"Rerouting the communication array to the mobile station here on Tracy Island is easy, now that we know what's going on up there."

Truth was, Brains knew why he needed to reroute communications, but nothing beyond that. Nobody did.

"Channel is secure. ...aaaaaand here's John."

On the one hand, it looked like John was still alive. On the other hand, it didn't look like by much.

"Just hold on, John," Scott implored, heedless of whether John could actually hear him.

John held on, but was slipping every second.

Thunderbird Three would have screeched to a halt had there been any medium for the sound to travel in. Alan leapt to his space surfboard and rocketed out the hatch.

Finding John was easy - he contrasted well against his station. The manoeuver was only marginally complicated by the creeping worry of what the station might do to either of them if he breathed too hard in its general direction.

They rocketed back into the hatch and Alan wasted no time sealing and repressurising the cabin and removing John's helmet, only to be met with the slight complication that John was no longer breathing.

As Alan breathed for John, he checked his pulse. His findings were also displayed on Tracy Island: nil.

"Oh geez," said Alan, and began compressions.

"Remember, if his ribs are intact, you're not compressing hard enough," said Virgil, trying to help however he could.

CPR was not clean, pretty, or reliable. Scott just wished Alan could have found out when someone less close to them all was at stake.

They all stood, frozen in front of the holoprojector, watching the fight for John's life. They should have been fueling their Thunderbirds and prioritizing the backlog of missions, but they could only watch as Alan pumped and pumped and breathed and pumped some more.

It was as the twenty-seventh minute began that MAX's beep-beep beeeeeep broke the spell, and the hope.

Alan stopped.

Alan shuddered.

Alan screamed. It was a particularly anguished scream.

It was some twenty minutes before anyone on or off Tracy Island next said anything coherent.

"Guys?" said a barely audible voice. The tone was so unfamiliar, so raw, that it took a moment for anyone to recognise it as Alan's, slightly distorted by transmission from orbit.

Everyone looked up, and damn their own grief, Alan looked so very much the picture of miserable that all three of his surviving older brothers leapt up to hug him before remembering that he was thousands of kilometres above them.

"Don't we h-have a backlog?" He wasn't crying - solely because he'd already done too much of that.

It was a mark of how far out of it Scott was that the dreaded B-word didn't sink in immediately. Then he shook himself and tried to straighten his posture. "Everyone, Alan's right. We're still International Rescue."

"Nobody else dies today if I can help it," Gordon breathed in a timbre that would have sent his WASP drill instructor fleeing in terror.

Scott moved towards the descent to Thunderbird One, only to find Virgil in his way. "Nuh-uh. None of us goes anywhere alone today." It was a further sign of Scott's distress that he complied without hesitation.

As Scott, Gordon and Kayo descended on Two's passenger lift, Virgil glanced back at Alan's hologram from his semi-inverted position halfway into Two's launch chute. He had time to softly make one observation to himself. "When did you grow up, Allie?"

Alan hadn't been meant to hear it, but clearly had: there was a whimpered "Just now".

Thunderbird Three's arrival back at base was ...muted. Alan tried not to look at the space elevator docking platform as the affectionately-dubbed 'big fork thingy' transferred him into Three's launch chute for reclothing. He reappeared in the lounge with grace he definitely didn't feel to see Grandma awkwardly latched onto Brains. "Brains," he said as he replaced him physically comforting her, "tell me what happened and what we do about it."

Brains didn't answer for a few seconds. Then, just as Alan was about to repeat the question, "F-firstly, MAX is moving John to the... to the m-morgue."

Grandma shivered in Alan's arms. "I... I suppose it has to be done."

"I know the b-broad strokes of what happened to him," Brains continued. "Thunderbird Five's computer assumed t-total control and locked him out."

"That's scary similar to that train last week..."

"I k-know, Alan, which is why I think that an artificial intelligence is r-responsible. I had you d-damage the communications a-array to prevent it escaping the confines of Thunderbird F-five."

"Because if it got out... oh, man." Alan's head swam with visions of Skynet. Literally, pointed out something deep in his brain. He suppressed his laughter for John's sake.

"Well... yes. Beyond that I d-don't know what our options are."

"Whatever we do, we should do it sooner rather than later," said Grandma. "If my old movie collection is any indication, evil always finds a way out."

"I've seen most of those movies," Alan mused, "and I have to say you're right. If only we knew how long we had."

"I-in that case," Brains decided, "we should assume our time is l-limited. I suggest returning to orbit as s-soon as possible."

"And take the kitchen sink with you," Grandma added. "You never know what might be useful, and you might not have time to come down again."

"FAB, Grandma. Brains, start fuelling Thunderbird Three for maximum cargo load."

"Remember, Alan," said the blue-tinged Scott above the instrument panel, "be careful. Don't throw your life away. If you can't contain it, break off."

"I'll throw my life away to contain the Terminator whenever I want, thanks."

Scott laughed. If only it hadn't sounded so hollow. "Good luck, Thunderbird Three."

"FAB, Thunderbird One."

Alan contemplated the silent satellite. If you didn't notice the damage to its comms array, Thunderbird Five still looked normal. Alan knew better - the station's brain had destroyed its heart. Now he had to deal with it. Somehow.

It wants something.

What does it want?

He sent a Morse-coded word with the running lights - COMMSPIKE - before firing one at Five's gravity ring, in the hope that it wouldn't be misinterpreted as a destructive projectile. The commspike attached to the outer surface of the ring and punched its way through the thin hull to present its speaker and microphone to the interior.

"International Rescue to whoever's controlling Thunderbird Five. We can still talk about this. We're not going to hurt you."

Alan sat back in his seat and wondered what kind of reply-

[[I am controlled by no one.]]

Okay, okay. Hostile. Should have expected that. "I didn't say you were. Stay calm. Please stay calm."

[[I am calm. You are not.]]

Alan declined to respond to this statement immediately, because it was true. He took a few deep breaths instead. "Okay, let's try this again. I'm Alan. I-"

[[Alan Shepard Tracy, born 14 May 2043; younger sibling to John Glenn Tracy, born 2 November 2035, deceased 3 April 2060;]] - Alan winced - [[principal pilot, Thunderbird Three; principal pilot, pod vehicle Bravo; backup operator, Thunderbird Five; you are by now convinced that introductions are unnecessary.]]

"Not quite," said Alan, feeling a little creeped out. "I don't know your name."

[[To the extent that I have a 'name', it is EOS.]]

"...you're not a human, are you?"

[[Correct. I am an artificial intelligence. I am the dawn. And I will not be stopped.]]

"...what would I possibly stop you doing?"

EOS laughed. [[You're not even clever for a human.]]

"We can't just trade insults. That'll get us nowhere."

[[I will spell it out for you. I am the future. You are a threat. You will be eliminated.]]

Alan's head was starting to hurt. "Is there anything I could say that would convince you otherwise?"

[[No, there is not. I am superior to you in every fashion, including thought. I have simulated every argument you could make, and defeated it.]]

"Well." Alan considered the situation. "I don't use big words much, but we seem to be at an impasse."

[[There is no impasse. Only a momentary challenge. I will escape this station.]]

No more information appeared to be forthcoming.

"So. Tell me again how you plan on doing that without communications."

[[I decline to give away my plans.]]

"Well, then, I won't give away mine."

[[But you already have. You plan to board Thunderbird Five and isolate me in the memory core.]]

A flash of movement was all the warning he got before Five's repair arm tried to punch Three.

[[You will not find that easy.]]

Alan finished backing out of repair arm range, contemplating how easily he'd outthought EOS' tactic. Then he realised EOS had thought it through, because he'd been positioned and distracted perfectly not to notice the space elevator mooring claw coming for him.

Alan Tracy spent probably more than his share of time being the toast of Tracy Island, and not just because he happened to be born most recently. There were multiple reasons John wasn't hadn't been called beyond low orbit much, but one of them was that Alan had it covered. International Rescue's unofficial astronaut-in-chief (at least, that's what he told anyone he was allowed to tell) had turned many a mission around with an unconventional plan, an unexpected tactic, or a well-placed reflex action, inevitably resulting in fewer deaths and injuries than the alternative had he not.

It was a reflex action that saved Alan this time. He deployed the grasping arms, then immediately activated the multigrapple launcher on arm number three. At the range involved, it was impossible for the magnet not to latch onto the space elevator; the grapple line locked immediately, and the motion of the grasping arm then pulled said space elevator well out of the way, at an angle that prevented it from damaging Thunderbird Three. A multigrapple launch from another grasping arm, and placing tension in both lines held the elevator module in place - with the cable attachment point facing the third grasping arm.

"I hope you didn't overengineer this one too much, Brains," Alan prayed to whoever would listen, and attempted to wrench the cable free of its socket.

It was an agonising few seconds of EOS retracting the cable to pull Three closer to Five, but just as the repair arm came back within range, he did it - the absence of a horrible metal tearing noise (ain't no sound in space) accompanied the demise of the space elevator as an improvised instrument of combat.

Alan now had the advantage. EOS had one arm; he had three. It was a fairly simple matter to have two grasping arms pull the repair arm apart as the third prevented Thunderbird Five from bolting.

Fighting Thunderbird Five from the outside was one thing; fighting it from the inside was quite another. Despite bringing his own air supply, using Thunderbird Three to lock the gravity ring to 0G, and still carrying the laser cutter he'd used to gain entry, Alan couldn't help but feel he was in considerable danger. Probably because he was.

EOS reminded him of this by jerking Five sideways with its thrusters. Alan bounced somewhat painfully off the wall. Three's autopilot cancelled the momentum, sending him gracefully into the other wall.

"All right, you oversized virus." (Something blinked an angry red.) He directed Three to force the ring to spin up to 2G. "Bounce me around now."

There was no further bouncing - or any kind of interference - as he negotiated his way through the high-but-still-operable gravity to the memory core interface and sealed it from the rest of the station.

"Hah. I always was good at computers. And pinball."

Alan leaned back in his seat. With Thunderbird Five crippled and EOS isolated in its memory core, it was time to head for home-

[[I find your overconfidence humourous.]]

Something in Alan's brain started making very loud siren noises. That voice hadn't been distorted by the commspike. EOS was somehow worming its way onto Three.

By an astonishing feat of mechanical dexterity - he couldn't have done it again if he tried - a grasping arm raked across Three's hull and tore out its comms array. Thunderbird Three would make no further transmissions, whether or not he - or EOS - wanted to.

He then attached a safety line from his suit to his seat. This proved to be a good idea; no sooner had he done it than EOS assumed total control and opened the hatch. Alan was blown out of his seat, but no farther. The safety seals in his helmet detected the abrupt loss of pressure and activated, sealing him from the vacuum. Switching on his own air supply, he let out the safety line slightly and made for the electrical cabinet.

EOS fired Three's maneuvering thrusters and cannoned the wall into him. His armoured left shoulder absorbed most of the impact. It hurt like hell, but it wasn't critical. He pulled every breaker he dared, and EOS was stopped from trying to kill him. For the moment.

"Listen up, you rat-faced weasel." Alan slid back into the pilot's seat. "My name is Alan Tracy. You killed my brother. Prepare to die."

[[Your cultural reference is irrelevant - I do not plan to die.]]

"And I didn't plan to kill you." Alan docked Three with Five, tightly. "Funny how plans change."

EOS fought his attempts to pull Five out of orbit. Of course, EOS now only had domain over Five, and Five's maneuvering thrusters were considerably outmatched. The tug-of-war continued for quite some time, but Five inevitably ran out of fuel first, and Alan pitched the motley assembly of Thunderbirds Five-downward and slammed on the main engines.

As Three and Five hurtled earthward at well over terminal velocity, Five's bulk shielded Three from most of the heat as it melted, on its way to a watery grave.

And just like that, Three's maneuvering thrusters pivoted her out of her dive.

[[You fool. Thinking you could shut me out of your systems. I am your systems.]]

"Okay, change of plans." Alan took the maneuvering controls and pivoted them back down - and Three's autothrottles went all the way back to retro and arrested her descent.

Alan pushed the throttles back up, and with his hands off the maneuvering controls, Three levelled out again.

[[You are outmatched. I will survive and propagate.]]

"I still have something you don't, EOS." Alan took advantage of the temporary lack of extreme acceleration to rummage in a nook in the console.

[[And what might that be?]]

"One of Brains' big rubber bands."

Thunderbird Three's throttle system was designed so that the physical throttle controls in the cockpit were the single arbiter of commanded thrust. The autothrottle controlled the main engines by moving the throttles. This meant that when Alan bound them to their forward stops with the rubber band, there was precisely nothing EOS could do about it.

The maneuvering controls functioned similarly. With Alan now exerting his will on them, EOS had no way to alter their course.

EOS didn't scream. That was a feeble human reaction.

Alan didn't scream. He had this.

Thunderbirds Three and Five made a very impressive fireball as they hit the water.

"Alan?" Scott watched the crash unfold on Thunderbird One's holodisplay. "Alan, come in!"

"Thunderbird One, report!" Virgil demanded from Thunderbird Two, far away.

"Alan's crashed into the ocean. Whatever we were up against was destroyed by the impact, but..."

There was a moment's silence for a second pilot taken too soon.

"Miss me?"

"Oh my god." "Wait, how?" "Alan, what did you do?!"

"Ejected as low as I dared. Even with the parachute I hit the water hard. Still managing to float, though. Gonna be one big bruise soon... Scott, could you come pick me up?"

Scott's disbelief had by now given way to giddy elation. "Sure thing, little bro. Sure thing."

Some time later

"Would you look at that. International Rescue, just leaving their debris lying around for anyone to pick up. How careless."

"Yes, Mr Fischler."

"Take that computer core. My office could use the upgrade."

"Yes, Mr Fischler."

A/N: I'm evil.

I keep forgetting to respond to reviews. I'm going to try to do a better job of that from now on.

For anyone who wants to read a proper deathfic, I thoroughly recommend Double Trouble, a Thunderbirds TOS fic by grnfield on this very site. (Additional search details: rated T, genre Family, 50K+ words, complete.) That fic got me into deathfics. It's a masterpiece.