Hour Fifteen
The following takes place between 2:00 p.m. and 3:00 p.m. on the day Washington, D.C. was destroyed.
02:00:48
"Brains. Wake up. Brains. Wake up."
But no matter what Braman tried, he couldn't get his creator to regain consciousness. His mind, made up of a complex positronic brain and a myriad of other things only Brains could ever hope to explain, moved quickly. It worked through the problem as any computer, with logic and binary equations producing and then dismissing potential solutions to his current predicament faster than any other machine in existence.
Recalling Brains' last words, he tried to deduce what he'd meant by, "Braman...call...J-J...Joh..." He worked and worked the problem until at last he came up with a seemingly logical possibility.
"I must call John Tracy on Thunderbird 5," he intoned as he rose to his feet. He moved to a nearby com panel and pressed the button that opened a line to the space station. "This is Braman calling Thunderbird 5. This is Braman calling Thunderbird 5."
"Braman? This is John. What's going on?"
"Brains has lost consciousness."
"He's what? Braman, what happened?"
"I do not know."
"Play back the last two minutes before he lost consciousness."
"F.A.B." Braman cocked his head as John watched and waited. Then the recording began.
"Braman."
"Yes?"
"I don't...I don't feel so good."
"Are you ill?"
"I...I think so...God, what...what...?...Oh...oh, no..."...I-It's not...a...concussion...it's...it's...the C-60...oh, no...Braman...call...J-J...Joh..."
"Message not complete. Brains. Brains. Wake up. Wake up, Brains."
"End of recording."
Concern evident on John's face, he said, "Braman, begin visual two-way. Take me to Brains."
Braman's chest plate slid downward, revealing a blank vid screen. It blinked to life, and John's live feed could be seen. He walked over to Brains and tilted forward so John could see him.
"Brains!" John cried, when he saw his unconscious, sweat-soaked friend. "Braman, I'm activating remote command."
"F.A.B."
John placed his right hand on something that looked like a joystick. This would turn Braman's head, body, arms and legs in any direction John chose based on whichever button he'd pushed with his left hand. Allowing Braman to be controlled remotely had been useful to Brains if he'd needed something done while on Thunderbird 5 and Tin-Tin wasn't available. Brains couldn't have known this small luxury might help save his life.
Kneeling Braman on the floor, John maneuvered the robot's right hand so that it gently poked Brains' back. "Brains, wake up! Brains, it's John, can you hear me?"
When he received no response, he had Braman turn Brains over and lift him into his arms. He then instructed the robot to take Brains to their Hospital Ward. While Braman complied, John tried getting hold of his father.
"This is Thunderbird 5 to Jeff Tracy. Come in, Dad."
He received no response.
"Thunderbird 5 to Thunderbird 4. Come in, please." Nothing. Something was wrong. He could feel it. "John!" came a voice through his speakers.
Eyes widening in surprise, John whispered, "Gordo?"
"Yeah, John, it's me."
"Gordon!" John cried. His chair rolled backwards and tipped over as he flew to his feet. "Gordon! Gordon, my God! Where are you? Where are you?"
"In the water, trying to get Dad back to Thunderbird 4."
"What do you mean, trying to get Dad back to Thunderbird 4? What's going on? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'll be fine. Dad's been shot, John."
John's elation at hearing his brother's voice took a nosedive right into unadulterated fear. "Shot?" he squeaked.
"Yeah, listen, I can't talk...too well...right now...almost there..."
"Gordon, what the hell is going on?"
"Hang on...get Scott..."
John opened another line. "Thunderbird 5 calling Scott Tracy. Come in."
02:17:18
Megan jumped when she heard a funny sound coming from her body. Then she remembered Scott's watch. She still had it in her pocket! She yanked it out and said, "Come in!"
John's face appeared, and from his expression, she knew something was just as wrong on his end as it was on hers. "Uh...is this Dr. Crawford?"
"Yes!"
"Where, uh, where's Scott?"
"Oh, something terrible's happened, he's been shot!" She watched as John nearly fell backwards, having forgotten his chair wasn't right behind him. He grabbed the console and managed to keep himself upright.
"What do you mean, shot?"
"I don't know what's going on, Nurse Blevins, she was dead, they're in the ER now, it looks like it just grazed his temple, but...I don't know, I don't know!"
"Dammit!" John swore as he watched Braman place Brains in a bed. "Braman, turn on the life monitors and report his condition immediately!"
"F.A.B.," came the robot's tinny voice.
"Gordon, can you hear me?"
"Yeah, John, just got Dad aboard. John, Acronym...he took Penelope and Tin-Tin!"
"He did what? What are you telling me, Gordon?"
"It's so crazy, I'm not sure what's happening...the Hood was there, Acronym...Dad, Penelope...Tin-Tin had a gun...she was under the Hood's control...the sub imploded...Aaaaa!"
"What? What?"
"Shit, a hunk of that sub just landed on top of us. I can't get Thunderbird to move, John! I have to go fix Dad up, getting outta here will have to wait."
"Is he okay?"
"I'm not sure, he lost consciousness back on the sub, he was shot through the shoulder, but I haven't had time to get a close look at the wound."
"Right, tell me how he is and we'll figure you a way outta there. Dr. Crawford!"
"What?"
"Is Scott all right?"
"Looks like it, they're wrapping his head now, I think he'll be all right once he comes to." John watched as Megan turned her head left, then right, then moved herself in a complete circle. Her face paled.
"What is it?"
"That policeman...they all came down here to the fourth floor with us...but one of 'em's missing. Oh, God! Alan and Virgil!"
"What about 'em? Megan? Megan!"
But Megan had stuffed the watch back into her pocket. All he could hear was her yelling, but he couldn't make out the words. "Jesus!" he exclaimed, his frustration mounting with every passing second. "Braman! Report!"
"Heart rate eighty-nine beats per minute. Blood pressure one-seventy-five over ninety and rising. Oxygen levels decreasing rapidly."
"Braman! What was in the containment unit when it exploded?"
"C-60 and nitrozine."
"What the hell is C-60?"
"Primary component: carbon tetrachloride, comprising seventy-two percent of-"
"Don't recite it, Braman, for God's sake! Analyze components of C-60 and nitrozine and cross-check with Brains' physical symptoms!"
"F.A.B. Processing."
"Gordon!" he yelled, watching as his brother stripped their father's DDS off. "How's Dad?"
"Not good, John, he's lost a lot of blood. I've got the first aid kit, but there's not much I can do without staying here and applying pressure to try and stop the bleeding. And that means I won't be able to get Thunderbird 4 outta here."
John turned back to the second monitor. "Braman, come up with a solution to the following problem: patient on Thunderbird 4, gunshot wound, right shoulder, heavy bleeding, unable to utilize pressure from hands to stem blood flow!"
"Processing." Mere seconds passed before he continued. "Solution Number One, probability of success eighty-one percent: utilize absorbent medical gauze number three as compress; utilize Grab-Jack in reverse position to apply continual pressure to wound. Solution Number Two, probability-"
"Stop, Braman! Gordo, you hear that?"
"Already on it, hang on!"
"Braman, have you completed analysis of Brains' condition?"
"Affirmative. Probability ninety-six percent: unusually high exposure to carbon tetrachloride via inhalation and skin absorption resulting in lack of oxygen to bloodstream. Affecting liver, kidneys, nervous system, brain, circulatory system. Result: Fatal if not treated-"
"Fatal? Solution, Braman! Solution! Keep him from dying, for God's sake!"
"F.A.B. Gathering materials now."
"Dr. Crawford?" John could hear nothing. "Megan! Can you hear me? Megan!"
02:35:52
Megan and three police officers had just reached the hall leading to Virgil and Alan's room. They found both posted International Rescue agents lying dead outside the door. One officer pushed Megan out of the way while he and his companions raced into the room, weapons drawn.
"Stop right there!" he hollered.
The missing officer froze with the end of Virgil's IV line only two inches from his lips. He contemplated his options. Could he blow into the line before the other three shot him down? To do so would cause certain death, pushing air into Virgil's bloodstream. But was he willing to die just to kill a man he didn't even know?
Rapid footsteps approaching from the end of the hall made Meg turn her attention away from the room. Rounding the corner were four huge men dressed all in black, their faces smudged black as well. They were carrying large automatic weapons and barreling down on her in full attack mode.
"Jesus!" she cried. "Out here! Hurry!" She whipped her machine pistol out and took a shot at the leader of the pack, but it just sunk into his bulletproof vest. He and the one just to his right aimed their weapons at her...and fired.
02:38:19
Gordon stripped the thermal suit off Jeff's torso, baring him down to his waist. He lifted his father's shoulder and noted no exit wound, which meant the bullet was lodged inside. He placed four absorbent gauze pads right over the entry wound, then pressed a button on the Grab-Jack. It was a one-inch thick one-foot square of metal with four metal arms extending from the top. He turned it upside-down over Jeff's shoulder, fitting one bendable rod around under his armpit, one at the side of his arm, and the other two over his shoulder.
Pressing another button caused the arms to lock into place. Another two quick jabs to the tiny control panel extended a five-inch square platform downward. Gordon moved it so it was right over the bullet hole, then extended it until it began pressing down on the wound. He allowed it to continue its slow descent until at last he brought it to a stop. He checked and rechecked the gauze pads and the amount of pressure being applied until he was fairly certain the Grab-Jack was doing its job.
"John! I've got the jack in place, it seems to be working!"
"Okay, Gordo, now what about getting outta there?"
"Thunderbird 4 wouldn't budge. I'm gonna have to go out there and see if I can dislodge the piece of hull that hit us."
"Gordo...God...be careful. Please be careful. I-"
"What is it, John?"
"I thought I lost you once. I don't wanna lose you again."
Gordon smiled cheekily. "You aren't getting rid of me that easily, bro."
John, though he appreciated what Gordon was trying to do, was not in a smiling mood. "I'm keeping you on an open line."
"F.A.B. I'll be out there in two shakes."
02:42:12
Megan dropped herself to the floor like a lead weight just as two of the policemen came bolting out of the room. They were pelted with machine gun fire as she scurried forward on her belly into the room. The officer with Virgil's IV line in his hand dropped it and reached for his pistol. Megan saw the officer nearest her fire his weapon, and the other one fell to the floor.
Gunfire rang out in the hallway amidst yells and screams. Meg crawled around and pulled herself up between Virgil and Alan's beds, shoving the dead fake policeman closer to the wall with her feet. She noticed the bars on the room's one window had been cut off, most likely by the officer before he'd attempted to kill Virgil.
The situation seemed hopeless. Any second now those men would be rushing into the room. She looked over her shoulder at Alan, then down at Virgil. "I'm so sorry, Scott," she whispered as hurried footsteps grew nearer. "I'm so sorry."
02:44:55
"Braman! What're you doing about Brains?" John shouted as he watched the robot jabbing needles and IV lines into the engineer's body.
"Have applied 100% humidified supplemental oxygen via face mask. Have removed all clothing to aid in decontamination."
"Yeah, I can see he's naked, Braman, what's in the hypos?"
"Administering N-acetylcysteine to combat hepatotoxicity in liver. Administering 16-dimethyl prostaglandin E2 to block accumulation of intracellular lipids. Administering three indole antioxidants. Changing humidified supplemental oxygen to high-level dose of hyperbaric oxygen to counter effect regional tissue hypoxia and damage. Administering blood thinner 4c-8 to prevent blood clots and possible stroke."
John's head was beginning to hurt. "Braman! Is it working? How are his vitals?"
"Heart rate seventy-nine beats per minute. Blood pressure one-thirty-four over eighty-one and decreasing. Oxygen levels rising."
"Oh, thank God! Braman, I think you just saved Brains' life!"
"Yes," was all the mechanical man said.
02:48:32
"Gordon, what do you see?"
"Oh, boy," Gordon said through pursed lips. "It's a good-sized chunk, about twenty feet long, ten or so feet wide. I can't tell if there's any damage to Thunderbird. I'm gonna go back in and get the hydro lift."
"Hurry, Gordon, and check on Dad."
"F.A.B."
02:51:59
Megan and the remaining officer almost fired on the man who charged into the room. Luckily, though, they realized he was from the Arlington Police Department, and managed not to shoot him.
"Who are you?" the officer bellowed.
"Dr. Megan Crawford!" she replied, her gun still pointed directly at him. "What happened to those men with the machine guns?"
"We got 'em, Ma'am," another officer said as he entered the room. Two more came behind him, followed by a sight that was more than welcome to Megan.
"Grandma!" she exclaimed, shoving her weapon back into her pocket.
The elderly woman entered the room, gladly accepting a fierce hug from this person she hardly knew. "Oh, I'm so glad we got here in time."
"How did you-what did you-?"
"When I woke up I was down there in the Emergency Room," Grandma explained as she went to check on her grandsons. "Those men and a nurse were barreling through there like a stampede. I knew something wasn't right and started after them, yelling like a Banshee. These police officers had just arrived and came after me."
"A nurse?" Megan asked as she examined Virgil's severed IV line. "What nurse?"
"I don't know. Kinda stocky woman with short brown hair, wore glasses."
"Where is she now?"
Ruth turned to look right at her. "I don't know."
02:56:06
She crept to the abandoned nurse's station, paying little heed to her comrade lying dead on the floor in a puddle of drying blood. Joanna Franklin edged her way out to the corridor. To her right she saw two hospital guards standing outside of the secured Emergency Room ward. The rest of the ER bustled with activity, but there was only one thought on her mind now. There must be someone from International Rescue in there.
Taking stock of the situation, she decided that killing the guards would be easy enough. After all, Canton was paying her an awful lot of money. Those goons she'd let in would take care of the two upstairs. Whoever this was would be all hers. And with a gun in her hand, she'd easily get out without any of the other staff stopping her. What did she have to lose now?
Raising her pistol, she fired. One guard fell and the other whirled to face her, gun drawn. He pulled the trigger, and she fired back before ducking behind the wall. But she wasn't quick enough to dodge the bullet that tore through her left arm. She screamed in agony as blood poured from it, turning her lily white uniform to scarlet. Staggering against the wall, she sank to her knees, staring with shock at her mangled arm.
Her brain began to slow as the life force ebbed from her body. She didn't even notice the screaming patients, nurses and doctors running for the exits. Rage overtook her. International Rescue. It was all their fault. Whoever was in that room was going to die with her. She would not be going alone.
She grabbed hold of the metal rail on the wall and hauled herself to her feet, grinding her teeth, breath coming hard and heavy. Saliva gathered at the corners of her mouth as her half-crazed brain propelled her down the hall foot-by-foot, step by unsteady step. Barely noticing the two men she'd just killed, she reached the door to the ER room and leaned heavily on it, nearly falling down as it swayed open beneath her weight.
"You!" she cried, her voice dripping with venom. "How did you get out?"
Franklin made her way to the bed, just barely catching herself on it in time to keep from tumbling to the floor. She dragged her body up the bed until her face was mere inches from that of the dark-haired patient who had several strips of gauze wrapped around his head.
"Guess your girlfriend didn't wanna stick around for the p-party!" she slurred, spittle landing all over his face and chest. Her remaining hand, which still clutched at the pistol, raised and lined the barrel up to Scott Tracy's temple, right where the small spot of red from his previous wound showed through the white gauze. "I'll see you in Hell, hero!" she spat.
Then she pulled the trigger.
02:59:58
02:59:59
03:00:00