DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Thunderbirds, which is the property of Carlton Television and Gerry Anderson. This story is not meant to make profit – it is for entertainment purposes only.
Rescued
January 2018
"Dad!" Scott's voice banged harshly off the walls of the house, as did his hands as he tried to take a corner at nearly a full run. "DAD!"
From his study, Jeff could already see that something was happening. His computer was registering a code-red signal in the bottom right corner of the monitor, and the speakers chimed a continual alert siren that had thrown him from his work the moment that it had gone off. A quick password input into the computer had the entire floor changing around. Giant hydraulics moved the unnecessary furniture into the ground, and lifted up extra computer components and monitors that were the heart of International Rescue.
"I hear it, Scott," he yelled back, turning just in time to see Scott barrelling into the room. "Did you call-"
"Yeah, Brains says he's coming." The casual nickname given to James Wilson by Alan over Christmas had stuck, and all of the Tracy boys seemed to be using it. Even Jeff found it rolling off of his tongue. "He just has to close down some stuff in the lab, and then he'll meet us in the main bay."
Reaching over to tap a key, Jeff brought up on the monitor the main Thunderbird 5 control screen. "It looks like it's nearby. Five has tracked it to an area east and slightly south of the Philippines."
"Sub-tropical?" Scott was busy pealing off his beach clothes, and trying to dig in Jeff's office closet all at the same time. With a grunt, he yanked hard and pulled out a graphite grey flight suit. "Doesn't sound too bad."
"Weather reports on the news show a storm in that region," Jeff answered, pointing a finger at the screen that he had also pulled up. "That's probably the area."
"We can just head over there and see what's up." A boot came flying in Jeff's direction as Scott tried to do too many things at once. "Shoot, can you pass me that?"
"I suppose I should find my stuff," Jeff replied, tossing the boot back to his son. "I know I kept the suit in here somewhere."
Raising an eyebrow, Scott stopped squirming long enough to give his father a long and appraising look. "Your old flight suit? Dad, you'd better hope that it still fits."
"I'll pretend that I didn't hear that," muttered Jeff, giving his son a slightly insulted look. "Be thankful for what you have, Scott." Reaching into the closet, Jeff pulled out a rumpled flight suit. "Good Lord, I hope this fits too."
It was the moment that Jeff Tracy had been waiting to happen for almost eight long years. He was seated in the main flight seat of Thunderbird 2, the large green cargo ship ready for take-off, his hands clutching the control yoke in a way that they hadn't done since he had flown a space shuttle. The entire ship pulsed beneath him, as the atomic reactor core fed continual power to the engines and the electronics on-board.
Thousands of tonnes of steel lay underneath him, just waiting for the chance to be used.
Jeff toggled a switch, bringing up the main flight display and communications screen. "Scott, what's your status?"
The speaker crackled for a moment, until Scott's voice came through clear and unaffected by interference. "I'm a go," he replied crisply, in the trained manner of an air-force officer. "Engines are green, structural is good, and the stratosphere is begging to be burned."
"I copy," Jeff smiled, bringing the main drive systems online. "Two looks fine. Brains, you there?"
"H-h-h-here, Mr. Tracy."
"Patch in the co-ordinates of the distress call to Scott's computer. I can follow him from there."
"D-d-d-doing so now."
A distinct rumbling noise shook Jeff in his seat, and he turned his head so that he could see out the window in the direction of the Thunderbird One bay. Though the doors were closed, he could imagine what was happening behind them.
"Systems are green," Scott was saying over the roar of ignition, "fuel is stable. I'm opening the roof." The noise subsided somewhat. "Lift-off is a go, Dad. I'm bringing the main rockets online."
"Good to hear." Sucking in his breath, Jeff toggled the ignition switch. The entire ship seemed to jump forward as the drive platform began to creep towards the hanger door. Just as the ship's nose reached the wall, the door cracked open to reveal the sparkling waters of the Pacific. A long concrete runway led out to a lift-off point, where deep bunkers in the soil allowed the ship to fire its engines directly onto the ground. A long row of palm trees bowed down as the plane passed, as if in honour of its magnificence.
"This is like flying a dragon." Scott was still talking over the comm, though his voice had lost most of its formalness. "I'm activating the main scrams." A loud whoop of pure enjoyment sounded over the radio. "Dad, you should see this! The acceleration and handling are just amazing."
"T-t-that's good to hear," Brains offered over the comm, his voice happy sounding. "I-i-i-i tested it rather thoroughly to make sure that it would be to your liking."
By that point, Thunderbird Two was in position on the outside take-off platform. Another flip of a switch had the ship tipped upward on its end, its large chemical rockets directed into the concrete silos. "I'm ready for take-off." It's now or never, Jeff thought, and he cued in the final ignition sequence.
The force of the cargo-hauler firing its burners sent Jeff back in his seat in a way that he hadn't been in years. The lift-off was truly awe-inspiring, as the green rocket pulled away from the island and climbed into the high blue skies of the South Pacific.
This brings back memories, he thought fondly, remembering having felt the same feeling during a shuttle lift-off.
"Scott, what's your ETA?"
"Ten minutes at the max," Scott replied, "pretty good. I'll be there in enough time to sort everything out. The anti-radar coating on the craft seems to be working. I haven't received any kind of sensor warning from Thunderbird Five at all. What's your ETA?"
"At least twenty." Frowning, Jeff tapped the read-out screen that displayed the power index. "I'm sure it could be lower. Maybe Brains can have a look when we get back."
Typhoon Sophia was busy tearing a five hundred kilometre wide path of destruction through the southern islands of the Pacific. The storm, which had lessened somewhat, still carried hurricane strength, and was situated over top of a small archipelago group a few hundred klicks to the east of the Philippines. The population, made up of natives of the island, and descents of British and Spanish settlers, were a reasonably developed community in terms of technology, but unprepared for the brute force that Sophia was threatening to unleash.
By the time that Scott arrived at the main island group, it was apparent where most of the damage was. Readings from Thunderbird Five showed that the smallest landmass, a volcanic ridge similar in composition to Tracy Island, was covered on the one side in a huge in-motion mudslide. The villagers were trying to escape the island on boat, but Scott could see a group of homes near the ridge that were too far from water for that escape route.
"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Two, what's your ETA now?"
Jeff's voice crackled through the storm interference, "About fifteen, though I might be able to get there in ten if I really push her."
"We have a situation. It looks like we'll need the rescue platform."
As the storm intensified, the radio contact between the two ships began to fade. Though Thunderbird Five, high above the level of the atmosphere, was easily able to cut through the interference, the computer-controlled craft could only do so much to compensate for the white noise. It was better than a manual system, but to completely eliminate the noise, constant updates would have to be patched into the system until it was flawless. It was another thing that Brains would have to work on in his free time.
"Thunderbird Two, do you copy?"
"I hear you," the comm whistled, "I copy."
Satisfied that his father understood, Scott began to bring Thunderbird One into its landing cycle. As the ship slowed from Mach speeds, the horizontal wings began to fold out and the ramjets slowly began to give out. As the island fast approached, the jets cut out completely and the ship reverted back to its chemical drive.
Throwing the reverse thrusters online, Scott searched for a landing spot, found one on the outmost beach, and gently took the ship down to the sand, its landing thrusters leaving scorch marks and glass prints on the beach.
He could see people milling about outside of the ship, some of them fleeing, some of them stopping to point in wonder at the ship that had miraculously appeared from the clouds. It was just like Gordon had said, Scott thought in amusement; here he was, bringing a Thunderbird down from the clouds, amidst a storm of lightning and thunder.
"Two, I'm downside. I'm going out to find out where we can be most of help."
It took longer than Scott had hoped to convince the crowd that he was not a hostile force. A good portion of the population spoke English, but most of the people only had a small grasp of the language. The concept of a rocket ship was foreign to them, and it was almost ten minutes before they would even approach the ship.
But, once the crowd understood that - for whatever reason - he was there to help them, they were willing to follow his directions without question. Finished directing the people to continue their evacuation, Scott had sought out someone who knew the island better than the others. He was grateful to find an individual that was not only helpful, but also well versed in the English language.
"Sorry about this," the head of the town, a man by the name of Tristan Comers, apologised to Scott, as the two of them made a quick walk-through of the nearly abandoned town-site. "We weren't expecting any help, and definitely weren't prepared for someone to show up in a spaceship. We haven't exactly heard of your organization."
"It's not a space-ship," Scott explained, trying to set the man straight. "Thunderbird One is a reconnaissance craft that my organization uses to scout out a disaster zone before our cargo-hauler comes in. And International Rescue is quite new, so we don't advertise our work. That's why you haven't heard about us yet."
Shaking his head in wonder, Comers lead Scott up a small hill that overlooked the rest of the island. "Most of the lower village is safe and can be evacuated to the neighbouring islands before the eye of the storm hits. I'm concerned about those people up there. The roads are treacherous as a general rule, and the rain has probably turned the slopes to mud."
"Mud on one side, water on the other," Scott muttered, assessing the situation. "When did the mudslide start?"
"About half an hour ago. It might have been earlier, but we didn't notice it until then." He expression grave, Comers asked, "Can you do anything?"
A smile coming to his face, Scott nodded in grim determination. "Yeah, I think we can."
Jeff could see as he approached the island that things were becoming bad, and quickly. The eye of the storm was only thirty minutes out, and the wind shear outside the craft was bordering on suicidal for anyone flying in it. As he prepared to circle the landmass, waiting for some sort of signal from Scott, the comm clicked and Scott's voice came blurting out.
"Dad, there are people stuck up on the ridge. There's a mud-slide in progress, and we need to get them out of there before the eye hits and the wind becomes too high to use the equipment."
"Copy, that," Jeff directed the craft towards the island's peak, "I'll be there in a couple of minutes."
"Hurry." There was no disguising the worry in Scott's voice. "I don't think we'll have much time."
His worst fears were confirmed as Jeff brought Thunderbird Two down at the foot of the mountain. The green craft dwarfed the smaller Thunderbird One, which was already coated in a heavy layer of mud and soil and could hardly be distinguished as an air-worthy craft at all. It was the mud that worried Jeff - it was in the air, in the water, and rapidly falling down the side of the rock face.
Scott met his father at the landing ramp, his hand outstretched and holding a single sheet of paper. "Things are very bad."
Taking the paper, Jeff quickly looked it over, his face falling as the truth dawned on him. "We'd better make this as quick as possible. You'll have to suit up on the way there."
"Roger." Scott was already sprinting up the loading ramp, into the bowls of the Thunderbird. "I'll be ready."
Re-entering the ship, Jeff didn't even bother to strap himself in properly. Wasting no time, he engaged the lift-off boosters, and sent the craft hurtling straight towards the group of huts on the side of the mountain. "Scott," he asked, toggling the comm switch, "do they know we're coming?"
"I think so. Mr. Comers said that he would try and contact them via the short-wave system."
If only we had the time, Jeff thought, we could try and contact them ourselves. But they didn't have the time to waste, and all of Jeff's attention was toward flying the ship through an insane level of wind shear.
"We're coming up on the site." The mountain loomed closer as Jeff spoke and soon Two hovered a hundred feet directly over top of the upper village. A quick glance at his sensors caused Jeff's face to fall even further - the mudslide had reached the homes, and the lower roads were no longer passable. The people of the town were huddled on the upper balconies of the houses, but even those soon looked to be covered by the dirt.
The rain was so thick that it almost created a white wall in front of the windshield, and without the radar, Jeff was sure that he would have hit the mountain. Once again, he wished that there were a way for the ship to relay him much needed observational information without him having to look for it.
"I'm ready, Dad."
"Lowering platform." Carefully, so as not to bump the ship around in the gale, Jeff let go of the yoke with his right hand and triggered the activation switch for the winch. The ship creaked as a door opened on its bottom, a large enough space for two men to stand side by side without too much difficulty.
Ignoring the adrenaline that was running through his veins, Jeff kept the ship calm and began to lower the rescue platform - with Scott onboard - down into the storm. On the screen, the platform rocked back and forth in the invisible wind.
"Hold, dammit," Jeff muttered, hoping that the cable would be able to withstand the stress. "Hold."
"I'm down!" Scott cried suddenly over the comm, and Jeff immediately stopped the winch.
"How many?"
"Five here. I think I can take them all."
And so it begins, Jeff thought, listening intently over the comm as Scott explained to the residents what they were supposed to do.
On the far side of the world from where Sophia was ravaging, night had fallen on Cape Canaveral, washing the facility in a deep twilight. The glow of the moon behind the buildings cast a dark silhouette on the surrounding land, the gentle outline of the structures faintly visible from afar. Outside there was no disturbance but the sound of the southern wind tickling through the leaves of the occasional tree. Inside the case was mostly the same, as almost all the daytime employees were in bed or at least resting in their apartment complexes.
John Tracy was sitting at his desk and in the middle of writing a very important post-launch report when Alicia Berkman came barrelling into his office at full speed. The woman's hair was slightly dishevelled as though she had been running, and her face was flushed. It was obvious that she was not accustomed to jogging around, and the exercise had taken something out of her.
Glancing over at the clock, John saw that it was approaching midnight, and he wondered why the woman was up so late.
"You have to see this!" she managed to gasp in between breaths, causing John to set down his pencil and gaze up from the diagrams that he had been haphazardly sketching.
"Huh?"
"On the television!" Rolling her eyes at his confused gaze, Alicia took John by the arm, guided him around his desk, and pulled him out the door. "You've heard about that typhoon heading toward Southeast Asia, right?"
John nodded, still lost as to what Alicia was so excited about.
"I happened to be working and caught it during a coffee break, but people have been popping in and out from their apartments to watch it. It's turned into quite the party."
The two entered the main cafeteria, the same room where Jeff Tracy had spent six hours waiting for his son to finish the training exam. A group of at least two dozen people – most of them dressed in housecoats - were gathered around a small television set that rested on the counter. One man reached a hand to turn up the volume, sending the voice of a newscaster booming around the room.
"Lisa, could you describe for the viewers again what you are seeing?"
"What's happening?" John finally asked as Alicia pushed a path through the group so that the two of them could see the small screen.
"Just listen."
"Well, Vic," a different voice – a female one - continued on the monitor, "the residents of this small island were in serious trouble until half an hour ago. They were expecting international relief support to arrive, but before that happened an incredible mudslide began to cover the far side of the island, putting some homes in danger."
"Mmmm." His brows furrowing, John absently rubbed his chin as the facts began to slowly sink in. "Disaster, huh?"
"Big one," Alicia muttered, "you should have seen the amateur footage. The mountain was just going."
The female voice continued, " – but when rescue crews arrived, they were surprised to find another group already there. This mystery group, according to the mayor of the settlement in danger, has refused all photographs, claiming secrecy, and any attempts to film their craft have been unsuccessful. It appears as though they are using some form of electromagnetic field to block all outgoing television signals. Radio is being allowed in order to aid with the rescue efforts. Because of this, we are running audio only at the moment. I've been told that it might be possible to run a video tape out of the disruption area, but that may prove to be difficult given the intensity of the storm."
John tried desperately to hide the smile of incredulity that was trying to force its way onto his face. Still, the corners of his lips curved up ever so slightly. He glanced over at Alicia and silently thanked the older woman for pulling himself from his office. This was something that he truly did not want to miss.
Thunderbirds are a go.
"Lisa, what about the ships?"
"Vic, they are unlike anything that anyone has ever seen before. Two craft, both utilizing unidentifiable technology, are being used for the rescue. I've spoken to some of the men with the United Nations rescue team, and they are unable to give an explanation for either the appearance or the existence of the craft. I've also been told that Pentagon officials are already looking into the matter but have made an initial statement saying that the craft are not to be perceived as a threat to American security. More details will be given later."
That's a relief, John thought to himself. Wouldn't want them to get pulled in by our own peace keepers.
"Vic, the larger craft, which is a green colour and is about the size of two aircraft carriers, is currently using some sort of platform to pick up the stranded civilians from the tops of their homes. I can just make out from my viewpoint a lone individual in grey helping the people onto the platform."
Scott, he observed silently, a small knot of worry forming in his stomach. Scott, be careful. That house could go at any moment. Though he could not see his brother, he could imagine Scott, drenched in rain, stretching his arm out to catch the hand of the last stranded person on the home. He could see in his mind the house giving way, the foundation crumbling and the people being swept into the sea of mud.
"Brave man," Alicia commented out loud, drawing confirmations from most of those present. "I wonder who these people are?"
John absently opened his mouth to respond, my family, but was saved when Lawrence jumped in with, "International Rescue, Alicia, they said it while you were off to fetch Tracy. It's the only name that they'll give."
The word 'Tracy' stung at John's mind. His co-workers never intentionally singled him out, but it always happened that he was never addressed in any way other than 'Tracy'. It was only Alicia Berkman, a woman that had a suspiciously kind disposition for someone of her status, who took the time out to call him by his first name. She alone seemed to have the insight to truly understand why he did what he did. She never bothered him like the others did, but instead gave him his peace, and he respected her a great deal because of that.
It was funny, John thought, how his refusal to take part in social activities made it impossible for him to truly join the group. His co-workers were largely social individuals, and though he did not fear that his actions would get in the way of his actual work, he often found himself wondering what others thought of him. From the outside, he supposed, he seemed awfully introverted when in fact he was simply dedicated to his job. Compared to his father, who had been very open with his children about his time with NASA and had revealed that he had spent a great deal of time socialising, John knew that he likely appeared to be of the non-living portion of society.
"What am I saying?" John snorted quietly, shaking his head as the television continued to blare. "I am introverted. I don't like going out." But that did not stop him from needing the same attention and comfort that any other human being desired. It did not mean that he disliked other human beings. On the contrary, he cared just as much for the people caught in the mud as he did for his own family.
His co-workers did not shun him, but they had stopped treating him as though he were in their circle. He was almost like an animal on display at a circus, an animal that had no feelings and was only there to do its job. They could poke him, prod him, beg him to do tricks, but it would never happen. It was like high school all over again, only the malice was not intentional. John wasn't sure what hurt more – the intentional bullying, or the accidental pain that he was being caused by all of the kind and helpful people in the room.
John smiled sadly and looked around at the men and women in the room. They all seemed so happy, so much like a team. They laughed together, smiled together, and to a certain extent lived together. There was no place in their world for someone that didn't enjoy sharing those feelings outright. Worse than that, he suspected that they expected something of him that he couldn't give – something that his father, in his own time, had been able to share.
What am I supposed to expect? I've learned this lesson already a long time ago. They aren't malicious people by nature. They simply don't understand. People like me are stereotyped beyond belief, treated with sympathy and shoved into a corner where we can work to our heart's content. And if that doesn't happen, then they parade us around in an attempt to mesh us into their exhibition.
Tracy. To them, he would always be Tracy, and nothing more. Surely there were more people in the world like Alicia, people who took more than a moment to form an opinion of someone, but he didn't have the opportunity or the hope to find more of them. His workplace would always be composed ninety-nine percent of the other type of human being, and that was not going to change.
John sighed. It was never going to change, no matter how many times he began and finished that same argument in his mind.
I'll just make do with what I have, because there's nothing else to be had. If I'm going to be this way, I'm going to take the lumps that come with it. Scott was right. I've got five hooligans back home that love me. That's enough for me.
"John."
Shaken out of his reverie, John looked up into the worried eyes of Alicia Berkman.
"John, are you all right?"
"I'm fine," he replied neutrally, "just a little tired. Sorry about drifting off like that."
"You work too much," a black haired man put in from the side, "why not take a night off? I mean, look at you, up at midnight working on reports!"
"Sorry, Dave, I'd love to talk, but right now I'd actually like to watch this." John laughed nervously, trying to evade the conversation altogether. "Wow, would you listen to that? Scram jets, they're saying. That's really something!"
"Yeah, and tomorrow night could be something as well. Why not come with us?" Lawrence added. The man's eyebrows raised ever so slightly in a gesture that John had quickly come to associate with trouble. "It could be fun, kid. We could hook you up with a nice lady!"
Try as he might, John could not stop the redness from seeping onto his cheeks. "Lawrence, I don't know about that . . ."
"Come on, kid, I hooked your Dad up, and look how that turned out! It wasn't that hard. I swear, your Mom was just begging to find a man. And what lady can resist an astronaut?"
John's face immediately froze up, and any warm feelings that he had in him disappeared like a train down a rail-line.
For years he had put up with all sorts of comments and prods from all sorts of people. Comments about his looks, his beliefs, his personality, his interests – they all washed over him and to a certain extent he had learned to block them out. Even if they caused him personal hardship, he never ever let it show on the outside.
But Lawrence had made the mistake of bringing up the Tracy family, and what John hated more than anything was casual and humorous remarks spoken about his parents. That, and the non-existent amount of comfort that he was experiencing after putting up with the other man's insistent efforts, took away any desire he had at all to continue the conversation.
Unable to form any words – his voice was lost somewhere amidst waves of embarrassment and pain - John simply shrugged and looked back towards the television. More than anything, he wanted to be able to curl up and disappear from the room and the ever-stinging situation. "I'm not an astronaut," he finally replied quietly, the tone of his voice reflecting keenly that he no longer wished to continue the conversation.
An awkward silence filled the room, broken only by the interspersed comments from the reporters on the television monitor. By the embarrassed looks on the faces of the other engineers, they understood somewhat why John was suddenly so cross.
"I didn't mean anything by it, kid," Lawrence chided, his voice jumping ever so slightly when he spoke. "Come on, learn to have some fun! You don't have to be an astronaut. I'll find you someone that likes," he stopped, and stared hard at John. "Well, guys like you."
"Like me?" Incredulity spread across John's face. "Like me?" You don't know what I'm like, Lawrence. You really have no idea, or you wouldn't be pushing this topic!
Confusion spreading on his face, Lawrence shrugged and gave John a friendly smile. "There's a girl out there for everyone, kid. Even for people like you. Listen, just give it a chance. Come with us once and we'll show you how to have a good time."
John could feel the muscles in his face tense. He knew that by pursuing the argument he wasn't doing himself any favours. It would probably be best to joke along with Lawrence – but he couldn't let a remark like that slide. So many times before he had let people stab him verbally through the heart, and so many times before he had done nothing except pad the wound after with thoughts of hope that someday things would be better. And yet, what had changed?
Nothing. And nothing would ever change unless he finally stood up for himself and said something. Scott wasn't there to protect him from the bullies any longer, no matter what type of bullies they were. He had to do it on his own. He couldn't change them, perhaps, but he could stop from them from trying to change him.
Meeting Lawrence's gaze, John took a deep breath and tried to pull from inside of himself some small speck of courage. "If you really want to help me," he replied finally, the words catching in his throat as he spoke them, "then leave me alone."
"Kid-"
The next words that left his mouth were nearly inaudible over the noise of the television. "I am not my father." With that, John turned his head, stood up, and walked out of the room without another word.
"Vic, I wish you could see what I'm seeing!" The television continued in the background.
A shocked look on his face, Lawrence raised his hands defensively and muttered, "I did nothing."
"He needs more sleep," suggested the dark haired man, and those around him nodded in agreement and offered their suggestions.
"Kid's going to burn out."
"He needs to lighten up."
"He needs a sense of humour."
"You need more tact," Alicia put in mildly, giving her subordinate a piercing stare and cutting the banter off cold. "Have you heard of the word, Lawrence?"
"I did nothing," Lawrence repeated insistently, "except offer him a chance to have some fun for a change. It's his own bloody fault if he's so hard boiled that he can't relax!" When Alicia's gaze did not lighten, he sighed and smacked a hand down on the table beside him. "Fine. But it won't be our fault when he shuts himself in a closet for the rest of his natural life."
Seven homes later, Scott Tracy was helping the last of the rescuees onto the platform. His eyes darted nervously from side to side as the mudslide grew higher and higher. Finally, as the final person stepped onto the steel floor, he slapped his comm and yelled, "Pull her up!"
The platform jumped about precariously in the wind and rain, and only Jeff's steady hand at the controls kept Two on course. Walls of moisture from Sophia slammed at the construct, sending the people scrambling for a hold on the walls of the platform. The eye was fast approaching, and Scott had no wish to be outside when it hit.
Clutching two tiny children at his sides, Scott kept his back to the wall and tried to maintain an aura of calm. Looking up at him, the children gazed with wide eyes at their rescuer.
"We gonna make it?" one asked in faltering English, his face dirty with mud.
"Of course," Scott replied calmly, drawing on his years of experience in the air force, trying to once again become the trusted commander. "There's nothing to worry about."
It was only when the platform finally left the rain and entered the belly of the ship that he truly believed his own words.
"One mission down," he muttered, taking a long and deep breath before moving to help the other people down. "Another billion to go."
On her way back to her office after the excitement had died down, Alicia couldn't stop herself from taking a slight detour. The woman was careful to keep quiet as she made her way down the darkened hallway, towards the ajar door at the very end. Balancing herself on the wall, she leaned her head against the metal door and peered into the office. She had expected to see John Tracy hard at work at his desk, pencil in hand, brows furrowed in concentration. What she saw truly surprised her.
His blond hair falling about his face in unruly strands, the young man sat casually at his desk, feet up on the surface, and fiddled about with a small radio transmitter. The hand-made object – it was obviously so, given the patchwork surface and crooked antenna – cackled with the odd burst of static, but the sound of a human voice was easily discernible from the noise.
"Vic, the ships have just left the area. Military craft are pursuing, but it sounds as though their radar is having trouble keeping a lock on the International Rescue aircraft."
Alicia shook her head in confusion as John Tracy smiled slightly and nodded as if in relief. She finally attributed the man's behaviour to his curiosity about the craft, and nothing more, for it was obvious that a structural engineer would appreciate the workings of the International Rescue craft.
The engineer's eyes were tired from lack of sleep, but even from the doorway she could see a twinkle in them that she had never seen in them before. He seemed content to sit at his desk forever, listening to the news reports on the rag-tag receiver.
Satisfied that John was all right, Alicia turned from the door and slowly made her way back down the hallway. It was time for her to turn in for the night, and she had several things to do before she could leave. She hoped in the back of her mind that John would finally turn in as well. As much as she disagreed with her co-workers on many things about the young man, she agreed with them that he needed more rest. He was going to burn himself out whether he intended to or not.
Finally sure that the individual outside of his door had left, John gave a sigh of relief and let his head fall against the back of his chair. He hadn't noticed the figure at first, as his attention had been focused solely on the radio. The sound of breathing in an otherwise abandoned corridor was distinct, however, and years of amateur radio work had trained John's ears to a very high level of sensitivity.
He didn't have to think very long to come up with identity of the individual. There was only one person in the department who would come to his office and not actually enter the door with some ludicrous scheme to drag him from the room. Even when she did disturb him, as she had earlier that night, Alicia Berkman was quite different from her co-workers. She respected his privacy and was almost apologetic when she disturbed it.
Unlike Lawrence and the countless others who had unintentionally prodded a sore spot.
He doesn't know what he's talking about, John thought, shaking his head in dismay. I don't want to be like everyone else. It's the same as always. Everyone wants me to change. But I finally stood up to them . . . and look where I am now. They'll never understand. Maybe I made tonight better, but what about tomorrow? I can't fight them for the rest of my life.
A tiny smile came to his lips then, as, in the back of his mind, the voice of his mother gave an echoed response.
"I'll always love you, John. Don't ever forget that."
And Lawrence didn't know anything about love, or he wouldn't have spoken to John the way that he had. Love was not rational, nor could it be bought or dismissed with the flick of a hand. John knew enough about love to understand that. Perhaps it was not the love that Lawrence spoke of, but the sorrow that he felt in his heart when he thought of his mother was enough to remind John that he loved her more than he loved anything else in the world. No one could take that love away. She would always be there with him, kept alive in his memories, the memories of a twelve-year-old boy that were slowly – horribly – beginning to fade.
"I'll always love you."
"Love you too," John whispered sadly, feeling a touch of guilt when he realised that he had spoken the words aloud.
"What a night." Closing his eyes, John decided that it was time to go to bed. He had spent long enough on the report for the day, and too many sleepless nights would begin to catch up with him. But there was still so much to think about, so much left unsettled in his mind to leave it without working it through . . . he couldn't go to sleep yet.
As John moved to stand up, he felt all of the adrenaline remaining in his body disappear. With a groan, he slumped back onto the chair and raised a hand to block the dull light of his desk-lamp from his face. Whether he liked it or not, his body was declaring itself exhausted.
Guess I'll be sleeping here.
"It could have gone much worse." Water hose in hand, Scott kept busy by cleaning the thick layer of mud off the outside of Thunderbird One. The craft had made it home in one piece, but Sophia had been less than kind to its outside hull; bits of debris partially clogged the lower scrams, and the dirt was so thick on the windshield that Scott had relied almost entirely on radar to fly home.
"It could have gone much better," Jeff replied, as he scraped at the inside of the scram cylinder with a cleaning rod. "We were flying blind out there. It's a wonder that Two didn't hit the top of the mountain when we were leaving." He sighed. "I hate to see what Brains is having to do to clean her up."
"But it didn't," Scott insisted, turning to look at his father. "No lives were lost, no ships were damaged."
A snort escaped Jeff's mouth as he gazed upward into the intakes. "I might argue that."
"I think Mr. Comers was speaking for everyone when he thanked us profusely."
Jeff knew that Scott was right; the people of the island had been immensely grateful, and it was likely that many lives would have been lost had International Rescue not arrived. Still though, it nagged at his mind how ragtag the mission had become. He was not accustomed to running things in any way less than perfect. The rescue, in his eyes, had not been perfect.
"Dad?" Scott had turned off the hose, and was staring at his father, worry bleeding onto his face.
"Nothing," Jeff finally answered, going back to his cleaning. "I'm just trying to think of a way to make things go more smoothly next time."
"More people would help," offered Scott, "I think we all know that. I know that you started this with only two pilots in mind, but it needs to be expanded beyond that. Personally, I'm looking forward to this summer, when Virgil can help us out."
"That's if he wants to go on the missions. Maybe he'll just help James out."
Arching an eyebrow, Scott snorted in amusement. "Are you kidding? It's all that he talked about over Christmas. 'Just six more months, Scott. Six more months'."
"It would be nice to have another engineer running around. He could fly with me."
"And you're the best person to teach him."
Nodding, Jeff couldn't deny the logic in his son's words. "This is quickly becoming a family business. Soon everybody will be involved."
"Maybe it's for the best." Finished with the washing, Scott tossed the hose and grabbed a dry cloth. "It'll give Gordon something to do."
Scott's words reflected a thought that Jeff had had during the holidays, when he had watched Gordon interact with his brothers. Of all of the Tracy children, Gordon was not blessed with an instinctive knack for understanding the natural sciences. He had no drive for subjects like English, and any other disciplines required a great deal of work for him to even crack an eighty.
But there were other things such as swimming that he excelled at. Gordon alone relied on his physical body to accomplish things - though there was no doubt that he was smart - and he looked at life from a completely different angle than his brothers did.
"He hates sitting around and thinking," Scott said quietly, "it's a waste of time to him. He likes actually going and doing something. I think this would be perfect for him. I mean, it's his choice, but still . . ."
"He's still going to finish high school," Jeff replied tersely, "or he's not going to join at all. I want him to at least get that far. I've already told him that. Even if he were legally allowed to drop out, there's too much technical information related to this whole organization for him to quit taking science classes before tenth grade.
"Gordon could learn anything if he really wanted to." His voice extremely subdued, Scott spoke as if his father should already know what he was saying. "He tries damn hard to pass his classes, and he tries damn hard to please you. The kid has more drive than any of us, maybe even John."
There was a long pause, before Jeff finally spoke. "I know."
Walking over to the ship so that he could take a peak inside the engine, Scott sighed, tossed the rag, and grabbed another rod. "This thing is filthy." He met his father's gaze for a moment, then laughed and shook his head. "So, how does it feel to be the head of a top-secret organization that can't even keep its ships clean?"
Jeff smiled. "Absolutely wonderful."
A/N: First off, I'm really sorry to all of my readers for taking so long with this chapter. I had schoolwork, my wonderful beta reader Ariel D had schoolwork, and between the two of us we had little time to think about fanfiction. :( But things have lightened up a bit, so hopefully I'll be more prompt with the next few chapters.
As a note, in case you didn't notice it in the way that the last chapter ended, Lucy's Thunderbirds is unofficially the end of Part I of the Winds of Advent. The remaining chapters (up to thirty-four at this moment, unless I add some after) focus on the development of IR until the time just before the movie. Yes, to clarify, this is officially a movie fanfic. But, please don't abandon it because of that. :) I realised, as I was writing some of the later material, that the reason I wanted to write the story is to show how the movie is not that different from the show. The ages are different, the time period is different . . . there are some new characters . . . there are some old characters not present . . . but the characters are still the same people. Scott and Penelope finally meet. Kyrano is a botanist. Gordon wins a medal and crashes a boat. It all happens. :) So, for those of you who have been waiting for these scenes, they are still coming. I promise.
A huge thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter (so long ago . . .), and to those people who also reviewed 'Midnight Musings'. If you're a John fan and haven't read it, you might want to check it out. There, my shameless plug for the day. :)
Princess Tyler Briefs – You don't know how ironic your comment about Gordon is . . . I don't want to say too much, except that your comment could possibly be bang on. ;) I thought Alan was a brat too, until I wrote the chapters about him later on. :)
Moonlightbear – Yeah, it was a bad pun. ;) Glad to see you're still reading.
Ariel D – Look! Look! I finally finished the edits! (grins) And I did it after I finished the essay, too. ;)
Marblez – (offers pompoms) Here, you might want these. ;)
Manders1953 – I don't think there's a game for anything but the gameboy advance. (pouts) Thanks for reading, it's great to have another reader:)
ladc – You know what they say, beware the quiet ones. :) And yeah, John's going to show them all. This chapter is actually the introduction to the set of chapters that will place him up in space for good.
Andrewjameswilliams – Well, not Tin-Tin quite yet. :) That's a wee bit later, but it will happen. I have it written and finished up, I just have to post other stuff first. Lol
Assena – Hydrofoil yet? Nope. When? Chapters 30-33. (grins) Yes, Gordon monopolises the last few chapters of the story. And it's not going too movie verse. Just the ages and the time frame, and a few things to do with The Hood. I think you'll like Gordon's stuff. :) Sorry about the wait.
Zeilfanaat – Don't worry, Ariel will flaunt soon because I'll finally send her some new material. :) Have you read Midnight Musings? It's about John – you might like it. :) Oh, and just so you know, Unwanted Sacrifice made me cry again when I re-read it. (sobs)
The peace pixie – Okay, now that I remember who you are . . . lol! ;) Yeah, Scott's cute. He's so bossy sometimes . . .
Math Girl – Well, Scott got to fly in this one. John can't be far behind. :) And Gordon . . . well, he's a fish, you know? ;) I'm waiting for him to sprout gills.
All right, tune in next time for "Space Monitor", the first in a set of three chapters that will place a certain Tracy up in the stars where he belongs. 'Til then, FAB all!