John awoke with a start as he hit the floor. He found himself on his back,
staring up at the portraits of himself and his brothers that hung along the
wall. All five of them were painted in the garden, the leafy green foliage
of which was present in the background.
They were dressed in their normal, everyday attire. Portraits of them in uniform would eventually be placed under these to hide the communication system John was installing. That was if they could ever decide on which uniform to use. The discussion had sparked a major argument and a minor food-fight the week before.
When John had asked Gordon about his ideas on the subject over a secure vidphone link, his brother had said he would wear anything that involved a mask and a cape.
That had been the last time they had spoken.
John got to his feet and looked around the lounge. The stillness of the house drove away any notion that the past few days had been a nightmare. Someone was usually up, even this late. Scott was a light sleeper and was up at all hours of the morning. Virgil had been tinkering with a new piece of music for weeks. His pen and sheet music lay on the table where he had left them. Occasionally, his father could be found sitting in the lounge watching late night television, something John had caught him indulging in more than once.
The vast amounts of Asian artwork around the room made John smile as he sat back down on the couch. Dad had adopted a fondness for it on a business trip to Malaysia, bringing back paintings and statuary from all over the Orient. John and Virgil had spent an entire afternoon helping him hang and display every last piece. It had been fun, but John had made it a point to harass his father as much as possible during the entire process. He had told Dad it felt like they were living in a Shinto shrine. His father had replied that John would develop a taste for fine art when he grew up, much to John's chagrin and Virgil's considered amusement.
John ran a hand through his light blonde hair. It was still wet from the shower he had taken after Scott had returned him to the island. He still felt aggravated at his brothers. They had all ganged up on him after the phone call. Scott and Virgil had threatened to remove him bodily from the hospital, and John had invited them to try. In retrospect, that was probably a testament to how strung out he was. Rational people did not challenge guys that played football on a regular basis, especially if they were tall and thin, like John was.
A conflict had only been narrowly avoided through Grandma's intervention. She had begged John to go home with Scott, if only for a few hours. The look on her face broke his heart, and he could not cause the poor woman anymore pain. Alan and Virgil were staying with her after the hospital kicked them out for the night. They would keep her company and be on hand if anything happened with Gordon.
Scott had ordered him to go to his room as soon their feet touched the hangar floor. John had obeyed long enough to clean up and pull on fresh clothes. He had returned to the lounge and stretched out on the couch, ignoring Scott's slight protests. He hadn't bugged John too much about it, sharing his need to keep watch over his brother.
Where was Scott anyway? John looked around him, noticing his brother's absence as the last vestiges of sleep left his brain.
John remembered seeing him at his father's desk before he nodded off. He had been talking to officials in Canada about the details of their father's trip. That had been hours ago. He looked around the room and poked his head in to the kitchen. Scott was nowhere to be found. He had serious doubts that Scott would have simply gone off to bed and left him on the sofa. There was only one place John thought that he could be.
Quickly, John put on the tennis shoes that sat by the couch and left the lounge. He trotted down the stairs and passed through a series of hallways until he found himself in the laboratory area of the ground floor, tucked away safely, well beneath the structure of the house.
He darted past the entrance of the lab, noticing that the lights were off. That was a good thing. Brains was known for his all-night work binges, especially when he was nervous or worried. He had probably frazzled himself out at his drafting table, tweaking the specs on the satellite.
John moved through the hangar where Rescue 2 was temporarily being kept. Thanks to Virgil's persistence, the large green freighter was nearly completed. All that remained was to get the pods and arm them with the array of rescue equipment that had already been built.
The first parts of the one-man submarine had arrived on the island. Gordon had been so excited to hear that they had begun to work on the fourth rescue vehicle. The 30 foot mini-sub was a project of his ever since their father had revealed his plans for International Rescue. Gordon had even picked out the color for it. Yellow, of all things.
John moved to the launch pad and couldn't suppress the feeling of awe he experienced whenever he laid eyes on Rescue 1. The tall silver rocket plane sat quietly on its huge thrusters, waiting patiently for the day when Scott would light her up. Plans were in the works for the rescue craft's hangar so that Scott would be able to access the vehicle from the house as soon as the launch procedure was established. For now, Rescue 1 was fine where she was.
From where John stood, he could see the hatch was open. He climbed the scaffolding to the cockpit. Quietly, he stuck his head in the hatch. There was no light, except for what little filtered in from the hangar.
Scott's dark head was just visible over the back of the pilot's chair, his hand tapping lightly on the end of the left control handle as he sat deep in thought.
"Hey," John called softly.
Scott turned around in his seat. "What are you doing down here?"
"I fell off the couch," he explained, smiling.
Scott turned back around, a ghost of laughter in his voice. "We do have beds around here."
"How would you know?" John climbed in to the passenger's bench behind Scott.
He looked around the interior of Rescue 1. They had just been in here, running a system's check in preparation for the first test flights scheduled for next week. Somehow, it felt different. There was a feeling of power and safety in the large craft, as if nothing could touch him while he was within its limits. The sense of security was probably what had drawn Scott to the hangar bay.
After long minutes, John finally spoke again. "It's been a long time since we sat in something like this."
"John, nobody has ever sat in something like this," Scott's hand stopped tapping and ran gently over the controls.
"You know what I mean," John replied, "The most we've piloted lately is the jet. I'm talking about fighter jets and space shuttles." John's personal favorites were the quiet space stations from which he could observe the cosmos.
"It has been quite awhile," Scott agreed. "I have to admit, I do miss those things."
"Well, this one is done," John stretched in the seat, "And as soon as Rescue 3 is finished, we can head back to space."
"If Rescue 3 is ever finished."
"What are you saying?" John was confused by the statement.
Scott sighed. "I don't know. After what's happened over the past few days, getting this operation off the ground just isn't important."
John heard a tone in Scott's voice that hadn't been there before. It was the slight ring of defeat, something he found very disturbing coming from his older brother.
"Aren't you giving up a little early?"
"How many family members do we have to lose before we realize that this is simply not meant to happen?"
"Meant to happen?" John kept his tone even, not wanting to start a fight with Scott. "You're talking like there is some sort of destiny-thing going on here."
"Maybe there is."
The cockpit was silent. John was taken aback by his brother's statement. Destiny was something one made. It was not to be waited for. Scott had been the one who taught him that, more through his actions than anything else. Time after time, Scott had taken matters into his own hands, rarely failing to turn the bleakest situations into happy endings. The medals stowed away in an old leather trunk were evidence of that talent.
The days of unavoidable circumstances were sapping his brother of his strength. The control had been forcibly ripped from him, leaving him a state of helplessness that none of the Tracy's thrived in.
"What makes you so sure that everything won't be fine?"
"I just have this feeling that those rescuers aren't going to find Dad." Scott turned around in his seat to face him. "I talked to the charter service that he was flying with. The weather was perfect, the pilot knew the route, and the plane was almost new."
"You and I both know, Scott, that planes crash for all sorts of reasons. Even the best pilots go down under the best of conditions. You've done it, I've done it."
"Do you seriously think Dad would let a plane go down on pilot error?" Scott asked, incredulously. "He'd just march up there and take over."
"What about a malfunction with the plane?" John asked. "Engine trouble can happen on new crafts. Just one defective part. . ."
"I'm telling you, something is up."
The fierceness of the statement surprised John. Scott had the best instincts of any person he knew. In all his life, he couldn't remember one occasion in which his older brother's gut feeling had ever been wrong. When he spoke like that, he was not to be ignored.
John looked at his older brother, feeling his eyes on him, begging unconsciously for the nudge he so desperately wanted from John.
"So why are we still sitting here talking about this?" he asked.
Scott stared at him. "What are you getting at?"
"Let's regain a little bit of control." John said slowly, a wicked grin appearing on his face.
Scott smiled as well. "Feel like taking a ride, Johnny?"
"Absolutely."
Without another word, Scott turned to face forward again and hit a series of switches along the left side of his seat. The cockpit lights snapped on. John heard the hum of the atomic fusion reactor that powered the ship as it warmed the thrusters beneath them. The navigation computer, radar, and safety systems began to come to life as the ship's mainframe ran through each of them and brought them on-line.
"You know," Scott said as he fastened his harness. "Dad is going to kill us for this."
"The idea is to have him here so that threat will be plausible." John said as he strapped himself in. "You think we ought to tell Brains what we're up to?"
"Nah., he'll only try to talk us out of it. Besides, he'll know." Scott pointed to the left. "His rooms are right through that wall."
The last indicator light flashed on, signifying the pool above them had cleared the opening for them to launch. They were ready to go.
"Last chance, John." Scott said. "Feel free to back out."
"Yeah right, so you can harass me later?" John snorted. "No way."
Scott pushed the controls forward and the thrusters roared to life beneath the craft. John felt the familiar pressure on his back as the rocket plane pushed away from the launch pad, breaking the earthly bond of gravity. He became aware of the fact that he was sitting on 140 tons of pure, unadulterated power.
Scott whooped as the craft shot through the gaping hole in the ceiling and John caught his brother's excitement. They had done it. There was no other sensation than the sheer thrill of careening through the air at an incredible speed. And it was unbelievable.
Having devoted many years to the design and construction of the sleek ship, both of them knew exactly what she was capable of. However, knowing and experiencing were two different things altogether. She was surpassing their wildest dreams, and they had only just taken off.
The rocket plane climbed to about 100,000 feet before Scott leveled her off. The seats rotated forward as Scott switched to horizontal flight. "Whoo!" he grinned. "That was something else."
John fought for control of his hammering heart and looked at his brother. There was no question about whose vehicle this was. It was as if Scott had been flying Rescue 1 all his life. He sat coolly in the pilot's chair, guiding the craft with ease.
John felt like a kid with a new toy. "Did Brains ever calculate how fast this thing can go?"
"15,000 miles an hour is the estimate," Scott replied. "What's say we keep it to 5,000, this being our first trip and all?"
"Only 5,000?" John said, mockingly, "Gee Scott, live a little."
The communication link crackled into life. "What is going on?"
"A voice from above." Scott quipped, looking around.
"Uh-oh," John teased. "Now you've done it. No stutter"
"Don't you pull that innocent act on me, John Tracy; you're just as guilty as I am."
John unfastened his restraints and stood next to Scott. His brother hit the call button and Brains' angry face appeared in the small screen on Scott's left. "Guess what Brains, the on-board comlink works."
John groaned. Scott simply could not resist inflaming the situation, as if there wouldn't be enough hell to pay when they got back.
"Scott, what do you think you're doing?"
"John and I are going to find Dad."
"In Rescue 1?" Brains was exasperated. "Have you both taken leave of your senses? We have to test it first."
"I can't think of a better time to do that Brains. Can you?" The other man was silent. "I've flown the search and rescue drill in the simulator a hundred times. You've got nothing to worry about."
"Simulators are not the same as reality."
"Yeah, we're very well aware of that," Scott smiled at John. "Look Brains, I know you're right. . ."
"Then bring the craft back." It wasn't like Brains to be so forceful. That was only further proof of how livid he really was.
"Uhh, no," Scott replied.
Brains's ears began to get red. John wasn't sure if he was more concerned for them or the craft. The engineer had an attachment to everything he built that bordered on obscene.
"I must insist that you bring that craft back at once!" John heard a loud thump from the opposite end of the comlink and realized the engineer was stomping his feet.
"We have to do this," Scott said, trying to make Brains understand. "We can't just sit around anymore. You can help us out."
"I-I want no part of this, uh, suicide attempt." Despite the rude comment, the two brothers could tell he was calming down. If Brains were really upset, he would have simply cut the connection and let the two brothers hang themselves.
"I need your help up here, Brains." Scott kept an eye on the instrumentation in front of him. "You know the systems on this bird better than anyone else."
John could hear him muttering to himself.
"C'mon Brains," Scott rolled his eyes. "Don't make me beg."
He sighed. "W-what is your ETA?"
"2 hours and 17 minutes." Scott replied.
"W-well, that should, uh, give us enough time to go over the root systems that you will n-need."
"Will we be able to keep contact?"
"The line of s-sight is pretty direct, Scott. The transmitters on the, uh, craft are more powerful than our wrist communicators. There should b-be no reason why not."
"Good," Scott looked ahead. "If Virgil calls you about Gordon, relay any messages to us immediately. Understood?"
Brains looked uncomfortable. "What should I, uh tell Virgil when he calls?"
Scott thought for a minute and laughed. "Tell him I went for a drive."
They were dressed in their normal, everyday attire. Portraits of them in uniform would eventually be placed under these to hide the communication system John was installing. That was if they could ever decide on which uniform to use. The discussion had sparked a major argument and a minor food-fight the week before.
When John had asked Gordon about his ideas on the subject over a secure vidphone link, his brother had said he would wear anything that involved a mask and a cape.
That had been the last time they had spoken.
John got to his feet and looked around the lounge. The stillness of the house drove away any notion that the past few days had been a nightmare. Someone was usually up, even this late. Scott was a light sleeper and was up at all hours of the morning. Virgil had been tinkering with a new piece of music for weeks. His pen and sheet music lay on the table where he had left them. Occasionally, his father could be found sitting in the lounge watching late night television, something John had caught him indulging in more than once.
The vast amounts of Asian artwork around the room made John smile as he sat back down on the couch. Dad had adopted a fondness for it on a business trip to Malaysia, bringing back paintings and statuary from all over the Orient. John and Virgil had spent an entire afternoon helping him hang and display every last piece. It had been fun, but John had made it a point to harass his father as much as possible during the entire process. He had told Dad it felt like they were living in a Shinto shrine. His father had replied that John would develop a taste for fine art when he grew up, much to John's chagrin and Virgil's considered amusement.
John ran a hand through his light blonde hair. It was still wet from the shower he had taken after Scott had returned him to the island. He still felt aggravated at his brothers. They had all ganged up on him after the phone call. Scott and Virgil had threatened to remove him bodily from the hospital, and John had invited them to try. In retrospect, that was probably a testament to how strung out he was. Rational people did not challenge guys that played football on a regular basis, especially if they were tall and thin, like John was.
A conflict had only been narrowly avoided through Grandma's intervention. She had begged John to go home with Scott, if only for a few hours. The look on her face broke his heart, and he could not cause the poor woman anymore pain. Alan and Virgil were staying with her after the hospital kicked them out for the night. They would keep her company and be on hand if anything happened with Gordon.
Scott had ordered him to go to his room as soon their feet touched the hangar floor. John had obeyed long enough to clean up and pull on fresh clothes. He had returned to the lounge and stretched out on the couch, ignoring Scott's slight protests. He hadn't bugged John too much about it, sharing his need to keep watch over his brother.
Where was Scott anyway? John looked around him, noticing his brother's absence as the last vestiges of sleep left his brain.
John remembered seeing him at his father's desk before he nodded off. He had been talking to officials in Canada about the details of their father's trip. That had been hours ago. He looked around the room and poked his head in to the kitchen. Scott was nowhere to be found. He had serious doubts that Scott would have simply gone off to bed and left him on the sofa. There was only one place John thought that he could be.
Quickly, John put on the tennis shoes that sat by the couch and left the lounge. He trotted down the stairs and passed through a series of hallways until he found himself in the laboratory area of the ground floor, tucked away safely, well beneath the structure of the house.
He darted past the entrance of the lab, noticing that the lights were off. That was a good thing. Brains was known for his all-night work binges, especially when he was nervous or worried. He had probably frazzled himself out at his drafting table, tweaking the specs on the satellite.
John moved through the hangar where Rescue 2 was temporarily being kept. Thanks to Virgil's persistence, the large green freighter was nearly completed. All that remained was to get the pods and arm them with the array of rescue equipment that had already been built.
The first parts of the one-man submarine had arrived on the island. Gordon had been so excited to hear that they had begun to work on the fourth rescue vehicle. The 30 foot mini-sub was a project of his ever since their father had revealed his plans for International Rescue. Gordon had even picked out the color for it. Yellow, of all things.
John moved to the launch pad and couldn't suppress the feeling of awe he experienced whenever he laid eyes on Rescue 1. The tall silver rocket plane sat quietly on its huge thrusters, waiting patiently for the day when Scott would light her up. Plans were in the works for the rescue craft's hangar so that Scott would be able to access the vehicle from the house as soon as the launch procedure was established. For now, Rescue 1 was fine where she was.
From where John stood, he could see the hatch was open. He climbed the scaffolding to the cockpit. Quietly, he stuck his head in the hatch. There was no light, except for what little filtered in from the hangar.
Scott's dark head was just visible over the back of the pilot's chair, his hand tapping lightly on the end of the left control handle as he sat deep in thought.
"Hey," John called softly.
Scott turned around in his seat. "What are you doing down here?"
"I fell off the couch," he explained, smiling.
Scott turned back around, a ghost of laughter in his voice. "We do have beds around here."
"How would you know?" John climbed in to the passenger's bench behind Scott.
He looked around the interior of Rescue 1. They had just been in here, running a system's check in preparation for the first test flights scheduled for next week. Somehow, it felt different. There was a feeling of power and safety in the large craft, as if nothing could touch him while he was within its limits. The sense of security was probably what had drawn Scott to the hangar bay.
After long minutes, John finally spoke again. "It's been a long time since we sat in something like this."
"John, nobody has ever sat in something like this," Scott's hand stopped tapping and ran gently over the controls.
"You know what I mean," John replied, "The most we've piloted lately is the jet. I'm talking about fighter jets and space shuttles." John's personal favorites were the quiet space stations from which he could observe the cosmos.
"It has been quite awhile," Scott agreed. "I have to admit, I do miss those things."
"Well, this one is done," John stretched in the seat, "And as soon as Rescue 3 is finished, we can head back to space."
"If Rescue 3 is ever finished."
"What are you saying?" John was confused by the statement.
Scott sighed. "I don't know. After what's happened over the past few days, getting this operation off the ground just isn't important."
John heard a tone in Scott's voice that hadn't been there before. It was the slight ring of defeat, something he found very disturbing coming from his older brother.
"Aren't you giving up a little early?"
"How many family members do we have to lose before we realize that this is simply not meant to happen?"
"Meant to happen?" John kept his tone even, not wanting to start a fight with Scott. "You're talking like there is some sort of destiny-thing going on here."
"Maybe there is."
The cockpit was silent. John was taken aback by his brother's statement. Destiny was something one made. It was not to be waited for. Scott had been the one who taught him that, more through his actions than anything else. Time after time, Scott had taken matters into his own hands, rarely failing to turn the bleakest situations into happy endings. The medals stowed away in an old leather trunk were evidence of that talent.
The days of unavoidable circumstances were sapping his brother of his strength. The control had been forcibly ripped from him, leaving him a state of helplessness that none of the Tracy's thrived in.
"What makes you so sure that everything won't be fine?"
"I just have this feeling that those rescuers aren't going to find Dad." Scott turned around in his seat to face him. "I talked to the charter service that he was flying with. The weather was perfect, the pilot knew the route, and the plane was almost new."
"You and I both know, Scott, that planes crash for all sorts of reasons. Even the best pilots go down under the best of conditions. You've done it, I've done it."
"Do you seriously think Dad would let a plane go down on pilot error?" Scott asked, incredulously. "He'd just march up there and take over."
"What about a malfunction with the plane?" John asked. "Engine trouble can happen on new crafts. Just one defective part. . ."
"I'm telling you, something is up."
The fierceness of the statement surprised John. Scott had the best instincts of any person he knew. In all his life, he couldn't remember one occasion in which his older brother's gut feeling had ever been wrong. When he spoke like that, he was not to be ignored.
John looked at his older brother, feeling his eyes on him, begging unconsciously for the nudge he so desperately wanted from John.
"So why are we still sitting here talking about this?" he asked.
Scott stared at him. "What are you getting at?"
"Let's regain a little bit of control." John said slowly, a wicked grin appearing on his face.
Scott smiled as well. "Feel like taking a ride, Johnny?"
"Absolutely."
Without another word, Scott turned to face forward again and hit a series of switches along the left side of his seat. The cockpit lights snapped on. John heard the hum of the atomic fusion reactor that powered the ship as it warmed the thrusters beneath them. The navigation computer, radar, and safety systems began to come to life as the ship's mainframe ran through each of them and brought them on-line.
"You know," Scott said as he fastened his harness. "Dad is going to kill us for this."
"The idea is to have him here so that threat will be plausible." John said as he strapped himself in. "You think we ought to tell Brains what we're up to?"
"Nah., he'll only try to talk us out of it. Besides, he'll know." Scott pointed to the left. "His rooms are right through that wall."
The last indicator light flashed on, signifying the pool above them had cleared the opening for them to launch. They were ready to go.
"Last chance, John." Scott said. "Feel free to back out."
"Yeah right, so you can harass me later?" John snorted. "No way."
Scott pushed the controls forward and the thrusters roared to life beneath the craft. John felt the familiar pressure on his back as the rocket plane pushed away from the launch pad, breaking the earthly bond of gravity. He became aware of the fact that he was sitting on 140 tons of pure, unadulterated power.
Scott whooped as the craft shot through the gaping hole in the ceiling and John caught his brother's excitement. They had done it. There was no other sensation than the sheer thrill of careening through the air at an incredible speed. And it was unbelievable.
Having devoted many years to the design and construction of the sleek ship, both of them knew exactly what she was capable of. However, knowing and experiencing were two different things altogether. She was surpassing their wildest dreams, and they had only just taken off.
The rocket plane climbed to about 100,000 feet before Scott leveled her off. The seats rotated forward as Scott switched to horizontal flight. "Whoo!" he grinned. "That was something else."
John fought for control of his hammering heart and looked at his brother. There was no question about whose vehicle this was. It was as if Scott had been flying Rescue 1 all his life. He sat coolly in the pilot's chair, guiding the craft with ease.
John felt like a kid with a new toy. "Did Brains ever calculate how fast this thing can go?"
"15,000 miles an hour is the estimate," Scott replied. "What's say we keep it to 5,000, this being our first trip and all?"
"Only 5,000?" John said, mockingly, "Gee Scott, live a little."
The communication link crackled into life. "What is going on?"
"A voice from above." Scott quipped, looking around.
"Uh-oh," John teased. "Now you've done it. No stutter"
"Don't you pull that innocent act on me, John Tracy; you're just as guilty as I am."
John unfastened his restraints and stood next to Scott. His brother hit the call button and Brains' angry face appeared in the small screen on Scott's left. "Guess what Brains, the on-board comlink works."
John groaned. Scott simply could not resist inflaming the situation, as if there wouldn't be enough hell to pay when they got back.
"Scott, what do you think you're doing?"
"John and I are going to find Dad."
"In Rescue 1?" Brains was exasperated. "Have you both taken leave of your senses? We have to test it first."
"I can't think of a better time to do that Brains. Can you?" The other man was silent. "I've flown the search and rescue drill in the simulator a hundred times. You've got nothing to worry about."
"Simulators are not the same as reality."
"Yeah, we're very well aware of that," Scott smiled at John. "Look Brains, I know you're right. . ."
"Then bring the craft back." It wasn't like Brains to be so forceful. That was only further proof of how livid he really was.
"Uhh, no," Scott replied.
Brains's ears began to get red. John wasn't sure if he was more concerned for them or the craft. The engineer had an attachment to everything he built that bordered on obscene.
"I must insist that you bring that craft back at once!" John heard a loud thump from the opposite end of the comlink and realized the engineer was stomping his feet.
"We have to do this," Scott said, trying to make Brains understand. "We can't just sit around anymore. You can help us out."
"I-I want no part of this, uh, suicide attempt." Despite the rude comment, the two brothers could tell he was calming down. If Brains were really upset, he would have simply cut the connection and let the two brothers hang themselves.
"I need your help up here, Brains." Scott kept an eye on the instrumentation in front of him. "You know the systems on this bird better than anyone else."
John could hear him muttering to himself.
"C'mon Brains," Scott rolled his eyes. "Don't make me beg."
He sighed. "W-what is your ETA?"
"2 hours and 17 minutes." Scott replied.
"W-well, that should, uh, give us enough time to go over the root systems that you will n-need."
"Will we be able to keep contact?"
"The line of s-sight is pretty direct, Scott. The transmitters on the, uh, craft are more powerful than our wrist communicators. There should b-be no reason why not."
"Good," Scott looked ahead. "If Virgil calls you about Gordon, relay any messages to us immediately. Understood?"
Brains looked uncomfortable. "What should I, uh tell Virgil when he calls?"
Scott thought for a minute and laughed. "Tell him I went for a drive."