Chapter Text
Chapter One: Orion
“International rescue, we have a situation.”
John’s voice stirred Scott from his sleep. It was day twenty-two of, what Gordon had come to refer to as, ugh – this is so boring.
The week’s rescues had been low-risk and safe. Scott wasn’t complaining, it was nice to send his brothers out without the risk of injury, or worse.
“What’s happening John?”
His brother’s hologram expanded, a projection of Earth appearing beside him.
“I picked up a possible distress call from Orion Spaceport Two. The GDF is currently managing a tsunami response in Sri Lanka, so I suggest you and Alan get up there and check Orion’s system function.”
“Any idea where I might find Alan?” Scott replied.
“Asleep, apparently. Hold on, I’ll get him to meet you in Thunderbird Three.”
“FAB. See you in Space, John.”
Scott slid into brown leather of Thunderbird Three’s docking station. In the hangar, surrounded by the Thunderbirds, he felt most at ease. No one felt comfortable when they sat idle. While today’s rescue would not be from the comfort of One, at least he was doing something.
It took three minutes for the docking arm to reattach, Alan in tow. The lull in rescues had made his brothers slip into comfortable laziness. Virgil had been composing a new sonata, taking the occasional break to perfect his portrait of Jeff. While Gordon, ugh – this is so boring, Tracy had left to “assist Lady Penelope” yesterday.
“Sorry, I was sleeping.”
Scott smiled, “John said. Did he brief you?”
“Yeah, he wouldn’t leave me alone. Something about a possible distress call from that new spaceport, the one commissioned by the GDF,” Alan replied. He locked his hands with Three’s controls, beginning her launch sequence.
“Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird Three, we have an update.”
“Go ahead, John.”
The corners of John’s mouth were turned down, matching his familiar, focused, frown. It gave Scott the disquieting feeling that something was very wrong.
“Orion’s airlocks have begun failing, there seems to be an insulation error. I’ve tracked the crew to the central compartment and Scott,” John brushed a hand through his hair, “Ridley’s on board.”
Scott made a small, pained, sound; beside him, Alan had cleared the atmosphere.
Neither of them was unaware of John and Ridley’s friendship. It was the perpetual elephant in the room and, in most cases, only brought up by a very drunk Gordon.
“She’s got a habit of getting into trouble, John.”
“I know. That’s a discussion for later. Please, just save her,” John replied.
Ahead, the one-hundred-metre-long, gold-plated, Orion, hung like a skewed crowbar among the stars. It had obviously been designed to maximise the number of ships that could dock simultaneously. Why the GDF needed a shimmering, golden, spaceport? Scott wasn’t so sure.
“I can try and dock three in the centre compartment, John, is the docking station online?”
Alan gestured to the hologram of their brother, “Hey Johnny, you with us?”
His picture blinked.
With growing dread, Scott turned down to his communicator. John’s absence had the air of something that had happened before, a certain recklessness that he reserved for one person only.
“Virgil,” Scott asked, “are you able to contact John?”
The following pause was silent. Neither Alan or Scott broke the tension in the air.
“Negative Thunderbird Three, it looks like he’s playing a relay of the same image,” Virgil replied, “Is everything ok up there?”
“We’re fine, stick to your comms.”
The rocket stayed quiet for a moment. After a long week of nothingness, the last thing they need was a complex rescue. None of them had time to shake off the fog of relaxation. It was a dangerous combination and Scott didn’t like it one bit.
“Uh, Scott?” Alan prodded, “two things. One, we’re docked with Orion, I wasn’t sure you noticed…”
“And two?”
“I found John.”
Scott turned his gaze past the dashboard, where, attached to Orion’s core module, John hung. A bag, no…a body, was draped over his shoulder.
He gestured to his comms, knowing the red-headed astronaut could see him.
“I had to get her out of there Scott, the oxygen-level couldn’t be maintained remotely. Anyway, it’s not far from five. I’ll take her in the space pod and warm her up.”
“FAB,” Alan chimed.
Scott stirred, remembering that his youngest brother sat beside him.
“We’ll talk about this later. Alan, I’m going to try and stabilize the control system onboard, take Thunderbird Three and give John and Ridley a lift.”
“But that will leave you alone,” Alan frowned, “on the ship with no oxygen.”
Scott shrugged, “It will only be temporary. As John said, we’re not far from Five - make sure Ridley’s safe then circle back for me.”
“Are you sure…”
“That’s an order Alan, see you soon.”
Scott descended through the spaceport, unphased as Three left her dock.
The inside of Orion was equally as impressive as the ships façade. Two copper doors flanked the command centre, itself containing more gold plating than Grandma Tracy’s best plates. A solitary wire marked the path to an emergency beacon, which, much to his surprise, had retained its red hue.
“Scott, are you there? I’ve dropped John and Ridley back at Five, coming back around to you now.”
Thunderbird Three was too fast, he’d barely even begun looking for the problem -
“Shit.”
A monotonous beep leered from his suit. The pressure in the room had increased twofold, the beacon shattered, Scott slammed on his comms.
“Alan, do not dock with Orion, the station is unstable – it’s going to blow.”
He knew his suit couldn’t sustain this pressure for long, at best he had two minutes, maybe three.
A crack appeared on his visor, followed by another. Space was digging in her claws.
Suddenly, the noise of the ship was all around him. The faint, subsonic, rumble of high-tech thrusters was a familiar sound, not unlike Thunderbird One. But here, in space, it wasn’t right.
Another crack – longer, deeper.
“Virgil, Virg. Thunderbird Two do you come in?”
Scott fumbled with his comm. Something, an invisible force, had tied his limbs to the sides of his body.
Another crack – his muscles cramped.
“No need for the formalities, big bro. What’s up?”
“I need you to listen very carefully.”
“What do you mean, is everything ok?” Worry laced Virgil’s reply.
“Just listen. Please,” Scott squeezed his eyes shut, “there is a note under my mattress, you’ll need to read it. Also, Virgil, this wasn’t anyone’s…”
Between the sound of the explosion and his mask shattering, Scott stopped feeling pain.
It was weightlessness he’d never experienced, not even during his visits to Five. John, oh God, was John ok? What about Alan? Was he watching? What would Gordon think?
Virgil would help them get through this, he was strong, Scott trusted him.
-
In the end, with the last of his vision, a familiar face flicked above his.
Why did it seem so warm?
Why was he so cold?
I’ve got you, my baby boy. Let’s go home.