36: Conflict
Tracy Island, near Thunderbird 3's hangar silo-
No one had come to the meeting specifically for her. As food was handed around and grateful thanks returned, TinTin could not ignore the fact that her honored father, Kyrano, had chosen to absent himself.
She stood with the others in an old transport tunnel, one lined with scenes of space travel and floored in a trackway of broad metal segments. The place had a vaguely 'theme-parked' feel, much like the EuroDisney attractions she'd visited with Gordon.
But the girl was occupied with other matters. Squashing misery, TinTin extended a bit of thought, the merest wisp of presence, in her father's direction. Through the pulsing buzz of surrounding minds she sensed him, and drew near. Stiff and angry his thoughts seemed to her as Kyrano bustled away in the kitchen at one needless task after another. Gordon had a term for that sort of thing: make-work.
TinTin bit her lip, clearly sensing her father's unease. She, a mere girl, burdened with a power she barely understood, had dared to defy his wishes. Knowing better, she'd gone haring off with Alan, Gordon and Fermat. She'd risked her own life, his employment and International Rescue equipment on what Kyrano considered a fool's errand. And, for what? What, in the end, had they produced?
A lost ship, a world-wide systems crash, and a failed rescue. Small wonder that he'd grown angry with her! Fermat was the son of Dr. Hackenbacker; his father's status in the organization was assured. Gordon and Alan were sons of Jeff Tracy, himself. Their antics might irritate the stern gentleman, but the boys would never truly suffer for it.
TinTin, on the other hand, was the cook's daughter. She lived in the mansion and attended school in Paris through Jeff Tracy's incredible generosity. It was a tremendous debt, and one that her proud father seemed to feel most keenly. As far as Kyrano was concerned, the girl could best repay her benefactor by remaining quiet, demure and obedient; never by putting herself forward or using her strange abilities. Most certainly, she was not to contemplate donning the haircut and uniform of a man and taking part in a mission… Yet, here she was and there he chose to remain, fussing over a colander of haricots verts.
Saddened, TinTin withdrew her shadowy contact, leaving her father to his recipes, his spotless counter tops and his intolerance. She'd have to make her own way, with the help of a few trusted friends.
The group broke up, each to their separate missions, but the girl hung back to walk with Gordon. He was a good comrade and she loved him, though not in the manner he'd once wished. He offered her his arm as they proceeded down corridor, adding what little he knew of Siberia to her small store of knowledge. It was cold, basically, and very remote. TinTin listened (commenting and laughing at appropriate moments) but didn't truly hear, considering instead what it must be like to belong… not to someone… but with them.
She parted company with Gordon at the giant silver spear that was Thunderbird 1. He would sit up front, with Scott; she with Fermat and Alan in a cramped storage area, there to await drop-off.
"Take care, Angel," the swimmer told her (red-haired and muscular, not especially handsome, he was nevertheless very dear to her).
"…Mind you don't get trodden on."
Feeling a bit of her depression clear, TinTin laughed and kissed his cheek.
"I am certain, Mon Coeur, that I would hear any potential 'smashers' long before they came within treading range, but I shall be wary anyhow, because you have requested it."
His answering embrace was quick, rough and friendly, ending with an affectionate hair-muss. For just a moment, the girl relaxed her guard enough to 'burrow', allowing lines to blur and closer contact to smooth away doubt. Most of it, anyhow…
She'd begun having nightmares of late, teasing whispers hinting that her fullest power would only come with physical maturity, and its proving act. Perhaps the nightmare-whispers were nothing, the product of loneliness and confusion, but TinTin couldn't be sure. There was no one to ask.
She entered the rear compartment a few minutes later to find Fermat and Alan in agitated conversation. There were pull-down seats on all the bulkheads, so TinTin chose one between the Mobile Control crates that allowed her to face the two boys.
Alan gave the girl a brief nod as she strapped herself in.
"Back me up, T," he urged, casting wary glances at the cabin security camera. It did not appear to be on. "Here's the plan: Fermat doesn't think it'll work, but it's sure-fire, trust me. Okay, so we go to Siberia, shovel mammoth poop, or whatever, then get on back home. As soon as we can, we all four meet downstairs in Brains' lab… Fermat knows all the security codes… and then we fire up the time machine. We go all the way back to me hearing Matt's message, and try again. Only, this time, instead of hanging around till he wakes up, we bring him here while he's still out of it. No fuss, no bother. Final score: the ship is back, the brother's rescued, and we're out of trouble. What d' you think? Go ahead and admit it, Doll: I'm a genius!"
He appeared so touchingly proud of himself, so eager, that TinTin couldn't find much to say besides,
"We must at least consult Virgil. On this point, I am firm. Perhaps even the father of Fermat…"
The younger boy's cue to wedge an opinion through all that self-congratulatory armor and he took it.
"Alan, three th- things: first, 'our' John n- needs help, too. Maybe we... sh- should be th- thinking about that, a little? S- second, I d- don't… think Dad's t- time machine is very… safe. And I don't b- believe that… the universe w- will allow you… t- to just go back and… change history like that."
Blinking rapidly behind thick glasses, Fermat clutched at his seat straps and nearby packing. Thunderbird 1 had come to life, beginning to growl and shake in preparation for launch. The boy raised his voice a bit, anxious to get his point across.
"Anyway, even s- sleeping, M- Matt would… be unable t- to cross over. H- He and… John are versions of th- the same… person. It's like the Pauli Exclusion… Principle: T- two particles w- with the… same spin c- can't… occupy the same space, n- nor two 'John Tracys' the same… universe."
Alan scowled. The rocket-plane's engine noise had risen to enraged, guttural thunder. Nevertheless, he made himself heard.
"Dude, all you got is logic! I've got conviction. The plan will work, I swear it will. Just give me a chance!"
Blast and vibration ended the argument, leaving everyone out of sorts. Critically, the conflict and badly stirred emotions distracted all three of them. No one consulted the maps or read their mission briefing. No one, when the time came, was ready.