FUGUE
A Thunderbirds story in five parts
By Spense
Disclaimer: This is TV Verse. Don't own them, not making money . . . etc.
Note: This chapter owes a special, huge thank you to Boomercat. There were two sections I was having difficulty with and her expertise on technical information, and continuous questions of 'why', then assistance in answering those questions were of immeasurable help. Thanks Boomer!
Fugue:
1: a dreamlike state of altered consciousness that may last for hours or days 2: a musical form consisting of a theme repeated a fifth above or a fourth below its first statement
Music. An imitative polyphonic composition in which a theme or themes are stated successively in all of the voices of the contrapuntal structure.
In music, a fugue is a type of piece written in counterpoint for several independent musical voices. A fugue begins with its subject (a brief musical theme) stated by one of the voices playing alone. A second voice then enters and plays the subject, while the first voice continues on with a contrapuntal accompaniment. Then the remaining voices similarly enter one by one. The remainder of the fugue further develops the material using all of the voices. (From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia)
PART FIVE
FINALE'
TONAL ANSWERAlan's hands paused on the keyboard. He stared at the computer screen in satisfaction. Finally. He had his uncle's address. David Evans. Man, had this guy been hard to track down.
His fingers tapping the desk in his study absently as he looked at the screen, Alan shook his head. Why hadn't he ever heard of the man? This guy had sure done his level best to drop off the face of the earth. The address Alan had for him showed him living in Alaska, off the coast of the Bering Sea in a little place called Scammon Bay, population of about 500. He'd apparently been there for years.
Alan's head tilted in an unconscious imitation of his eldest brother, as he mused over the facts. David Evans was his mother's elder brother by 4 years. He'd fallen off the edge of the world a year or so after his sister married – right after his parents' car accident. Nothing much on him before that, either. The man just seemed to live a really quiet life.
Alan had performed several searches to check for any kind of criminal background. There was nothing. He'd also conned Gordon into letting him use TB 5's main computer a few weeks back. Gordon was pretty easy to manipulate right now since he still felt badly about betraying Alan to the rest of their family. Alan was not above taking advantage of that fact although he'd forgiven Gordon before they'd finished the conversation during which his brother had confessed. All was fair when you were the youngest of five brothers – one learned to milk good fortune for all it was worth when it came your way. He hadn't even needed to tell Gordon what he needed the computer for. Guilt was a wonderful thing.
From the link to TB 5, Alan could hack into anything, and he did – ruthlessly – looking for what he wanted. And what he had found was the address for David Evans. And not a lot else.
He leaned back, staring at the screen. This man was his uncle. An uncle to all five brothers. And Alan had never heard of him. He wondered why. Was he the black sheep of the family? A crook who'd just never been caught? Had he had a falling out with his family? Alan knew how easily that could happen. Would he even be interested in speaking with Alan?
Suddenly Alan realized that he was going to contact David Evans. He hadn't even realized he'd been thinking along those lines, but now, yeah, he wanted to. This man was a link to his mother. And he was family himself. He'd probably be smart to take somebody along, like Gordon.
Alan halted that line of thinking, right there. No, he didn't want any other family along. He didn't need protection. He could take care of himself. He was beginning to feel like a gerbil on an exercise wheel. His thoughts just wouldn't quit. Before he could talk himself out of it, he picked up the phone and dialed the phone number listed.
A deep voice answered with a terse 'Dakota's'.
Alan took a deep breath. "I'm trying to reach David Evans."
"David doesn't have a phone. I can take a message. I'll give it to him when he comes into town."
Alan thought a moment and decided to leave a message. Hopefully David Evans would call him back.
TB TB TB TB TBAlan stepped off the small plane and onto the rutted tarmac of the land strip at Scammon Bay, Alaska with severe trepidation. What the hell was he doing here? This man had never contacted his family. Well, at least that he was aware of, Alan amended. Jeff had never mentioned him, but that didn't prove much. His father didn't even mention his beloved wife if he could help it.
David Evans had relayed a message through Jeb Dakota, owner of the general store in Scammon Bay, and apparently the owner of a phone used by those who lived outside town. David said to 'come on up if he felt like it, and stay as long as he wanted', and to let Jeb know when to expect him.
Alan had just told Kenny he was going to take a short vacation. He and Kenny had figured out a suitable date for Alan to be away, and off he'd gone, to the immense relief of the second mechanic, Pat. Pat was glad to be able to get the car all to himself without Alan 'mucking about' as he succinctly put it. To Pat, the car was a living woman, whom Alan mistreated every time he drove it. Alan left snickering, reminded strongly of Scott, Virgil and Gordon and their respective Thunderbirds. He conveniently forgot how he felt about Thunderbird Three.
Alan looked around the windswept, barren landscape wondering how he was going to recognize his uncle. For the hundredth time, he thought he was probably madness personified. If his brothers ever found out he'd come to the godforsaken top of the world without telling anybody in order to meet a stranger (worse yet, a relative!), they'd yell at him until he was deaf. And he would deserve every minute of it. Stupid, Alan had to agree. And had thought about it all the way on the commercial flight to Anchorage, then more on the chartered small plane out to this tiny village on the coast of the Bering Sea. He was certifiable, that was for sure.
All thoughts stopped instantly as Alan's eyes lit on a man walking towards him. It was John. No, it was John with Virgil's coloring! It was truly uncanny. Alan had always been told that Virgil looked like their mother. He couldn't help but stare.
The man grinned, then called, "You must be Alan Tracy."
Alan called back. "Yep. That's me." As the man got within normal speaking range, he added sheepishly with a smile, "Sorry for staring. It's just that, you look like two of my brothers – combined." Alan could see that he had a slightly thicker build than John. A combination of nature and age. But the smile was all John's.
David commented, "I thought the same when I met your brother John."
Alan gave a visible start. "You met John?" He was back to staring again.
The bass voice was surprising coming from this man. He kept expecting John or even Virgil's tenor range. "Yes, John came to see me about three years ago."
Speechlessness was not usually a part of Alan's character, but this time, he just didn't know what to say. The world was tipping on its axis and he was powerless to stop it.
David Evans was next to Alan now, and reached for his duffle bag. Alan was too shell-shocked to stop him, frozen with surprise.
His uncle was a surprise in more ways than one. He had the weathered look of somebody who had lived in the elements for many years, but was more outgoing than Alan had expected.
David took pity on him, clamping a hand on his shoulder. "I did ask John not to mention me. I tend to be somewhat reclusive. Come on, I'll explain."
Alan followed with a dutiful obedience that would have shocked his family had they been present to witness it.
Once underway in a heavy-duty truck, and bouncing their way out of the small town up towards the hills, David continued speaking.
"I'm assuming that you wanted to talk to me about my side of the family." He looked sideways at Alan for confirmation. At Alan's nod, he continued. "I've always preferred to live alone. John looked me up a few years back, and I was glad to speak with him. He stayed with me about a week. I enjoyed him a lot. But I've always been a loner, and am not much for company. But if somebody takes the time to try to find me as hard as I've managed to bury myself, then I'm assuming that it's really me they are looking for, and I'm willing to be hospitable." He said with a pleasant smile. He then paused a moment, then added, 'Hang on."
Alan was glad he grabbed the handle on the ceiling of the truck above him, because David wrenched the wheel left, sending the truck lurching onto what looked to be not much more than a deer trail. They bounced all over the road, David not slowing the speed one iota. Alan reflected that he'd been told he was a reckless driver and that he lived life in the fast lane all of his life. But he didn't think he held anything on David Evans.
TB TB TB TB TBSoon, the two were seated on a large deck in front of a substantial A-frame log home, built, as David explained, from the trees on the land. David had tossed Alan's duffle inside and led him straight to the deck. Alan could see why. The view was spectacular; trees, mountains and a nearby lake. And it was completely uninhabited.
After David got them both cups of coffee, he said congenially, "You don't talk much, do you Alan?"
Alan gave a started burst of laughter. "Actually, my brothers always say that they can't shut me up. I'm just . . . surprised, I guess. I couldn't believe it when I found out there was a living relative on my mother's side."
David smiled. "That's my fault, I guess. I like living up here in the middle of nowhere. I get involved in my work and forget there is an outside world. Time gets away from me. So what brings you here?"
Alan stared at his coffee for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He then looked David Evans in the eye. "I'm not sure what you know of my family. I guess I thought you probably didn't know anything, seeing as how I'd never heard of you. But since John visited, I think there's more going on than I know. As usual," he finished bitterly.
"Nah, not really," the older man said calmly. "John, like you, made a concerted effort to find me. To be honest, I've only met Jeff Tracy once. And that was at Luce's wedding. Anyway, go on," he encouraged.
Alan shook his head. "You really aren't what I expected. But then, I'm not really sure what I expected." He exhaled strongly. "And I guess that's the problem. My mother died when I was born. I never knew her, obviously. And all anybody ever talked about was how wonderful she was. But never who she was – what she liked, how she talked, if she laughed a lot, you know, that kind of thing."
Encouraged by David's nod, he continued. "Dad never kept any pictures around, and he never talked about her. It just hurt him too much. Still does. So, I never knew anything," Alan finished with unconscious bitterness. "I figured maybe you could tell me about her, about your parents, about you. Just something about the Evans side of the family."
"Ah." David said quietly, and sat back. "I see. If Lucy died when you were born, you must be the youngest."
Alan nodded confirmation.
"Humm." David looked thoughtful. "Okay. First off, my family was close, but not as tight as yours." He laughed at the look on Alan's face. "Oh, John told me a great deal about your family. You all sound very close."
"Well, we were," Alan commented with a slight scowl.
"Tell me about it."
And to his surprise, Alan found himself doing just that. Spilling things to a complete stranger that he'd never told anyone but TinTin. But somehow it seemed right. Here they were, up in the middle of nowhere, not another living soul around, and his uncle, a person who wasn't connected to the Tracy family in any tangible way, truly interested in hearing what he had to say.
"Well, I can't say that surprises me, given what I know of Jeff Tracy and my sister," David said after he finished.
At Alan's surprise, he continued. "Like I said, I met your father only once. Lucy had met him in America while she was at school."
Alan nodded. He knew that.
"What you probably don't know was that he literally swept her off her feet. They fell in love, heart and soul. All I heard from Lucy was how wonderful, how amazing, how talented, and how terrific her fiancé was."
Alan was surprised. Sure sounded like what he heard of his mother.
David smiled slightly at Alan's expression. "By the time I met this paragon, I was ready to hate him. Lucy had given up everything she wanted to do in order to marry this superman. I guess he did fulfill all expectations, becoming an astronaut after all." He shrugged, then stated, "I don't know if you were aware that she was planning to go to medical school."
"No," Alan said in surprise, "No, I wasn't."
"Yep. My parents scrimped and saved for years in order to send her to the US to go to medical school. We weren't a wealthy family, just your basic middle class. So it was a real sacrifice on my parents' part to send her to America. But she met Jefferson Tracy her junior year of premed and was pregnant within a year. That changed everything – she dropped out so she could raise the baby while he continued with NASA. She was happy, but I was ready to kill him. All I could think of was that at least he was marrying her. Then I came to the wedding, and I can't tell you how relieved I was that he really appeared to love her. But I'll tell you, I still didn't think much of him. He was far too self-absorbed for my taste."
Alan listened, enthralled. This was a viewpoint he'd never even considered.
"My parents were great about it. All they ever wanted was for both Lucy and me to be happy. But I could see they were disappointed, although they kept that strictly to themselves. I know Lucy didn't know it. It was such a waste of her brains and talent. They were glad she kept up with her art and music. But I was furious. I did, and frankly, still do, think Jeff Tracy is self-absorbed."
Alan felt a flare of irritation at the criticism of his father, but he forced it down. He was here to listen to his uncle's point of view – not argue with him. He wanted information, and he was getting it. He'd sift through it later.
Davis smiled knowingly. "John had exactly the same reaction. I'm glad to see that Tracy inspires such loyalty in his sons. That tells me that there's probably more to him than meets the eye." He shrugged. "But I'm set in my ways. That's why I live up here," he explained, giving a general wave with his hand. "But from what you tell me, he's been pretty self-absorbed about my sister's death, and I don't think you deserved that."
Even though he wanted to jump to his father's defense, Alan was torn, because there was real truth to that. He gave a shrug of acknowledgement.
"Another reason why I live alone up here," David laughed. "I have all the tact of a piece of concrete. Sorry. I know he's your father. But anyway, I was glad to see Lucy was happy. She kept in touch with me, always regaling me with tales of the marvelous Jefferson Tracy, when it seemed to me that all he ever did was get her pregnant. Five kids in nine years? I mean, really. I think Jeff was trying to create his own company staff," he finished in disgust.
Alan felt a twinge of guilt. After all, he was the reason that David's sister was gone.
But David was more intuitive than Alan gave him credit for. "Not your fault," David said simply. "Things happen. I know Lucy had the best care money could buy, but nature has a way of selecting her own that we humans will never understand. I see it up here all the time." He gave another general wave towards the woods. "We'll never understand why things happen, we're just to accept that they do. I think your father needs to learn that."
Surprisingly, that explanation made Alan feel exonerated for the first time in his life. He'd always felt such guilt over his mother's death, as though there were something he could have done. Unreasonable, yes, but emotions weren't always reasonable. That simple relief was almost overwhelming. He'd no idea how heavy that chain of guilt had been.
"But like I said, Lucy was happy. And I was glad. I didn't much like Jefferson Tracy, and I really didn't want to see him, though I didn't want Lucy to know that, or get in the way of her happiness. Then Mom and Dad were killed in a car wreck the first year Lucy was married. Did you know that?"
Alan nodded, keeping silent. He was learning tons. He didn't want to stop the flow.
"So it was just Lucy and me. I moved up here after that. There really wasn't much to keep me in England. I'm an artist. A woodworker," he explained. "I'd begun to make a name for myself, so I could live anywhere I wanted. I'd always been prone to being a loner all my life, and I loved being out in the woods. And Alaska has a never-ending supply of all types of wood, so it made the most sense. I loved the skiing and all the sports and nature that was available. I chose the right place. I love it. But I do tend to lose all track of time up here," he said with a self-deprecating laugh. "On the other hand, Lucy was different. She loved sports too, but she liked people too. And people returned that love. Everybody who met Lucy just loved her. She was that kind of person."
"Everybody's told me that," Alan exclaimed in frustration. "But what did she like? Did she like sports? What kind of movies did she like? I know she was an artist and a musician. But I didn't know she was premed."
David chuckled at Alan's obvious irritation. "Okay, specifics. Lucy loved all kinds of sports. And she was good at them. She was an avid runner. That was her way of letting of steam. She ran everyday, rain or shine, all the time she was in high school and in college. She told me she kept it up as much as possible after she married as well."
"What else . . . She loved to ski. She skied downhill like a maniac. She loved speed. The faster she could go, the better she liked it. She also liked motorcycles. On holiday, before she married, we'd go anyplace where there was room to roam. I came over to see her a lot. We'd go to Montana, Colorado, you name it. In the winter we'd ski or snowmobile and in the summer, we'd dirt bike. We always were racing, and man, she was a killer competitor. She beat me more often than not."
"Wow," Alan murmured, spellbound.
"She loved to hike as well. She was an outdoor girl. She didn't mind getting dirty. But don't get me wrong. She was feminine all the way. She loved to get dressed up. Anytime I didn't know what to get her for a gift, I could always get jewelry. She was a sucker for anything that glittered."
"She also had a hell of a temper. Much as I disliked Tracy, I knew he'd never push her where she didn't want to go. She knew her own mind, and woe to anybody who tried to manipulate her." He snickered. "I'd have loved to be a fly on the wall a few times. Jeff Tracy struck me as a man who was used to getting his own way, and I knew my sister well enough to know that she was more than a match for him when she wanted to be. I bet there were more than a couple major blow ups. Things would have been broken during those times – plates, glasses, vases. She wouldn't discriminate. Anything would have been ammunition."
He smiled at Alan. "Is this what you wanted to know?"
"Yes," Alan said, bemused. "Exactly."
TB TB TB TB TBDavid and Alan talked all that afternoon. Or rather, David talked, and Alan listened. He was enthralled. David laid out the childhood that he and Lucy had lived. The vacations they took, the personalities of his parents. Moments from their lives.
Alan felt as though he were being filled like a water glass. A part of him was becoming whole, a part he hadn't even realized was empty. He was like a sponge, absorbing information.
They finally headed inside the house to make dinner. Alan stopped dead in his tracks at his first view of the great room. The furniture was similar in style to his own. The lines were elegant in their simplicity and the wood was glowing with inner warmth. The mission and craftsman influences were evident in every line. This was not what Alan expected to see in an Alaskan backcountry home.
Then he spotted the coffee table and end tables. He was moving towards them without even knowing it. They were clearly from the same hand as the coffee table his father had given him. The workmanship was unmistakable.
Alan's world was spinning again. He just wondered if it would ever stop. "Where . . . Who . . .?" He stuttered. Finally he tried again. "Where did you get these?"
David's face was a study in puzzled amusement at his nephew's actions. He snorted. "I made them of course. I made all of my furniture. I told you, I'm a woodworker."
Alan shook his head slightly to clear it. "No. I have one of these tables. My father gave it to me as a gift. He got it in a gallery at home. The craftsman is a guy named Davis." He stopped short suddenly.
David shouted with laughter. "You have one of my tables! I market my work under the name Evan Davis to the galleries. Like I said, I like my privacy." He shook his head in amusement. "I don't believe it! What are the chances of that?"
Alan began to grin slowly. "No way." He looked around the room again. The workmanship was clear. No piece was alike, but it was evident that the same person had done the work. "I don't believe it!" He exclaimed, unconsciously echoing David.
"Me either. Well, all I can say is that you have taste. Very, very good taste. And your Dad may actually have a spark of decency in him if he picked out my work to give to you as a gift!"
"Do you think he knows?" Alan ventured, again deliberately choosing to ignore the negative sentiment towards his father.
"No way. He knew I was an artist, but he was never interested in what I did. And like I said, I market under a pseudonym. Besides, Tracy was more interested in my sister than in me. And we didn't keep in touch after her death."
David laughed again, and slapped Alan on the shoulder, and indicated towards the kitchen, still shaking his head in amusement.
TB TB TB TB TBAlan spent four days with David Evans. In that time, they hiked, rode dirt bikes, and generally explored the countryside. They also talked. Alan listened with intensity. He finally felt he understood who his mother was. Why she was so beloved. He learned her talents and her flaws.
At one point, while they were taking a breather after riding dirt bikes, David had commented to Alan that he was an awful lot like his mother in the risk-taking department. That's where he must have gotten it. Alan was inordinately pleased. It was nice to know there was some Evans in him besides just taste in furniture.
When Alan finally headed for home, he left with a sincere invitation to come back anytime he needed a breather or a break from his overbearing father. Alan took that as a compliment of the highest order. David wasn't all that interested in strangers - congenial as he was – family or no. He told David he'd definitely be back and appreciated the invitation, and that he wouldn't mention his existence to Scott, Virgil or Gordon either.
David had laughed, clapped his shoulder, commented that he'd known Alan was a good one. He also said that he knew Scott and Virgil were aware of the existence of their 'Uncle David', Lucy had made sure of that. But again, neither had followed up on that knowledge, nor had David. Shrugging, David had just commented that he'd never been very good with children, so he just learned about them from his sister. After she'd died, well, there had been no link. David told him that if his brothers wanted to find him, they could work for it, just as Alan and John had. And to say hello to Jeff and John for him.
Alan felt like he'd found a friend in a family member he didn't even know he'd had, as well as a link to his mother. He was beginning to feel whole again.
ANSWER IN MAJORPart of the life of auto racing was being on the road traveling from race to race. Alan was used to it by now. But it still grated him to travel by car instead of by plane. Unfortunately, with the amount of equipment they carried, traveling by road made the most sense by a long shot. Alan sometimes did fly and meet the caravan at the tracks, but mostly he traveled with them. They were a team, and in more than name only.
So, as was the norm, the racing team was traveling by convoy. A couple of large pickup trucks and SUV's pulling the large trailers with the racecars and equipment. They'd been on the road for three weeks so far on this swing, and were on their way to a race in Northern California. It was the middle of the night, and Alan was asleep in the back of the ¾ ton pickup as they headed north out of Los Angeles on I-5.
Kenny and Pat had made Alan give up the wheel to Kenny as they left LA. Kenny knew Alan all to well. The route they would take out of LA would go through the hills, then drop to the Great Central Valley. The section of the I-5 corridor where it ran through the Valley was sparsely populated and monotonous. The population centers tended to be on the right side of the valley off of State Highway 99, so those traveling I-5 on the left side of the valley tended to 'fly the five'. Kenny commented that 'flying the five' was fine, but he really didn't want to travel at the supersonic speeds that only Alan could coax out of the truck. It was a long stretch, and Kenny didn't want to see it used as a runway. Thus, Pat and Kenny forced a grumbling Alan to crawl in the back as they stopped for gas just before they headed into the hills out of LA.
"You guys just like to enjoy the scenery," Alan groused as he slammed the back door. "Sunday drivers."
"What scenery? It's o-dark-hundred in the middle of the night," Pat pointed out logically, as he settled into the front passenger seat.
"Go to sleep Alan. At least we'll live to see the end of the valley if I'm driving," Kenny laughed.
Alan could be heard muttering something rude in the back. Kenny grinned as he started the truck and moved off, the remainder of the convoy following.
The shock of the sudden stop and the noise from the crash woke Alan abruptly. It took him a moment to realize that all was not what it should be. The crumpled hood of the truck blocked the view from the spider web-cracked windshield. A second hard jolt whip lashed the youngest Tracy and made him feel as though his head were coming off. Then the noise intruded. The sounds of crashing, screaming and tortured metal were eerie coming from the dark, misty world around them. It was a scene that was right out of Dante's Inferno.
Visibility was zero, with the darkness exacerbated by the heavy fog. Flashes of defused light came out of the dark as flames and explosions occurred. Sounds almost seemed muffled.
"Everybody okay?" Kenny asked breathlessly.
"Think so," Pat answered in an unsteady voice.
"Alan?" Kenny's voice again, more strongly this time.
"Yeah," Alan answered, still trying to grasp the situation. "What happened?"
"Tule fog. It came on real sudden and we hit somebody. And it sounds like we aren't the only ones," he answered grimly, grabbing for his radio. "Pat, call 911."
"On it," Pat answered quickly, reaching for the cell phone.
Nobody said the obvious. They were out in the middle of nowhere. It was going to take awhile for help to arrive.
Kenny was on the radio, calling in to the others in their caravan. One by one shaky replies came through, confirming all clear.
Alan opened the door and let himself out of the truck's backseat, looking around.
"Careful, Alan. This looks bad." Kenny spared a moment from the radio for his driver.
"Will do," he answered, getting his bearings.
Bad was an understatement. The heavy fog blanketed the highway, and reduced visibility to almost nothing. Tule fogs were notorious in this part of California. I-5 ran through the valley, essentially trapping the fog. The fogs were dense and had been known to last for days.
The racing team's big extended cab pickup truck and trailer were accordioned between another large SUV in front and a sedan behind. It was the size of their heavy-duty rig that had kept them unharmed.
The sounds of crashes were farther away now, back behind them. It sounded as though the carnage were continuing. But screaming was more pronounced, and close. Alan realized that the glow of light enabling him to see came from a car a few lengths in front of them. The car was burning, and the nearest screaming was coming from it. Instinct and training far different from racing cars took over, and Alan's brain was processing triage as he began running for the inferno.
TB TB TB TB TBThe call came into International Rescue about a huge early morning pile up in Southern California. One of the sudden Tule fogs had come up, and the wreckage was strewn for over a mile on both north and south bound I-5. The area was remote and the authorities needed any help they could get. The death toll was rising, and the dark and continuing fog were hampering any effort of air support to get more crews into the remote area.
Scott was aloft almost immediately in Thunderbird One, and Virgil wasn't far behind him with Two.
TB TB TB TB TB"I'm glad you're here," the commander of the ground police said wearily. "This is one of the worst pile ups we've ever seen. The wreckage covers over two miles and the fires are still out of control in the northeast quadrant. We have crews in all of the sections, but our biggest issue is knowing what's happening with a wreckage site this large and no aerial coverage. Tule fogs take visibility to zero."
"Okay," Scott answered. "Mobile control is set up, and Thunderbird Two is on the way. We've got specialized viewing equipment on Two that's specially designed to see through fog and other low visibility situations. We'll have her fly over so we can get a good estimate of what we're dealing with. We also have equipment that should dissipate the fog."
Scott was once again grateful to the engineering genius behind the Thunderbirds. A year or so back, Brains had come up with small devices, which, if placed at specific intervals around the area, would dissipate the fog. They had been a real boon in the large scale accidents created by Tule fogs. These events were terrible, not only because the accident scene was so large, but also because rescue efforts were made impossible, thus increasing the loss of life.
There had been a major discussion regarding these apparatus' in the Tracy lounge after Brains had unveiled them. Discussion was probably a polite term. Huge argument was more like it, Scott reflected, on whether to make them public property. The savings in lost lives would be tremendous if they could prevent the fogs by keeping the small machines on in fog prone areas. But Brains had vetoed the idea, stating that any artificial changes to the natural environment was asking for trouble. He didn't want them used when they weren't absolutely necessary, because he didn't know the long-term effects. It still amazed Scott that Brains could take on the whole Tracy family and win when he wanted to. He was more Tracy than not.
Scott's attention was wrenched back to the problem at hand as the commander replied.
"Good. Our crew chiefs will be glad to have that information. And to have that fog go away would be a real godsend." He shook his head in emphasis. "They are killers."
"F. A. B.," Scott confirmed. "We'll place the devices as we do the aerial recon, then see what we can do to help."
"Here are the people to check in with at each sector." He rattled off the names, clearly relieved by IR's presence and their seemingly miraculous plans to help redirect nature. "Check in with each of them, they'll let you know what help they need."
Scott and Virgil went to work. When Virgil finished the fly over, with Scott along, placing Brains' devices, they began contacting the crew chiefs directly by radio to relay the gathered information. After that, as per the commanders' request, they headed to each sector, helping with the worst of the situations. Virgil began giving the Firefly a good workout, putting out the fires and effecting quicker rescues.
The third sector they reached looked in better shape than the first two. Scott commented on that to the crew chief.
The crew chief gave an ironic laugh. "You wouldn't believe it. When we got here, a civilian already had this area handled. He'd organized the survivors into a pretty efficient rescue team, and had set up triage with anybody who had medial training. It was amazing. Check in with him, but I think he's got it covered. I've got a couple of people there now overseeing, but he'd done all the work." He shrugged. "Go figure. Sometimes miracles occur when you need them. And since he's famous, people tended to gravitate to him anyway, and he just used it to his best advantage. So, I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth. Anyway, I think you can head over to the next sector. Thanks to that civilian, I think we're okay."
"Huh," Scott commented, glad to see that there was competent help. "I think we'll thank him first. Always like to encourage people who take responsibility. Who should we ask for?"
"Alan Tracy." The chief laughed at Scott's stunned expression, although completely misunderstanding the reason. "Yeah, that's right. Tracy. The race car driver. Who would have figured that a rich kid, and one that young to boot, would be this good in a crisis?"
TB TB TB TB TB
"Hey!" the fireman Alan was talking to perked up as he looked over the blond Tracy son's shoulder. "International Rescue's here."
Alan schooled his expression as he turned to look over in the direction the fireman was looking. They been comparing the list of names that Alan had compiled with the names the fire personnel and police had gotten as they canvassed the area.
Scott was walking towards them, Virgil by his side. They were a sight to behold, materializing out of the dim, murky fog like the heroes in stories of old. The scene was surreal anyway, with the poor visibility broken by the flashing lights from the emergency vehicles and the orange of flames still burning. People were darting in and out of the darkness, and the noise was overwhelming, a seeming contradiction in the poor visibility.
The two men from International Rescue were a sight in their blue uniforms and crisp sashes. They looked larger than life as they emerged from the gloomy darkness into the pool of the floodlight. There were expressions of relief from the first aid workers, the fire and police personnel, and the injured. People seemed to gain new strength as they returned to their tasks. They had help. International Rescue was here. They would be okay now.
For the very first time, Alan realized that this was part of International Rescue's power. They not only brought help, they brought hope. IR didn't need large numbers to do their job. They inspired those around them in the accident scenes, and that became the organizations' additional numbers.
Alan felt a stab of pride in his family, amazement as he comprehended for the first time the true extent of his father's vision, and full of admiration for the two brothers striding towards him. He knew he could count on them to not be caught off guard at the sight of him, and that they would treat him just like any other civilian at the scene. He knew he could count on them, period.
Scott was shaking the hand of the crew chief next to Alan. As the man's attention was on Scott, Virgil shot a discreet glance at Alan. Alan correctly read the worried question about his condition and the deep concern in his brother's expressive eyes. He answered with a quick nod – he was okay. Virgil's heartfelt relief was again clearly reflected in his gaze, warming Alan with its depth of feeling. Then the crew chief was introducing him.
"Alan Tracy. He and his racing team were caught in the crash. Tracy's done most of the triage and organizing. He's the reason that things are looking so good in this sector."
Scott reached out to shake his hand. "Glad to meet you. Good job. Your team alright? Anything we should know?" Behind the professional words and tone, Alan heard the clear worry and concern directed towards himself and his friends.
Alan felt again that feeling of being loved and watched over by his eldest brother, as he had all of his life. He returned Scott's quick unseen squeeze of his hand discreetly, but emphatically. Like Scott's words, however, his own were returned in kind, professional and businesslike.
"Likewise. My team is fine. We were lucky. We're okay here. This is what we've got . . ." He began to elaborate on the situation.
"I'll go ahead to the next sector," Virgil commented, "Things look good here."
Alan correctly interpreted the unspoken 'good job', and nodded acknowledgement, internally basking in the praise. He knew he'd done well.
"I'll be with you in a moment," Scott said to Virgil.
"F. A. B.," Virgil responded, gave a nod to those remaining, and left Alan, Scott and the rest of the fire and police team to finish what Alan had begun.
TB TB TB TB TB
Alan straightened up tiredly, and looked down from the rise he was standing on. This was the central location for all of the sectors. Once his sector had been handled, he moved to central to help out.
He'd just finished double checking the lists of those involved against those found and the dead. All were accounted for in one way or another. He felt the sadness he always felt when International Rescue dealt with the dead, but also the satisfaction of those they'd saved today. The combined efforts of IR and their unique equipment, the police, highway patrol, fire crews, and the civilians (of which he was one – sort of) had saved many who would otherwise have died.
He was dirty, he was sore, and he was exhausted. And he felt better than he'd felt in months. The feeling of being alive, and of being useful was something he'd missed, and he hadn't even realized it. Alan recognized for the first time that he was very, very good at this. Not in the way Scott or Virgil or John or Gordon were good. But in his own way. He could command, and he could lead by example. He was Scott in his own unique way. But he was also comfortable following orders. He was himself. For a moment, he could clearly hear TinTin laughing at him, and her taunting, "About time Alan!" He grinned a little to himself.
The accident scene was brutal in it's clarity after the burning off of the killer fog. Sometimes Tule fogs lasted for days. This one stayed only hours thanks to Brains' invention. The bulk of the two Thunderbirds rose high in the background on the other side of wreckage that was strewn across the highway, gleaming brightly with the light of the rising sun behind them. The colors somehow seemed brighter for the filtering haze of the still smoldering fires, making the Thunderbirds that much more surreal.
"Always amazing," said the quiet, discreet voice of Virgil from behind him, keeping up the necessary charade.
Alan nodded without looking around. He knew his brother looked as tired as he himself felt. The blue uniform and colored sash would be as dirty and sooty as Alan knew himself to be.
"So, when are you moving back home?" Scott's soft voice from behind him asked casually into the momentary oasis of privacy and calm surrounding them.
"As soon as I can make arrangements," Alan answered, still looking out at the destroyed highway.
"'Bout time," Virgil stated matter-of-factly.
CADENZAAlan looked over the glass racecar carefully as he removed the bubble wrap and tissue paper protecting it. Satisfied, he ran a hand over it, feeling the cool smoothness of the glass, then carefully set it up on the glass shelf in his sitting room.
"Almost finished?"
Alan turned at his father's voice and smiled.
"Almost. You timed that about right."
Jeff laughed. "I guess I did." He looked knowingly at the glass car Alan had set on the shelf. It gleamed in the bright tropical sun, reflecting the soft colors. Wisely, he said nothing about it. Instead, "Are you sure you want these rooms? You can still have the apartment that you and . . . TinTin shared."
Alan smiled, appreciating his father's concern. The lose of TinTin and their child would always be a huge hole in his life. And because of that, he felt better back in the suite of rooms he'd occupied before his marriage. There were some things he still couldn't face. But he knew that it was okay that way. There was time.
When he'd decided to come home and rejoin IR, he'd had some stipulations. He and his father had talked at length, and to Alan's amazement, Jeff had agreed unconditionally. Not that Alan's requirements were anything particularly out of the ordinary, but they were different from the way IR had been run previously.
The major issue was that Alan wanted to keep racing. Oh, not full time. Selected races – not a full season. The sponsors of his team were fine with that. He still was going to be a winning driver, and they could have other drivers up and coming. He also kept his apartment near the home track. Alan was convinced that he'd need space, and what better way than a place that was his own. Someplace that wasn't tied to the family. Thus, when he was sick of being treated like the baby (he was under no illusions there – once the baby of the family, always the baby), he'd have a place to go. And that place was home to him, with friends and a life. He was lucky – he got to have his cake and eat it too.
Alan had a sense that TinTin was pleased with him. He'd come full circle. The relationship with his father was different now. He'd told Jeff about his visit with David Evans. Jeff was most interested. That had led to a discussion of Lucille Tracy, the most Alan had ever heard his father talk about her. The parallels between him and his father were more clearer than ever. There were evenings when he'd needed to talk about TinTin to somebody who would understand the sense of loss he felt, and his father filled the bill. Both Jeff and Alan had changed, and their relationship was all the better for it.
"No, it's better this way," Alan replied quietly.
Jeff laid a hand on his son's shoulder. That was all the answer that was needed. Jeff understood, and Alan knew that.
"Alan! Quick! Come on!" Gordon's voice was coming closer. "Virgil's gone and I want to make him pay for those cracks he made about Four last night. I want to 'fix' Thunderbird Two for him, just the way he wanted to fix my perfect submarine last night. You know that . . ." Gordon stopped dead as he saw who was in Alan's room with him. Blanching, he backpedaled furiously. " . . . door that Virgil dented and he's desperate to get fixed? Well, you could do it. Meet me down in the hanger." And he was gone.
Jeff grinned. "The more things change . . ."
"The more they stay the same," Alan finished, laughing.
"Just leave off with the red and orange paint this time, okay?" Jeff said, heading for the doorway. He enjoyed the horrified look of frozen shock on Alan's face. Hiding a smile, he left the room, his omniscience once again firmly established.
finis
