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“So we’re agreed on–” Jeff skimmed the list again. “Sheridan, Wainwright, Kwan, Griffiths, and Svenson?”
“Sure.” Scott, sitting on the edge of his father’s desk, frowned slightly. “Although I have heard that Karen Wainwright and Adam Svenson kind of have a thing going on. Is that going to be a problem?”
“They’ve been serving together in the GDF for what, three years? If Kim Casey doesn’t think it’s affecting their duties, then that’s good enough for me.”
“Then that all sounds awesome. When are you planning on making the offers?”
“I’m heading stateside next week for a meeting with Kwark anyway, so may as well start then.” Jeff leaned back, pressing his lips together thoughtfully. “But I think I want to add another name to the lineup.”
“Oh?”
“Ridley O’Bannon.”
As he’d anticipated, Scott’s face tensed. “Are you … sure that’s a good idea, Dad?”
“I’m assuming your objection is to her actions when Global One was in the path of that comet?”
Scott grimaced. “Have you watched the mission log?”
“I have.”
“She insisted on risking her own life–and John’s –to save an empty space station. John gave her a perfectly good alternative plan, and she ignored it and talked him into being stupid and reckless. How are you okay with that?”
Jeff resisted a smile. His eldest son was predictable, if not necessarily consistent; and he was prepared for the argument. “In principle? I’m not. But–first of all, when was the last time you were able to successfully convince John to do anything he didn’t want to do? He knows his own mind, he makes his own decisions. You can’t hold her responsible for him being willing to take risks. Secondly–‘captain goes down with the ship’ is not exactly new logic, whether I agree with it or not; and the GDF takes a fundamentally different attitude towards the value of preserving technological investments than we do. And finally–are you going to try and tell me you’ve never risked your own safety to keep One intact? Never?”
Scott’s frown deepened as he spoke; but, finally, it cleared into a sheepish half-smile. “I guess those are all reasonable points. But I don’t have to like what she did.”
“No, you don’t. But, based on the conversation we had at the Gemini anniversary the other week, she’s a sensible and capable woman; and John speaks very highly of her professional abilities. I’ll make it clear, if she accepts the offer, that International Rescue operates on a different set of principles to what she's used to. But we’ve all been hypocrites on this point at one time or another. And it’s not reasonable for you to hold your brothers, or your future teammates, to a higher standard of self-preservation than yourself, kid. Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you landed on that skyscraper this morning.”
Scott put up his hands in surrender, laughing. “All right, all right. You win, Dad. Add her to the lineup, and I promise I’ll play nice.”
“Thank you.” Jeff picked up his tablet and added O’Bannon, R to the bottom of the list. “There’s also the added benefit of her already being well-acquainted with at least some of the team. Which raises the question–why does your little brother who’s spent the bulk of the past decade in space have a better social life than you do?”
Scott pinched the bridge of his nose. “Here we go again.”
“Look, as charming as EOS is, I would like actual literal grandchildren.”
“Talk to Gordon.”
“Oh, believe me, I have.” Jeff sighed and squeezed his son's knee. “Sorry, Scott; I'm only teasing. I just … want you to be happy.”
Scott placed his hand on top of his father's and pressed it gently. “I'm fine, Dad.”
That, reflected Jeff, wasn't quite the same thing. But every inch of Scott was screaming please stop talking about it, so he backed off and returned to his notes.
The ball was well and truly rolling on International Rescue’s second base. Brains had already finished designing and prepped training sims for Thunderbirds 6 through 9: they weren't planning on exactly duplicating the existing craft, but rather mirroring and complementing them. And they were planning on cross-training everyone thoroughly on everything. Specialities were important, but couldn't be allowed to develop to the point that the loss of one pilot to illness or injury could create a significant skill gap.
(Jeff thought back with a wince to the days when it had just been him, Kyrano, and Scott swapping One through Four between them, with the occasional guest appearance from Lee. And the boys and Tanusha running things alone had been no better. Why he'd thought such a small team was feasible, even with the original intention of flying far fewer missions, he had no idea. The arrogance of comparative youth, he supposed.)
With the craft under way and the prospective crew selected–provided all the first choices accepted his offer, of course–that left one major decision: where to actually put the second base. The plan was to rotate the pilots, established and new, between the two facilities, ensuring that everyone got plenty of practice working with the whole team. They, and Brains and the other kids, had considered and rejected multiple options over the past few months, including an abandoned TA test site in Canada, a repurposed rig in the Atlantic, and (though it had definitely been a joke to everyone but Gordon) a for-sale farmhouse down the road from Creighton-Ward Manor. But every suggestion had had something wrong with it, and Jeff was no closer to making a decision.
Scott could, apparently, see where he'd returned to in his notes (kids these days with their obnoxiously good eyesight), because he reached over and tapped the rim of the tablet. “I actually have a new suggestion for the base.”
“Oh?”
“Hear me out before you react, okay?”
Jeff's gaze shot up. “That's ominous.”
Scott hesitated, then visibly steeled himself. “Gran Roca. Me and Kayo and the guys were all talking, after we were there last month, and it's the obvious choice. Geographically it's in the western hemisphere, like we wanted. The existing test hangars will take Thunderbirds already, so the construction time is comparatively minimal. It's relatively close to civilisation, since you're suddenly so worried about our social lives; but it's remote enough that it's private and reasonably easy to secure. I know it would prevent us from ever using it as a working ranch again, but–let’s face it, we were never going to be able to do that anyway. And I think–” Scott hesitated, looking down at his hands. “I think she'd like it. If she knew it was being used to help people. That it was still loved, even if in a different way.”
Jeff inhaled, slowly. He'd had very mixed feelings when the boys had told him that they'd started using their mother's ranch as a test facility–the idea of anyone but her getting to decide to change the place had felt like a betrayal. But Scott had a point that they weren't ever going to return it to being a working ranch, not with their lifestyles. Even as a test base, the boys’ childhood home was still sitting empty the majority of the year.
It had felt strange when they'd gone there for a vacation a few weeks back–he hadn't so much as been able to look at the place, let alone live there, since losing his wife. But after a couple of days of feeling deeply uneasy and restless, he'd snuck out up the hill in the middle of the night, and sat and watched the stars like they used to, and cried his eyes out. And somehow, that had helped.
International Rescue had always been for Lucille. In his head, it was her legacy, not his. And Scott was right. She'd have loved the idea of her home being used to save lives.
“I think it's a perfect idea,” Jeff said softly; and Scott’s eyes came back up, a slow smile sneaking onto the corners of his mouth. He grabbed his father's hand and held it tightly, and Jeff gripped back.
“Then that's settled. I'll tell Kayo; she's already started beefing up the boundary security, but we'll need more before we start putting any extra equipment there.”
“Agreed.” The Hood might be safely imprisoned, but Jeff wasn't so naïve as to think that he was the only crook on the planet who'd like the idea of stealing a Thunderbird. “And if you can think of anything that'll reconcile the shareholders to the idea of even more funds going towards International Rescue, I'm all ears.”
Scott chuckled. “Oh, you'll talk them round, as always.” He released his father's hand with one last squeeze and hopped off the desk. “Also, I'm getting EOS to book you an optometrist’s appointment while you're in LA. You're not getting out of reading glasses any longer.”
“You’ve been spending too much time with your grandma.”
“Who is always right.” Scott leaned over and hugged him, face against the top of his head. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too, kid.”