A/N: Hey guys. So, uhhh, if it looks like retcon and smells like retcon, it's definitely retcon. Hope you enjoy anyway XD

Edited because I was too lazy to proof-read before posting.

The ERU called back after half an hour. John ignored the flashing light on the screen. The light stopped flashing after a while.

John slept fitfully that night, torture. His guilt chased him around and around in his dreams.

You lied. People are dead now!

That's not my fault. They were going to die, it didn't matter what I said.

You should have done more!

What more could be done? I gave them hope, what else can be expected from me?

And what now, of the future? What happens to the Thunderbirds?

We try to earn back the world's trust. We prove ourselves again.

And what of you? How will you earn back your brothers' trust, your father's?

This was not my fault! What should I have done, told the ERU that no-one was coming to help!

The argument was pointless, circling through his head, over and over.

Eventually, he woke.

Day 29.

6 days of supplies left.

John opened up the list of frequencies catalogued by Thunderbird 5. Certain people and organisations had different frequencies, or bands of frequencies, that they reserved. The Thunderbirds, and their global agents, were people like this. John scanned the list of names. The Thunderbirds employed a wide range of individuals, placed within a variety of organisations. However, none of them had anywhere near the technology necessary to reach John on Thunderbird 5. Even Lady Penelope, the most public figure amongst the Thunderbird's agents, would not have the influence to be able to save him.

There was always the chance that one of these agents could contact Tracy Island, the only problem was that the agents communicated with the rest of International Rescue via Thunderbird 5. The agents all used conventional radios, with a range of only about 20 kilometres. Only through the considerable detection range of Thunderbird 5's scanners were their radios any use for communicating with International Rescue. So there was no way any of the agents could radio Tracy Island.

What about physically going and telling Jeff Tracy that his son was alone and abandoned up in Thunderbird 5? Also not viable. The Thunderbirds vehicles often took wide, circular routes home from missions, to avoid being followed. At the speeds of Thunderbird 1 and 2, this circular flight path added only about half an hour to the trip home from a rescue. For a conventional aircraft, the flight would be hours longer. While some of the agents had their own airplanes, and Lady Penelope even had her own private jet, none had the range to be able to fly the evasive path to the Island.

John switched on a radio and tuned it to a commercial station. He let the sounds of normal life wash over him and tried to forget what was happening to him. He couldn't shake the heavy feeling in his stomach though, so after a while he switched the radio over to the Kennedy Space Centre at Cape Canaveral. The spacecraft was being loaded. At the moment, food was being loaded on. All throughout the day, more and different equipment and supplies were being loaded. Tomorrow, the rocket would be rolled out to the launch pad and the fuel would be pumped into the tanks. Fuel was the last thing to be added, as it had to be kept well below freezing temperature.

So far, so good. Still have a backup. But where the hell is Thunderbird 3?

John moved into the radio module, floating. He had turned the gravity off. John loved floating in the microgravity, it relaxed him. Now, though, his nerves were not so easily appeased. He had slept fitfully again, still tortured. He had dreamt while he slept. Short flashes of his father's face, and the faces of his brothers. They looked up at him, varying from Scott's confused frown to Alan's youthful disappointment and betrayal. John felt betrayed himself. Scott and Alan had the gall to be disappointed in him? Where were they now? Why had they not come? John frowned. He keyed the button to broadcast out of habit, but nothing happened. Suddenly, John couldn't contain himself.

"Damnit, where are you!"

John looked about himself, shocked. He was not given to outbursts of anger. His heart was beating incredibly fast. John breathed in and out slowly, calming himself and returning his heart to a normal rate. The edges of panic kept creeping in on John, and he struggled to suppress another shout.

The lights on the station glowed orange and an alarm started blaring. John, grateful for the distraction, floated over to the computer monitor. He oriented his feet to the floor and turned the gravity back on. As much fun as microgravity was, normal gravity was far more practical. John felt his stomach sink and his whole body tense as Thunderbird 5 slowly took hold of him and dragged him to the floor.

John keyed a button and the alarm stopped blaring, though the lights still glowed orange, casting an eerie glow over the station. John brought the cause of the alarm up on the screen. It was the proximity sensors. They displayed a three dimensional space for hundreds of kilometres around Thunderbird 5. Anything that moved in this space was flagged and tracked by the computer, and anything that moved too fast or too close to Thunderbird 5 would trigger a warning.

The current readout showed a blip moving through the space with an incredible velocity. Worse, it would pass within a few kilometres of Thunderbird 5. Within visual detection range, and well within range of any sensors the blip might have on board. Of course, the blip might not have been a ship. It could well be a new missile that a government was testing. John had not been monitoring the channels that usually discussed tests like these. If it was, then likely it would either detonate well before it got to Thunderbird 5, or it would change course and head back into atmosphere.

John watched the blip as it moved closer and closer. The speed of the blip, whatever it was, was phenomenal. It was almost fast enough to rival Thunderbird 3. John's hear leapt. Finally, Thunderbird 3, come to take him home. A rush of guilt passed over John as he thought about how he would explain the last few days to his family. Another rush passed through John, something darker this time. He tried to quell it, but he couldn't. How would his family explain the last few days to him?

The blip dropped its speed slightly, then suddenly accelerated, increasing its speed hugely. John was struck by doubt. The drop then surge. Single-stage-to-orbit craft like Thunderbird 3 didn't experience that. Conventional multi-stage rockets did though, when they decoupled an exhausted stage and fired up the next stage. John brought up the blip's flight path. It launched from somewhere in China, nowhere near Tracy Island out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

And besides, John realised, Thunderbird 3 wouldn't activate the proximity warning. Thunderbird 5 would have alerted me, but not with the proximity alarm.

So if the blip was not Thunderbird 3, what was it? John's skin crawled.