When Thunderbird One had gained enough height, Scott fired the magnetic grabs. There was a jolt as they connected with the silver body of the other rocket. One's engines strained with the sudden new weight.
"Easy," he said, unsure whether he was talking more to the craft or himself. "C'mon, now. We can do this."
The hurtle of the other craft was slowed by Scott's intervention, but the weight was too much and he could feel himself losing altitude. Looking out, he watched as they were surrounded by the ships John had warned him about. They were dark. They were looming. And they were not there for a good reason.
"John, what's going on?"
"I don't know," his brother replied. His voice was tight. "Virgil's nearly there. Just hold on for a few more minutes."
"I don't know if we have a few more minutes," Scott said. "What are those other planes doing here?"
The answer came not from his brother, but from an all-too-familiar voice.
"Ah, Mr Tracy. How good of you to join us."
Scott went very still. He blinked. Then his stomach lurched.
"The Hood!"
The sound of his family's old enemy's chuckling was like an ice spike through Scott's spine.
"How wonderful it is to be back in a universe where people know who I am," he said. "This is all shaping up to be quite a marvellous day."
"What do you want?" Scott demanded. "What are you even doing?"
Another cold chuckle sounded.
"I couldn't get my hands on your father or any of your brothers, nor your Thunderbird machines. So I've stolen someone else's toys – and someone else's son."
A new voice cut in.
"You bastard. I'll –"
There was a sharp crack that was followed by a grunt of pain. Scott's ears burned at the sound of the pain in the new voice. It wasn't quite right, but… It sounded like Gordon.
Another Thunderbird One. Another Gordon. Another John at home. Scott's mouth went dry as the Hood's plan became all-too clear.
"You're stealing from another universe!" he hissed.
"Another universe," the Hood said, "another dimension, another world – whatever you want to call it. I'll always find a way to get what I want."
"Not today you won't!"
This time it was a thoroughly familiar voice, a deep baritone, that sounded in the cockpit. Scott's heart leapt with joy.
"Thunderbird Two!"
"At your service," Virgil replied.
There were several resounding clunks as Two added her might to the falling craft. Immediately, One was relieved of the strain. Steadied now, Scott only hoped that Brains was facing in the right direction to see the portal and do whatever it was he was going to do.
"Welcome to the party," the Hood purred. "You might have Thunderbird Two, but my minions have joined us and I don't think you'll be able to match our strength. We have weapons – you don't. Now, do as I say and no one need get hurt."
"You've got to be kidding me," Gordon's voice broke through the comm. like a whiplash. It was Scott's own Gordon this time. He could almost taste his younger brother's indignation. "You're actually calling them 'minions' now? How much more cheesy could you get?"
"That's exactly what I was thinking."
That was the other voice. The not-Gordon. Scott winced. This is getting confusing.
"Shut up, all of you," the Hood snapped. "Listen to me carefully and all will be well. My ships are gathered here and they're armed to the teeth. It wasn't my intention to steal more Thunderbirds today – after all, One is enough." He chuckled at his own joke but no one else joined him. "However, I've never been one to turn down an opportunity. Let my men board your vessels and take control and I'll allow you to leave unharmed. I'll even hand over this idiot."
"Hey!" the not-Gordon exclaimed.
By the sound of the slap, he received nothing good for his outburst. Scott winced again. Then he scowled as the reality of the Hood's words sank in.
"You're insane if you think we'll hand over the Thunderbirds," he said through gritted teeth. "You've tried this before and it never works."
"Yes, but I didn't always come armed," the Hood said. "But this time I have – and this time I have a human bargaining chip. Give me what I want or he dies."
"Don't do it!" the other Gordon said. "It's not worth it."
Scott felt as though he was frozen in place, stuck between one horrific choice and another. International Rescue is all about saving lives, he thought. How can I justify sacrificing even one life to preserve our technology? His heart faltered. But what will the Hood do with the technology? He'll cause more devastation, more death. What is the right choice?
His thoughts were interrupted by the screech of powerful engines that weren't his, nor Thunderbird Two's. The high-pitched whine of old-style VTOLs blasted out across the scene. Scott looked. It was the other craft. It was the other him.
"They might not have weapons," the voice that wasn't his own said, "but I do."
Intuitively, both Scott and Virgil detached their magnetic lines as the other One kept herself aloft. Then, without warning, the craft opened fire.
"He's got a machine gun!" Scott said, not sure if he was horrified or enthralled.
The other silver rocket may have looked antiquated but it could certainly move. It banked upwards as the other aircraft scattered, taking the Hood's plane with it.
Scott tried to close his mouth but found it impossible to move his jaw.
"A machine-gun?"
~oOo~
There was no better feeling than the sweep of Thunderbird One rising under her own power again. There were many things that Scott Tracy needed to process about the scene around him but he had no time to contemplate them. I have to get Gordon back, he thought. Then I'll try and figure out this…mess.
Sending another warning burst of fire across the ocean, Scott pressed his lips into a thin line and breathed slowly, in, out. I don't want any of them to get hurt, he thought. But sometimes, there is no other choice.
"Scott!" Gordon's voice burst across the line. "Stop!"
"You might want to heed his warnings," Mardochaios – the Hood – said. "I have a gun and this is a very small cabin. Accidents happen all too easily."
"You're outnumbered," Scott said. "Your other planes have scattered. Do as I say and release my brother. You don't have a choice."
The Hood gave a tinkling yet discordant laugh, like the sound of black snowflakes.
"There is always a choice," he said. "Like the one I'm going to make when I put a bullet right into your compatriot's back. I can only assume that this is your brother, correct?" He laughed again. "You Tracys are all the same. Blinded by your own family ties. Just like your father. Just like Jeff."
His heart twisting, Scott shook his head. I don't understand. What about Dad?
"Uh, Scott? Not my Scott, the other Scott," a voice asked.
It was strange yet similar. It came from the blocky Thunderbird Two – a craft that looked like one of the early prototypes for their own smooth and rounded craft.
"Virgil?" Scott asked.
"Uh, yeah," came the reply. "I have a plan to get your guy out of there, if you'll listen."
Scott felt a familiar tug in his chest and a lump in his throat.
"I'm always all-ears for a Virgil idea," he said.
The voice that wasn't his brother's relayed the information and Scott couldn't help but grin, no matter the situation. I guess Virgil is one of the universal constants, he thought, because this is exactly what he would do…
~oOo~
In the other Thunderbird One, Scott listened to the plan that was relayed on a channel away from the Hood's prying ears. That's my bro, he thought. Then he turned his attention to Brains.
"How are things going up there?" he asked via the comm. "Any progress?"
"Th-this data is incredible!" came the spluttering reply. "It's absolutely amazing and –"
There was no time for explanations. Scott cut across him.
"Can you keep the portal open?" he asked.
"Y-yes," Brains replied. "I think so."
"Can you reopen it?"
"I'm not so sure on that one," Brains replied. "But I have more information now, so I'm c-closer to a solution than I would have been."
"Good enough," Scott said. "Keep it open for now. This might be the only chance to send these guys home – including John and Elijah and Lyra back home."
And, he continued in his own head, it might lead us to Dad. It's starting to look certain that his disappearance is all tied up in this – especially with the involvement with the Hood…
~oOo~
It wasn't the first time Gordon Tracy had a gun pointed in his face. It was, however, the first time he had come across a set of Thunderbirds that weren't his own. Unfortunately, he didn't have the luxury of time to contemplate the day's events. Instead, he had Scott – his own Scott – relaying information in his ear that he couldn't respond to, but that the Hood also couldn't hear.
"Say something stupid if you understand me," Scott said.
Gordon tried not to roll his eyes. He knew exactly what to say.
"Oh boy, this sure isn't a minty situation at all."
The barrel of the Hood's gun momentarily slipped downwards as his bushy eyebrows rose.
"Shut up," he snapped.
Scott chuckled in Gordon's ear.
"F.A.B. We'll be ready when you are. Everyone's in position."
Can I really be ready for this? Gordon thought. This is insane…
The plan was indeed insane. But there was no other choice. He was glad he still had his oxygen mask and visor attached to his helmet.
"Y'know," he said, backing over to the doorway of the plane, "it's been nice and all, but… I gotta say. This isn't for me."
The Hood snarled.
"You really are an idiot. What on Earth do you mean?"
"What I mean is," Gordon said, ever-so-slowly, "is that it's time for me to fly."
"What?"
Without warning, Gordon kicked out as high as he could, sending the gun soaring from the Hood's hand. It clattered to the cabin floor as the man screeched in part-pain and part-frustration. Seizing his moment, Gordon leapt for the operating controls of the aircraft door – and thankfully, the safeties were still disengaged.
"Ta-ta," he said in his worst imitation of an English accent. "It's been positively horrible."
And then he didn't think about what he was about to do. He just did it.
Gordon leapt out into the big blue.
Freefalling towards his beloved ocean, he thought about everything. Every single possible thought he could have had seemed to converge in his brain at once.
He thought of John, somewhere in this same reality. I'm fine, Gordo. Just fine. You will be too.
He thought of his father, somewhere else, not quite in the same space and yet still occupying his mind. You'll be alright, son.
And he thought of Matthew, so far away from him, already crumbling, and yet still with strength lingering underneath. It'll all come around.
Gordon closed his eyes, safely behind his goggles. The tops of his cheeks burned with the battering of the wind. He inhaled the air from his O2 mask, letting it fill up his lungs.
He thought of his family, one by one. He willed them to send him good luck. Hope.
Then he opened his eyes again, only to find himself scooped up by a pair of strong hands – and looking through a helmet visor into eyes that mirrored his own.
"Oopsie!" the other man said, his voice coming through Gordon's earpiece, the lip sync just slightly off. "Let's get you safely into this harness and we'll see if we can get fisherman Virgil to reel us in. I hear we're a good catch."
The man's hands were like vices as he worked to secure Gordon into the safety harness, calm and cool even as they hurtled downwards.
"Who are you?" Gordon called out.
"International Rescue, at your service!" the man said. Giving a final tug on the restraints that now bound them together, he grinned. "I've got him, Virgil. Pull us up!"
There was a change in pressure and speed as they went from freefalling to a controlled dip. Then they were rising.
Gordon looked up to see where they were going. They were being winched into the belly of the blocky Thunderbird Two. He looked back down and stared at the man he was strapped to. He was younger, blonder. His eyes were a little browner, but there was something about the cut of his cheekbones that made Gordon's heart stutter for a moment.
"Gordon?" he asked.
"Gordon," the other man said. "Gordon Tracy. Pleased to meet you."