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Alan Tracy moped his way down the villa stairs, aiming a dejected glance in the direction of the kitchen before descending to the lounge. He wasn’t hungry and that just wasn’t right because he was never not-hungry. The pool glimmered a sun-drenched invitation beyond the wall to wall glass doors but it wasn’t much fun without Gordy. To top it all off, his rival gamer Slicer had just won the Dreadnaught Dogfights tournament. Somehow second place felt a lot like last.
Alan threw himself miserably onto one of the lounges in the oddly quiet comm centre. All four of his older brothers were dealing with a rescue that promised to be one of the longest in IR history. Alan’s finger hovered above his watch. He knew better than to disturb the three at the rescue sight, but John would simply ignore his private comm signal if he was too involved in the mission to talk.
“Thunderbird Five?”
“What’s up, Alan?” John voice was welcoming as always – warm, interested, unflustered – but Alan picked up on the slight hint of distraction with a tiny bit of ‘make-it-quick-I’m busy’ thrown in.
“Nothing’s up,” the teen sighed. “Absolutely nothing. Sorry to bother you, Johnny, I know you’re busy.” He disconnected before the astronaut had a chance to reply.
“Fuck!” the teen swore out loud, something he made an effort not to do if older brothers were present. “Now Johnny’s gonna tear a few brain cells away from the rescue to worry about me.”
It must have been more than a few brain cells because John’s voice and his hologram responded immediately. “Alan, are you saying I only have a few brain cells? And what’s with the swearing?”
“Oh, for …” Alan slapped the palm of his hand against his forehead. “Is there anything you can’t hear?”
“No. There isn’t. Keep that in mind. As for you being bored, I am worried kiddo. You have Tracy Island all to yourself, how is that not a reason to celebrate?”
“Slicer won,” the teen admitted with a humungous sigh.
“Ah, so gaming heaven has lost its lustre,” John concluded with a chuckle in his voice. “It’s only one tournament, Allie.”
“Yeah, I know,” Alan sulked. “How’s the rescue going?”
It was the space monitor’s turn to sigh. “The guys are exhausted, they’re slogging through knee deep mud and the water’s still rising, not to mention the body count. Virgil’s holding a house up while Scott extricates the family inside. Gordon’s switching between Two’s pilot seat and the cargo lift picking up survivors. It’s going to be a long haul. Don’t expect them home until well after midnight, hopefully with enough energy to at least hit the showers before they just pass out asleep on the locker room benches."
“Wish I was there.”
“No, Alan,” John pointed out, “you don’t. Best advice? Find the hottest new game and buy it, my treat.” Turquoise eyes – the only pixels in John’s hologram that weren’t a dim blue thanks to Eos tinkering – flicked to the side and back, ending in a wink. “For now, I gotta go.”
The signal from Five blinked out as quickly as it had materialized and Alan once again found himself the lonely-only inhabitant of Tracy Island. “New game?” he murmured, interest stirring. It would have to be the latest release of ‘Circuit de la Sarthe’. Expert fingers skated over his phone’s world-wide interface. The price of the game caused a flinch but the system requirements blew his mind all the way up to Five and back.
A flag popped up, notifying him of a transfer to his personal account in the exact amount that the game cost. Oh, hell. What was a guy supposed to do, look a gift horse in the mouth? He stabbed the “Buy” icon before John changed his mind and spent the next half hour gleefully studying the game requirements.
Sure, he already had the basics. The rest he could easily trade for or jury-rig from stuff in his closet and an unauthorized poke through Virgil’s engineering workshop. The elation fizzed out pretty quick, though, when it dawned on him there was no way the newly envisioned system would fit in his room. Tracy villa was in serious need of a gaming room.
Why isn’t there a gaming room?
After all, Scott had his luxe, polished office. Virg had an art studio, Gordy ruled the pool and John – well John had an entire space station.
Alan had his bedroom. Actually it was a suite, but that was just semantics. It wasn’t large enough to contain the tech required to play a game like this one. He didn’t think anyone would object to a gaming room, it was just that there was nowhere left to put it. Even the volcanic rock underneath the villa and the pool had been claimed, hewed out to construct the massive hangars required by the Thunderbirds.
Wait a sec. The entire island is rock! As long as it’s connected, the gaming room doesn’t have to be directly under the villa …
Alan sprang to his feet, taking off with a spurt of renewed enthusiasm. Too impatient to wait for the elevator he recklessly descended the zigzag of stairs leading to the hangars. Bare feet slapped concrete as he crossed the cavernous space of Two’s empty hanger toward the equipment and maintenance bays. A game-trained laser gaze almost as blue as Scott’s scanned for the one, single thing he needed to be there.
Alan’s whoop of excitement when he found it reverberated throughout the hangar. Paydirt! Not only was the pod there, the Mole itself was assembled and unloaded! It was kinda weird to find it like that but Alan – anxious to get his plan in motion – was inclined to look at it like fate finally going his way.
He did a quick visual sweep. The ground-travel trolley was in place, underground caterpillar tracks attached on three sides, drill assembly oiled and spotlessly clean.
The operator normally dropped in from the top while the Mole was partially unassembled in its pod. With the upper cat track blocking the canopy, Alan would need to enter via an escape hatch. There was a brief moment of trepidation when cold metal met skin and it dawned on him that he was barefoot. He shrugged it off although he couldn’t quite get the image of Scott’s horrified expression out of his mind.
Bare feet aside, there was really no reason for IR’s commander to object. It wasn’t like Alan had never operated the Mole before. He was fully trained and had employed it successfully on several missions under his brothers’ watchful eyes. Safely tunneling through Tracy Island’s volcanic rock would be a breeze. He could easily create passageways and open spaces.
Like rooms. Like a gaming room, even.
The engine purred smoothly the instant he touched the controls. Alan immediately deactivated comms and telemetry before initiating the computer interface and pulling up the current schematics of the villa. If he was going to impress his older brothers with a professional job, he needed two things – precise information and sufficient time to accomplish the task. That meant staying off of John-radar. He was gambling that the all seeing eye in the sky was too occupied assisting with the current rescue to worry about performing a routine security sweep of the hangars.
The teen maneuvered the six metre vehicle cautiously across the hangar floor, keeping the speed down to a 10 kph crawl until he reached the wall best suited and safest – according to the villa specs on the hologram in front of him – to start tunnelling. With a giddy grin of anticipation Alan activated the secondary engine that powered the drill, touching its tip to the hangar wall. Exterior cams revealed the tunnel left behind him as the Mole performed perfectly.
He responsibly kept the speed down around 60 kph, cautiously digging through the volcanic rock surrounding One’s hangar. Virgil would find it in his heart to forgive him for the hole in Two’s hangar wall, but Alan didn’t have the slightest desire to find out how would Scott react if it happened in One’s. Meticulously consulting the schematic, he changed direction three times, creating gentle, rounded corners in the tunnel until he was ready to excavate the room itself.
The gaming room!
Adrenalin pumping through him, the youngest Tracy challenged himself to carve out a more precise corner. He’d watched Virgil do it on more than one occasion so Alan knew it was achievable. Speed reduced to crawl, he began executing a series of precise back and forth movements.
“Ow!”
As he maneuvered, his elbow hit something beside the rear of his seat that he didn’t remember being there. Before the teen had time to blink the speed indicator shot up to the top of the scale and remained there, pixels trembling as it tried to go higher. It was the last thing Alan saw before the world winked out of existence.
The Mole veered sideways, juddering to an immediate stop as it impacted solid rock. The triple-reenforced, cahelium exterior caved in on itself, fire erupted in the engine compartment and the drill whined, throwing off sparks, until finally grinding to a halt in flame-licked darkness.
Exhausted, aching bones hit the hardwood floor as Virgil was rudely jolted out of bed. Instinctively he hit the emergency button at his wrist, Earthquake Protocol kicking into gear even though he wasn’t truly awake yet
“All Thunderbirds, check in and report injuries!”
Scott’s reply was virtually instantaneous. “Thunderbird One, enroute to your location.”
Gordon’s followed, slightly less coherent. “Wha?? Thun’br’d Four, m’okay.”
There were a few seconds of silence as the brothers waited for Alan to check in.
Still stuck in exo-suit-mode from the very recent rescue, it took a few seconds for Virgil to realize the jeans he’d found beside the bed weren’t made out of jointed metal. He pulled them on awkwardly before ramming his bare feet into a pair of boots.
“Scott, no response from Alan,” he snapped.
“Diverting.” There wasn’t a hint of breathlessness in their commander’s voice but they all knew Scott was running.
“Thunderbird Five checking in. Sorry, guys, geo-scanning didn’t detect that one coming.”
“Geez, it felt like it was right underneath my bed!” Gordon complained. “Where do you want me?”
“Alan’s not in his room!” Scott’s crisp, commanding voice shot out of comms. “John?”
“I’m not picking up his transponder signal. Life sign scan in progress,” he finished reluctantly.
“Gordon! Where would he be?”
“How the flying fish should I know?” the aquanaut grumbled. “Raiding the food locker, maybe? Five’s sensors can’t penetrate it.”
“Go check, then rendezvous in Virgil’s room.”
“FAB.”
Virgil’s bedroom door banged open and IR’s commander skidded awkwardly into the room in sock feet, his natural, athletic grace missing and his boots clutched in one hand. “You’re okay, Virg?”
“Yep.” A quick once-over assured the medic that Scott was more or less the same.
The commander did his own once-over. “Your boots are backwards.”
Sure enough, Virgil looked down and found his toes pointing the wrong way. Smothering a string of curses he sank down on edge of his king size bed to rectify the problem. The eldest sat down heavily beside him.
“Where the hell is Alan?” Scott snapped as they sorted out their footwear. “I swear …”
“What if he’s not on the island?” Virgil broke in. A worried glance was exchanged as the same possibility occurred to both brothers simultaneously. Judging by John’s next communication, the thought had crossed his mind as well.
“Three’s in her silo, private planes and boats accounted for,” the space monitor reported. “Alan’s got to be there.”
“Yeah,” Virgil agreed, “it’s not like he swam off to commune with a dolphin or something.”
That got a snort from Gordon who glided gracefully into the room, also with boots in hand. “Food locker’s clear,” he reported, licking a last vestige of ice cream off his fingers. “Maybe aliens got him.”
A holographic map pixelated into the middle of the bedroom, surprising no one. “Search zones, starting inside the villa and working out,” John informed. It took the three experienced operatives mere seconds to locate their assigned area and vacate the room with purposeful strides while the space monitor continued to squeeze every last bit of sensitivity out of his life sign scanners.
The only thing audible on comms for a very long time was Virgil’s frustrated growl of a groan. “It’s like the earth just swallowed him up!”
On the lowest level, Gordon skidded from a brisk jog to an jolting halt, staring open-mouthed at a circular, raw-edged opening in Two’s hangar wall that hadn’t been there yesterday. A roughly hewn tunnel vanished into volcanic rock behind it.
“Uh … guys?” the aquanaut’s voice quavered as he hesitantly placed his hand on the edge of the opening, finding it hot to the touch. “You might want to get down here.”
“Virgil! Let go!” Arms pinned to his sides, an infuriated Scott struggled to escape the hold his muscular brother had on him.
“Gordon! STOP! Get back here NOW!”
Virgil’s frantic voice next to his ear was enough to still Scott’s escape attempts. It obviously worked on Gordon too, he reluctantly backed down the tunnel into visual range. Virgil released his grip on Scott and both brothers waited tensely for the engineer to explain.
“I was testing the jet on the Mole when the alarm sounded yesterday.”
“Jet?” Several metres away in the tunnel, Gordon was coiled like a spring. “What the hell are you talking about Virg?”
“It’s a prototype, I’m hoping to provide an extra boost of drilling power …”
“What’s that got to do with Al and the big boom?” the aquanaut broke in, too impatient to listen to a technical explanation.
“I left the jet connected to the propulsion system …”
“… and Alan didn’t know that,” Scott choked out. “Details later, I want uniforms on and whatever gear Virgil deems necessary before we go in.”
“Scott, laser cutter and fire suppression,” the medic barked. “Gordon, toolkits M2 and V1. I’ve got medical. Go!”
One of the things IR prided itself on most was rapid response time. Three and a half minutes later they were once again assembled at the opening clad in armoured IR blue, helmets secure, laden with gear. Scott led the way at a brisk jog into the rough tunnel. After several metres it curved gently to the left and the brothers sprinted down a lengthy, straight stretch, still with nothing in sight ahead of them other than their helmet lamps bouncing off a featureless rockface.
“Nice work kiddo,” Gordon muttered.
“Yeah, precise nav staying clear of One’s hangar,” Scott agreed, “but what the hell is he doing? John, anything?”
“Scanners can’t locate the Mole’s signal or Alan’s telemetry. The tunnel ends abruptly 47 metres ahead of your current position. Two more turns.”
As one, the three IR operatives increased the pace to a run. Around the next bend the stone walls reflected flickering light and HUDs indicated a rise in temperature. Steps ahead of Virgil, Scott pushed his pace to an all-out sprint. By the time the medic rounded the corner, their commander was already spraying fire retardant foam on the flames licking from inside the Mole’s rear engine compartment.
The six metre drilling rig was wedged sideways at an angle against solid rock. Biceps bulging, Virgil wrenched the latch on the only clear emergency hatch multiple times only to find it impossibly jammed. Gordon dropped the tool kits next to him before climbing onto the trolley track to peer through the small section of canopy that was visible.
“Can you see him?” Scott shouted as he dealt with the last of the flames.
“Maybe,” the aquanaut answered in a shaky voice, directing his helmet light around the Mole’s cramped, crumpled interior. “Operator seat’s empty but there’s a … a lump jammed up against the opposite hull.”
The heavy tool in Virgil’s hand dropped out of nerveless fingers as a chill of fear swept through him, the clatter of metal on rock causing both Scott and Gordon to look sharply in his direction. “Tools are useless,” scraped out of his strangled throat. “The latch is mangled. We’ll have to laser through.”
Scott was already gripping the cutter. Virgil reluctantly backed away to give him room, scrabbling through hastily gathered medical supplies for the absolute necessities which he stuffed into one of the smaller med bags. There was very little space to move around in the Mole at the best of times – with this kind of damage there would be even less.
Gordon was suddenly beside him, helping sort the supplies. His voice was almost lost in the shriek of the laser, but big brother still heard the question.
“This isn’t … isn’t survivable, is it, Virg?”
“Anything is survivable,” the medic swore in a rough voice. “We’ve witnessed the miracle enough times on rescues, Gords. Alan’s gonna be okay.”
The laser powered down and Gordon moved without thinking, reaching out to grasp the edge of the hatch. Virgil barely managed to catch his wrists, yanking him away before he burned his hands. Scott, wearing heat retardant gloves, did his best but was forced to employ the cutter again before he was finally able to pry the hatch open.
In spite of the laser’s lingering heat Virgil immediately crawled inside, pulling himself across what had been the Mole’s rear seat with the medkit dragging behind him. The beam of light from his helmet crisscrossed the small space, swept over something unexpected, stuttered back. Seconds slid by unnoticed until the urgent voice shouting his name registered.
“Virgil!”
“Uh,” punched out of his gut. “Need a sec.”
The ‘lump’ Gordon had reported was indeed Alan, his body awkwardly plastered up against the hull with one knee wedged under his chin. Virgil was semi-prepared for that but not for the bloody, bare foot sticking out at an impossible angle. His hand shook as he reached for the pulse point in Alan’s ankle.
“He’s alive.” Comms caught the sob.
The medic’s hand shook as he affixed a scanner with bloody fingers and left John to report on the readings. With a rough swallow he steadied himself, moving the light slowly across Alan’s contorted form to see if he could detect any major injuries without moving him. The leg was clearly broken in multiple places but the pulse in his ankle indicated that blood flow wasn’t seriously compromised. Virgil hoped for a compound fracture which would explain the bleeding instead of it being caused by something more serious. His primary worry was rapid deceleration which could result in a multitude of injuries ranging from a skull fracture to organ damage. None of them could be properly assessed or treated until the teen was extricated from the wreckage. The medical stats John was reeling off in his ear were better than he’d expected, though, which gave him a sliver of hope
“Can I start cutting? Virgil?” Scott’s impatient voice was followed by the appearance of his helmeted head in the hatch opening, a gloved hand shoving a collapsible heat shield towards his brother. “This should be enough, I’ll keep the setting low. Let’s move it!” If he’d managed to get a glimpse of Alan there was no indication.
For the first time since he laid eyes on his kid brother, Virgil moved. Quickly unfolding the heat shield, he positioned it to protect the two of them before activating the mags to hold it securely in place. It would take time for Scott to laser a hole large enough for a backboard with Alan strapped on it to pass through. Gordon would have gone for a second cutter by now but they were still looking at a minimum of five minutes. In the meantime Virgil had to do something!
He’d brought a C-Collar with him, but wasn’t prepared to move Alan into a position where he could fasten it on. That and the backboard would have to wait until they were able to manipulate his contorted limbs sufficiently and very quickly move him to the infirmary. It wasn’t the best scenario but it was what they had to work with.
Although there seemed to be blood everywhere, only a few scrapes and scratches were visible. Virgil suspected that would change radically when his brother was moved away from the rock, but there was nothing major for him to immediately address. He was grateful to see Alan’s head tilted slightly back, his airway open. Virgil reached for the oxygen. When he settled the mask gently over Alan’s mouth and nose, it muffled a sudden and entirely unexpected groan.
“Allie! Can you hear me?”
A whimper.
“Allie, it’s Virgil. I’m right here with you.” The medic eased the elastic strap on the oxygen mask as gently as he could through Alan’s bloody hair. “Can you feel me touching you?”
“Hur…s…” slurred through the mask.
Virgil ached to, at the very least, hold his little brother’s hand, but neither of them was reachable. He stroked the backs of his fingers lightly against Alan’s cheek. “I know it does, kiddo. I’m sorry, I’ll do something about it as soon as I can. Don’t try and move, I need you to stay still. Can you look at me? Or just blink?”
As he spoke, the medic blindly groped around in his small pack for the IV kit. The inside of his brother’s left elbow was accessible and Virgil’s hands – unlike the rest of him – were rock steady as he established a line. He pushed fluids immediately followed by a mild painkiller. Anything stronger would have to wait until Alan was stabilized and his injuries assessed.
“M'sss…”
“Shhh. Nothing you need to say, Allie, but please open your eyes for me? Just long enough to blink, you can do that.”
Virgil was immensely grateful for John’s muted voice in his ear as he relayed information to his other brothers, leaving him free to concentrate on Alan. The teen’s lashes trembled, eventually revealing a tiny slit of blue.
“There you are,” the medic encouraged.
“S … stupid. M … my f’lt.” Virgil was horrified when a tear escaped between the trembling blonde lashes of the barely open eye.
“None of that matters now, let’s just get you out of here, okay?”
“’kay.”
Things happened rapidly after that, time advancing in disconnected fragments of blurry movement on fast-forward …Gordon viciously ripping the heat shield away … a backboard appearing out of nowhere … Scott’s voice, very soft … Alan screaming and screaming …
… screams that would haunt Virgil for the rest of his life.
Scott followed the stretcher at a run into the bowels of the hospital with John a step back and Gordon chasing behind, but Virgil’s knees gave out in the lobby. It wasn’t until he blindly crawled to a chair, pulled himself up and collapsed on the thinly upholstered seat that the guilt he’d buried deep dug itself out. His mind rang with the echo of Alan’s screams and now the hospital walls had voices that were screaming at him too. He wasn’t wanted here.
This is MY FAULT! I left the Mole on the hangar deck with an experimental jet connected. Me! Mr. Safety! If Alan ever did something that careless, that irresponsible, that STUPID I’d be furious. Scott would be more than furious.
Scott WILL be more than furious.
Because a mistake this huge had consequences. A brother could be injured – seriously injured. And one of them was. Alan, the youngest, the one they all strived to protect. Alan could die. Alan might already be dead.
The faintest, fresh breeze crept temptingly through the hospital doors. Virgil bolted through them, helpless to deny the all-encompassing need to run as fast and as far as he could.
“So he ran!” Scott exclaimed. “I can understand why, this whole thing is entirely his fault!”
“Keep your voice down!” John whisper-snarled, glancing at the hospital bed across the room to make sure Alan was still dozing. “So what are you suggesting, Scott? We just wait for our brother to eventually show up?”
“If he shows up,” Gordon put in. “You know how sensitive Virg is, he’ll take this hard and the blame isn’t entirely his. To be honest, I’m not sure he’s to blame at all and I for one am going to look for him.” The aquanaut drew himself up as tall as possible. “Don’t waste your valuable time with the laser glare, Scott. It’s a rescue in my book but it’s not an IR rescue. Translation, you’re not my commander and you can’t tell me what or what not to do.”
“If I may make a suggestion?” John broke in, the tone of his voice letting his brothers know that it wasn’t negotiable. The astronaut waited to speak until both of them met his aquamarine gaze. “Gordy, you’re closest to Al and you’ve overcome injuries worse than his. He’s gonna need help to get through this and you’re the best one of us to give it to him.” He raised his hand before the aquanaut could speak. “I’ll find Virgil.”
“S’not h’s f’lt.”
Three heads turned in unison. Alan was stirring, groaning in frustration as he tried unsuccessfully to move into a comfortable position. Gordon got there first.
“Hey, Al. Hold still, will ‘ya? Gotta explain something.”
“Gordy? Whr’m I?”
“Sorry to be the one to tell you, but it’s the one and only unforgettable hospital room we all aspire to. Not to worry, though, Gordy’s here to keep you sane.”
“Sane? You?” A grin creased Alan’s lips, gradually drooping as memories caught up. The steady beats from the heart monitor escalated into a faster, erratic pattern.
“Hey, hey, none of that, Al, everything’s cool. You and the Mole are just in need of a bit of maintenance and you’ll both be shiny and good as new.”
“Y’re lying, Gordy.” Blonde eyelashes blinked a few times until the blue eyes behind them found focus. “Oh, crap.”
“Yeah, that’s a bit scary, isn’t it?” Gordon grabbed his brother’s hand. “I can’t believe they haven’t come up with something better to hold bones in place. I mean, really, how last century is this thing? Even a catchy name rather than external fixation device would help.”
Alan was blinking hard to keep the tears at bay. “C’n I sit up, Gordy?”
“You bet!” Well aware of the huge difference it would make, Gordon fiddled with the controls until his brother was propped up at enough of an angle to see the entire room instead of staring at a monotonous ceiling.
“Where’s Virg?” Alan wondered after a half-assed attempt to grin at Scott and John who were hovering on the other side of the bed. When no one immediately came up with an answer he closed his eyes and thunked his head back on the mattress. “He blames himself, doesn’t he?”
Scott opened his mouth and John closed it for him by saying “Virgil is Virgil, that’s why we love the big softy, right? I’m off to find him, though, I promise to deliver him in person when I do.”
“Thanks, Johnny.”
“No worries, kiddo. I’ll be back soon with our wayward brother!” He touched Alan’s arm briefly, made a beeline for the door, turned briefly to snap a salute at the bed and vanished down the hallway.
“If anyone can find him quickly, it’s John,” Scott reassured his kid brother. “How are you feeling, Allie?”
“Like an idiot pumped full’a drugs. Why aren’t you yelling at me?”
Scott reached out to tousle the already tousled blonde hair. “I think you might’ve already learned more than I could accomplish by yelling.” His fingers scratched a soothing pattern on Alan’s scalp. “I would like to know what the hell you were doing.”
Gordon couldn’t quite smother the amused snort when he got the gist of Alan’s mumble but Scott was still quirking a chestnut eyebrow in the dark. “Say again, Allie. You were making a what?”
“Gaming room,” he repeated, hanging his head and scrunching his face up because it was all just too much to cope with. “I know it was stupid and immature and irresponsible and there’s a reason you’re always telling me to grow up and Virg shouldn’t have to feel guilty because I doubt he thinks any of us would be dumb enough to just bust into his hangar and take the Mole for a joyride through the wall and …”
Alan ran out of air, his throat closing as he tried to choke down a breath. The heart monitor once again began its erratic dance.
“Thunderbird 3, calm down!”
Gordon shot a murderous look at his older brother but Scott’s tactic worked. Ever so slowly Alan began to get his breathing under control. The aquanaut eased onto the side of the bed, moving his brother’s hand to rest on his chest. “Breathe with me, Al. Nice and slow. Deeper. Yep, just like that.”
A nurse popped his head in the door, no doubt checking up on the heart monitor’s activity. He grinned when he observed the huddle of brothers, threw a thumbs up and quickly disappeared.
Alan’s head fell onto Gordon’s shoulder. “M’so tired, Gordy.”
“Then sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
Alan sniffed. “But you hate h’sp’tals.”
“I love you a lot more than I hate them. Everything will seem better after some shut eye.”
“Pr’miss?”
“Promise.”
John headed straight back to Thunderbird 1. Scott had activated stealth so at least there wasn’t a crowd of gawking onlookers to wend his way through.
“Eos, we’re going to find Virgil,” he stated the second the hatch was sealed and locked down.
“Understood. His tracker is still disabled as is GPS on his watch.”
That didn’t come as a surprise, they all knew how to escape when they needed to. One of these days Scott would probably lose all patience and carry through on his threat to have the trackers implanted.
“Begin a maximum resolution scan with the hospital at ground zero, perimeter set to the distance Virgil could travel on foot in the time elapsed since our arrival.”
“Scanning. In your absence I have been monitoring all emergency channels and media sources in the area. There have been no incidents in any way relatable to Virgil’s disappearance. John, may I inquire as to Alan’s condition? The hospital is quite remiss in updating their digital information.”
“You hacked the hospital’s database?” At times the AI managed to surprise even John.
“Yes, John.”
“Thank you, Eos, that means a lot. Alan has a serious amount of healing and rehab time coming his way but we’re hopeful for close to a 98% recovery. It could have been much worse.”
“That is encouraging, thank you John.”
The astronaut located his backpack and began removing anything he didn’t think he’d need while stuffing in things he thought he might. At least there was no need to change clothes, he’d ditched his uniform on the short flight to the hospital and was casually dressed in jeans and comfortable boots. Hastily he dry-swallowed a second graviset[1] tab, shoved his tablet into the front pouch, and began stuffing extra bottled water and snacks around the bulky, ever-present medkit.
“I have found something of interest, John, although I am not certain if Virgil is involved.”
“Tell me.” John zipped the knapsack closed.
“There appears to be an altercation of some type in a park near the Esplanade. An ambulance and several police vehicles are present however the tree cover is too dense for my sensors to determine what exactly is occurring.”
“Get me a taxi at the hospital main entrance and relay coordinates to my watch.” John slung the knapsack over one shoulder and by the time he secured One and jogged back to the hospital the taxi was waiting. He messaged Scott with an update, then spent the remainder of the ride drumming his fingers on the knee that wasn’t jiggling impatiently. Traffic was light and eleven minutes later he flashed his card past the reader and vaulted out of the back seat.
There were two police cars pulled up at odd angles with red lights revolving. John focused on the activity around the ambulance. A woman, obviously distressed, was hovering over a young girl being checked out by a medic. Finding no sign of Virgil, John sighed with relief. He approached a police officer who was standing with his hands hooked on his belt, overlooking the scene.
“Excuse me, officer, I’m looking for my brother. Is there any chance …”
“Dark hair, built like a tank, stubborn as hell?”
“Yeah, that’s him!” John exclaimed.
“Glad you’re here, maybe you can talk some sense into him,” the cop sighed, pointing.
John ran, soon catching sight of an ambulance attendant and two policemen standing around a large tree, talking and gesturing. To tell the truth, it wasn’t a total surprise when he got closer and discovered his big brother leaning against the wide trunk looking just slightly the worse for wear. The astronaut dropped to his knees between two pairs of uniformed knees.
“Virg?”
Brown eyes opened and glared at him. “Get lost, John.”
Obviously this wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. John stood up, introducing himself. “I’m his brother,” he explained. “We’ve experienced a rather traumatic family incident, he’s not himself. Can you tell me what’s going on?”
“Some perv tried to grab a five year old girl who wandered away from Mom,” one of the cops reported. “Your brother here made sure it didn’t happen. The guy was a big dude, too, but he was unconscious when the ambulance carted him away. We’re just trying to convince … Virgil, was it? … to get checked out, but ...”
“Say no more,” John interjected. “I can take it from here.”
“If you’re sure … I mean there’s not much we can do if he’s refusing treatment.”
“Of course not, I totally understand.” The ginger extended his hand, offering a firm handshake to all three. “Thank you so much.”
Finally alone with his brother, John hunkered down and waited. Eventually the question emerged.
“Alan?”
“He’s out of surgery and awake. You already know how bad the leg is, but considering the rapid deceleration I’m thinking he got off pretty lucky. One fractured vertebrae …”
Chocolate eyes snapped open, John averting panic by holding up his hand and continuing with “which is stable. A couple of broken ribs, minor bruising to the kidneys and a moderate concussion. The docs are saying 98% full recovery is possible if he’s religious with the rehab.” John chuckled. “Shouldn’t be a problem, Gordon’s taking charge of that.”
Virgil let his head drop back against the rough tree trunk. Shrugging off his backpack, John pulled out a bottle of water and nudged it against his brother’s hand.
“How are you?”
The glare was back. “Better than I deserve to be,” Virgil growled, reluctantly accepting the water. Half of it disappeared down his throat before John had time to blink.
“That wound looks pretty deep. Okay if I take a look, Virg?”
“Knock yourself out.”
John got to work quickly before his brother changed his mind. After carefully cleaning off the rivulets of dried blood covering half of Virgil’s face, he turned his attention to the wide, deep gouge above his eyebrow.
“How many of me can you see?” he asked, wincing.
“Seriously?” Virgil almost, but not quite, rolled his eyes. He shoved John’s hand away from his face, rummaged in the medkit for a self-adhering bandage, slapped it against his forehead and settled back against the tree trunk with his eyes closed as if he intended on taking up permanent residence.
“It’s my fault.”
Virgil’s eyes flew back open. Taking in John’s grim expression, Virgil could tell his brother seriously believed what he’d said to be true.
“What the hell are you talking about, John? That’s my line.”
“If I hadn’t been late running the routine security scans of the villa …”
“That’s ridiculous! You placed your full attention on the rescue, which is not only your job but exactly the right thing to do. No one could possibly have predicted that Alan would …”
“I bought the game for him.” John’s words were tumbling over each other much too fast, his voice verging on panic. “I knew what the requirements were, knew there wasn’t room …”
“Oh, for… You can’t honestly believe that! John!” Virgil leaned forward, grabbing his younger brother by the shoulders, stopping just short of physically shaking some sense into him.
The faintest hint of a smile softened the astronaut’s face as he treated his brother to a subtle one-shoulder shrug and an arched ginger eyebrow.
Virgil stared at him wide-eyed for a few seconds before sighing the air out of his lungs.
“Oh.”
He slumped back against the tree. John flinched when the back of his brother’s head hit the bark with a thump.
“Ow.”
“Serves you right. Virg, it’s Alan’s fault, not yours. Or mine. He’s old enough to take responsibility for his actions. If you need more convincing, I’d be delighted to knock some sense into the other side of your head.”
“When did you get so damn smart?” the medic grumbled. John was relieved to see a bit of colour returning to his brother’s pale face.
“How about you finish the rest of that water, we’ll get you on your feet and have something to eat in the taxi on the way back to the hospital. Someone’s waiting to see you.”
John nudged the door to Alan’s room with his shoulder, pushing it inward. Silence descended as all eyes turned towards him. He tightened his hold on Virgil who had an arm draped over John’s shoulders and was barely managing to put one foot in front of the other.
John staggered slightly and the room erupted in motion. Scott hurried towards him to take some of Virgil’s weight. Gordon flung himself at the bed where an alarmed Alan was doing his best to hurt himself by sitting up.
“Whoa.” Virgil’s baritone resounded through the room. “Slow down, guys. Please.” Muscles bulged as he dragged both Scott and John towards the bed where Gordon was gently preventing their injured brother from doing more damage to himself.
“Allie?” The deep voice was pleading.
“Virg, I’m s …. sorry … I …”
“If I hear the word sorry one more time …” John muttered as he snagged a chair with his foot, dragging it next to the bed.
Alan’s eyes widened until they seemed to take over half of his face. John let go of Virgil and backed away, leaving Scott to manoeuvre their heavy-lifting brother into it. When he was certain that Virgil was stable, Scott went after John, his forehead creased into a frown. Alan and Virgil gravitated towards each other, hands touching, eyes locked, faces a few centimetres apart.
Gordon left them to it, pulling out a chair to join his two older brothers who had settled at a small table in one corner of the room.
“You’re sure we shouldn’t get him checked out, John?” Scott worried, glancing at Virgil.
“Pretty sure you’d have to ambush him with a heavy duty sedative to make that happen,” John cautioned.
“Did you check his memory, Johnny?” Gordon asked with a cheeky grin. “What if he forgot something important. Like me?”
“How about we check your memory, Gords?” John suggested. “When we were looking for Al in the villa, do you by any chance remember saying something unusual about the food locker? Something about Five’s sensors not being able to penetrate it?”
“I don’t know wh … oh. Yeah. Well ...” Gordon cleared his throat. “People say all kinds of strange things when they’re under stress.”
Scott arched chestnut eyebrows. “You’re an experienced IR operative, Gordon, you should be immune to stress.” He turned his attention to John. “What are you planning to do about the situation?”
“Well …” John’s ‘genius-at-work’ expression took over his face, like when he was solving a complex quantum physics equation while flipping pancakes and frying eggs.
Gordon bit his lip, fidgeting.
“Perhaps a hand written report,” the astronaut suggested, “detailing exactly how this unique phenomenon occurred along with suggestions on how to remedy the situation.”
“Hand written!?” Gordon sputtered.
Scott nodded thoughtfully. “What are you thinking for length?”
“Let’s say 25 pages minimum.” John nodded. “Yes, that will do nicely for a start, Gordon. And make sure the handwriting is neat and legible, I wouldn’t want you to have to redo it.”
“But … but … I don’t have time t…”
“Timing is perfect.” Scott continued his conversation with John as if Gordon wasn’t even there. “He’s in charge of Alan’s recovery, so I’ll excuse him from missions whenever possible. He’ll be spending a lot of time just sitting …”
A soft, baritone laugh captured their attention. Three sets of eyes were drawn towards the bed where Virgil and Alan shared a pillow, tangles of black hair mingled with tousled blonde.
When Virgil started to snore everybody grinned, even Gordon.
Epilogue
The day that Alan came home to Tracy Island was a celebration. It took the teen all of five seconds to master the controls on Gordy’s old hover chair. After that brothers were flying everywhere – yelping, crashing into each other, laughing, launching pillows, dodging to get out of Alan’s way.
The commotion finally ended with Scott – balanced precariously with one foot on the arm of a sofa and the other on a table – shouting.
“Alan! Listen up!”
The hover chair hovered.
“There’s something you need to see.”
Sky blue eyes lit up. “Did Johnny bake a cake?”
“I did, actually,” the astronaut admitted. “But that’s not what Scott’s referring to.”
“Everybody down to the hangar level,” Scott directed, face and voice suddenly serious. He stepped off the sofa and led the way, brothers following with a subdued Alan bringing up the rear. He had an uneasy feeling that he was about to be confronted with the damage he’d done and sure enough they crossed Two’s hanger to stand in front of the unsightly hole he had created.
“Go on,” Scott motioned to Alan. “Take a look.”
Virgil, an apologetic look plastered on his face, handed him a heavy duty hand light.
Alan winced. “Yes’sir.”
The hoverchair seemed to have lost some of its previous zip but it soon vanished into the tunnel. The remaining brothers followed at a leisurely pace until a frantic shout erupted ahead of them. Exchanging grins in the slanted beams of their own lights they quickened the pace.
A second “wahoo!” echoed through the tunnel just before they reached the bend where the Mole had crashed. Stepping through the doorway just past it they found Alan gawking with sparkling eyes at the state of the art gaming room surrounding him.
“You guys! This is … I … there’s a quad-panel surround … and the joysticks are integrated with neural links … and it’s everything I … it’s … I …”
The hoverchair spun through a couple of circles before stopping with a slightly dizzy Alan facing his brothers.
“Scott, I … I don’t deserve this but …”
Scott raised his hands, palms forward. “Hey, don’t look at me. All I did was give the okay. Johnny designed the hardware.”
“I helped install it!” Virgil offered. “And I … uh … painted that.” He gestured towards the huge emblem of Alan’s gaming logo dominating one wall.
“As well as repairing the Mole and digging out the rest of the room,” Scott reminded him.
Everybody looked at Gordon, who shrugged.
“Hey, Gordy stuck by my side for three gruesome weeks in hospital!” Alan protested. “You guys are the best brothers ever! So which one of you wants to challenge me at Circuit de la Sarthe?”
Three Tracys backed up nervously, eyeing the doorway, but John’s eyes gleamed.
“Bring it on.”