Seven: Reality Crash
Virgil wasn't sure how long he sat there at Scott's bedside, holding his hand just to make sure his brother knew he wasn't alone. Hours, or seconds, he'd lost track, but when the soft steps entered the room, he didn't turn around. Not yet.
"Virgil." John, his voice quiet but sliding into his 'command and control' range. "We need to talk."
With one last squeeze of Scott's fingers, Virgil draped the bandaged hand back on the bed and turned to face the speaker. Gordon and Alan stood flanking John, all three looking at him with unreadable expressions.
Gordon shot John a glance, then turned back to Virgil. "Scott's in good hands," he began, not fully able to keep the horrors of his own recovery from the edges of his words. "We need to get back to work."
"There's a typhoon heading toward the Philippines; it's going to make landfall sometime in the next twelve hours," John began, tapping his wrist comm and summoning a holographic window with a weather map. In the direct center of the map lay the islands, and off to the side, the swirled icon for a major weather disturbance lay like a predator in wait. "They're going to need us." He flicked his gaze up to Virgil's, catching his older brother with their mother's eyes. "Virgil?"
His knee jerk reaction was to do what he'd been trained to do, to get to his load chute and his 'Bird and be the miracle someone needed. He knew that's what Scott would tell him to do, even if he couldn't go himself. Hell, Scott had done so, nursing a wrenched ankle or bruised ribs or a concussion while manning the comms for his siblings. Now even that had been taken away. That voice wouldn't be in Virgil's ear this time.
"We're going, right, Virg?" Alan looked from John to Virgil, a frown between his platinum brows. "I mean...that's what we do."
For a long moment, the tableau held, three against one. Then Virgil nodded, reaching out to clap Alan on the shoulder. "Of course it is. Gordy's right; Scott's getting the best care possible, and like Grandma says, a watched pot never boils." He managed a grin, Alan following suit. "Gentlemen: Thunderbirds are go."
They took a few moments to appraise Grandma and the others of the situation, leaving strict instructions to comm them if anything changed with Scott's condition. Quick hugs all around, and then they were off, piling into Thunderbird Two as it sat near the hospital's helipad.
As Virgil flipped switches and listened to his 'Bird spool up into readiness, he realized that though the pull to stay by Scott's side was strong, the call to action felt good. If nothing else, he thought, as the others strapped in behind him, at least doing their job would pass the time and distract them from the constant worry.
Besides, he mused, as he engaged the VTOL and listened to his brothers banter with each other, they might not be able to help Scott, but they could help others like him. With that thought firmly in mind, Virgil lifted 'Two off the helipad and pointed the blunt nose of his beloved craft toward home.
The trip back to the island went by in a flash, and after seeing John safely onto the space elevator, they burst into the villa to suit up. When Gordon and Alan were on their way back to 'Two, Virgil took a moment to stand in the silent house. Rarely was it ever empty; Grandma and Brains were almost constantly in residence, and if John wasn't in space, he was usually at their father's desk. After a moment, Virgil shuddered; the villa was too big and too quiet without its family, feeling more like an empty museum rather than a home.
No, he thought, scanning the walls and furnishings, not empty. This museum definitely had its ghosts. He could feel his father's gaze on the back of his neck, could smell his mother's perfume on the cool air circulating through the house. He blinked, and for an instant, Scott was seated behind the desk-but no, he was laying in a hospital bed hundreds of miles away, feverish and fragile but alive.
Please don't take him, he begged his parents' shades. If he asks, tell him he can't go with you.
Swallowing his tears, he made his way across the lounge toward the painting of TV21 that hid his load chute, and brushed his fingers against Scott's portrait as he passed. Wish me luck big bro, he thought, settling back while the familiar instant of vertigo pulled at him as he tipped backwards. I'm gonna need it.
OoOoOoOoO
Forty-eight hours later, Virgil sat in an empty conference room at the hospital, fighting back a yawn as the triumvirate of Tracy Industries' senior board members blinked into view on the screen at the front of the room. Penelope and Brains sat at his right hand, Ruth and John on his left, and though he was grateful for their solid wall of support, he could feel the waves of exhaustion rolling off of them. They'd booked a floor of rooms at a nearby hotel and set up a temporary base of operations, but no one had been getting much sleep.
Just before the meeting, Virgil had looked down at his buzzing phone and scowled at the name on the screen: Kat Kavanaugh. With an internal groan, he'd answered, if for no other reason than to get the intrepid reporter off his back. "Miss Kavanaugh," he'd greeted her, in a tone he hoped sent a very clear message: Go away.
"Hello Virgil," she'd chirped back at him. "I just needed to check in with you; I've heard a rumor-did I catch you at a bad time?"
Virgil wondered if she could hear him roll his eyes. "Yes," he answered. "Yes, you did."
"Well, it won't take a second," she breezed. "I don't mean to upset you, but it's what I heard-is Scott dead?"
His first impulse was to hang up on her, but he knew that to do so might lead her to believe it was true; a distraught Tracy unable to face the reality of Scott's death would sell a shitload of rag mags. The day they'd rescued her at Gran Roca-after she'd been snooping around, Virgil had thought that nothing less than poetic justice-Scott had talked Kat down and gotten her on their side. She might have flirted her way into Scott's good graces, but she hadn't impressed Virgil, and that was who she was dealing with at the moment.
"Well, that's what you get for listening to the rumor mill," he said smoothly. "He's pretty banged up, but he's on the mend." Which, strictly speaking, was true.
"I'm glad to hear it," she replied. "So who's the head honcho while he's out for the count?"
"We have a strict chain of command protocol in place," he confirmed, hanging on to his politesse with both hands. "Scott designated me as the interim field commander while he is recovering. When he is deemed fit for duty, we will resume our normal roles."
"So if I heard he was dead, whatever happened must be pretty serious," Kat pressed. "What if he doesn't bounce back? Will you keep the corner office?"
Her too-easy manner bit at him like a junkyard dog, sinking dagger-like teeth into his heart. "The doctors are optimistic about his prognosis," he countered, letting a hint of annoyance into his voice. "However, as I said before, if it is determined that he needs to step down, there are pre-arranged protocols to guide our decisions."
"John, he's the second oldest, right?"
He didn't like where this was going, but this was more or less common knowledge. "Correct."
"So he'd be the one to step into his big brother's shoes, I'm guessing. Hmmm, maybe I'd better call him."
On the odd occasions they'd seen Virgil truly get angry, his younger brothers had nicknamed him 'Brother Bear.' Right now, Virgil felt every inch the wounded grizzly at the thought of Kat getting her hooks into John. "Miss Kavanaugh, I answered your call out of courtesy," he warned. "This is a tough time for us. You've gotten the answers you asked for. If, however, you continue to pump my family for information, the next call you get will be from TI Legal. Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal," she returned, not sounding cowed in the least. "But could you just-"
He hung up on her.
Now he took a steadying breath and managed a tight smile at the three people in suits on the screen. "Good morning," he said. "Although it's, what, 1600 yesterday for you?" Virgil could rattle off the time differences between the South Pacific and New York in his sleep, but he felt he needed something to grease the wheels of conversation so they didn't sit and stare at each other. Scott, you are so much better at this...
"On the dot," said Janessa Reid, Interim CEO of Tracy Industries for the past four years. "It's good to see you, Virgil. How is Scott today?"
Jeff had brought Janessa on board when he'd moved the family to the island, and while neither of them could have dreamt that she would eventually step into his shoes, she'd proved to be the captain that TI didn't know it needed. Under her direction, the company had continued sailing smoothly along the course Jeff had set for it. She had kindly deep brown eyes and a ready smile, which belied the granite just under the surface. Virgil had to hand it to her; she hadn't let herself be chipped away by the rigors of attending to the juggernaut that was Tracy Industries. When-not if, Virgil reminded himself-Jeff returned, he would find his company as he had left it, if not better.
"He's still under sedation, but the doctors are optimistic," Virgil assured her. "If he continues to improve, they'll start weaning him off the sedation day after tomorrow."
Jeff's CFO, Everett Grey, was seated to Janessa's right, and Virgil could see the man's thin shoulders relax just a fraction. Brilliant and meticulous, Everett had lost his own father right before Jeff disappeared, and had taken Jeff's absence hard. Virgil didn't want to think about how the news of Scott's injuries had hit him. "We're glad to hear it. I'm assuming the fever resolved itself?"
"Thankfully, yes. They were afraid at first that he had an infection, but they explained that those with brain injuries can have difficulty regulating their body temperature." Virgil gave him a cheery thumbs-up. "Scott's settled back down into the normal range, so he's making progress."
Simon Hudson, TI's Chief Operations Officer, nodded from his place on Janessa's left. "Same thing happened to Miranda after her accident," he said quietly. "The neurosurgeon said that was normal, even though it scared her father and I half to death." As much of a family man as Jeff, Simon had come up to the board room after serving as the CEO for a TI subsidiary. When his daughter had suffered a near-drowning, Jeff had insisted Simon take as much time as he needed to care for her, and had commissioned one of his medical supply subsidiaries to fabricate several pieces of specialized equipment. With effort, Virgil put aside the memory of meeting the small blond girl with her slack features and far-away gaze, and concentrated on the business at hand.
"So," he began. "I suppose we needed to have this discussion sooner rather than later."
Janessa nodded, her expression grim but determined. "As I'm sure you're aware, Virgil, Scott has been acting as President of Tracy Industries since your father's disappearance. Normally, Scott would retain this function even while recovering from an injury, but the nature and the seriousness of his current state make this meeting necessary." Her brows met. "I speak for all of us here on the board when I say we wish it weren't so."
Virgil nodded. "That goes for all of us, too." He felt a soft touch on his knee under the table, and reached down to clasp his grandmother's hand with his own. "It was hectic and Scott was already suffering the effects of his injuries, but I can confirm without a doubt that he wished me to take over in his stead."
Everett made a notation on the sheet in front of him. "Just for the sake of getting a timeline of events, can you tell us how that occurred?"
"I brought Scott in to Christchurch Memorial at 0700 local time four days ago," Virgil began, suppressing a shudder at the memory of first using the exosuit to lift the slabs of concrete from on top of Scott, and then working with Gordon to stabilize him enough to move to TB2. "He was in and out of consciousness, but right after we arrived, he rallied enough to be semi-coherent for a few seconds." He squeezed Ruth's hand again. "He was anxious and agitated, so I told him something like 'let them work, boss,' and he looked me right in the eye and said 'You're the boss now.'" He took a shuddering breath. "That was the last time I spoke with him."
A few seconds passed in silence as they all let the weight of that statement settle, and then Janessa cleared her throat. "All right," she said, "we've established Scott's clear intent to pass his responsibilities on to Virgil. Just so we're all on the same page, if he had not done so, according to your father's will, his duties would have passed to you, John."
Virgil glanced over at his redheaded brother, who nodded solemnly in acknowledgement. "Since this was Scott's wish," said John, "I accept this deviation from Dad's will." He looked at Virgil, turquoise eyes as calm as the surface of an undisturbed pool. "I also accept the fact that if for some reason Virgil is incapacitated, these duties pass down to me. I name my brother Gordon as my second."
On his right, Virgil saw Penelope shift slightly, as if bearing up under such a heavy scenario. Brains sat ramrod straight, his statue-like bearing the only signal that he, too, had steeled himself against the shattering of his own heart. Virgil ached for them both, knowing that they felt the same for him and his brothers.
"Thank you, John," said Simon, taking notes using the virtual keyboard built into the tabletop. "We're almost finished here; this is more of a formality required by your father's instructions. He wanted us to make absolutely certain of the chain of command, in the case that any outside parties were ever named to take the place of one of you boys."
"Right." Virgil shifted, but left his hand in Ruth's. "Is there anything pressing that I need to be a part of for TI at this time?"
"Not at the moment," said Janessa. "I've forwarded the company calendar to your email, as well as the executive meeting timetable-which of course you are welcome to join, either in person or virtually as time permits."
Scott had made a habit of flying to New York for at least one executive meeting a quarter, and always had the recorded proceedings available to him; more than once, Virgil had caught him sitting up and listening to the meetings after everyone else had dragged themselves to bed. At the time, he'd been selfishly glad that he could go back to sleep and leave Scott to wade through the minutiae of the corporate world. Now he wished he'd stayed-if not to absorb some of the details, then at least to keep Scott company. "Thank you."
Everett nodded. "Please inform us of any changes to Scott's condition. We'll...move forward accordingly."
Virgil swallowed against what Everett did not say: Let us know if he comes out of it, or if you need to plan a funeral. "I'll make sure to keep in touch."
"Thank you." Janessa gave Ruth a small smile. "You're doing a hell of a job, Mrs. Tracy."
Ruth dipped her chin in acknowledgement, then the screen went blank.
They all sat without moving for a few seconds, until Ruth shook herself out of a solemn reverie. "You kids have a lot to talk about," she said, giving Virgil's hand one last pat before getting to her feet. "I'm gonna go sit with Scotty." As one, John and Virgil stood, and the three Tracys held each other for a long moment. She kissed each of her grandsons on the cheek, and then left the room, her mouth pressed in a trembling line.
Penelope cleared her throat. "She's correct; we do have certain things to discuss," she began, her voice firm but quiet. "John, dear-" she began, but the redhead was already moving to follow his grandmother out of the room.
"Virgil's ears only, I understand." He shot a glance at his newly minted Field Commander. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I hope like hell that I'll never be in that seat."
Younger than John by two years but feeling older by ten, Virgil nodded. "Me too, Jaybird." They shared a tight smile, and John slipped outside.
When the door had whispered shut, Virgil planted his rear end in the leather chair. "Okay," he said, as Penelope reached for her comm. "What have we got here?"
"This is also going to be a short meeting," she informed him, several holographic windows springing to life from the hinged bit of plastic that only looked like an elegant ladies' accessory. "You and you alone have the capability to destroy the Thunderbirds."
The air left Virgil's lungs as if he'd been punched in the gut. "That's a hell of an opener, Pen."
Neither the statement nor his reaction had fazed her, and she sat regarding him with eyes that had gone glacial. "Nevertheless, it's true." She tapped a code into one blazing red window, and then scanned through the six ID photos of the Thunderbird pilots until she came to Virgil's. Once more, she tapped out a code that quickly encrypted itself into plain dots, and Virgil's window turned green. At the same instant, Virgil's wrist comm chimed, and he tapped it to bring up a screen edged with red and yellow. In the center of the window were five bold red characters with five blank slots beneath them. He glanced up at her through the holographic display, knowing his face was painted as eerily with the light as hers was.
"There is a preliminary option," she explained. "Each Thunderbird has a disable, or 'kill' code, which will render them into an inert hunk of metal. Entering this code either from your comm or from the Mateo Island central core will enforce this command. If a Thunderbird is in flight, it will autopilot to the nearest safe location and shut down. Thunderbird Five's life support system will remain active for twelve hours, and once the elevator is locked to the island, it will not spool back to the station until the kill code is released."
Brains spoke up next. "The s-same code will lock down the villa. The pool, the Roundhouse, and the Cliff House will unlock to receive each of their 'Birds via a proximity sensor without having to release the kill c-code."
"However," Penelope continued, "entering this code-" the code changed to a string of letters, numbers, and symbols, and the five spots merged into a single window- "will instantly destroy any compromised Thunderbird on command. It will also destroy the power core in the villa if necessary." She flicked her fingers to send the string to Virgil's comm. "You will not need to recall this password; it needs a code of its own to access, which automatically changes daily."
"This is instantaneous," Virgil confirmed, even though he'd heard Penny clearly. "No chance to set it down, no chance to escape. Just boom, gone."
Her pretty face was without expression. "That is correct."
Virgil looked away. "Dad...he did this on purpose." Not a question.
Penelope shared a glance with Brains, who nodded. "Jeff thought it best," said the engineer quietly. "He never wanted any of the Thunderbirds-or any of you-to be used as pawns...or as weapons."
"This…" Virgil blew out a breath and shut down the angry red window with a slap of his hand against his comm. He got to his feet and wandered the perimeter of the table. "I literally hold my brothers' lives in my hands."
There was really no need to answer, but Penelope did. "Yes."
So much of who Scott was fell into place with her statement; the silver that had begun to thread his hair before thirty, the lines beginning at the corners of his eyes, the bottle of whiskey in the bottom drawer of their father's desk. He could almost hear Scott's voice over the clink of ice and the splash of liquor into a tumbler: At least I didn't have to murder anyone today.
"Virgil," Penelope started, her voice gentler than it had been a moment ago, "really, this is nothing new. You all put your lives in each other's hands every day." She too shut down the windows, and her compact became like her, deadly secrets hidden by an innocent façade. "Your father knew what the Hood was capable of, and if not him, then someone else."
"The Mechanic," Brains put in. "Scott c-came very close to using the kill code at the ranch."
"Has he ever come close to using the other one?" Virgil didn't know why he'd asked that, but he had and it thudded into the room.
"Twice," Penelope said softly. "When EOS arrived, and then when the Mechanic captured Thunderbird Four."
"If 'Four hadn't been p-pulled apart-" said Brains, but Virgil cut him off with a snarl.
"I get it," he spat, a hot bolt of regret stabbing his chest at the engineer's flinch. "Sorry, this is-" He ran his hands through his hair, tugging hard at the gelled strands before dropping his hands and letting his palms slap against his thighs. "Okay. Sorry." He resumed his seat. "Continue."
"You don't have to do this," Penny reminded him. "John-"
"No." The syllable was flat. "Scott gave this to me, and it's mine until I can't-" He sighed. "Well, until I can't."
Penelope leaned over to touch his arm, once again the woman who loved his brother, and not just a woman privy to the darkest secrets of International Rescue. "I know this is a lot to ask of anyone, but please keep in mind that this is all just precaution."
"Failsafes for the failsafes," Brains ventured. "I b-bet you thought that was me." He shook his head. "It was all Jeff."
"Sounds like Dad." Virgil sighed. "You're right; I'm overreacting. Again, my apologies."
"Your eldest brother and commander is seriously injured," Penny retorted. "You have been handed a heavy burden of responsibility beyond the load that you normally handle every day. If this didn't give you pause, I'd be concerned." She gathered up her compact and stood, Virgil and Brains following suit. "Now, I think it's about time for a cup of tea and a bit of fresh air. Would either of you gentlemen care to join me?"
"M-make mine espresso and you're on," said Brains, following her out. "Virgil, what about you?"
"I've had my coffee this morning, thanks," Virgil replied, holding the door for both of them. "Any more and I'll be able to vibrate through walls." He cracked a smile, feeling as if it were his first in days. "I've got a stop to make; I'll catch up with you later."
Instead of making good his exit, Virgil found John waiting for him outside the conference room. "Hey," the redhead began, one long, slender hand shooting out to tap Virgil's shoulder. "I need to talk to you for a minute."
"Seems to be the name of the game today," Virgil quipped. "Wanna step into my office?" He pulled open the door to the conference room, but John made no move to sit.
"This won't take long," he said, leaning against the wall. "While you were in there, I was thinking: What would you say to a division of duties?"
Virgil mirrored his older brother, folding his arms across his chest. "How so?"
"You've got enough to worry about with International Rescue," John began. "What would you say to my taking over the TI side of the house?"
Virgil considered this for a long moment. John had always been the bookish one of the family, happy to accompany Jeff to Tracy Industries HQ when Scott had sometimes dragged his feet. Where Virgil felt much more comfortable in jeans and flannel, John could stop traffic in worsted wool, with his copper hair gelled to a fare-thee-well and his shoes shined to a mirror polish. With his specialized sleep schedule, John could feasibly conduct a lot of TI business from Thunderbird Five while still being iR's eye in the sky.
"You'd do that?" he said aloud. "You're pretty busy; I don't want to put too much on your plate."
John shrugged. "I'm okay. Janessa and her team take care of a lot of it, so my involvement would be minimal. It'd be one less thing for you to deal with." One corner of his mouth curled in a smile. "Besides, I can listen to the meetings anytime."
"Okay," Virgil agreed, presenting his hand for a formal shake to seal the deal. "If you feel like it's too much, let me know."
"I will." John smiled. "I'm gonna go see what the Terrible Twins are up to; I'll contact the TI exec board later." He squeezed Virgil's shoulder, and was gone.
After stopping by Scott's room to check on both his brother and his grandmother-the former still locked in his medicated sleep and the latter dozing in her chair-Virgil took the elevator to the ground floor. When the doors opened, he started a little at the bustle of patients and staff going about their morning business. A large group of people sat in the lobby awaiting the beginning of visiting hours, many holding flowers, balloons, or hand-lettered 'Get Well Soon' signs. Virgil made a mental note to call a florist and have some cheerful blooms delivered-if not exactly for Scott's benefit, then for that of his visitors, who were definitely in need of some moral support.
With a quick consultation of the holographic directory, Virgil moved away from the milling crowds down a carpeted hallway, the noise and chatter quieting as he left the lobby behind. The lighting changed as he passed, growing dimmer and softer, more pleasing to the eye and soothing to the spirit, and then he was standing before a pair of oaken doors carved with the outline of a dove clutching an olive branch in its beak. The door swung inward at his touch, and with a sigh, he stepped into the hospital's interfaith chapel.
As the door shut, all the noise from the outside was instantly silenced. The faint odor of beeswax caught his nose, and a glance told him it came from a fat candle in a glass jar sitting on a white-draped table near the front of the room. All around him, the windows lit the room in an intricate mosaic of light made up of glass in pieces from as big as his palm to the width of his little finger. The windows began at the back of the room, then swept forward in a vibrant ribbon to meet at the front of the room just above his head, where they came together in a serene sunburst of bright yellow glass. He marveled at the artist and the architect, who had created a room that was hopeful, yet serene at the same time. This room would comfort those who prayed for the dying as well as those giving thanks for new life.
Virgil traveled a few steps down the brief aisle, which was marked out in a subtle herringbone of chocolate and cream marble, and lowered himself onto one of the padded benches a few rows from the blazing sunburst. He dug his mother's rosary out of his pocket and held it in his hand, fingertips caressing the smooth beads and the sharp edges of the Crucifix. There were no statues in the chapel, nothing to mark its belonging to one faith or another, but the walls radiated a holy stillness all the same. He closed his eyes and sat quietly breathing in the sweet fragrance of long-ago summers, awash in tranquility.
Wake up, Scotty, he said silently, letting memories of his big brother flit through his mind like a home movie. Come back to us. Don't let this get you.