels and tried to find the words to convey what she needed to say. They were not easily forthcoming.
"Mr Tracy," she said, "I think you need to come up here right away."
"What's wrong, Tin-Tin?" Jeff asked. She could hear the frown in his voice. "Is it the boys?"
"No, Mr Tracy," Tin-Tin said. "It's… I think you had better hear it for yourself, but… A call for help has come in. The man claims that he was the one who crashed into the sea in that strange plane. And, well…" Tin-Tin exhaled sharply. "Mr Tracy, I don't know how else to say this so I'll just come out with it. He's claiming to be you."
"Вам будет хорошо сейчас." – You'll be fine now.