by Daria
[Disclaimer: All Thunderbirds characters are the property of Granada/ITV Entertainment; all rights reserved. This work of fiction is solely for non-profit entertainment. Please do not republish this work without notice to and permission from the author.]
Five seconds after he went flying into the air, Gordon Tracy feared that his luck had run out. Fortunately for him, until this point in his life his luck had been nothing short of exceptional. After all, his brothers didn't call him a daredevil without reason: the nickname came from years of doing incredibly stupid things in aid of practical jokes, telling witty stories complete with dangerous physical humor and his generally goofy efforts at killing time or trying to be the life of any party. As the youngest member of the Olympic team, Gordon had broken records in his swims leading to the Gold Medal, but not without using the most risky, non-traditional training methods he could devise. Leaping garden walls, playing football in the middle of their street and landing in punch-ups with the high school jocks for fun and profit just came naturally to him, especially when a pretty girl happened to be the object of mutual affection. But this...this topped all of his previous exploits. Gordon Tracy was about to buy deep blue faster than the speed of sound. And it was about to hurt...big time.
Four young men and their father stood around Gordon's hospital bed as he lay in traction, life support systems beeping and bleeping all around him. "According to the investigators, young Gordon here was doing 400 knots when his speedboat capsized and ejected him into the ocean," Dr. Cooper had advised his father, former astronaut Jeff Tracy, himself attuned to taking risks in aid of challenging new frontiers. He stood there, stoic as ever, trying to be strong in support of his sons, all the time trying so hard not to allow the tears he felt forming to fall down his cheeks. In his mind, he mulled over the fact that if he'd had a dollar for every time he'd warned Gordon to be more responsible or better behaved or more sensible, he'd have doubled his billion dollar worth. The thought rolled around in his head that he would be willing to trade every dime he had ever made to eliminate the forecasts of "possible brain damage," "permanent back problems," "partial paralysis" or "spinal cord injury" that the doctor had muttered to him. Gordon would live---his spirit was that strong---but in what condition he would be for the rest of his life was as up in the air as his ejection from his doomed boat. "He's just lucky that he wasn't killed," Dr. Cooper had added ruefully. Had Gordon been conscious, he'd have been busy questioning whether that was an accurate remark. What kind of luck leaves you paralyzed...or worse?
Three months later and the International Rescue Organization was meant to be "go." Jeff Tracy had set a time table for everything to do with this project of his. His sons had all taken a hand in helping to develop many aspects of the unit, including the types of equipment which would be utilized. To do this, each of the boys had given up whatever their lives had led them to do, all to support the facade that Jeff and his family were merely retiring to a luxurious life in their own tropical island paradise.
* Gordon had already left the World Aquanaut Security Patrol, the speedboat accident occurring during his first few days of freedom from his role as a cadet with the Corps.
* Scott had resigned his commission with the US Air Force, leaving behind his rank as Captain, his rugby teammates and his many friends on a Harrier V/STOL jump jet base in North Wales. Gwynfa, the gray-eyed, dark haired Welsh woman he had been dating, cried for days following his departure.
* Virgil, the second eldest, had left his job as a teaching assistant at his alma mater, the Denver School Of Advanced Technology. Slowly recovering from a heated breakup with his girlfriend, he had poured himself into plans for the ship he would be manning, a massive transport vehicle dubbed Thunderbird 2. Art being his main outlet, he'd stayed up nightly painting the landscape from the view outside his bedroom window overlooking the white sand beaches, his arms becoming sore with his feverish work.
* John, introverted and shy, had been the most difficult to woo away to Tracy Island, being that his father's plans called for them all to be dedicated solely to their planned cause, International Rescue. Having become a successful author of astronomy textbooks, the striking towhead enjoyed his contemplative life of research, writing and lecturing elementary and high school students on the joys of interstellar studies. Though he shared his father's goals for a safer world through an efficient rescue team, it still took the enticement of a state-of-the-art stardome, astral photographic equipment and a high-end telescopic system aboard the satellite they would employ to lure him in completely.
* Only Alan, who was living at home again following his graduation from Tracy College's astronaut training school, had been saved the trouble of trying to sort out how to end a public life to move into the confines of a top secret organization on a secluded island hundreds of miles from the mainland. Their father was expecting a great deal of his sons, yet that was nothing new for these motherless boys who had grown up in the shadow of a dynamic, demanding military man.
Two hazel eyes blinked at the annoying glare of a water glass illuminated by sunlight in the bright, antiseptic hospital room. "I tell you, I'm fine, Dad!" Gordon sighed, sitting upright perched on bony elbows pinned into the pillow behind him. "I'm ready to come home, honestly. I've been walking around on my own for up to ten minutes a day for the last week. Dr. Cooper said I can be released within a few days; he's sure of it."
His father's look of concern melted into a cautious smile. "Well, only if the doctor is sure that will be OK," Jeff Tracy advised him. "Out on the island, it will be difficult for you to maintain the kind of therapy you've received here, so I want you to work with your brothers on whatever treatment or exercises you're going to need, with the doctor's approval, of course."
"Sure, Dad, I'll do that. I'm ready to get going! I'm so tired of being cooped up in this place! Four weeks has seemed like a year! I could jump out of this bed right now!"
Jeff's eyes narrowed. "And that's just the trouble with you, young man---you always did want to run before you could walk! You can't be like that with International Rescue! Every second counts in a life or death situation, and there's no time for silly behavior or reckless decisions. You're going to be handling a great deal of expensive, sensitive equipment and I have to believe that you can be trusted to put the safety of the people we are going to attempt to help at the forefront of your thoughts. Can you really make such a commitment to me---to the organization?"
Gordon began to habitually roll his eyes but quickly thought better of it, knowing that his father's concerns were genuine. "Yes, Dad---I can make that sort of commitment. I learned a lot while here in the hospital, honestly. I learned about patience and leaving my pride at the door, especially with that bedpan business. I learned that, like Grandma always says, 'Rome wasn't built in a day,' and teaching myself to walk again took 'baby steps' instead of leaps. And you have to learn patience when you're suffering and need morphine, but you press the nurse's intercom button and no one answers...over and over again---when that stupid I.V. unit runs out and beeps for 20 minutes straight and no one comes to turn it off. I'm not the same giddy kid who was rolled in here at death's door four weeks ago, Dad, I promise you. And if you'll have me, I'll be the best aquanaut International Rescue will ever have. I swear it."
One week later, all of the Tracys sat assembled in the dining room on Tracy Island. The boys were exhausted from moving heavy boxes of equipment parts, home furnishings and kitchen utensils, not to mention the work they had been concentrating on in the lower levels of the island, that of fitting the various Thunderbirds crafts for their future calls for assistance. Gordon, still hobbling around on one crutch, did as much as he could manage, deftly stacking plates into cabinets in the kitchen from several large, open boxes. From time to time, one of his brothers came in and advised him to take a "union five" and put his feet up. That was fine---he did just that when he needed to---but, just as they all were, Gordon was overjoyed to be with his family members on their very own island, enjoying all of the "new house" scents like fresh paint and drywall plaster. All of them felt that it would be easy to be happy there, in their lonely part of the blue Pacific. And then there was the prospect of all of those wonderful waves outside, and the promise of swimming, snorkeling, diving and surfing. Among all of the life's lessons he'd painfully acquired recently, Gordon had learned a healthy new respect for all that came from the sea. He'd have zero tolerance for the kind of behavior which had gotten him hospitalized and in rehabilitation mode for months on end. The boys of the Tracy household were about to become the men of International Rescue, and Gordon was determined to be a part of that dream.
At dinner that evening, Jeff Tracy proudly toasted his brave and selfless sons. Raising a glass, he saluted and thanked them, adding, "It's taken a lot of hard work and effort, but finally we can say with great pride in our cause that Thunderbirds are GO!"
---DB