Far up above the earth, nestled amongst a backdrop of stars, Alan Tracy lounged at the vast control console in Thunderbird Five, three weeks into his four-week tour of duty in International Rescue's orbiting space station and communication hub, listening to one of the strangest calls he'd had to date.
The woman, English by the sound of it, had been babbling so quickly that he hadn't been able to interrupt her. At first, he was sure it must be a prank call, they got those from time to time, bored kids or drunken idiots were the norm. But this woman -for all her hurried talking as if she didn't want to bother them, acting the way one would ask a neighbour to remove a spider from their bathtub if it wasn't too much trouble- had an undertone of panic and fear he was all too familiar with.
The moment she came up for breath he took pity on her. "This is International Rescue, receiving you loud and clear. What's your emergency?"
He listened, one eyebrow raised in disbelief as the sound of a mild scuffle crackled over the airways and a male's voice called out, "It's not really an emergency, we'll be fine."
Maybe he had been wrong and this really was a prank call? "Look, I know things can be a bit boring, but you really shouldn't call us if you aren't in danger."
The scuffling noise grew louder, sounding for all the world like they were fighting over the radio transmitter.
"Are you still there?" Alan called.
"I don't know about you," the woman yelled, although her voice sounded distant like she was holding the transmitter too far away from her face, "but I call being in a rust bucket rocket that's going to fall out of space any minute, an emergency situation! Now let go of it!"
All traces of amusement left Alan's boyishly handsome face as he straightened in his chair, instantly on alert. The woman sounded like she was really in trouble and someone was trying to prevent her from getting help. Was there more to this than he had first thought? "Wait, hold up, hold up! What was that you said about a rocket? Is anyone hurt?"
The woman growled in annoyance and a rustling was heard over the line, followed by a yelp of pain and a male's "My ankle!"
"I'm here, I'm here, sorry!" The woman's voice sounded closer again as she cleared her throat. "My friend," Alan heard the loaded pause that made him doubt that they were friends any longer, "knows a guy who knew a guy who had a rocket. But now we're on said rocket, and the guy that their guy knew who could fly it, is passed out on the floor. The auto-pilot is off -if it even exists- and this rocket is roaring through space rattling like a bag full of tin cans, so we'd really appreciate some help."
Alan could hear her panting, slightly out of breath as if that barrage of information had exhausted her, her voice rising in pitch and volume as she talked. She sounded less like she was messing around and more like someone who was about to fall into full-blown panic, something he wished to avoid at all costs.
He believed her, she sounded so genuine, but he had to ask, just to be sure. "Are you being serious?"
"Yes, we are," she assured him, her voice strong and clear, like those few seconds of silence had given her the chance she needed to regain her composure.
"Let me make sure I heard this right," Alan said, reaching for his clipboard to start taking notes. "You're on a rocket with no pilot -I'm assuming no co-pilot is on board- without a working auto-pilot and none of you have a clue how to fly it, let alone if it's space-worthy?"
Alan heard the gentle rustling of clothing over the line as she shifted uncomfortably. "That's about the size of it, yes," she finally admitted, her voice losing some of its confident edge.
"I'm going to need you to give me some more information," Alan instructed as he reached across the console to check that the reel-to-reel was recording the call. "Have you lost any altitude or speed?"
"I…I don't know, how would I know? How do I find out? Also, the rocket keeps jerking and I think I hear the engines spluttering, but I might be imagining that because I'm really trying hard not to panic."
"Good," Alan praised. "Panicking won't help us now. First up, what's the status of the pilot?"
"He's out cold, I don't know why. But he's breathing, his pulse is stable and he has no visible injuries that we can see, I mean we haven't stripped him or anything, so I can't be sure."
"That will do for now, there's no need to start undressing him. How many of you are there?"
"Including myself and the pilot, three men and four women."
Alan scrawled another quick note in handwriting that only he -or possibly a pharmacist- would be able to decipher. "Okay, can you talk me through everything you can see on the control console?"
Selene looked but the mass of buttons, knobs and switches with their numbers and lights might as well have been from an alien craft. Nothing made any sense to her, she couldn't distinguish one thing from another, hell she didn't even have a driver's licence. "I can see numbers and blinky lights. Does that help at all?"
"Honestly, no, it doesn't."
"Sorry."
"No, no, it's alright," he assured her. "It's not your area so I wouldn't expect you to know what they are. But, can I ask where you were all heading in your tin can rocket? Because tour ships usually have some kind of safety measures in place, with predetermined routes and rockets that have to have been cleared to fly, so heads might roll."
"To the Moon."
"But they have shuttles for workers…" he trailed off as realisation dawned on him. "You're not workers, are you?"
"Not officially," she admitted sheepishly.
"So what are you?" Alan asked as he fiddled with his radar scanner, preparing to search. They were heading to the Moon, but not on a sanctioned flight path, they might be anywhere and they stood a better chance of rescue if he could locate them quickly.
"I guess you could say we're on a mission of mercy for our mother goddess to protect her from the ravages of corporate greed," she answered, sounding slightly haughty as she recited her spiel.
Alan blinked, trying to process her words. "I'm guessing by that monologue that you're some kind of protestor?"
"Protestor is such a dirty word, we prefer activist."
Alan shook his head in disbelief, why did he always get the crazy ones? "Let's put a pin in that for now," he suggested. "Can you see the Moon from the cabin?"
Selene peered out of the window at the small, whitish dot ahead of them. "Yes, I think so."
"And how far away is it?"
"It's pretty small," she answered, squinting to get a better view.
"And how long have you been in flight?"
"I'd guess for around seven hours, maybe a little longer. We left at 7:30 am if that helps?"
"It's now 15:27 UK time, so your speed would be roughly around 10,000 mph," Alan muttered to himself as he jotted down some quick calculations on his pad. "That's good, you should have at least a few hours before you crash."
"Crash?" she repeated as if making sure she had heard him correctly. "As in hit the ground?"
"You're too far up," he informed her gently, not wanting to panic her further but needing to be honest. "You won't fall to earth as you should already be in the Moon's gravitational pull and your motors are still running. You can't risk turning them off and waiting for pickup as I'm worried that your rocket might not have adequate life support without them running."
Selene looked over to Cosmo and Atlas, who had both turned pale. "So… it's hopeless?"
"No, because you called us," Alan said cheerfully. "We've got the most advanced technology on the planet. We'll get to you. We'll help."
"You promise?" she whispered, so low he had to strain to hear her.
"I promise."
"Thanks," she said, huffing out a relieved sigh. "I'm going to hold you to that."
"Keep this channel open," Alan instructed. "I'll get back to you once we've got a plan in place."
"Not like I know how to turn it off," she muttered under her breath.
Their saviour's bark of amusement was cut off as he muted the call.
Selene turned to the two men staring at her, still holding the transmitter. "I guess now all we can do is wait."