Chapter 5

Stanford Hospital

Hospital staff were waiting at the landing pad as Thunderbird 2 set down. While Virgil and Gordon loosened the straps that held Scott's gurney, Jeff approached the still-closed bay door.

"Virgil, take Thunderbird Two back to the Island then fly back with Gordon and Alan in Tracy 2. I'll stay here with Scott. Put your masks back on so that the hospital workers don't see your faces." He looked straight at Alan. "That means you, too, son."

Alan smiled, replaced his mask and popped open the hatch.

With the help of the hospital orderlies, they unloaded Scott's gurney and transported him inside the hospital into the emergency room. Jeff saw that an area had been cleared and that uniformed police officers guarded the doors.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you'll need to stay out here," said a masked and gowned doctor. "We'll take good care of him."

Jeff nodded and took a seat in a chair immediately outside the examination room, preparing to wait as long as necessary.

Jeff dozed off and woke to a cacophony of sound. Blinking, he heard shouting, "Code Blue!...He's flat-lining..get the crash-cart stat!" and people shouting Scott's name.."Scott! Scott Tracy, wake up! Scott! Can you hear me?" and another voice demanding a variety of polysyllabic drugs that Jeff couldn't recite back if he tried…..

Jeff sat up straight and grabbed the arm of one gowned body rushing by. "What's going on?" he demanded.

The person, a nurse, he thought, stopped briefly. "Your son is very ill and I need to get in there. We'll let you know his condition when he's stable…" and rushed into the room.

In his active life, Jeff Tracy had seldom felt as helpless as he did at that moment. He firmly squelched his first impulse, which was to rush into the room and demand to know what was going on. The last thing he wanted to do was to disrupt their efforts to save his son's life. Jeff sat back down in his chair and tried to stay out of the way, trying to push away hospital memories of Lucille's death. No, Scott wasn't Lucille and he wasn't dead yet.

Finally, when he saw Scott being wheeled out of the room and down the hall Jeff stood up and craned his neck to see his son. What little he could see was a progression of tubes hooked into multi-colored IV bags, wires and monitors. A doctor peeled away from the crowd and approached him.

"Mr. Tracy," the doctor pulled off his mask and reached out to shake Jeff's hand. "I'm Dr. Bill Crawford, one of Scott's surgeons."

"What's wrong with him?" Jeff demanded. "What happened?"

"A combination of things," Dr. Crawford shrugged. "He was dehydrated and hypothermic to begin with and he has a broken rib. The infection in his hand has been moving rapidly into his bloodstream and is the most serious problem. While we were doing a preliminary surgery on his hand, his kidneys began to fail. We were able to successfully resuscitate him. We've got him on some strong broad-spectrum antibiotics, so hopefully we'll see some improvement soon."

"I see," said Jeff thoughtfully. "Can I see him?"

"I don't see why not, although he'll be out for a while. He's got a room in the intensive care wing. With security, I understand," Crawford gave Jeff a quizzical look.

"Necessary, I'm afraid," Jeff replied. "You know his immediate history?"

Crawford frowned. "I understand, Mr. Tracy. Rest assured we'll take the best care possible of your son."

Intensive Care

Jeff took up a chair in Scott's room and watched the monitors without understanding them much. All he knew was that Scott was alive and finally safe. A few hours later there was a tap at the door and the guards let a man into the room. He wore an ID on a lanyard around his neck and carried a camera and a large paper sack.

"Hello, I'm sorry to disturb you but I'm from the Palo Alto P.D." the man said cheerfully. "I'm here to take some photos of a Mr. Scott Tracy. Would that be him?"

"Yes, that's my son," said Jeff, getting up from his chair. "Agent Davis told me to expect you. All right, then. And what's the sack for?"

The photographer held up the paper sack. It was stapled shut and had writing covering the closed flap. "This is your son's clothing. I picked them up in the emergency room. While I'm taking the photos, you may not want to stay in the room, Mr. Tracy. You may find it upsetting…"

"I've just gotten him back. I'm not leaving," said Jeff shortly. "I'll try not to get in your way. Please proceed."

The photographer nodded and snapped a few shots of Scott's bandaged hand and then took photos of Scott's face, focusing on the bruises. With the nurse unwrapping the bandages on his son's hand, Jeff got a good look at the current damage and was appalled. When Virgil had unwrapped it, the hand had been covered in blood and unrecognizable. Now it looked like something from a Frankenstein monster. Scott's hand had a sharp gash cutting it in two from the middle finger and (missing) ring finger into the back of his hand, stitched crudely closed and swollen to twice its normal size. The red streaks were brighter and running up to Scott's elbow.

Jeff sat down hard in his chair and tried to stay calm. When the nurse lifted the blanket, he saw the dark purple bruises across his son's chest, he closed his eyes and turned his head away, knowing that the sight would haunt his dreams. He tried to keep them safe, but his best just wasn't good enough this time.

LATER

Scott dreamed that he heard Alan and Gordon arguing and smiled, thinking how great it would be to be home, listening to his noisy brothers. Then he dreamed his father shushed them and pondered how realistic the dream seemed to be. He slowly realized that he wasn't lying on a cold, dirty floor and cracked open an eye.

"Hey! He's awake!" he heard Alan shout and get shushed again. A grinning blonde face wavered into his vision.

"Okay, this isn't heaven," Scott said with a smile. "I must be alive, because you're no angel."

Alan was tugged away and Scott saw his father's smiling face. "Hello son, how are you feeling?"

Scott took a quick physical inventory. "Well, nothing hurts and I'm not dead, so I guess I'm okay," he replied, then noticed that his left hand was heavily bandaged and memory came back in a rush.

"You found me, I remember now. How long have I been out?"

"We found you, son," said Jeff, carefully tucking in Scott's blanket. You've been unconscious for about three days now. Between the infection, malnutrition and blood loss, you've had quite a time. They have also done some surgery on your hand."

Scott raised his hand. "What happens now?"

"My understanding is that there will further surgeries on your hand, depending on how well the infection clears up, including surgically reattaching your finger. It's been in preservative since we received it. We'll have to see how much function you retain."

Scott frowned, looking at his bandaged hand. "Will I need special controls for Thunderbird One? How long am I grounded? And how on Earth did you find me?"

Jeff looked uncomfortable at Scott's questions about flying Thunderbird One.

"One of the kidnappers hocked your watch and activated the homing signal, Scott," Virgil broke in and Scott suddenly realized Virg was sitting on the other side of the bed. "John traced it to a cabin belonging to your old squadmate, Slater."

Jeff took up the narrative. "Slater and his two colleagues were picked up by local police."

"Dad, I'm feeling kind of tired right now…" Scott began and Jeff nodded.

"You need your rest. Okay, everybody out, back to the hotel and let your brother alone." He began to shoo his sons out the door.

"Virg—can you stay a moment?" Scott asked.

Virgil looked back for his father's nod and moved back over to Scott's bed. As the door closed Scott leaned back against his pillows and closed his eyes.

"Are you okay, Scott?" Virgil asked anxiously. "Should I call a nurse?"

Scott opened his eyes and met his brother's gaze. "I've never been so scared in my entire life, Virg. And now, I'm left with this..." He nodded toward his hand. "What if I never fly again? Dad isn't a doctor, he doesn't know whether the damage can be repaired."

"None of us does, Scott," said Virgil. "But I do know this, even if we have to design a voice-controlled Thunderbird One, you'll be flying her."

"Thanks, Virgil, now let's get down to reality. What happens to International Rescue while I'm laid up? Is Alan going to pilot my 'bird?" Scott began to scratch at the bandages on his hand, then stopped at Virgil's frown.

"He'll probably be filling in while you're out; it's not as if it hasn't happened before," Virgil said. "Don't worry, I'll make sure he doesn't scratch the paint. Scott, you just have to give this time." Leaning forward and meeting Scott's eyes, Virgil added, "You almost died. Dad didn't tell you, but it was touch and go once we got you here. You spent two days in the ICU before they released you to a regular room. Your focus should be on recovering, not worrying about the future."

"I can't help worrying, Virg," Scott said slowly. "Flying is all I have, it's what I am. No, wait," he said at Virgil's protest. "You don't live for flying, you're a good artist and composer. Alan loves racing, and Gordon lives for oceanography, John for astronomy. Even Dad has International Rescue as his life's work. What happens if I can't fly anymore? Thunderbird One isn't an ordinary jet and you know it. She requires delicate handling or you're liable to drive her into the ground."

Virgil shook his head in exasperation. "Scott, you're a talented Field Commander," Virgil insisted. "You don't need two hands for that, just the talents you already have!"

"Thanks, Virg, but how do I get to the danger zone? As Alan's passenger? Or yours? I can't accept that." Scott carefully laid his hand down on the bed. "I want answers and nobody can give them to me. And worst of all, I can't even get out of bed and walk out of here! I fall on my ass when I get up."

"Oh come on now," said Virgil. "You've been injured before and you know the drill. You obey the doctor's orders and you'll get better over time. The important thing is not to push for too much too fast."

Scott lay back, stubborn expression on his face. "Okay, Mother, I'll be a good boy and obey the doctors."

LATER THAT AFTERNOON

Scott had just finished what the hospital called 'lunch' when the guards showed a strange man into the room.

"Hello, " the stranger said. "I'm FBI Agent Davis. I was in charge of your rescue. I was wondering if you had a few minutes to talk?"

"Yeah, my Dad told me about you. What do you want to know?" Scott asked.

"Well, I do want to ask you about your kidnapping but for starters, let me open by asking you a bit about yourself. Your full name is Scott Carpenter Tracy? After the Gemini astronaut?" Davis smiled. "Your father must really be a fan of NASA history."

"He's not just a former astronaut," Scott explained. "He's also pretty fascinated with the history of aeronautics. I'm just lucky I didn't get named 'Chuck Yeager Tracy'."

"You're 31 years old, yes? And you live with your father on Tracy Island? Your brothers all live there too? The youngest brother is Alan, right? And he's 21?" asked Davis. At Scott's nod, he continued. "You aren't married, I take it? No? Girlfriends? How about your brothers?"

"Now look, I don't know what any of this has to do with my kidnapping," Scott said irritably.

"Just basic background information. Pretty standard," said Davis. "Okay. Where are you employed?"

"I'm…uh…Tracy Enterprises, I guess…" Scott replied.

"But you aren't on the payroll?" Davis asked smoothly.

"Well, no, it's pretty much family money. We aren't publicly owned…I work for my father…"

"Oh, okay, so whatever tasks your father has for you, you perform?" Davis asked.

"Well, yeah…but…wait a minute, not like it sounds…I'm not my father's errand boy. Mostly I'm a pilot.." Scott could feel his cheeks flushing.

"But you don't do a regular route, do you?" Davis replied. "Would it be fair to say that your expenses and those of your brothers are covered by your father?"

"We all work for Tracy Enterprises," said Scott firmly. "Dad's training me to run the company when he retires."

"I see," Davis noted something down on his notepad. "Okay, let's talk about the kidnapping….."

THE NEXT MORNING

Scott woke after a long sleep. The interview with Davis had been gruelling and he had been wrung out and tired when the man finally shut his notebook and left. He was rubbing his eyes blearily when he heard a tap on the door and a doctor with a large case came into the room.

"Hello," the man said crisply. "I'm Dr. Steven McClay. The rehabilitation department sent me. You must be Scott Tracy."

At Scott's nod, he came in and set the case down on the bed's side table. "I'm here to discuss your rehabilitation and the options available to you."

Scott sat up eagerly and leaned toward his savior. "I'm really glad to see you. Everyone keeps telling me to rest, but I'm ready to start physical therapy and move forward."

Dr. McClay smiled. "I can see that you are. Well, let's discuss the possibilities then." He opened the carrying case, swivelling the open end, retrieving an artificial hand. He set it on the bed in Scott's lap.. "As you can see, we have the option of either a hook or a flesh-like prosthesis. I understand that the prosthesis can even be connected to some nerves in the arm, making it able to perform movements similar to your natural hand…"

Scott turned white. "Wait, wait…what do you mean prosthesis? I've only lost a finger. My hand is still attached!"

Dr. McClay replied pleasantly, "Of course, but your hand has been all but severed. I'd understood that an amputation was being scheduled for you. If you want any function after that, you need to consider your prosthetic options. I'm sorry, Scott, but you'll have to accept your disability and your future limitations."

Virgil opened the door and stopped, seeing Scott facing a doctor with an expression full of rage and, what he later realized was terror.

Scott lunged at the doctor, falling awkwardly to the floor, and shouted at the top of his lungs. "Get OUT of here! Go away! And take your prostheses with you!" Reaching the prosthetic hand off the bed, he threw it after the fleeing doctor, where it smacked against the wall next to the doorway and Virgil.

"Scott! What's going on?" Virgil ran over and helped his brother back into the bed, noticing that Scott was shaking as he reattached the IV's and tucked the in the blankets. Scott lay back panting in his bed with his eyes closed, pounding his good hand on the bedrail.

"What just happened, Scott?" Virgil leaned over him and asked gently. "Who was that guy and what was he here for?"

Gulping back his sobs, Scott turned to his brother. "He..he said that my h-hand is going to be amputated. Did Dad set this up?"

Virgil sat on the bed next to his brother and put an arm around his shoulder. "No, no that isn't what's being planned at all, Scott. I've heard Father telephoning doctors about you, and come hell or high water, he intends to rehabilitate you. There must be some mistake. And I'm so sorry you had to handle it alone."

Scott was silent and just turned over in bed, refusing to answer.

LATER—

"Yeah, Dad, it seems that Dr. McClay had misread some orders from Dr. Arbuckle, and thought that the surgery Scott is scheduled for was an amputation and not reconstructive surgery," Virgil's face on the vid-phone was serious. "I've never seen him like this; I'm worried about him."

"Dear God, what a thing to happen, and after everything else," Jeff Tracy shook his head. "I should be there with him instead of putting out corporate fires here on the Island."

"Regardless of his condition, I think we should bring him home, Father," said Virgil. "Even though his room is private, there's really no security here. Anyone can get into his room, and I've seen Scott jump when strangers came in, even when they were legitimate medical workers. I think we forget that he was a captive for a week by someone he used to trust. I don't think he can heal mentally, much less physically, as long as he's in the hospital. I can change his dressings and monitor his IV's at home."

"If you feel confident with that, I don't see why we can't bring him home until his next surgery," Jeff Tracy nodded. "Okay, sign him out and fly him home today. There's no point in leaving him there another night."