Chapter Ten: Downward Spiral

Ration bars, John Tracy decided, were disgusting. There was no two ways about it – whoever had designed them had a sadistic mind. Only a truly evil genius could have manufactured a bar that had the texture of a hairy carpet, the smell of sawdust and the taste of dried cardboard all in one.

Of course, if it wasn't for Alan then his taste buds wouldn't have been complaining so much and he could have been tucking into something that was actually edible. Unfortunately, during his little brother's latest stint up in Thunderbird 5, Alan had – in true Alan fashion – managed to completely destroy the microwave. To make things even worse, he hadn't even told anyone about it and so John had simply wandered into the tiny kitchenette one day to find that his microwave had mysteriously vanished. By this time Alan had been safely back down on terra firma and out of John's reach – as had a new microwave. An electronics whiz John might have been, but no one could mend something that now resembled a melted piece of modern art.

At least there hadn't been any fresh rescue calls to compound John's misery. With both Gordon and Scott out of action, International Rescue would be hard pushed if their services were called upon. It had been a long time since they'd been two members down and although they now had Alan, Tin-Tin and Fermat to make up the numbers, John couldn't help feeling slightly uneasy.

As if on cue, the control panel of the great space station began to flash. Fearing the worst, John swallowed his last mouthful of ration bar and hurried over to the console, but he quickly relaxed when he realised the call to the station originated from Tracy Island rather than the scene of an accident. It was probably his dad, after a status-update.

John sunk into his chair and patched the connection through. "Tracy Island from Thunderbird 5."

"John?"

The familiar voice of his water-loving brother filled the airwaves and John found himself smiling as Gordon's face coalesced on the screen in front of him. "Who else would it be?" he returned jokingly.

Gordon didn't respond and as John looked more closely at his image he realised that his younger brother's face was drawn and pale. And perhaps more tellingly, he was staring down into his lap and not meeting John's eyes.

In that instant, John knew this wasn't simply a pleasure-call. "Something's wrong." Gordon still didn't respond. John leaned forward in his chair, his alarm growing. "Gordy, what is it?"

"It's Alan," his brother finally responded.

A million insidious thoughts flashed through John's mind as he stared at his younger brother. "What happened?"

"We don't know. He'd already gone to bed when the rest of us got back last night, and then this morning, Dad sent Virgil to wake him up …" There was a haunted look in Gordon's eyes. "He was just lying there, Johnny, on the floor. Like he was sleeping or something – 'cept he was still in his uniform and there was all this blood –"

"Gordon!" John cut his younger brother off frantically. "What's wrong with Alan?"

Gordon blinked rapidly and then visibly composed himself. "We're not sure. Tin-Tin mentioned something about a knock on the head yesterday, but none of us thought it was anything serious. But then I found him lying on the floor …"

"What did Brains say?"

"I -"

"Gordon!" The call came from somewhere off-screen but before John could set about identifying it, the voice was joined by a number of others. Gordon shot a startled look over his shoulder and then ran out of the edge of the vid-screen's field. Frustratingly, John was left looking at his own portrait on the wall of the command centre as he struggled to work out what was going on.

"Virg, what are you – ?"

"Dad's taking Alan."

"What? Wait a minute –"

"It's that b-ba-ba serious?"

"Yeah. They're leaving now."

"Oh G-God."

"I want to go with them."

"You can't –"

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"Gordon –"

"Alright, that's enough!"

There was no way that John could mistake that voice. Sure enough, a few moments later, the familiar face of Jeff Tracy appeared on the vid-screen.

"Dad – what the hell is going on?"

Jeff ran a hand through his greying hair and John was struck by how incredibly exhausted his father looked. "I'm taking your brother to the mainland."

He didn't say which brother and he didn't specify the reason for the visit, but then after what Gordon had revealed, he didn't need to. There would be only one explanation for his father's actions – Alan's condition was a lot worse than everyone had first thought.

John felt physically sick at the news. The rescue had been bad enough; Scott and Gordon's injuries had been bad enough, but now Alan as well? Only long experience kept his voice level and his placid as he said, "What do you want me to do?"

"Put the station on autopilot. I'm sending Virgil to pick you up."

"Dad, are you sure that's a wise move?" John could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times such a command had been issued in the past. No wait, he could count on the finger of one hand.

"With Scott and Gordon out of action, we need you down here," his father replied curtly. "If another rescue should come in –"

Oh, please God don't let that happen, John thought rather desperately. Right now I don't think we could handle it.

"FAB," he said aloud. "I'll expect Virgil in a couple of hours then."

"Thanks, son." His father turned to go.

"Oh and Dad?" Jeff looked back over his shoulder. John met his gaze solemnly. "Look after Alan."

After Gordon's display over breakfast, Tin-Tin had been in no mood for any further company that morning. Slipping out of the lounge, she had dressed quickly and then retreated outside to the seclusion of the rock overlooking the beach. Although she'd long since missed the spectacular sunrise, there was still something so peaceful and calming about the azure waters of the Pacific lapping gently against the golden sands of the island.

Now, staring down at the deserted stretch of beach, Tin-Tin found her thoughts inevitably turning to Alan. Had it really only been the day before that she had sat in the same spot, watching him pace back and forth? So much had happened over the last twenty-four hours … it almost seemed like a lifetime had passed. And not just because of the rescue, but thanks to the eternal problem that was her relationship with Alan Tracy.

Before the rescue everything had been fairly well structured in her mind. She'd been upset of course, and confused, but then there'd also been that burning sense of righteous anger – that at the end of it all, it had all been his fault and if only he hadn't done – if only he hadn't tried to kiss her –

And now … now everything had changed. Seeing him lying there on the ground, with all that blood on his face – it had abruptly reminded Tin-Tin of the inescapable mortality of the members of International Rescue. Alan could have died. The last memory he could have had of her was her cold, frigid anger – and her rejection.

It had seemed ironic to Tin-Tin that it had taken a near-death experience to put things into perspective. With everything else that had happened, her own petty, teenage problems hardly seemed important anymore. Life was already full of so many uncertainties, was it really her place to make things that much more complicated?

No, Tin-Tin decided reluctantly, as she watched a small bird hop across the warm sand, perhaps not. Perhaps it was time she and Alan made their peace …

And so, rising to her feet, Tin-Tin brushed the dirt off her knees and started back to the house with a determined spring in her step. She would talk to Alan – it was about time they sorted everything out. After all, she couldn't go on avoiding him forever … and she wasn't even sure she wanted to.

The Tracy villa emerged out of the surrounding jungle, her twin pools sparkling in the sun. Unusually for that time in the morning, the patio area was deserted and the waters of the pool were undisturbed. Tin-Tin chewed on her lip as she neared but before she could consider the implications of her discovery, she was distracted by the familiar roaring sound of jet engines.

Tin-Tin looked towards the source of the noise, her stomach fluttering uncomfortably. Another mission, so soon after the disaster at the Welsh mine? With Scott and Gordon out of action, that would leave Virgil and Alan to take the brunt of the work. It was too much to ask of them – and wait … why hadn't her watch gone off?

While it wasn't as common for Tin-Tin to be included in rescues as the Tracy brothers, at a time such as this there would have be no way that she wouldn't have been pulled in to help.

Tin-Tin frowned and shaded her eyes against the morning sun. As she watched, a dark shape detached itself from the island's hanger and lifted off into the air. Rising rapidly, it streaked away from the villa with an urgency usually attributed to Thunderbird 1. It was not, however, Thunderbird 1 or in fact any of the Thunderbirds. As it passed overhead Tin-Tin recognised the familiar markings of that of Tracy One, Mr Tracy's private jet.

For Tracy One to leave the island wasn't an unusual occurrence. After all, Jeff Tracy was the head of a multimillion dollar corporation. Beyond that even the gentle-hearted Tin-Tin had to admit that Mr Tracy was a workaholic. How many times had she stood in a similar position and watched Tracy One ghost out of the hanger, taking Mr Tracy off to Manhattan for one business meeting after another? Sometimes weeks went by without him returning to the island – times at which Gordon and Alan famously rejoiced in the freedom that their father's absence created.

All these thoughts spiralled around in Tin-Tin's head. They were perfectly logical, she told herself firmly. Mr Tracy, a business meeting, Tracy One … and yet … and yet there was just something about the whole situation that made Tin-Tin feel very nervous.

Turning on her heel, she hurried across the sun-warmed tiles of the patio and ducked inside the Tracy villa. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the change of light and then was about to head in search of her parents when the sounds of raised voices caught her attention.

An argument.

Tin-Tin pursed her lips. It wasn't even past lunchtime yet and already tempers were flaring. In the Tracy household that normally meant one thing: Alan was clashing with his father again.

So maybe it wasn't Jeff that had taken Tracy One from the hanger so swiftly …?

In general Tin-Tin respected the privacy of each and every person on Tracy Island and certainly didn't make a habit of sticking her nose into other people's business. Today however, she decided that she was sick of forming questions she didn't have the answers to and therefore she purposefully headed towards the shouting.

One thing quickly became abundantly clear: Alan was not part of the argument. After spending so many years in his company – and accidentally overhearing a number of heated exchanges between him and various family members – Tin-Tin could have picked out Alan's voice anywhere. And it was neither of the ones raised in anger now.

Nor was Jeff Tracy's. Mr Tracy's bass voice was very distinctive and besides, arguments with Jeff always had a sense of structure about them – even when they were with such an erratic person as Alan.

Tin-Tin rounded the corner of the corridor that lead to the command centre, currently in the guise of Jeff Tracy's office, and pulled up short. The doors of the room were wide open – and Fermat was standing on the threshold, his back to her. She could tell from her friend's hunched posture that he was uncomfortable about something and as she hesitantly stepped closer, she could understand why.

Inside the room were Gordon and Virgil … and they were yelling at each other, looking as angry as Tin-Tin had ever seen them.

" – don't understand! What difference would I make?"

"You're needed here. Dammit Gordon, I don't have time for this."

"No, I'm needed on that plane. We're all needed on that plane!"

"And what about International Rescue? What about the millions of people who'll be left helpless if we all just run off and do what we want –"

"Screw International Rescue!" Gordon shouted, waving his good arm wildly. "He's our brother, Virgil – doesn't that mean anything to you?"

He seemed to realise instantly that he had gone too far. In an attempt at backtracking, Gordon reached out and touched his brother's shoulder. Virgil shrugged him off.

"It means everything to me," he said, his voice so soft that Tin-Tin strained to hear it. "Don't you think I want to go with them to the mainland? Do you think I want to sit here, feeling so damn helpless? I knew – I knew something was wrong with him yesterday, but I didn't do anything about it and now he's on his way to hospital –"

Gordon stared at him, all the anger visibly draining out of his body. "What are you talking about?"

"He had a head injury – Jesus, Gordon, there was blood all over his face! But he said he was fine, and I was so worried about you and Scott –" Virgil broke off at the horrified gasp that sounded from the corridor beyond the room.

Tin-Tin clapped her shaking hands over her mouth. Gordon, Virgil and Fermat all turned around to see where the noise had come from but she barely noticed them.

Alan … they were talking about Alan.

Suddenly, startlingly, everything fell into place and Tin-Tin knew why it was that Tracy One had torn out of the hanger with such urgency.

Something was seriously wrong with Alan.

Tin-Tin felt her heart stop.

Jeff Tracy.

The Jeff Tracy.

The Jeff Tracy – the man who had been to the moon. The man who had money.

The influential, sharp-talking workaholic.

It wasn't often that Jeff cashed in on the doors that his name opened for him – in fact, he usually made a point of ignoring such offers. He'd been raised to make his own way in the world, regardless of who he was and what he had done.

And yet … sometimes it didn't hurt to be a world-famous multimillionaire. Being 'Jeff Tracy' meant that not only did he possess one of the fastest commercial planes to transport him and his son to the mainland, but he was also able to call ahead to Auckland City Hospital and make arrangements for Alan's arrival.

So it was that when he and Brains touched down at Auckland International Airport, there was already an emergency helicopter and a team of medical staff waiting for them. The twenty-mile journey north to the hospital passed by in a blur and before Jeff knew it, the helicopter had landed and Alan was being carefully loaded onto a gurney amidst a cacophony of shouted instructions.

"– What's his status? –"

"–Patient is unresponsive and comatose. Pupils are unequal and sluggish. GCS score is three. BP is elevated, respirations are slightly irregular and pulse rate has decreased during transportation–"

"– Okay, let's get him inside. Prep Trauma One–"

Jeff followed anxiously as assorted medical staff moved with his son down a warren of winding hospital corridors. It was only once they reached a pair of double doors outside of the trauma rooms that they seemed to remember him. As he was about to push through into the room, one of the harried-looking nurses stepped forward and blocked his path.

"You can't go in there, sir."

"But my son –"

"I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to wait outside." The door swung shut in his face.

Jeff stood motionless in the corridor. Beyond the double doors he could just make out the still form of his son lying on the exam table. A flurry of doctors and nurses moved about him, their moves so practiced and perfected that they appeared to be participating in some kind of elaborate dance. A nurse checked the heart monitor while a doctor pressed his stethoscope against Alan's chest. The pose was held for a breath and then they were moving again, surging about the table as they fought to save his son's life.

A hand touched Jeff's shoulder; he glanced across to find Brains standing beside him.

"It's going to be o-o-ok-oka alright, Mr Tracy," the scientist assured him softly. "Now, w-why don't we get some c-co-co-cof-coff caffeinated beverages while we wait?"

"I'm not thirsty," Jeff replied automatically, his eyes once again fixed on the hive of activity in the trauma room.

"Or w-we could just s-sit down … somewhere …"

Jeff followed him across to a small seating area and sat, without once taking his eyes away from the movements inside the trauma room.

There was a moment of awkward silence and then Brains cleared his throat. "Y-you know, Mr Tracy, if know how I would f-feel if it was my s-s-so Fermat. If you want to t-talk –"

"You should get a drink, Brains. We don't know how long we're going to be waiting here."

There was a surprised pause. "If – if you're s-s-su-su certain, M-Mr Tracy?"

"Go on."

Brains rose and drew his coat about himself nervously. "I'll be as q-qu fast as I can."

Jeff didn't reply and after a few moments, he heard the scientist walk away. Once Brains had rounded the corner, he blew out an explosive breath of relief. As much as he appreciated his friend's concern, it was actually the last thing he wanted at that moment.

The activity beyond the doors continued but Jeff found he could no longer concentrate. Slumping back in his chair, he buried his head in his hands, closed his eyes and wished that he could just wake up from this nightmare.

"Mr Tracy?"

Jeff opened his eyes and raised his head sluggishly. Time had passed, he was certain of that, but what he wasn't certain about was how much. The people hurrying along the corridor were the same but inside the trauma room, the number of doctors and nurses tending to Alan had diminished, and the sense of urgency that had marked their earlier movements was gone.

A swarthy woman in a white coat was standing in front of him. With her dark eyes, hair and skin she was unmistakably Maori and he recognised her as one of the doctors who had initially been examining Alan.

"Mr Tracy, I'm Doctor Tamati Makura."

Doctor Makura … the name was familiar – she was the doctor he had spoken to during the flight. Jeff straightened and briefly shook the doctor's proffered hand. "How's my son?"

Doctor Makura clasped her hands in front of her. There was a tired look of sympathy on her face and Jeff got the impression that Tamati Makura was a woman who had too many years' experience at presenting bad news.

"Mr Tracy, I'm not going to lie to you. Although we've managed to stabilise him, Alan's condition remains very serious. He shows evidence of a skull fracture … but his subsequent physical deterioration, along with our own examinations, have suggested that we are dealing with something more than just a break in the bone."

Jeff was silent for a moment as he tried to take in the doctor's words. "What are you saying?"

"We believe Alan has a serious concussion – which is when the brain bangs against the inside of the skull. This can cause not only bruising and swelling … but also bleeding within the brain itself."

A subdural hematoma. The words swam up out of Jeff's mind – an unconscious salute to NASA's medical training – and he felt sickened. A myriad of questions spun around in his mind – how bad is it? Is he going to die? What do you mean by bleeding in the brain? – but the one that came out of his mouth was, "Can I see my son?"

"Well, we're sending Alan up for an emergency MRI scan now and I've arranged for a neuro consult when he returns. Perhaps after that …"

"Please." It wasn't a word Jeff Tracy often used, and neither was the pleading tone in his voice. "Please let me see my son."

Doctor Makura regarded him closely. "Mr Tracy, you must understand that it could be very distressing for you to see your son at this time. He is connected to a number of machines and we were forced to intubate –"

"Doctor Makura, let me see my son."

The woman pursed her lips and then nodded shortly. "One minute." Stepping around Jeff, she held open the door to the trauma room.

The two nurses still in the room looked around curiously as Jeff entered, but he ignored them. The doctor stepped quickly aside as he rushed forward to Alan's side and stared heartbrokenly down at his youngest child.

Alan looked terrible. Dark rings under his eyes stood out against his white, almost translucent skin and if it hadn't been for the constant beeping of the cardiac monitor, Jeff would have thought he was dead. Clamps were attached to his fingers; slender, transparent tubes twined about his body and perhaps most frightening of all, a tube had been inserted into his throat. It was connected up to a ventilator that hummed quietly in the corner, filling his lungs with oxygen and keeping him alive.

"Oh, Alan …" he whispered brokenly, reaching out and taking his son's limp hand in his. "Alan – Alan, I love you." For once it didn't matter to him that he had an audience for his show of affection. "Alan, you have to get better, do you hear me? What's Scott going to say if you just give up? He'd be so disappointed. And Virgil – he'll never get to show you that flying trick he promised to. Gordon … do you think Gordon would ever let you live it down? And what about John – you don't want him to come back down all this way for nothing, do you?"

The ventilator hummed, the cardiac monitor beeped but Alan was silent.

A hand touched Jeff's shoulder. It was Doctor Makura. "I'm sorry Mr Tracy, but we have to take Alan upstairs now."

Jeff opened his mouth to argue but knew any protests would be useless. Instead, he gave Alan's still hand one last squeeze and unwillingly stepped backwards as Doctor Makura and her colleagues loaded various pieces of portable equipment onto the gurney and then wheeled Alan from the trauma room and out of sight.