Chapter 54: Alan

Wednesday, 20th December 2079 – 7:00 am

Scott crossed the date off the calendar and took it down off the wall for closer study. Not that that would change anything.

Four weeks.

There was a knock on his door.

"Come in."

The door slid open to the not unexpected revelation that his brothers were standing there.

Virgil saw the papers held in the eldest sibling's hands. "Checking the date?"

"Yes."

Gordon flopped into the most comfortable chair and for once Scott didn't complain. "I was hoping you were going to tell me I'd miscalculated."

"No."

"It's been four weeks," Virgil confirmed.

"Yes."

"And not a word," Gordon added.

"No."

"Maybe something's gone wrong with his radio?"

Scott flung the calendar onto a table. "Like it's been swallowed up by Jupiter?" He dropped into his second most comfortable chair.

"Scott," Virgil protested. "We don't know that."

"You heard John as clearly as I did. He was expecting to hear from Alan within three weeks of his rendezvous with Arnie. Four weeks was just a buffer in case there had been some malfunction or miscalculation." Scott took a deep breath. "I think it's time to accept that what we've always thought happened has happened."

Virgil sank into the third most comfortable chair, which, if he was in a mind to notice, wasn't uncomfortable. "I'd still like proof."

"So would I, but I think it's highly unlikely we'll get it."

"Maybe John's got information?" Gordon suggested. "He's been analysing anything and everything he can get his hands on."

Scott, deciding that any hope was better than no hope at all, opened the video link with his brother. A painting on the wall depicting a flock of gannets soaring and diving through the skies morphed into the Space Monitor. "Hi, John."

John looked grim. He knew what his brothers were going to ask him. "No. I haven't heard anything. I haven't seen anything. And I don't know anything." He hesitated. "Has Dad said anything?"

"No," Scott admitted. "And I haven't wanted to broach the subject with him…" he paused. "Until today."

"And are you going to?"

Scott ran his fingers through his greying hair. "I don't want to, but I guess I'll have to."

"Maybe we should leave it?" Gordon suggested. "It's Christmas in five days. Maybe it would be better for Tin-Tin if she spends Christmas with some hope, rather than have it as a yearly reminder of what's happened?"

Virgil shook his head. "She's not stupid. She won't need her degree in mathematics to work out that we should have heard from Alan by now."

"It's Penny's birthday in four days. We don't want to spoil it with our misery."

"It doesn't matter how long we wait. Sometime soon, probably today, Tin-Tin's going to start asking questions. So is Penny."

"Tin-Tin already has." John's grim expression became even grimmer. "This past week I've had at least one call a day from her asking if I've heard anything. I'm starting to run out of excuses. It's not like I can ignore her calls and pretend that I've popped out to the store or something."

Scott steepled his fingers as he thought. "Tell her that because Earth's orbit is taking us away from Jupiter, Alan's got a slower trip home and it's taking him longer to get within radio range now than it did on the outward journey," he suggested.

"I've already done that."

"Tell her that there's been increased sunspot activity," Virgil offered.

"Done that one too."

"Tell her…" Gordon thought quickly, "that you think there's a shipload of liquid Alsterene sailing through some OD60 upsetting our transmissions."

"I've even tried that one. Like you said, she's not stupid. She gave me a look that I'm sure she learnt from Grandma that said that she knew I was lying and that I'd better start telling the truth quick smart. I pretended that I was burning my dinner and shut down the radio before she could give me the third degree."

Scott pushed himself out of his chair. "I'll go and talk to Father. If we decide to wait until after Christmas, maybe we'll be able to come up with some good excuses to keep her happy."

Virgil stood. "Do you want us to come with you?"

"Yes." Gordon vacated his chair. "For support?"

Grateful, Scott looked between his brothers. "I'd appreciate that." He checked his watch. "It's too early to bring it up now. Let's say right after breakfast?" His brothers nodded.

"I'll need to be in on the discussion too," John reminded them. "So you'd better get me on line. Then once we've made a decision…" there was a long pause, "we'll have work out how you're going to get me home."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It hadn't been an enjoyable meeting, even if it was one that they'd all gradually come to accept had to happen. Jeff was unwilling to give up on Alan just yet and it was decided, in part because Christmas was not the time to try to contact the various agencies with the capabilities to bring John home, to leave any morbid announcements until the new year.

As Jeff had said: "International Rescue have created miracles before. Why should they only happen to other people? Why shouldn't we be the recipient for once? Something may have happened to Alan's radio and he can't contact us. I think we should wait until we are convinced, through visual analysis, that he's not on his way home."

John had been surprised when Scott, Virgil, and Gordon had agreed unanimously. He'd been through every piece of "visual analysis" that he'd been able to get his hands on and had found nothing. Where was he going to his hands on further material to "analyse visually"?

They came up with a few ploys to keep Tin-Tin from learning the truth, including an undertaking from those on Earth to keep her busy and away from the radio, and then left the meeting, no more positive than they'd been when they'd started.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Saturday, 23rd December 2079

John was sitting in his favourite chair, although one thing he wasn't doing was relaxing. On his lap he held a tablet PC and he was analysing page after page of data; hoping that something, somewhere, would tell him that his youngest brother was on his way home. Even a few bytes casually mentioning that Jupiter was putting out some kind of massive radio interference would have been welcome, if uninspiring news.

He looked up.

Bells? Can I hear bells?

Not alarm bells, but something more festive. Not church bells, he'd be starting to get majorly worried about his mental wellbeing if he believed that he could hear them this far above the Earth. Mind you, the fact that he was hearing anything was beginning to ramp up his concerns about his sanity.

I am hearing things… aren't I?

He stood. It was only faint, but he was convinced he could hear small bells; jingling bells; the kind that you had in school orchestras or on Christmas Trees. And he couldn't blame his Christmas tree because he didn't have one. As much as he loved the festive season, artificial trees and other decorations would have taken up precious room; room that was better utilised storing food and other essentials, and so Thunderbird Five was bare of anything to celebrate the season.

Maybe his ears needed cleaning out or he was experiencing some condition brought on by months of air conditioning and artificial gravity. He hadn't experienced the tinnitus that his brothers and father had experienced after the Yelcho explosion. Was this what it was like?

John frowned. The jingling sounds were growing louder.

Not only that, they were being accompanied by an odd percussive sound. A repetitive rhythm. A tap-tap noise.

Tap-Tap.

Tap-Tap?

Tap-Tap.

Clap-Tap. Clap-Top.

Clip-Top. Clip-clop.

Clip-clop?

He was really losing it. Months without human company, topped with his never-ending worries for Alan; and by association Tin-Tin as well as the rest of the family; had finally sent him over the edge. The proximity to Christmas and the prospect of spending it alone must have been the last straw. Now he was not only hearing bells, but horses' hooves as well.

I need help.

Becoming genuinely concerned, he headed over to the radio intent on calling Brains. He didn't want to worry anyone, but then again, he failed to see why he should have to deal with these concerns by himself when he had to deal with everything else alone. Not if there was a chance that Brains could offer him reassurance.

He stopped in his tracks.

Music?

John was sure he could hear music. Faint to be sure, but there was a definite, familiar tune being played in the recesses of his mind. He was about to reach out to initiate his link with Brains' lab when he realised that the radio was already turned on and receiving.

The music, the sounds of hooves, and the bells grew louder.

Jingle bells?

He could hear a piano playing.

Another couple of 'horses' started clip-clopping alongside the first, one slightly out of beat as if it had a limp.

The music became louder and more defined; the player more recognisable.

"Ho, ho, ho," the radio announced. "This is Santa Claus."

John laughed in relief. It most certainly wasn't. For one thing Ol' Saint Nick wasn't due to make his rounds for another two days. For another, Santa sounded a lot like his father. "What can I do for you… Santa?"

"Have you been a good boy?"

John played along. "I've done my best. It's a little hard to get up to mischief up here."

The piano playing segued from a tune about dashing through snow to one about his caller paying a visit.

"I've decided to make an early start of my deliveries this year," 'Santa' explained. "If you've been a good boy, would you mind ensuring that your airlock's shut and Thunderbird Three's docking hatch is open?"

John considered answering in the negative, but decided that he was too curious to tease. As he did what he'd been instructed he glanced at Thunderbird Five's radar.

Something was heading in his direction.

Zooming in a video image revealed that the something was a small cylindrical rocket. Maximum magnification revealed it had none of the markings of International Rescue, or even any of the known space agencies, but instead was decorated along its length with a picture of Santa Claus riding his sleigh behind a team of reindeer.

The rocket moved around until it was facing the docking bay that was supposed to join the two space Thunderbirds.

"This is going to take some concentration," 'Santa' admitted. "Excuse the radio silence."

John hung back from the radio, and listened. He was now hearing a jaunty rendition about a reindeer, accompanied by animal noises that were so far out of synch that he would have sworn that one of the beasts had broken its leg and was hobbling.

The rocket nosed into the tunnel and John switched on the internal cameras so he could follow its progress.

"Close docking hatch," 'Santa' commanded.

John did as he'd been bid.

"Right, Elf Number One: Assume control of reindeer."

"I have control," 'Elf Number One' acknowledged.

John grinned. He hadn't realised that elves were over six foot tall and greying at the temples.

"Hold cockpit steady, Elf Number Two."

"Holding steady." Other elves obviously had a penchant for getting wet.

"Unlocking, erm, unharnessing sleigh," 'Santa' announced. The rear section floated free and, as John watched the video, slotted itself into the airlock. "We have touchdown. Taking control of Rudolph."

The section painted with reindeer floated after the sleigh into the airlock, before Santa, with his arms outstretched holding reins that went nowhere, settled beside the other two sections.

"You may seal airlock and accept delivery," Santa instructed.

"Thanks…" John allowed any exhaust gases to dissipate before doing as he was told. "What am I accepting?"

His father's smiling, bearded, red-hatted face splashed up on screen. "Go and take a look."

He was in a hurry to see what Santa had brought him; nevertheless John took his time to ensure that the barrier between his life capsule and the hostile world outside was sealed tightly. "Am I allowed to open my presents today? It's not Christmas yet."

"There are some things you can wait a couple of days before opening, but I think you'll want to see what else is there."

A head with red hair sticking out from around overgrown ears and beneath a pointed green cap popped into view. "Just leave the camera running so we can see your reaction."

"This is embarrassing," John pretended to grumble, but he had to admit to a sense of eager anticipation as he dragged the three sections of the rocket into the main control room. "They're heavy," he grunted.

"They had to be." 'Elf Number One' and the rest of the family appeared on screen as the video camera zoomed out to take in the entire lounge. "The contents had to survive the flight." Scott ducked as Gordon attempted to put an elf hat and ears on his head. "If you don't put that thing somewhere else, Gordon, I'm gonna find a suitable place to store it."

Unperturbed, Gordon grinned. "Start opening your presents, John."

Tin-Tin clapped her hands and the bells she was holding jangled. "Yes. Open them, John!"

Brains put a pair of coconut shells onto a coffee table next to those already left there by Lady Penelope, Parker, and Kyrano. "I h-hope everything s-survived the flight."

Virgil vacated the piano and clapped his obviously nervous friend on the shoulder. "It should be fine."

Jeff beamed into the video camera. "Open Santa first."

"Santa…" John examined the central section. "Where's the…" The lid snapped open, and he reached inside, pulling out a capsule surrounded in silver foil. He opened the end of the parcel and slid an insulated cylinder onto the floor. "Are we playing pass the parcel?"

"Yep," Scott grinned. "And you get the prize."

Opening the insulation exposed more packaging, which John pulled back to reveal a mouth-watering array of fruit and vegetables. "Food!" he exclaimed, revelling in the sights and aromas. "Real food! Not packaged! Not dried! But real, fresh, honest-to-goodness food!" He raised a tomato to his nose and, his eyes closed so that nothing else could intrude on the experience, inhaled.

"There is a selection for you to eat for Christmas dinner," Kyrano offered. "The rest you may consume as you desire."

"I'm almost tempted to eat it all right here right now!" John exclaimed. "You've no idea how I've been hanging out for this, Kyrano." He fixed his eyes on his friend. "Thank you."

Kyrano bowed his head. "It is a small gift. One of many from us all."

"Open the sleigh," Gordon suggested. "There's a button near the tail."

"Shouldn't I put all the food away first?"

"It'll keep," his father told him with an eagerness that suggested that he couldn't. "Open the sleigh."

John felt for the catch at the rear of the rocket before falling back in surprise when an inflatable Christmas tree exploded out of the fuselage. "Gordon!"

"Yup."

"Are you trying to give me heart failure for Christmas?"

"Nope. Just bringing a little festive cheer. What's Christmas without a tree? Push the button at its base."

John frowned. "Are you sure I'm not going to get covered in exploding Christmas pudding or something?"

"You're safe," Scott confirmed. "Push the button."

John felt around the base of the tree and the side of the rocket fell away revealing another silver sausage. Further insulating packaging slid out from inside the foil wrapping and he opened it expecting to find more edibles. Instead there was a small selection of brightly coloured gifts. "Christmas presents!"

"You can join us when we open ours on Monday," Jeff suggested. "Now open the front section."

Wondering what the third part of his Christmas trilogy was going to be, (now that he had food, presents, and knowing that he couldn't expect the company of friends and family) John eagerly searched for the opening to the front section. He laughed when he saw that each of the reindeer decorating it had numbers on their harnesses: TB1 (naturally with a red nose), TB2 (with green saddle bags and VTOL jets blasting from its hooves), TB3…

TB3's number was hidden behind some stars.

TB4, he noticed, was wearing a swimming mask and snorkel, TB5 had a radio headset, while TB6 sported yellow aviator goggles and two sets of wings. The sleigh, when he checked, was shocking pink with three rockets along each side. "Love your artwork, Virg."

"Thanks."

Whatever was sealed inside the front section was protected even more than the rest of the goodies, and John was almost in a fever of expectation when the last of the packaging fell free. "Lenses!" Almost disbelieving, he fumbled with the wrapping. "Telescope lenses!"

"They should be replacements for your damaged ones," Jeff explained. "Hopefully you've got everything there you'll need to bring it back to working order."

Delighted with this gift most of all, John could only look into the video camera and offer a heartfelt "thank you."

"Now, before you start reassembling that, you'd better get those provisions stored away," his father ordered. "Brains has been working on that rocket since Doomsday. He's made it tough enough so it could survive the launch as well as the journey, and we don't want the food spoiling after all his hard work."

"No, Sir," John agreed. "Thank you, Brains. Thank you, everyone."

Jeff grinned. "We'll talk to you later, Son."

"Yes, Sir."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Sunday, December 24th 2079 – Christmas Eve – 11:48pm

John Tracy had only just fallen asleep. It was painstaking work reassembling his telescope and he'd spent a large part of the last two days concentrating on it without much thought for anything else. It gave him something practical to do that took his mind off his worries and had the added bonus that Tin-Tin, knowing that he needed the telescope to see Thunderbird Three, had stopped pestering him for news about Alan.

He'd fallen into bed ten minutes earlier, hopeful that tomorrow he'd finally get the chance to see the universe beyond Mars' orbit. Tomorrow he'd be able to start that "visual analysis" that everyone hoped would bring some closure as to what had happened to Thunderbird Three.

"Calling International Rescue."

John mumbled to himself in his sleep, turned, and nuzzled into his pillow.

"Calling International Rescue."

John turned again and slid his arm over his ear to block out that aggravating voice.

"Calling International Rescue."

With a snort of confusion, John sat up. He was dreaming, wasn't he? No one should be calling International Rescue.

"Calling International Rescue. This is Martian Base Three calling International Rescue."

A Martian base? What did they want with him? If they needed some kind of rescue then they were out of luck. International Rescue had no way of rescuing anyone on Mars. They had no way of rescuing him from Thunderbird Five!

John rolled out of bed, stumbled into his slippers, dragged a dressing gown around him and scuffed his way into the main control room. Bypassing the reassembled rocket with its Santa Claus scene, absurd Christmas tree tail, and the small collection of gifts around the tree's base, he picked up the radio. "This is Thunderbird Five of International Rescue. I'm receiving you Martian Base Three. What's your" problem "emergency?"

"Oh… Um… International Rescue? We, er, don't have an emergency."

It's the middle of the night. Why are you bothering me if it's not an emergency?

"We, erm…"

Get on with it!

"We think we may have intercepted a message that was meant for you."

John frowned and told his brain to wake up. "A message?"

"We were doing routine observations when we observed a pattern of lights. At first we thought it was solar flares or some kind of astronomical phenomenon, but then we realised that it was too regular and too repetitive. The Earth's practically on the other side of the sun from us, so we knew if wasn't coming from home. Some of us then thought that it might be extra-terrestrial life trying to make contact using some kind of code…"

John's frown deepened, unable to see where International Rescue fitted into all of this.

"It was only just before the end of the Martian day, when we lost contact with it, that we realised that it was a pattern of dots and dashes."

"Dots and dashes?" John echoed. "You mean something like Morse code? But that's been obsolete for decades."

"We know. That's why no one here recognised it. Our first thought was that these extra-terrestrials believed it would be something universally known and were using it to talk to us."

John was beginning to wonder if Mars was already into the Christmas eggnog with all this talk of extra-terrestrial life trying to communicate with a centuries' old code.

"We managed to record two sequences before we finally lost a visual," Mars admitted. "Then," the astronaut gave an embarrassed chuckle, "we had to delve into our online encyclopaedias to try and find the Morse alphabet. We spent the next three hours trying to decode it. We were reading it as B-I-R-T-B-3-F-A and were wondering if perhaps birtbefa was some kind of intergalactic birthday greeting. After all it is Christmas and ET may have assumed that everyone on Earth celebrated the birth of Jesus."

John was curious about Mars' willingness to accept that "ET" might be trying to contact Earth. Years ago, as an astronomer, he'd heard rumours… unsubstantiated rumours… And then there were those incidents that International Rescue had been called out to in its final years… Major disasters that seemed to have occurred for little or no reason…

"Then someone," Mars continued, obviously aware that he was sounding a little foolish, "who must have been more awake than the rest of us, realised that the message had been sent from some point between us and Jupiter."

John's mouth went dry. "What…?"

"Naturally that got us thinking about International Rescue. So we put the I-R first, which left us with T-B-3-F-A-B. Thunderbird Three's the name of your spaceship, right?"

John was trying to get his mind and his mouth working. "Ah… Yes."

"We're assuming that it was Thunderbird Three that saved us all from the asteroid."

Not trusting that his befuddled brain wouldn't let anything secret slip, John responded with a monosyllabic "Yes."

"We read somewhere that your affirmation code was F-A-B?"

"That… That's correct."

"So our guess was that Thunderbird Three's crew were using a laser beam to tell International Rescue that they're okay. We thought we'd better call in case you didn't know."

"We… We didn't know." John pulled himself together. "We hadn't heard anything about Thunderbird Three since her rendezvous with the asteroid. We thought that something must have happened to her and… and her crew. We've been imagining the worst…" He smiled, and those at Martian Base Three heard his smile transmitted along the airwaves. "You've just given International Rescue the best Christmas present we could hope for. Thank you."

"Hey, thank you! If it wasn't for you and your team we wouldn't have a home to return to… Do you want us to send a reply?"

John was astonished. "Can you do that?"

The unseen man laughed. "We think we've got a handle on this Morse thing now. Once the Martian day brings us back into line, we can programme a computer to direct laser light back the way your message came."

"Great." John thought quickly, mindful of the Martian base's limited expertise with Morse. "Can you send T-B-3-A-L-L-F-A-B?" He translated the characters into the required code.

"Thanks for that. I'd hate to tell Thunderbird Three that you'd fallen off the face of the Earth or something.

John laughed dutifully, but his mind was elsewhere. "Thank you for calling, you don't know what it means to us; but if you'll excuse me I've got to report to base."

"I understand. If we get a reply can we call you back?"

"Please do."

"Thanks. Merry Christmas, International Rescue."

"Merry Christmas."

John disconnected Mars and reached over to call home. Then he changed his mind. After all, he'd just received a message from an outsider calling International Rescue…

Grinning wildly he set the alarm off that would scream through the Tracy Villa, waking everyone up and, eight years ago, send them running for the lounge to see where in the world they were going to be despatched to save those who would otherwise be without hope. This time they'd all be running for the lounge to see why he'd chosen to wake them in this manner.

Then, recognising his father's restricted mobility, he got onto the direct line to Jeff's bedroom.

Jeff was sitting on the edge of his bed when he answered John's call. "What is it?" he asked, fumbling for his spectacles so he could check the time on his watch. "It's after midnight, John."

"Merry Christmas, Dad," John sang. "I've got great news. Wonderful news! Stupendous news! Out-of-this-world news!" He cackled a laugh at his wit.

Jeff stared at his son, wondering if some clandestine beverages had been slipped into Santa's rocket. If he didn't know better he would have thought that John was high. And not just in-geo-stationary orbit high. Maybe some euphoria-inducing gas had contaminated Thunderbird Five's air supply. "John…"

"You're not going to believe who we've had a message from!" John cheered, before detailing his conversation with Martian Base Three.

Despite the fact that he now felt wide awake, Jeff wasn't convinced that wasn't enjoying a pre-Christmas dream. "Are you sure?"

"The message came from the direction of Jupiter. It was in Morse, which no one uses nowadays, but Alan knows. And it was I-R T-B-3 F-A-B. Where else could it have come from?"

"Are you sure it's not some kind of a prank?"

"No way. The call definitely came from the Martian Base and you know those guys are professionals. Plus they're grateful to us for all we've done. There's no way they'd play a cruel joke like that."

Jeff still wasn't sure that he wasn't dreaming, but it had been so long since he'd seen any of his sons this happy that he wasn't about to extinguish John's joy. "You'd better go and tell everyone else. They'll all be in the lounge by now."

"Yes, Sir! Merry Christmas, Dad." And John's image was replaced by a painting of the Earth as viewed from the Moon.

Telling himself that it wasn't a dream and to feel a bit more excited about John's news, Jeff pulled his dressing gown on, slipped his feet into his slippers, grasped the handles of his walker and headed for the hall.

He fully expected that he was going to be the last person arriving in the lounge, but he was wrong. Tin-Tin, cuffing sleep from her eyes, wasn't rushing. Why should she when she wouldn't be considered for any rescue?

"Tin-Tin…" Jeff stretched out his hand to her. "We've heard from Alan."

"What?" She took his hand automatically as his words sank in. "Alan?"

Jeff felt his hand being squeezed, as if she was trying to come to grips with his news. "He sent a Morse Code message by laser beam. A Martian base saw it and reported to John. That's what he's going to…" There were cheers, whoops, and shouts of delight from the lounge. Jeff grinned. "That's he's just told everyone in the lounge."

"Is Alan all right?"

"His 'words' were: I-R TB3 F-A-B, so we're assuming he is."

The lounge door was flung open and, talking ninety-to-the dozen, their smiles as wide as Thunderbird Two, the rest of the family streamed out.

Scott spied his sister-in-law and swept Tin-Tin off her feet. "He's alive, Tin-Tin!" he cheered, spinning her about.

"Careful, Scott," Jeff admonished.

Scott didn't appear to hear his father as he dropped Tin-Tin back to her feet and kissed her. "Alan's alive!"

"It's a miracle." Virgil was slapping his father on the back. "A Christmas miracle!" He kissed Tin-Tin. "Come on!" he said, pulling on her hand. "We're all heading to the music room to celebrate!"

Gordon spun Tin-Tin away from his elder brother. "So bring your kazoo," he advised. He swooped her into a dip. "Leave a space on your card for me."

"Gordon," Jeff growled, as Tin-Tin was righted.

Brains, his eyes shining behind his spectacles, was already dancing despite the absence of music. "I'll be glad when he's home. I can't wait to hear how the rocket performed."

Giggling at the Tracy brothers' attentions, Tin-Tin barely had a chance to recover her breath before her father pulled her into an embrace. "Is it not good news?"

She returned the embrace. "Wonderful news, Father!"

"I shall prepare food to celebrate." Kyrano disappeared through a side door, and as he left they could still hear him exclaiming: "It is wonderful news. Wonderful news."

"I am feeling quite heady," Lady Penelope was admitting. "I daresay I shan't sleep again tonight. I am quite overcome by it all," and Jeff found himself with the unexpected pleasure of receiving a hug from her Ladyship.

"Me h-and h-all." Parker, awkwardly because of Lady Penelope's hug, was shaking Jeff's hand. "H-It's h-about time the young shaver showed 'imself."

"You must be so relieved." Lady Penelope released Jeff.

"You've no idea, Penny," he agreed. "You have no idea."

"Come on, everyone, grab your instruments," Virgil called. "Time to party!"

There were more whoops and a surge down the hall towards the music room.

"Alan's been hiding from us, hasn't he?"

"He always was the best at hide and seek."

"Remember the time that he hid up that tree and we didn't find him for hours…?"

The door at the end of the hall closed behind the excited babble, leaving Jeff and Tin-Tin alone.

She turned to her father-in-law, taking his hand again. "You believed that Alan was dead, didn't you?"

He nodded; that belief seeming so ridiculous now. "John found evidence that something the roughly the size of Thunderbird Three had crashed into Jupiter at the same time as Arnie. That, coupled with the fact that no one had seen any evidence of Three's return journey, led us to believe the worst. We had no evidence either way and that's why we didn't tell you. We knew we were going to have to soon, but we didn't want Christmas to be a permanent reminder of what you…" he swallowed, new emotions clashing with the old and all threatening to swamp him. "…of what we'd lost. We did what we thought was best. I'm sorry if you don't agree."

"Oh…" Tin-Tin threw her arms about his neck and hugged him. "Thank you."

At first Jeff thought she was trying to comfort him, but the next thing he knew, Tin-Tin was crying. He didn't know if they were tears of joy, or relief, or simply a release of all the fears and uncertainties she'd endured over the last few months. He didn't know and he didn't care. He just let her sob into his shoulder, feeling his own eyes well up at the depth of emotion that she was expressing coupled with the dispersal of his own concerns and a welling up of unbridled joy. "He's coming home, Tin-Tin. Alan's coming home!"

It was a full ten minutes before either of them felt composed enough to break away.

"I am sorry," Tin-Tin apologised, wiping her eyes on a handkerchief.

Jeff decided that the most manly way that he could discard the residue of his own emotions was on the sleeve of his dressing gown. "Come on," he managed a rueful grin. "We're missing the party."

The celebration was in full raucous swing when they arrived at the music room. Virgil had naturally claimed the piano, while Scott was already belting away at an electric guitar. Gordon was keeping a running beat on the drums and even Parker had picked up an acoustic guitar and was showing a fair amount of versatility. They played those instruments and more, they danced, they cheered, they (unfortunately for those with an ear for music) sang. And when the sun came up they wished each other a Merry Christmas and trotted back to the lounge to open the presents that resided under the tree.

From his portrait above them John beamed down on the happy tableau. For once, it didn't matter that he was stuck alone on Thunderbird Five on Christmas Day as he ripped open a parcel that proclaimed itself to be from his Dad. "Ah ha!" He waved the yellow silk pillowcase. "A new cravat!"

Jeff laughed. "There's another gift in there that you might want to save for later," he advised.

John knew the one his father was talking of, having already secreted it away to enjoy when he was alone. It was from Emma and when he'd seen it he'd been relieved that he'd taken advantage of his downtime post-Doomsday to arrange to send her a gift. Contacting a respected jeweller, they'd emailed suggestions and responses back and forth, allowing the craftsman to come up with something that wasn't too personal or obscenely expensive (although John would have happily spent a small fortune, or even a large one), but was worthy of a secretary who'd worked above and beyond the call of duty. Together he and the jeweller had settled on a cloisonné brooch in the shape of a castle, with a drawbridge that opened out to reveal a locket. The gift had been timed to arrive yesterday, along with the distinctly unromantic note: "Thank you for holding the fort".

Was it too much? John wondered. Or too little? Whose photo was destined to be concealed in the locket?

He pushed his musings to one side. Down on Tracy Island, something special was happening.

Virgil stretched and yawned; too tired after barely any sleep to do anything else, too keyed up to consider going back to bed. "I wonder if Alan's seen his Christmas holograms yet?"

"Which reminds me." Jeff reached into his desk and pulled out a small parcel. "Tin-Tin, this is a hologram from Alan… To look at later when you're alone."

"Saving the rest of us from its X-rated content," Gordon teased, and Tin-Tin swatted him with a cushion. She accepted the parcel from her father-in-law with thanks, her eyes turning to the second to last portrait on the wall.

"He got the idea once we started sending him visitations," John explained. "He asked if I could reverse the process and I did my best without the proper cameras. The quality won't be as good as he's receiving, but that's not what matters. What's important is his message to you."

Tin-Tin blushed. "Thank you, John."

"He got me to help him record one for us all, so, as it's the only room with projectors, I've got it set up to play in the theatre."

"We'll be there in a moment." Jeff nodded in his eldest's direction. "Scott? Would you?"

Scott grinned and then disappeared behind one of the oriental screens, re-emerging holding a large, festively wrapped parcel. "Alan wanted you to have this today, Tin-Tin."

Tin-Tin, looking almost overcome, thanked him.

Jeff stood. "Perhaps we'd all better head down to the theatre now. Tin-Tin, you can join us when you're ready."

Tin-Tin, about to agree with his suggestion, let out an exclamation. "The baby's kicking! Father! Can you feel it?" Before he could protest she had placed her father's hand on her belly. "Can you feel it?" she repeated.

At first Kyrano seemed embarrassed at being forced to touch skin that appeared to be only protected by a single layer of thin cotton. His ingrained belief was that any touching of a person of the opposite sex, even if it was the person of his daughter, should be restricted. He permitted her the touching of hands, arms, and, in moments of private necessity, the face, but aside from that nothing more except the occasional embrace of love or condolence. And here he was being forced to submit to contact more intimate and more public than he would have ever contemplated enduring. Then, when he felt the first pushes against his hand, his eyes widened in wonder; followed by a beaming smile that threatened to split his face into two and that he never really lost for the rest of the day. "I feel it."

"You too," Tin-Tin caught Jeff's hand.

"Tin-Tin, I don't think that I sh…" Jeff's protest melted away and he allowed his own smile to envelope his face as he felt the tiny kicks. "I think you've got a future soccer striker in there!"

Tin-Tin giggled at the description before she sighed. "I wish Alan was here to feel his child move."

Jeff put his arm about her shoulders and kissed her on the temple. "Soon, Tin-Tin, soon," he promised. "Alan is coming home."

To be continued…

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

-I-R-

I hope you all enjoyed sharing Christmas with the Tracys.

Merry Christmas, Everyone.

Purupuss