Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.
"What is that projecting onto?" Scott jumped, looking up at the cliff above him. Other-Scott was perched there, regarding his comm unit curiously. "Brains was right; your technology really is nothing like ours."
"Not that it's doing me any good here," Scott groused, swiping through the symbol to extinguish it. "Stupid thing can't even connect to your Thunderbird Five."
"You want to talk to John?" Other-Scott sounded surprised, but dropped off the ledge to join him in the hollow.
"My John," Scott corrected, letting his arm drop to his side. "But I thought my gear would at least link into your network."
"Network?" Other-Scott asked. "We have a network of agents that work for us, but what do you mean about your gear linking into that?"
Scott gaped at him.
"Not that sort of network," he said. "The communications one." Other-Scott still looked blank, and Scott facepalmed. "You don't have one. Of course, different technology. Really different technology."
Other-Scott frowned at him thoughtfully, before unbuckling his watch and offering it. It was Scott's turn to look blank.
"It won't reach another universe," Other-Scott said, apologetically. "But if you need to talk to our Thunderbird Five, this will work." Scott took it carefully, turning it over in his hands. It looked like a normal, antique watch, but having seen Other-Brains' watch transform into a video link, Scott knew there had to be more to it than that.
"How does it work?" he asked after a moment, eyeing the various buttons on the side. Other-Scott held out his hand for it back and Scott obliged.
"It's set to Thunderbird Five's frequency," he started, "but it can be changed to any other communicator, Thunderbird, Pod vehicle, Mobile Control or Base by adjusting the frequency with this dial." He twisted the one on the furthest left, and the clock face vanished, to be replaced with a string of numbers. A burst of static erupted from it. "Or you can tune into a radio station, but Dad doesn't like us doing that." He turned the knob back to where it was, and the numbers flashed in time with a dial tone. A quick press of the furthest right knob and it stopped, restoring the watch face. "That starts and stops transmission," he explained. "The middle dial controls the time; after all, it is also a functioning watch." He handed it back and Scott looked it over again, lightly tapping the three knobs thoughtfully. "You can borrow it if you want, but it does have a location transmitter installed, which Dad can access whenever he wants."
Scott was grateful for the warning. He had no intention of dealing with Not-Dad again any time soon, well aware that it would be explosive. Still, a communicator, even if it couldn't connect to where he really wanted it to, was an offering he couldn't bring himself to decline.
A light on the face started to flash lilac, and Other-Scott winced.
"Whoops," he muttered, taking the watch back out of Scott's hand. "John must have noticed that I contacted Thunderbird Five," he explained. "Lilac means John," he continued. "Yellow is Virgil, white is Alan, orange is Gordon, brown is Brains and gold is Dad."
Scott sighed. "You couldn't at least use the same colours?" he muttered. Other-Scott shot him a questioning look even as he answered his brother's call.
"Hi, Scott," the blond man greeted. "You called?"
"Just showing Scott our communicators," Other-Scott explained. "His doesn't work here; the technology must be too different."
"It looked it, from what Brains showed me," Other-John agreed. "Is he still with you?"
"I'm here," Scott said, cutting off whatever Other-Scott was about to say. He leaned in. "Any sign of them?"
"Oh, hi there," Other-John said. "No, none of my new parameters have caught anything. I'll keep an ear out, but it's seeming more and more likely that you're the only one to have fallen through." Some of the tension seemed out of Scott's shoulders.
"I hope so," he agreed, settling back in the hollow again. "What can you tell me about this multiverse theory?" Other-Scott passed the watch back to him.
"I'll go keep the other fellas away," he interjected before Other-John could start talking. "Talk to you later, John."
"Bye, Scott," Other-John acknowledged, before turning his attention back to Scott as Other-Scott slipped away. "Well, Scott, the easiest way to describe it is to imagine a big glass box full of water. Inside the box of water, there are some objects floating around. Most of the time they don't touch, but occasionally you get a collision between two of them. What actually happens during those collisions is unknown; until you appeared, there's been no proof to support the theory at all. Not," he added hurriedly, "that Brains or I have any intention of revealing your existence. We'd rather see you get home than be reduced to a lab rat."
"I appreciate that," Scott said dryly. "Except I'm going to have to play the part of one for you and your Brains anyway."
"Well, that's true," Other-John admitted. "The chances of an identical collision reversing the effects naturally is astronomically slim, so getting you home will require us to somehow force a similar situation. However, we'll be sure to remain humane and focused on returning you home before any other research."
Scott chuckled. "If your Brains is anything like mine, he'll be doing it simultaneously. As long as it gets me home, I don't care."
Other-John let slip a small smile of his own before frowning. "You realise that this is an entirely new division of research. It very well might be years." Scott was trying not to think about that too hard.
"In that case, what are we waiting for?" he asked, clambering to his feet to find Other-Brains.
"Brains has already started," Other-John informed him. "He's gathering what data he can find from where you were found in Thunderbird One's hangar, and the anomaly in your DNA from the sample he already took. I suspect you don't want to hear this, but interrupting him will only slow him down. He'll find you when he needs you."
Their voices were different, but Scott could easily imagine John – his John – saying much the same thing.
"You really are like him," he said, sitting back down. Privately he was relieved he didn't need to go back to the villa; after his outburst in Thunderbird One's hangar, he was determined to avoid the family for as long as possible.
"Like who?" Other-John asked, even though the fact that he knew exactly who Scott was talking about was written all over his face. Scott told him as much.
"You know," he accused.
"I'm as much like him as you are like Scott," Other-John pointed out. "As the two of you are twins in personality just as much as appearance, barring the effects from different life events, it follows that the same would be true for myself and your John."
Different life events. It was the closest either Other-Scott or Other-John had come to acknowledging his outburst.
"You haven't asked about it," he observed. Other-John shrugged.
"Would you tell me if I did?"
"No," was Scott's immediate reaction, although there was a part of him that wondered if he would, if the right questions were asked. No, better not to go there. He'd ripped the wound far enough open already; there was no need to worsen it further.
"I do try not to waste my breath," Other-John responded. "I meant it when I said you're just like my Scott."
Scott thought back to the hangar, and Other-Scott's reaction to Not-Dad's anger.
"Am I?" he asked. He couldn't imagine ever being contrite like that.
"You attacked each other because you thought the other was a threat to your brothers," Other-John pointed out. "Whatever you've both been through, your priorities are the same. Or are you going to tell me I'm wrong?" Scott met his eyes steadily.
"You know the answer to that."
"Sometimes it's nice to hear someone admit I'm right," Other-John shrugged with a grin, before he turned away suddenly. "International Rescue here. What's the problem?"
He didn't cut the connection, and Scott didn't either, listening to a garbled panic in the background, which Other-John responded to with calm, measured words for a few moments before turning back to Scott. Before Scott could ask, instincts screaming for him to get to Thunderbird One and launch, the blond man pressed a finger to his lips.
"There's a distress call from a power plant, Father," he said after a moment, finger back down out of sight. He must have connected to the villa to relay the information, without breaking Scott's own line. "Temperature is rising fast and the blast doors have slammed shut, trapping two workers inside. Local services won't be able to get them out in time."
Scott couldn't hear whatever Not-Dad had to say in return. Whether that was intentional on Other-John's part or a happy accident he wasn't quite sure – if it was his John he'd know it was intentional, but he didn't know what this universe's technology was capable of, although he supposed if anyone could bring the most out of it, it would be John's counterpart – but he was glad. He couldn't quite reconcile the man against his memories of his own father, and it was bringing up too many unwelcome thoughts that he didn't care for.
"Thunderbird One's about to launch," Other-John said after a period of silence. Scott peered around the rock to take a better look at the villa below, and was unsurprised to see the swimming pool retracting. It was weird to actually witness it for once – no-one else ever piloted One if he had any say in the matter, and he didn't recall the last time he'd seen the launch process. A roar of engines – similar but not the same as his own 'bird's cry – and the sleek shape of International Rescue's first response craft soared into the sky. It was a breath-taking sight, even though he was mentally cataloguing all the subtle differences in the moment he had before she was gone, smashing through the sound barrier effortlessly.
It was a whole different way to appreciate her speed.
"What's her top speed?" he asked. Other-John made a curious noise.
"What do you think?" he asked, and Scott sighed, pulling his eyes away from where she'd last been visible to look back at the blond man, whose attempt at fishing for information on his own Thunderbird was far from subtle.
"Mach 19," he said. "Officially."
"And unofficially?" Other-John probed. Scott shrugged.
"Never pushed her to see," he admitted. The airspeed record was his Dad's, and he had no intention of breaking it. If there was any craft that could, surpassing the TV-21, it would be Thunderbird One, but he didn't want to. It was a piece of his father he couldn't bring himself to overwrite. "Mach 20."
"Mach 19.6," Other-John said. "Thunderbird Two's preparing to launch. Virgil and Alan are taking Pod Three with the DOMO and Mole."
"Alan?" Scott couldn't hold back his surprise. "Not Gordon? And Pod Three? Domo? Mole?" One sentence on a subject he should know better than the back of his hand – did know better, back at home – told him that while Thunderbird One appeared largely the same, there were clearly fundamental differences in their main gear.
"You'd have chosen Gordon instead?" Other-John asked. He was probing for more information because of course he was. Any John would be a sponge for information, leeching it from whatever sources he could.
"Of course," Scott replied, giving him the information because if there was one person in this universe that needed to know, it was the monitor on board Thunderbird Five, listening out for signs of his brothers. "Alan's just a kid. Gordon's more experienced and doesn't have homework to do."
"So your Gordon… is up for it?" Other-John asked, fishing around further. "And Alan – homework?"
"Why wouldn't he-" Scott cut himself off as a deeper rumble presumably signalled the other Thunderbird's take-off, out of sight. "You don't have hydrofoils here, do you?" he asked suspiciously. Other-John's face fell.
"I was hoping there were more differences in life experiences," he admitted. "Gordon's back will never heal properly. Dad only sends him if Thunderbird Four is needed, or all hands are."
"And he hasn't driven him mad?" Scott asked, disbelieving. "Gordon would murder me slowly and creatively if I kept him grounded like that." Not-Dad's temper and fury at being addressed as an equal rather than a superior came back to him and he frowned.
"If you kept him grounded like that?" Other-John's fishing couldn't get any more blatant, and Scott glared at him.
"Stop asking questions you know the answer to," he snapped. Other-John held his hands up in mock-surrender. An object on a cord was in one of his hands, Scott noticed. It looked like an ancient microphone.
"I don't know the answer," he defended himself. "I have suppositions and ideas, but not answers. I can't actually read minds, you know." Scott slumped back into his hollow and rubbed a hand over his face again.
"Yes, my Dad is gone. Yes, that means I'm in charge of International Rescue. Yes, that means I'm CEO of Tracy Industries," he bit out. "And yes, that means I'm the legal guardian of my fifteen year old kid brother who should be worrying about school and not launching a damn rocket into space several times a week!"
The watch was silent. Scott adamantly refused to look at it, to see what face Other-John was wearing – or if he'd hung up.
"No wonder you clashed with Dad." Evidently Other-John hadn't done the latter. "Scott's just arriving at the danger zone, so Dad should be in the office at the moment. Normally I'd say Gordon would be with him, but I know you've got him curious. Scott grabbed his spare watch, and I don't think Dad's realised yet, but Gordon's crafty enough to notice that sort of thing."
"You think he's looking for me?" he asked, reluctantly looking back at the watch. Other-John shrugged.
"Unlikely," he said. "He knows better than to chase Scott when he's in a mood. More likely, he's lying in wait for when you decide to return." Scott groaned. Other-Gordon had been the quietest so far, and a quiet Gordon meant warning signs. Amber eyes had been watching him, though, scrutinising him perhaps the most closely of all the Other-Tracys, and part of Scott had been waiting for it to come to a head. Apparently that time was now.
"My John knows how to keep his mouth shut," he said. Other-John chuckled.
"I do, too," he promised. "They won't hear anything from me unless they have to."
"They won't have to," Scott growled, looking down at the watch as he tapped at his own communicator uselessly. The red no signal symbol greeted him and he swiped it away angrily. "Does this thing have map capabilities?" he asked. "The entrances to One and Two are the same, but the house itself is nothing like home."
"Not Three?" Other-John sounded surprised. "Odd that not all of them are the same."
"Odd that your Four doesn't even have her own entrance," Scott retorted, although now he knew more about Other-Gordon – or specifically, that they were treating him like he was made of glass – he could see why. What sort of family dynamic they had that Other-Gordon hadn't driven them all totally insane in revenge was one he wasn't too fond of contemplating.
"Thunderbird Four lives in Pod Four," Other-John said, sounding slightly confused. "Why does she need her own entrance?"
Pod Four? And earlier, Other-John had said Pod Three was carrying a Domo and a Mole.
"You call Thunderbird Two's modules pods," he realised. Other-John blinked at him.
"Say," he said, curiously. Scott sensed another not so subtle probing on the way. "You heard the briefing I gave Father. What would you have done? If you were with your own technology, I mean?"
"Thunderbird One and Two," he said, not even having to think about it. "Gordon with Virgil, taking Module Two. Keep up to date information through Thunderbird Five and assess the situation upon arrival. Configure the PODs as required once Two arrives and get those people out. Get John on finding out how it happened and who was responsible." Kayo, Lady Penelope and Parker, too.
"You think it's sabotage?" Other-John asked, surprised. Scott shook his head.
"Accidents are usually caused by cutting corners," he said, jaw locking. "Imbeciles who can't observe safety regulations are a danger to everyone."
"You'd shut them down?" Other-John sounded astonished. "Your International Rescue has that sort of authority?" Scott scoffed.
"Don't be ridiculous," he said. "We don't have that authority and we don't want it. There's enough paperwork already." Urgh, the paperwork. Who would be doing that while he was gone, or would it just be piling up in neglect? "We just give tip offs to the GDF and they handle it."
"The GDF?" Other-John queried. Scott decided to secure the watch to his wrist before he dropped it.
"Is nothing the same here?" he groused. "Global Defence Force. The World Government's military organisation."
"International Rescue exists," Other-John reminded him, and he sighed.
"No good to me when your tech is basically alien," he pointed out, adopting Alan's – and apparently Other-Alan's - default. "This watch is analogue."
"Analogue?" Other-John asked, frowning. Scott stared at him.
"Round dial of numbers?" he explained hesitantly.
"Well, yes. What else would it be?" Other-John queried, as though the idea of any other type of watch was bizarre.
"Digital?" Scott offered. Other-John's face went blank, again, and he buried his face in his hands. "You're kidding."
"You have a name for ours, so it's not entirely… alien," Other-John pointed out, clearly as enamoured with the idea of aliens as his John.
"It's ancient, is what it is," he grumbled. "We stopped using analogue clocks half a century ago. I don't even know how to read the things!" Virgil did, and John of course devoured anything related to communications, but Scott himself had never paid attention when Grandma had tried to show him on her own grandfather's ancient watch; he'd been busy with other things, like raising four younger brothers.
"Half a century?" Other-John asked. "Is your tech different because it's futuristic?" Scott shook his head.
"I don't think so." He tapped at the watch absent-mindedly. "I'm trained in a lot of old tech, because not everywhere is at the forefront of technology, but I've never seen anything like this stuff."
"We'll just have to train you up, then," Other-John said. "The fellas won't mind."
Scott could think of one man who seemed like he would.
"You never said if you could show me a map of the place," he said instead. "I need some shoes." The island was tropical, but that didn't stop the dirt congealing on the soles of his feet from feeling decidedly uncomfortable.
"You're planning on raiding Scott's?" Other-John sounded amused. Scott thought he might be. John would have been.
"Some other clothes, too," he admitted, and Other-John laughed.
"I don't have a map that labels the rooms," he said. "But here-" His face disappeared and was replaced with a very basic, black and white map of the villa. In the small watch face, it looked very cramped. In one of the rooms, a blue light started flashing. "That's Scott's room." Scott squinted at it.
"Can't you make it bigger?" he complained.
"Not if you want to see how to get there," Other-John told him and he groaned.
"You don't have zoom and scroll?"
"Not on the watches." Scott was starting to feel lucky that was even an option on any device. Maybe this stuff wasn't out of his history lessons, but it felt far behind the technology he was used to. He poked at his own communicator again, and snarled at it when it merrily presented him with the red no signal declaration again.
"You okay?" Other-John asked. His face was still hidden by the map, but he sounded concerned.
"Fine," he growled. "Stupid thing."
"If you say so." Scott got the feeling he didn't believe him.
Well, for the moment he had a plan. Get back to the infirmary, navigate his way through the villa to Other-Scott's room, and find something that wasn't pyjamas to wear.
"Keep me updated," he ordered, and got an acknowledging F.A.B before the line cut. At least, he assumed it had. He didn't know the technology well enough to confirm it, but it didn't matter either way. Letting his wrist fall, he pushed himself to his feet and began the climb back down to the villa.
Now we've started to really play with one of my favourite things about writing this fic: the differences! I'm far too interested in things like this, and for the sake of the story (aka torturing Scott) I will be emphasising and exaggerating as many differences as I can between the two canons, whether they be in relationships, technology or society, because quite frankly I love this sandbox. As my sister told me when I gushed about this fic to her, my inner scientist and academic has taken to this with glee a la "compare and contrast the differences in [xyz] between TOS and TAG". There will be a lot of this to come.
Thanks for reading!
Tsari