Often, if he couldn't sleep, John would idly scan the lesser used radio frequencies, finding the static hissing between uses – coupled with the random strange conversations and more often than not religious preaching – oddly relaxing.
Occasionally, he would come across a mention of International Rescue, which would never fail to get his attention. After all, it was kinda nice to hear about your family over the airwaves, (space) even if it was in a roundabout way and indirect. It also amused him no end to listen to the many theories about who they were. Some were convinced that they were a secret federal agency, some thought they were glory hounds who caused the disasters themselves, and some still swore that International Rescue didn't actually exist but were some form of mass hallucination.
A small but incredibly stubborn group insisted that 'The Saviors', as they called them, were benevolent aliens, here to show mankind the way they should be evolving.
That one always made John crease over in laughter. He really should let Alan know about that group the next time he was up here. Though... knowing Alan... he'd probably start talking back to them...
John spared a chuckle at that thought as he danced his slim, manicured fingers over the radio tuner. It was the wrong night for that group – they usually met twice a month on a Saturday – but somebody should be around someplace - -
"Help! Help! Can somebody hear me? Please? I need some help!"
The voice snapped John to full alertness instantly, grabbing his remote microphone with his left hand as his right flicked the switch to record and locate the source of the incoming transmission.
"It's my little sister! My lil' sister has fallen down a hole and, and, she can't get out and I can't reach her and I don't know what to do! Somebody please help!"
A soft chime told John that the weak transmission's source had been located. He'd have to bounce his signal off one of the other Tracey Communications satellites, but that's what they were there for. A few quick keystrokes and John had broken into the pleader's frequency.
"This is International Rescue. I repeat, this is International Rescue responding to you request for emergency assistance. Can you give us more information?"
"It's my little sister! We were running in the fields behind the house – we shouldn't be but she ran out of the the house – and she fell down a hole and I can't get her out and now she's stopped crying and I'm scared! Please help me!"
"We will. I just need to get some questions first. What's your name?"
"M – Mary"
"How old are you, Mary?"
"Seven and a half."
"What's your sister's name?"
"Emily."
"And how old is she?"
"Almost three."
"Where are your parents, Mary?"
"Mommy's visiting Nanna and Daddy had to go to get some wood for the fence where the bull broke out."
"How long has Emily been stuck down the hole, Mary?"
"From when the little hand was on two and a bit and it's on nearly four now. "
"Have you called anybody else yet?"
"No. Daddy said to only use the radio in an emergency and I thought maybe I could reach her to pull her out but I couldn't see her so I came back to ask for help and you answered and you said you would."
" Yes, we will, Mary. We know where you are and should be with you soon. Right now, I need you to go to the hole where Emily is and put a sheet or tablecloth near it so we know where to find it, then keep talking to Emily – even if she doesn't answer back – until we get there, okay?"
"Okay. Will you be long?"
"About a half hour, I think, before the Thunderbird One reaches you. Go now, Mary."
"Y-yes, sir!"
There was the thunk of a dropped handset followed by the patter of small running feet as John swung his chair around to the dedicated Tracy Island video link and punched the emergency signal.
"International Rescue Control – go ahead, John." He blinked for a moment at the image of Gordon sitting behind his father's desk, then remembered that it was the middle of the night down there and, once again, it seemed his younger brother had drawn the graveyard shift.