'Thunderbirds' belongs to Gerry Anderson, Carlton Entertainment and possibly other people as well. I do not claim that any of the characters or other related materials are mine. Don't archive this story anywhere without my permission. Keep you flames to yourself.
Note: When I wrote the story waaaaay back in 2002, the reference I used for John's birthday was the 1992 Thunderbirds Annual, which states that he was born on October 28th. Thus, the date featured in this story is this, rather than the 8th.
Scott woke to the sound of his alarm clock beeping its monotonous tune merrily. He reached across to hit the off button, sat up and stretched. The sunlight was streaming through the small slit between the pale curtains hanging in the window. He arched his back, hearing the dull click in the bones, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He got up and drew the curtains, the light flooding into the room, bathing everything in gold.
It was a glorious day. There were seldom any clouds in the sky over Tracy Island, and today was no exception. The 7.30am sky was a beautiful shade of blue, pale and clear. The yellow orb of the sun was slowly tracking its way up from the horizon. Scott sighed softly. The day was starting out well.
A ship slunk silently in the massive void of space. It was cloaked, invisible to the naked eye. A large black figure sat in a large black throne. Its sharp teeth shone yellow in the dim light of The Bridge, the control centre of the ship.
As it stood up, the figure's long dark robes flowed and billowed around it, floating a little in the low gravity. The complete silence of The Bridge was suddenly shattered.
"Scan for life signs orbiting the planet!" The figure said, its voice echoing off the dark, cold metallic walls.
"Aye Master." Came the immediate reply.
Another black figure's long clawed hands flew over a control panel, swiftly carrying out the scan. The Master ran his clawed hand across his scaly face in impatience.
"Three life signs detected; two descending towards the planet's surface." The second figure turned around, but did not dare meet the Master's eyes. "We will not be able to reach them in time."
The Master nodded.
"And the other, Lishet?" He asked the figure.
"In geosyncranous orbit above one of the continents in the Northern Hemisphere." Lishet replied obediently.
"Harvest it."
The order was delivered in a cold tone, one that chilled Lishet to his bones.
"Aye Master."
He scurried off the Bridge to comply with the Master's order. The Master spun around and sat back down in his throne with cat-like grace, a malicious snarl curling at his lips.
Scott finished up washing his breakfast dishes and dried his hands on the towel. He chuckled slightly when he saw which towel it was. Gordon had bought it a few years ago on a tour to Ireland. On it was a cartoon picture of a donkey, with the phrase "Kiss My Ass" written above it in colourful letters. Scott shook his head and draped the soft material across the back of one of the dining chairs.
The early morning was Scott's favourite time of day. There were no distractions, just peaceful silence. Paradise. He walked into the lounge, glancing at the portraits of himself and his brothers hanging on the walls, the colours sharp and bold in the crisp morning light. He found his gaze lingering on the portrait furthest to the left, John's. His brother was currently up in space in geosyncranous orbit above them. Alone. Scott contemplated radioing his brother; just to see how he was doing, but decided against it for two reasons. One, his father didn't like them using the International Rescue frequencies for non-rescue business, and two, John had never been a morning person. Waking him up usually meant Death by Pillow Fight, although it would be difficult to carry one out in the circumstances.
Scott wandered out onto the balcony, leaning lightly against the cool metal railings. He could see down onto the pool area, where the slight breeze was rippling the surface of the clear water slightly. The palm trees bent lazily, and Scott could hear small waves lapping up against the rocks further down below. The peace was disturbed buy the low hum of a jet engine circling overhead. Scott looked up, shielding his eyes from the glare of the morning sun. It was the mail plane. The small jet gracefully circled the island a few more times, before swooping out and landing almost soundlessly on the warm tarmac runway. The Mailman hopped out and deposited the rather large sack of mail into the rather large mailbox beside the runway. He hopped back into the plane, and was off, flying out in the general direction of Moratoa Island. Scott sighed. 'I'd better go get that then.' He thought.
Lishet worked quickly and silently to prepare the Shuttle. The Master was not a patient man, and Lishet knew he would be calling to ask why the Shuttle was not already on its way to capture the prey. Lishet's long, dark blue scaled hands were once again flying over the control panels, trying to get his work done as soon as possible. 'The Master does not understand that it takes time for me to do my work.' Lishet thought sadly. 'The Master must learn patience. It is unfortunate our ship's teleporter is malfunctioning. This would be a lot easier to do if it were not. Fortunately, it will be fixed in a matter of hours.'
Just as expected, Lishet's communicator sounded.
/Are you not yet done Lishet/ The Master's voice rang out clearly in the silent air of the Shuttle.
"I am near the finish, Master. A few more minutes."
/You have five, and then you will either be sent out prepared, or will die./
The Master cut the communicator, and Lishet sighed, rubbing his scaled, hairless blue scalp with his scaled, clawed blue hand.
"The Master must learn patience."
Scott had decided to relocate himself to the gym once his brothers started to emerge from their pits. He was near the end of running his daily mile on the treadmill when Virgil wandered in, clad similarly to Scott in loose shorts and T-shirt. Scott nodded over, to show he wasn't ignoring Virgil, but didn't say anything for fear of loosing his breathing rhythm. Virgil headed towards the sit up bench, stretching as he went. A few quiet minutes passed, only the soft pat, pat, pat of Scott's feet landing on the treadmill floated through the air. Scott slowed down his pace considerably, to a brisk walk, as he watched the 1-mile mark pass.
"Enjoy your run?" Virgil asked, mid-sit up.
"Wasn't bad." Scott said, still trying to get his breathing rate back to normal.
Virgil curled his body into another sit up, grinning like a Cheshire cat
"What are you grinning about? You look like an escaped mental patient." Scott said dryly, but with a smile tugging at his lips.
"What's today's date?" Virgil asked.
"October 31st, why?" Scott asked.
Virgil frowned at him, and twisted his lips to one side.
"Pumpkins, witches, magic, Zombies. See where I'm going?" He said, smiling again as Scott's face lit up in realisation.
"Halloween! Of course!" Scott said, smacking his forehead lightly with the heel of his hand.
Virgil curled into another sit up, nodding his head.
"Yeah, Grandma's Pumpkin Pie! Remember when she made it for us when we were kids?" He asked, already seeing the wistful look clouding Scott's dark blue eyes. "I remember. Halloween was great back then. Dressing up and going Trick- or-Treating."
Virgil nodded.
"Plus we get two parties in one week: one for Halloween and then one for John's birthday. It's a surprise, he has no idea!"
"Jeez Virg, sometimes you sound just like a big kid." Scott said, before the two started laughing together, from memories of old Halloween costumes and parties. Lishet piloted the shuttle slowly towards the satellite in geosyncranous orbit. He wondered why there was only one person aboard such a large satellite. 'It must be very lonely.' He thought, 'I cannot begin to imagine what it must be like.'
He swung the shuttle around, sure of it's still unknown presence, as it was cloaked just like the mothership. He saw that it bore the insignia '5', and had an odd symbol of a hand over what was presumably represented the green and blue planet it orbited. Lishet was slightly confused by the large white 5, as he had not picked up any satellites anywhere near the same design in orbit.
Lishet frowned when he saw what he thought was the docking interface.
"I could fly 3 of these shuttles in and there would still be room left over!" He said, his small purplish-blue eyes wide and surprised. "I suppose I will just have to use the teleporter. Although I do not know how this species will react to the molecule scrambling. It would not do to bring a dead specimen back to the Master."
Lishet programmed the small silver shuttle to orbit directly behind the satellite, and got up. He pressed a small button on the right side of his chest, and he shimmered out of sight.
Grandma Tracy was puttering about happily in the generously spacious kitchen, flitting from oven to windowsill checking on both cooking and cooling Pumpkin Pie. She had already had to chase her grandsons away, all drawn towards the mouth-watering smell of the pies. She was saddened by the absence of one grandson, a slight frown pulling the corner of her mouth down. John had always liked Halloween, but now he was going to miss it. 'All in the line of duty.' He had said to her nearly a month ago.
"I wonder what he's doing now." She said quietly to herself.
A small 'ping' from the oven timer told her that the cooking pie was ready. She smiled, and pulled on her oven gloves.
John frowned as a loud beeping woke him from his peaceful slumber.
"Nine O' Clock already?" He asked himself, groggily pushing the clock off the bedside cabinet to silence it.
The clock hit the cool metal floor with a satisfying crash, stopping its beeping immediately. John sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his tired eyes. He had been up until after 3am trying to work out where all the odd transmissions Thunderbird 5 was picking up were coming from. They were very garbled and faint, and were spoken in some kind of strange code that neither he nor the translation matrix could make head or tail of. It sounded almost...alien.
He brought a hand up to his mouth to cover the yawn that escaped, and stretched his whole long body from the tips of his fingers to the ends of his toes.
His ears pricked up as he heard and unfamiliar sound, a soft twinkling, similar to the sound made by the deep wind chimes Tin-Tin kept in her room. He rubbed his face, still trying to clear the weariness from his brain and walked out of the cabin, his grey-blue eyes widening at what he saw.
"What the - "
He didn't get any further than that, as an energy beam shot towards him, hitting him square in the chest. His eyes rolled back and he hit the cold deck with a sickening thud, crumpling into a pile of bone and flesh.
Virgil strolled along one of the beaches of the island, the pale sand bathed in soft moonlight. The waves lapped gently against the shore, and the water rolled up the sloped sand slowly and gently. Beside him, Scott strolled too, seeming to absorb the midnight moonlight like a sponge.
Somewhere behind him, he heard someone doing a rather poor impression of a wolf howling. He recognised the following giggling as Tin-Tin, Alan and Gordon. He glanced over at Scott, who shook his head, a lock of his dark hair falling onto his forehead.
"Why does Halloween always have this effect on our family?" Scott asked, slightly rhetorically.
"Maybe we're all mad." Virgil said slightly absently, glancing up at the sky.
The sand felt cool under his bare feet, the texture familiar and welcome. The sky was a deep blue, almost black, dotted with tiny silver stars. Some were twinkling slightly, and on the clear night he could easily make out the binary systems so very many light years away. The landscape all around them was bathed in a soft white light, the shadows cast in a dark shade of blue, almost matching that of the sky.
"There she is." Scott said, pointing upwards. "Just to the left of that triangular constellation."
"Yeah. That's her alright."
"A great feat of engineering, Thunderbird 5."
"Happy Halloween John."
Scott saluted upwards towards the tiny silver dot, keeping its lonely vigil.
The light was incredibly dim, so dim that John could only make out silhouetted shapes, his visual colour palette reduced to white, grey and black. As consciousness returned to him, John began to feel pain again. His unconsciousness had been pleasantly numbing, and he had hoped that the whole incident was just a bad dream. The large burn on his chest told him it certainly was not a dream. The floor of the cell he had seemingly been deposited in was cold and metallic. He raised his head a little, and saw that the cell was completely bare. There wasn't even a spartan bunk.
He suddenly regretted lifting his head when the cell began to spin alarmingly rapidly. He moaned from the pain caused partly by the burn and partly from the tightness in his chest. The air was so awfully thin.
One of the silhouettes moved. John squinted his eyes to try to make out a face, but he couldn't see anything. It moved across the room outside towards a wall and pressed a button on it. 'Must be the guard.' John thought.
"Quenta eskarra lisserao Haema." It said.
/Fredasit! Gerattife quanta kecognerarra./
The reply sounded far away to John, presumably through a comm. system.
"Berrat." The silhouette said, releasing the button.
It stomped back across the room and came up to the metal bars that separated it from John.
"Freeda kecongenette Haema devtisha." It said in a gruff voice.
John dragged himself up to a sitting position, every part of his body aching. How long had he been lying on the cold floor? The guard reached in with a long, sharp tipped stick and poked it into the wound in John's chest. John bit his lip a muffled a scream of pain.
"What the hell did you do that for?" John said through gritted teeth, biting back the tears that pricked at his eyes.
"Freeda kecongenette Haema devtisha!" The guard repeated his sentence with more force than before.
He reached in with the stick to poke him again, but John scurried backwards until he hit the equally cold cell wall behind him.
"I don't understand what you're saying!" He said. His voice had lowered to a deep masculine growl.
He clutched his chest protectively, as if it would take away the searing pain. The external pain didn't make it any easier to catch his breath.
"Haema daa! Jesh na hae ro deiss ma." The guard said with increasing impatience.
John shakily rose to his feet, his hands pressed into the cold grey wall to steady himself. Now that the guard was closer, he could just about make out the face. Dark, scaly, and what bothered him most, large pointed fangs glinting yellow in the very dim light.
"I-do-not-understand-what-you-are-saying." He repeated, this time slower and with more force.
The guard turned from the cell, completely ignoring John's last statement. John slid back down the wall, breathing deeply, trying to get some oxygen. He glanced down and frowned when he saw the rather large scorch mark on his old Harvard Varsity Athletics T-shirt. It was so worn and faded that it had been resigned to sleep wear rather than everyday use.
His head shot up when he heard something swoosh. A second silhouette entered the room, and the guard bowing slightly.
"Haema." He said with reverence, his eyes carefully fixed on the floor in front of him.
John involuntarily swallowed as the new silhouette came up to the cell bars and signalled for him to come closer with one long, clawed, blue-scaled finger. What kind of nightmare was this?
Alan lazily flopped on the long sofa in the lounge, waiting for Scott to arrive. He ran his fingers through his fair hair, and then dropped his hand heavily on his chest. He usually hung around with Tin-Tin before he left for Thunderbird 5, but she was off to the mainland with Gordon to do some shopping, and although she had set out to buy a new outfit, with Gordon around she would most likely come back with a water pistol and half a ton of water balloons.
He shook his head slightly and chuckled. For once, he was glad to be going to be away for the month.
Scott walked in; looking relaxed and laid back.
"Ready Alan?" He asked as Alan sat up, allowing room for Scott to sit down beside him.
"Yup, ready Dad?" Alan replied, glancing across to Jeff's desk.
Jeff nodded and smiled slightly, the corners of his eyes crinkling, showing the many years of happiness he had below his belt.
"Yes Alan. See you in a month. Off you go boys."
He pressed a small button on his desk, and the couch began to lower into the floor, carrying the oldest and youngest of the Tracy brothers down with it.
John tugged in vain at the cold metal restraints that bound him to a cold metal table in a dark, sterile smelling room. Horrible thoughts flooded his mind, filling his head with images of torture and pain. Or worse. Death. He suddenly regretted watching all those horror flicks with Virgil over the years.
Ever since his large captors had literally dragged him from the cold metallic cell along a dizzying maze of equally cold metallic corridors to this cold sterile room, he had been left on his own, trapped with no hope of escape. His whole body trembled from the cold temperature of the rooms, and his difficulties in breathing rendered him helpless.
He had lain there for what seemed like hours, staring at the white ceiling of the room. His captors had placed a cold brace around his head, so it was impossible to turn it. Not that he would have been able to see anything much anyway, the lights were still dim.
All the events of the past day and a half flew through his mind. The mysterious transmissions that Thunderbird 5 had picked up seemed to have been in the alien's language. The Haema, the figure that had ordered him to come to the front of the cell seemed to be a leader or captain of some sort, judging by the reverence everyone else treated him with.
'Speak of the devil.' John thought as he heard the swoosh of the door opening and then saw the Haema's dark scaly face leaning over him.
"Genga crerat hamata'shea Human erra descranga." It said while running a clawed finger gently up John's left cheek.
John instinctively tried to flinch away from the unwanted touch, but the brace around his head prevented any such movement. The Haema's mouth twisted into what John presumed was the alien's version of a smile.
"Ssh, berra Evan-Gela Haema reat." It said in a soft voice.
An abrupt coughing sound came from behind and the Haema slowly withdrew its hand. There was a second alien in the room.
"Lishet, dis franko ye-to-chen." The Haema said in a harsher tone.
The Haema moved out of John's line of sight, replaced by an unfamiliar yet strikingly similar alien, with the same dark blue, hairless scales and clawed hands. The alien worked at something that was below John's line of sight. John hissed in pain, as something sharp was jammed into the bare skin of his right arm. There was another jab, and another and another. The second alien then held up something that made John's eyes widen: something disturbingly similar to a syringe. The alien then jammed it into his skin, becoming the fifth dot in a vertical line down his arm. The Haema appeared above him again, and slowly swept his clawed hand across John's forehead.
"Zentreth, Evan-Gela. Zentreth,"
Before the Haema had finished his sentence, John felt his eyelids begin to slide closed. 'What on earth did they inject me with?' was his last coherent thought, before he slid into an uneasy sleep.
Lishet frowned at the Master's gentle contact with the newest specimen. Normally, the Master had little to no actual contact with a specimen. He preferred to analyse and record the test results and side affects of their scientific experiments. Lishet's scaly brow furrowed in annoyance as the gentle contact continued.
"Master, remember the useful words you told me: Never become attached to a specimen.'" Lishet said, silently hoping the Master's reaction would not be too angry.
He was pleasantly surprised at the Master's reaction. Instead of lashing out and yelling, the Master smiled and turned around, a thoughtful look on his face.
"I know Lishet, thank you. But can you not see how unusual this specimen is? Look at the hair. I have never seen hair so bright. And his eyes are so full of emotion. It is hard not to be pleased by such a specimen."
Lishet's jaw dropped, and his purplish-blue eyes widened. He had never ever heard the Master speak of anyone that way, not even when they were growing up. The Master had been a protective older brother to Lishet, but as time moved on, they had become distanced.
"What do you think of the name I have given him Lishet? Flaxen-Haired. Does it suit?"
"It does Master. It does."
"I wonder. Do you think I could keep this specimen? I will be saddened to see him go."
"You know it is against our laws to keep a specimen. When you are done you must return him. It is the law Master."
"Yes, a pity. A pity."
The Master turned to the specimen once more, placed a fingertip on its pale lips that were trembling from the cold, then turned and walked out of the sterile testing room.
Thunderbird 3 gracefully turned its last turn and headed towards the large docking ring of Thunderbird 5. The sleek red body of the craft sped through the empty void of space, the light from the sun glinting off it. The craft slowed down, and the pointed nose slid easily into the docking interface.
The deep clunk of the magnetic seals sealing filled the ears of the two Tracy brothers. Alan gently pressed the door release, and the red metal door slid open soundlessly.
"See you in a month then Scott." He said smiling slightly.
"Yeah, see you in a month Alan."
Alan nodded, shouldered his bag and stepped over the threshold. He wandered up the boarding tube, not in any particular hurry. As he entered the main control room his brow furrowed in confusion. John was nowhere to be seen. His bag wasn't even sitting out.
"John?" He called out.
No answer. He tried again, a little louder.
"John? Yo, Johnny, where are you?"
Still nothing. He walked over to the cabin, but there was no one there.
"This is weird. Scott! C'mere!"
A few seconds later, Scott walked into the control room. Scott noted his younger sibling's frown and began to worry.
"What is it Alan?" He looked around. "Where's John?" He asked, a frown adorning his face.
"I don't know. He doesn't seem to be here."
"What do you mean? He can't not be here!" Scott said in frustration, not at his brother, but at the seeming lack of logic in the situation. "We didn't pick up the life pod signal, and I bet it's still docked. This doesn't make any sense."
Alan nodded. It really didn't make any sense.
The two wandered around the satellite for a few minutes, shouting at the top of their lungs for their missing brother. They met up again in the main control room, both looking confused and feeling worried.
"I'm gonna call Dad. This is too weird." Scott said, heading over to the monitor screen.
The Master sat in his high throne-like chair in the centre of the Bridge, his loyal crewman and brother sitting a few metres in front of him. The Master's claws drummed absently on the plush arms of the throne as his mind wandered back to the specimen.
Of all the specimens the Master had tested on, the Flaxen-Haired man was the most intriguing. He almost felt sorry for testing on him. Almost, but not quite.
"Master, a ship is docking with the satellite we took the specimen from. They will notice he is missing." Lishet said, not turning around from his station.
"Do not worry Lishet, they will not find us. We will return the specimen when we are finished." The Master replied.
He would still rather keep the Flaxen-Haired one, but it was against the law as Lishet had reminded him. He sighed inaudibly. Sometimes life was unfair.
"What do you mean he's not there?" Jeff said.
His voice sounded gruff and annoyed. He couldn't fathom what his eldest son was telling him. Scott kept a steady line of sight with his father through the screen and nodded.
"I'm telling you Father; he's just not here. Neither Alan or I can find him."
He saw his father shake his head, and watched his two other brothers glanced at each other, their brown eyes confused and unbelieving.
"But Scott, how can he not be there? Thunderbird 3 is the only way off Thunderbird 5, and she hasn't been in space for a month now." Virgil said, stating the facts out more for himself than anyone else.
"I'm completely baffled; I have no idea what's going on. There's no way John could have left, and yet he's not here." Scott said, running a hand through his dark chocolate coloured hair.
He could see the fear in Gordon's hazel eyes, their colour seemingly darkened by emotion. Scott had the sudden urge to hug Gordon and tell him everything would be all right, but it was impossible. At that exact moment, Virgil placed a warm arm around his auburn-haired brother's shoulders and said something Scott couldn't make out. Scott smiled inwardly. He could always remember his mother saying that it was as if he and Virgil shared a telepathic link. Maybe it wasn't completely untrue. Maybe on some level of consciousness, his brother could hear his thoughts.
"Keep looking Scott. He has to be on the station. He just has to be." Jeff said, his face set.
The world had taken on a frighteningly similar look to the 1970s, or at least the way John had read about the decade anyway. Everything was brightly coloured and distorted. Colours spun and swam around his head, spinning and spinning until he felt incredibly dizzy. His knees buckled underneath him and he hit the ground heavily. Instead of the cold metal he had expected to feel, he felt wood. Confused, he looked up. The colours were all gone, and it took a few minutes for him to realise just where he was.
The sterile room was gone, replaced by the disturbingly familiar scene of a sunny ranch. He turned a full 360 degrees, taking in the surrounding area. There were long fields of tall corn growing in long rows in a nearby field and the ground was dusty and brown. Something suddenly clicked inside his head when he turned to see the white wooden farmhouse behind him. He was standing on the porch of his childhood home!
He shook his head in disbelief. There was no way he could be back in Kansas again. He had moved away from Grandpa Grant's Farmstead at the end of the harvest just before his 4th birthday, just after his mother's death. He shielded his eyes from the blinding glare of the Kansas summer sun and gazed out over the fields. He could see people walking up and down the rows upon rows of corn. They all seemed familiar, yet unfamiliar at the same time.
He spun around as something rushed past his leg. He turned to see a blond head zoom past, closely followed by two darker, taller heads.
"Come back here Johnny!" They yelled. "We only want to play!"
"You always say that! But then you throw me into the pond! Nooooo! Mama, Mama!"
John found himself miming the words. The blond head was he, though much younger. He could remember the very day he was seeing now. Scott and Virgil were chasing him, and eventually did throw him into the duck pond.
"It's odd seeing yourself, isn't it?"
John's eyes widened as he realised whom the voice belonged to. Soft and feminine, kind and caring. He turned around slowly and gazed at the figure. Tall with soft liquid brown eyes, her fine brown hair pulled back into a bun at the back of her head. His grey-blue eyes widened in disbelief.
"Mom?"
Lishet found that he couldn't take his eyes from the young man bound to the examination table. He seemed to be in the throws of a very intense dream. Personally, Lishet couldn't see what the Master saw in the specimen. His skin was far too pale, and his eyes were nowhere near dark enough.
Yet the Master seemed to be verging on obsessed with the man.
Lishet had tapped into the comm. system of the satellite that specimen had come from. Two more of his species were on board, and were conversing with more of them on the surface of the planet. They were baffled by how their friend was missing. 'No, not just friend.' Lishet reminded himself, 'Brother and son.' They were very distressed by the whole affair, and Lishet couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy. He knew what it was like to find out a brother was missing, in more ways than one.
Lishet stood up immediately and stood to attention as the Master entered. He wore a smug smile of triumph, which immediately made Lishet suspicious.
"I have come to a conclusion Lishet." He announced, standing as tall as possible.
"About what Master?"
Lishet was very suspicious now.
"I cannot keep the specimen, so, as soon as the drugs trials are over, we will kill him. If I cannot have him then no one can."
The Master barked out laughter then strode out of the room. Lishet sank back down into his chair, his long legs giving out. 'Kill him? We cannot! It is not right! No, I cannot allow this to happen!' He stood up, nodded at the unconscious specimen, and then strode to an access terminal. All those years as a hacker would come in handy. He switched on his translator and set to work.
Scott worked on at one of the many control panels in Thunderbird 5's control room, trying in vain to find his brother's life sign. They were all still completely at a loss to what had happened to John, or where he had disappeared. Alan was across the room, doing the same thing as Scott. The tapping of the metallic keypads and the endless drone of faint voices were the only sounds that filled the room.
There was a nagging thought at the back of Scott's head that John had gotten sealed into one of the maintenance channels running between the decks. The air would have been used up quickly, so John would almost certainly already be...dead.
The pushed the thought away when it tried to invade the front of his mind and continued his task. He and Alan had scanned the entire satellite hundreds of times, and still there was no sign whatsoever of John Tracy.
He jumped when the Incoming Signal alarm sounded, then frowned at himself for being so jumpy. It would only be his father. He walked over and pressed the Connect button, but his eyes widened at what he saw.
"What are you?" He practically screamed.
Alan bounded over, alarmed at his older brother's yell.
"What on earth! Scott?" He said, his voice strained and scared.
"I am Lishet, a member of the K'tara, a species from a galaxy far away from your solar system."
Scott was dumbfounded. An alien?
"Your brother is being held here against his will. Normally a specimen would be returned when tests were completed, but the Haema has decided to terminate your brother's life." Lishet continued. "Normally I would feel no compassion for a lab-rat such as your brother, but since he is your family, I will help you."
Alan stared at the small screen. He took in the scaled, dark blue features and the purple-blue eyes. His mind had gone slightly numb. He was seeing an alien creature.
"He will be injured. I will contact you with more information soon."
The connection went dead. Scott looked at Alan. They sat in silence for a few seconds, before jumping into each other's arms.
"He's alive Scott! John's alive!" Alan almost screamed.
Scott drew Alan into a tight hug, but a stray thought lingered in his mind. 'Sure he's alive, but for how long?'
John gazed in amazement as the woman nodded and held out her arms. He ran into them, hugging her tightly, as if letting go of her would mean certain death.
"My how you've grown since I last met you John. You were so small back then, and now you're well over six feet!"
John drew back a little, and smiled as Lucille's long artistic fingers ghosted over his cheeks.
"Six foot one to be precise." He said, smiling.
Lucille drew out of the hug and walked to the porch swing. It creaked as she sat down, giving away its age despite the new paint. She laid her hands on her denim-clad pregnant belly and John sat down beside her.
"How..." John started, but couldn't bring himself to finish the question.
His mind was filled with a million and one emotions. Complete and utter joy at seeing his mother again and confusion at how this was happening. Suddenly, a morbid thought entered his mind.
"Am I dead?" He asked, the memory of all those needles entering his mind.
"No dear, you're not dead, but you're very ill. This is in your mind, your memories. All of this is a fantasy. Except me. I'm very real."
John couldn't speak. His body seemed to have frozen from shock. Mom.
"How?" He eventually said, his eyes never wavering from those of his deceased mother.
"Remember when you visited my dear baby Gordon in the hospital after his hydrofoil accident?" Lucille asked, absently patting her swollen belly.
John nodded.
"He told you that he had seen me; that I was there with him all the time. Nobody really believed him, but you did."
John nodded again. He did remember the exact words Gordon had spoken to him. 'I saw her John, I really did. Please believe me!'
"I do remember. You were there."
Lucille nodded and rearranged the straps of her pregnancy dungarees, faded and worn from their many uses.
"I'll always be around when any of you are going through a rough time. I've seen everything, past present and future. I know everything about your lives that have been and are still to be."
"Are you an angel?" John asked, still never looking away from Lucille's beautiful face.
"Of sorts I suppose." She said, looking up to the blue Kansas sky.
She drew John into another hug and placed a tender kiss on his forehead.
"I have to go now, but don't you worry." She said, placing her hands on John's shoulders. "Your brothers will come for you." She pulled him into one last hug, resting her head on his shoulder. "In the future, you'll go through some rough times, but I'll be there for you. Maybe not in the same way, but I'll be there."
Her head turned and she began to laugh when she heard a loud splash, then the wail of a small child. She stood up and walked to the edge of the porch.
"Well, there you go into the pond again." She said, mirth clearly visible in her deep brown eyes. "Goodbye honey. Remember, I'll always be there for you."
She smiled motherly at him one last time before stepping down from the porch and walking briskly towards the duck pond.
"Bye mom." John said, his voice no louder than a whisper. "I love you."
His last words floated across the Kansas farmland, drifting in the light breeze. His mother jogged over to the pond and snatched his three-year-old self out, gently cooing the child, trying to calm him. Grandpa Grant stepped out onto the porch just as the dream melted back into the dizzying spinning colours, and eventually all consciousness left him.
The tingling sensation of the alien's so-called 'Teleporter' was both frightening and exhilarating to Scott. For a split second he could swear he was in two places at once. Before he knew it, Scott was no longer in the bright control room of Thunderbird 5. Instead, he was standing in a long dark corridor. Overhead, lights and electrical sparks flashed from the roof. The deck below him, he saw, was a thick metal grating. He suddenly realised that the air on the alien ship was very thin, and his breathing started to quicken. 'Calm down Scotty,' He said to himself, 'Yes, this is frightening. But you'll do John no good if panic,'
"Human."
A deep voice called to him from behind. He spun around quickly, his body automatically taking on a defensive posture.
"It is I, Lishet. I spoke to you earlier."
Scott remained tense, adrenaline coursing through him wildly. The alien was huge. Its dark blue scales shone slightly in the dim light and the white of its eyes stood out clearly.
"Come with me. The quicker we get to your brother the quicker you can leave this place. You do not belong here. If you are found you will be killed...or worse."
Lishet turned, surprisingly gracefully for his large size, and strode forward. Scott hurried after him, and was surprised to find himself rising off the ground ever so slightly more than normal. 'Low gravity, eh?'
Lishet glanced back at him, his cold purple-blue eyes staring at him, as if they were drilling deep inside him, reading his very thoughts. Scott shoved the disturbing thought from his mind and concentrated on following Lishet. Loosing track of his alien guide didn't seem like a good idea. Lishet's earlier words echoed in his mind, 'If you are found you will be killed...or worse.' He shuddered slightly. 'Worse than death? Jesus, what have they put John through?'
Suddenly, a large clawed hand was thrust onto his chest and he was slammed against the bulkhead. Lishet glared at him again and signalled for him to be silent with his other hand. At the intersection just in front of them two similar looking aliens strode past. As soon as Lishet thought they were well out of the way he let Scott free. Without a word, Lishet strode on and turned left. Scott stayed close behind him, keeping his guard up.
After walking through several more cold dark corridors Lishet stopped at a large heavy looking door. His claws quickly keyed in the clearance code and it hefted itself open. He strode in, Scott close behind, but he suddenly stopped and Scott bumped into the back of him. Scott frowned and tried to peer over Lishet's shoulder, but he wasn't tall enough. 'What the hell is going on?' He asked himself.
"M-Master." Scott heard Lishet stammer.
'John.'
Voices called out from every direction.
'John.'
John spun around. There was no one there. The room was bare, dark and cold. 'So cold.' he thought.
'John. Where are you going?'
The voices were hushed whispers and the sentences hung in the air.
"I'm not going anywhere? Who are you?"
The voices sounded strange yet familiar at the same time.
'John. Where have you been? Where are you going?'
John grew more confused with every passing second.
"Who are you? Where are you? More to the point, where am I?" He called out.
'John. We are here. You are here. We are one.'
"What the hell is going on?" He said, his voice rising to a shout with every syllable.
'John. Join us. Your time is done. You do not belong with them anymore. You belong with us. We are one.'
"What the." Something suddenly dawned on him. "No." His voice was no louder than a whisper. "Am I dead?"
'John. You are still in the imperfect existence. Let go of you life. Live with us. We are one.'
"Stop saying that! No! I am not dead! I'm only 25, I'm too young to die!"
'John. Live in perfection. Live with us. We are one.'
"We are not one! I am not dead! I will not die!" He was screaming by now.
He started to run forward, but the floor of the room disappeared. He found himself falling, gravity trying to claim his life.
'I will not die.'
He screamed again, louder this time. The scream came from deep within him, from a part of his mind he barely knew existed; he was afraid to die.
Scott frowned at Lishet's stammer. 'Who the hell is Master?'
A deep, growling voice came from somewhere in front of Lishet. "Lishet. I came to see him one last time. His death will not be a pleasant thing, but it must be done."
Scott tried to peak around the side f Lishet's body, but a strong, clawed hand pushed him back.
"Yes Master." Lishet replied. His voice sounded quieter than before. "I understand. I will carry it out now. I would be grateful if you left though, as you said, it will not be a pleasant thing."
"Of course Lishet. I thank you for your thoughtfulness. Send the test results to the bridge as soon as they are processed."
"Yes Master, of course."
Lishet bowed slightly as another huge alien, strikingly similar, strode past them and out of the heavy door. Scott blew out the breath he had no recollection of holding. The 'Master' hadn't seen him. Lishet turned slightly and stared down at him. Worry began to knot in Scott's stomach. Why did Lishet look so sympathetic?
Lishet stepped aside, and Scott's jaw dropped. There, strapped to a table like an animal lay his brother. John strained against the restraints as much as he could. Scott rushed to the side of the bed while Lishet stood back patiently. 'Seeing a loved one hurt is not easy.' He reminded himself.
Scott stared wide-eyed at his brother's face, pale and marred with painful looking bruises and long, deep cuts. Scott gently brushed John's pale blond hair from his forehead, frowning as his fingertips lightly touched the sweat-coated skin. It was distressingly hot. 'Fever. Christ, that's not a good sign.' Scott glanced back at Lishet, feeling his temper rise within him.
"Get him out of these - things!" Scott was surprised at the shout that emanated from him. He hadn't meant to shout.
"Of course."
Lishet stepped forward, and as he did, a terrifying scream echoed in the room. Scott grasped his brother's hand tightly, as if somehow the contact would calm him. Lishet quickly undid the braces holding John to the table and stepped back again. The young blond's screaming had ceased, but the memory of it still echoed in his ears. The high-pitched, terror-filled wail was one Lishet never wished to hear again.
Scott bundled his brother up in his arms. Fear welled up inside Scott as he realised just how light his normally thin brother had become.
"I take it you didn't feed him then." Scott said, surprised by he malice in his voice.
"No." Lishet said. "We did not. Now please, you have what you want. Leave now before you are discovered."
"You don't have to tell me twice." Scott said as he shifted what little weight John had in his strong arms.
Lishet nodded, and led him out, back into the cold, metallic corridor.
John was vaguely aware of movement. Something was supporting his back and legs. It was warm and strangely comforting. He tried to open his eyes, but the stress from the past few days was finally reaping its reward on his abused body.
Voices. He could hear voices. They were garbled and faint, but he could hear them. Two voices, one deep and low voice, the other familiar. 'Scott.' he thought. Could it be his eldest brother? Did Scott save him? Or was this just another hallucination, another stage before he...died. Fear began to build up in his stomach and he felt his already laboured breathing become more distressed. 'I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die!' He could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest.
Suddenly, everything stopped. A tingling sensation enveloped him, running all over his body.
'I guess I'm dead.'
"Oh, Mister Tracy, it's been over a week now." Tin-Tin said, trying to keep her voice steady.
She gently finger combed the rich blond coloured hair off John's forehead. For a moment, she marvelled at how similar he and Alan were, but there were subtle differences. Alan's hair was a few shades lighter, and there were more worry lines on John's face. But they had the same piercing blue eyes and ramrod straight nose. It would be difficult not to notice they were brothers.
"I know Tin-Tin, but he's breathing well now." Jeff said.
He was perched lightly on the edge of his son's bed. Tin-Tin was keeling on the floor just to his left, keeping a watchful sisterly vigil beside Jeff's third born son. Jeff sighed and cast his eyes out of the window to he clear early morning sky. A few clouds lazily floated long, and the sun was not in any hurry to rise.
"Do you think he'll ever wake?" Tin-Tin asked, placing her small hand on John's slightly larger one.
"I can't say for certain Tin-Tin, but I know my son. He's a fighter. We can only hope."
Tin-Tin nodded slowly, a lock of her black hair falling across her face.
"Brains said the toxins should all be gone by now. I suppose it's up to John if he - " she shook her head " - when he wakes up." She said, brushing the unruly strand out of her eyes.
"He's so young Tin-Tin." Jeff's voice was slightly thickened by emotion. "He always told me he wanted a wife, a son and a daughter. He wanted to be a dad. And now. He may never get that chance. Who can say what damage has been done to his brain? Even if he does wake up, he might be permanently damaged somehow. He could be blind or deaf, or have brain damage or - "
Tin-Tin shook her head vigorously and interrupted Jeff's increasingly desperate train of thought.
"Mister Tracy, don't upset yourself, please. Like you said, we can only hope. Don't dwell on what might be. Think on what will be. If he wakes up, no matter what damage has been done, he will still be your son. No one, not even aliens, can take that away from you."
Jeff smiled and swallowed the lump in his throat.
"You're right Tin-Tin, thank you."
The two sat in silence for a few minutes, only the soft sound of the ocean lapping against the rocks drifting through the open window.
"When I think about it," Jeff said. "I don't really know John as well as the other boys. And now. If his mother were alive she would kill me."
Tin-Tin placed a comforting hand on his arm.
"I know from a first hand source," she nodded down at the sleeping blond, "that a certain son of yours thinks the world of you."
Jeff smiled slightly.
"Thank you."
"If I were alive I would kill that man you know. He missed so many big events in your life. Give him another chance baby."
Lucille gently stroked her sleeping son's arm, not expecting to receive a response. The rest of her family were in the lounge, and she had taken the moment of quiet to visit her ill son.
"Oh John." She sighed heavily and shook her head. "Wake up honey, please. You're not ready to be with me yet. Fight honey. Fight it! I can feel you so close to...death."
A loud noise from somewhere just outside the door mad her jump in surprise.
"Fight it." She whispered as the door handle turned.
She caught a quick glimpse of her first born son before she disappeared out of sight.
Scott leaned heavily against the door and cast a worried glance over his brother. It had been exactly nine days, three hours and seventeen minutes since he had brought his brother back. Not once during that long time had John opened his eyes.
Suddenly, he felt something touch his cheek. It reminded him so much of...
"Mom?" He asked.
He got no response, and the odd feeling that had come over him left. He slowly padded over to his brother's bedside. Alan had just been in contact, inquiring about John's prognosis. It had almost killed Scott when he saw the desperate look on Alan's face when he was told there was no change.
Scott sat in the wooden chair someone had dragged over from the desk earlier and took John's had in his.
"Christ Johnny, we don't need this! We've already lost one family member, we don't need to loose another."
He sat in silence for a moment, gazing out at the impending storm. He was sure it would start soon. He was right. After another few minutes, lightning cracked the sky in two, casting sharp shadows in all directions.
A sudden movement from beside him caused Scott to spin around quickly.
"Hey Scott, could you get a glass of water? I'm kind of thirsty."
Scott's eyes widened and he threw his arms around John.
"Jesus Christ! You're alive!" He raised his voice to a shout and pulled away slightly. "He's alive!"
4 years later...
"Daddy, do you believe in aliems?"
The bright eyed girl on John's shoulders looked down at his, an inquisitive look on her face.
"It's aliens Lucy, and yeah, I do believe in them."
"What about ghosts?"
A second child, a male copy of the bright eyed girl looked up at John, mirroring his twin's expression.
"I do Mal, I do."
"Why?"
John took the girl from his shoulders and herded the two children over to the nearest park bench.
"Well Malcolm, I have a story to tell you." He lifted the two children, his children, up on his knees. "It was about 4 years ago, Halloween night."