Endothermic Oxidation

The holiday period always had lots of work – usually stupid mistakes that led to hot air balloon disasters; capsized rowboats and all manner of holiday-related incidents. But it was the big ones that needed to be watched, and this one was a big one indeed. Virgil could feel it. Natural disasters that struck near Christmas promised mess: everyone in their homes, everyone at risk. He pulled up John, the Christmas tree dissolving into his brothers features, for a second making John look like a kind of demented Christmas spirit. Before John could even open his mouth, Scott barreled into the room, fully dressed. “What's the situation John?” “There's huge forest fire in the works, moving towards settlements. It's currently burning its way through the Blue Mountains, just outside Sydney.” “Severity?” “Extreme. Local authorities were handling it, but sudden warm winds have blown it out of control. They need us to try and stop it from reaching any populated areas.” “How fast?” “Get going.” Virgil didn't even have time to shiver as he sprinted towards the chute. Somewhere in the back of his head, he heard Scott shouting for Gordon to join Virgil in the ship. Then the painting turned and all he could hear was the whirring of machines and the rush of air.

His land in the cockpit seemed to rattle all the way through his bones, and Virgil noted that he was just a little too tired for this. Not enough to jeopardise anyone's safety but enough to watch. He was already strapped in by the time Gordon appeared, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes but clearly wide awake. “What's the plan.” “Usual. We'll take a dip and dump. If we need to do evac, the authorities will contact us but Scott will take care of most of it.” “Cool.” Gordon strapped in and Virgil initiated the launch sequence. Somehow it went both too fast and not fast enough. A fire right before Christmas was always a bad sign. Once Two was in the air, Virgil punched in the coordinates. The fire was in the Blue Mountains and was hardly the first one they’d helped out with in the area. “Australia again?” “It is a forest fire, and they’ve got an awful lot of forest.” “Awful lot’a bush you mean.” “That’s a terrible accent Gordon.” “Wanna hear my Russian?” “No.” “Are you sure?” “Yes.” Gordon treated Virgil to the accent anyway, and he couldn’t help but wonder where the hell Gordon had found his energy. Maybe, a little voice parroted at the back of his head, it’s because he sleeps. Virgil told it to shut up. “Hey Virgil, were you and Scott already up?” “I was. He seemed to be.” “I swear man, your sixth sense is freaky. You’re always up right before a big one.” “So is Scott.” “Yeah, but that's because he’s never down.” He couldn’t think of something to respond with, and the cabin fell silent but for the humming of the engines. “Hey Virgil, Why did the manager hire the marsupial?” Virgil cast his eyes to the heavens and offered a brief prayer. When he did speak he ground it out between his teeth. “Why?” “Because he was koala-fied. Get it?” “I’m not even going to respond to that.” “Hey Virgil, what music do kangaroos listen to?” “Do you just have a mental list of these for every country we go for?” “Yup. Imagine what I’d be capable of if I turned that to better uses.” “I tremble in fear.” “By the way, what music do kangaroos listen to?” “Just, please be quiet.”

They were almost at the destination, and Gordon had just run out of jokes when the communication line opened and John’s voice filled the cockpit. "Thunderbird 2? "Almost there John. Any evac? "Scott's handling that. I've entered the coordinates for the most pressing fire zones. "I'm inputting them into the system now The ships computer beeped to notify Virgil that the coordinates had been accepted. Virgil pulled them up and set off.

Forest fires were as terrifying as they were beautiful. It was a wild, dangerous kind of beauty, only from a distance. As the ship drew closer Virgil could see the fire shooting up the branches, devouring tree after tree faster than could almost be imagined. Sealed inside the cockpit of TB2, Virgil couldn't actually feel the heat on his skin, but he could imagine it. It wasn't the first time they'd been in fires, but this one certainly was looking like one of the largest. "I'm going to patch you through to the head firefighter, Thunderbird 2.” "Copy Thunderbird 5.” "International Rescue this is Jacob McCawley.” "Tell us where you need us Jacob.” "This is one bloody big bushfire. Our copters are doing their best but they need extinguishing help. There also needs to be some emergency evac." "That's me Jacob, Thunderbird 2 will pick up any extinguishing slack.” Scott's voice rang through the comm line, short and professional. Virgil started to peel away towards one of the nastier sections of fire. It was going to be a long, long night.

Virgil was on his 8th trip back from the water, 2 almost at its load capacity for water. They were making progress, but it was slow going. “Almost done there Scott?” “Still picking up some life signs, but at least people evacuate here. Remember California last year?” “I prefer not to. Hurry it up, John said that the wind’s picking up. Keep an open channel.” “FAB. I’ve got what looks like someone in a basement. Entering the dwelling now.” Virgil pulled Two around, one ear on Scott, the other listening to Jacob coordinate the fire-fighters. “God it’s smoky in here. I’m trying to find my way into the basement. John, scan the build-“ “Already done. The entrance is through the second door on your nine. Watch yourself Scott, you’ve got about 10 minutes before that fire overwhelms your location.” “I can feel that John.” Virgil started back towards the water when he heard an alarm through the comm channel. He instantly ran a scan of his systems, which came up blank. Before Virgil had the chance to ask John what was up, John was already speaking. “Scott, that fires right on top of you, get out now.” If you didn’t know John, then he would have sounded the same as he always did. But Virgil did, and he could hear the tension underlying the calm tone. “I’m aware of that John, but I can’t find anyone. Run the scans.” “It’s getting too hot, I can’t pick anything up.” “Maybe it never picked anything up.” Gordon frowned at the comms and Virgil couldn’t help but silently agree with his concern. He joined the conversation. “Just get out of there.” “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. John, that fires right on top of me, I’m going to have to stay in the house.” Adrenaline flooded Virgil’s system at those words. Despite his heart rate going through the roof, he somehow lost his voice as he listened to Scott and John. “Scott are you-“ “Yes, I’m sure, dammit.” “Stay away from the windows. If the heat gets too much-“ “Get outside into an area that’s already burnt. I know John.” Virgil desperately wanted to turn off the channel, his hands paralysed at the controls when they should be moving. Taking a deep breath, he shut his eyes for a moment before trying to banish the line to the corner of his mind. Instead Virgil put two back into motion and went back towards the fire.

Each minute was agony, the seconds ticking by as Virgil tried to ignore them and focus on his job. He knew that the front would probably pass in 15 minutes, and then Scott might be alright. If the heat hadn’t gotten to him. Another five minutes down, then there was a yelp through the channel. “Shit.” “Scott-“ He cut Virgil off before he even started speaking. “The fucking windows are gone. I’ve got embers inside the house.” “Scott get out of there.” “I’m trying, but I can’t fucking see anything.” There was a long pause on the line and more than one bang, probably as Scott walked into furniture. Virgil could hear the whine of wood and the rush of fire. “I’m outside, taking shelter, most of the front seems-“ The crack was explosively loud, and the silence that followed oppressively silent. “Scott?” Hissing filled the channel and Virgil resisted the urge to swing Thunderbird two around before he dumped his water. “Scott, come in.” If there was one sound that haunted Virgil, it was the sound of radio silence. He heard it in his nightmares, the vacuum of silence swallowing him up. Taking a breath deep into his lungs, Virgil opened his channel. “Scott, come in.” His voice sounded different to John’s, the carefully cultivated calm only a thin veneer over the panic in his chest. “Vitals aren’t showing, but that’s mechanical.” John’s voice was almost as mechanical as the read outs behind him. “John, keep trying to get him on the line. I’m going over.” “FAB.” Another counted breath, 3 in and 3 hold and 3 out, Virgil squashed the panic up into a box and went to work.

On the black soot and among the charcoaled wood, the blue of Scott’s uniform stood out like a torch. “It looks like he’s trapped John, not moving.” “Probably unconscious.” That or the other thing that Virgil knew he shouldn’t be thinking about. He pulled Two into hover, the fire front having pulled away. The trees were smoking, the air thick and almost tangible. Virgil could almost taste the smoke in his mouth, and he stood up from the controls. “Gordon, I’ll take the jaws down and pry him out. You’re in control.” “Oh yeah.” Virgil chose to ignore the edge underneath the humour, tucking it away at the back of his head for a later conversation. “Don’t break it Gordon.” “Don’t count on it Virgil. Off you go now.” “You’ve made me feel nervous Gordon.” “Shoo shoo.” But it had also made him feel slightly more relaxed. There was nothing like stress and nervousness to make a mission go haywire. Virgil headed down to the POD bay, grabbing the jaws as he did. Gordon’s voice over the comms was forcibly chipper. “Ready for deployment Virgil?” “FAB.”

Thanks to the whipping wind, the smoke was slightly clearer than it could have been after a fire. Virgil could feel the heat through his suit and, despite his helmet, his eyes smarted at the memory of smoke. The brown, singed grass crunched under his feet, and the black, scorched trees loomed over and around him. If he didn’t know better, Virgil would swear that it felt like they were watching him. He made his way towards the house. “Structure seems intact John. Looks like the verandah collapsed.” It had been wood, the verandah, and it hadn’t survived the flames. “I have a visual on Scott.” Virgil paced closer, carefully circling the broken beams. Scott was face down, not moving, with a support beam crossing his body. In a different place, it would have looked like he was sleeping, the beam just resting across him instead of crushing him. And Virgil had no doubt that it was crushing him. He started forwards, moving some of the smaller pieces out of his way, a piece of fence, a piece of the deck. Merely kindling for the fire. “John, are you reading any injuries?” There was a scene in the back of Virgil’s head, after an earthquake in Japan. A man lying under the concrete, limbs splayed to the sides.   “I’ve got nothing on him. The heat must have fried his suit.” “Or the wood crushed it.” “Either way, be careful when you try and free him.” “I know.” When the concrete was lifted, the man had coughed, blood splattering across his chin. Virgil didn’t know if he died from the pieces of metal embedded in him. That part was out of their control, the bit afterwards. The clean-up. He shook the memory out from behind his eyes and pulled away another few pieces. There was just the large one, just the one that was the problem. Sometimes, the pressure didn’t kill them but the removal did. Virgil tested the beam, lifting it slightly to test its weight. It wasn’t too heavy, and Virgil kept a grip on it. For a moment, he considered asking John if he should do it, abdicate the decision. Shifting, he lifted it slightly more, and it came away easily. Scott groaned, shifting in the rubble. Virgil lifted the piece and moved it to the side just enough to see Scott fully. There was blood on the blue fabric, and Virgil moved over as quickly as he could. He wanted to turn Scott over, to shake him until he opened his eyes but instead he found his wrist and waited for a pulse. Still trying to breathe carefully, he moved his fingers around until he felt up. “I have a pulse.” There was an almost audible release over the comm line, and Virgil could imagine the expression on John’s face. Gordon laughed. “Tough fucker.” “Language.” John’s voice lacked any edge that might have given the command some weight. “Yes mum.” “I’m going to get Scott into 2. How are the fires going John?” “There’s still more to be done, but let’s see what Scott’s condition is.” “FAB.” There was a click as John dropped his channel and Gordon’s voice chirped over the line. “Anything you need Virgil?” “I’m going to steady him, and be ready to receive us.” It was an arduous process, trying to keep Scott’s neck and head straight while manhandling him onto the stretcher. Thankfully the thing had wheels because one person was not enough to move it where Gordon could retrieve it. As Virgil stood next to the stretcher, he looked up into the sky. He had barely noticed that the sun had risen, that the night had bled into day. It wasn’t a surprise, given that the smoke was so thick that the sun stared down like a large red eye. Virgil suppressed a shiver, something about the red ball and the looming, bare black trees more menacing than it had a right to be. He wasn’t a superstitious person, but somewhere deep inside his chest, Virgil hoped that it wasn’t an omen.

There was a long crack in the helmet, and Virgil carefully pulled it off, making sure Scott’s neck was straight. He patted down the sides, making sure that everything seemed in place. The blood was concerning, but there wasn’t a huge amount of it, and it didn’t seem to be growing. Virgil grabbed a pair of scissors and cut away the ruined uniform, careful not to pull it away to sharply. The cuts were relatively minor, and Vigil tidied them up as quickly as he could. Broken ribs were likely, and Virgil grabbed the scanner to make sure there was nothing poking into a lung. The scan came up clear, thankfully the ribs were more fractured than broken. There was nothing more unpleasant than very broken ribs, something Virgil could definitely attest to. Carefully swabbing everything up, Virgil tried not to fuss more than necessary. The main issue was only going to become apparent when Scott woke up, and that was a wait that Virgil was not looking forward to. He pulled up a chair and sat down next to Scott, staring through his brother. There was tiredness pushing at the inside of his eyelids, and suddenly Virgil felt every ache and pain in his body. He was exhausted, muscles and bones aching. Virgil had to chuckle to himself at the thoughts in his head, thoughts that belonged to someone at least 30. Wiping a hand down his face, Virgil leant over and opened the comms. “Gordon?” “How’s he going Virge?” Virgil almost felt like he needed to lie down thanks to Gordon’s driving, but he didn’t say anything. That was for later. “He’ll be fine, but won’t be too happy when he wakes up. Broken ribs, lacerations, smoke inhalation, plenty of bruising but nothing too serious.” “Great. I bags not being around him for the next three days.” “Unfortunately for you, it’s Christmas. So we’re going to all get a good dose of him.” “Just pump him full of painkillers. He’s great fun then.” “I don’t know if that’s what I’d call fun.” “It’s fun. Jacob says that the situation is under control, and if we need to go we can.” “I’ll just strap Scott in and get on the line Gordon.” “Don’t believe me? I’m offended.” Virgil stood and washed his hands before pulling his gloves back on. He patted Scott’s shoulder once and started towards the door. “I’m on my way up. I’ve had enough of your driving.” Gordon’s cackle almost echoed through the ship.

Pursing his lips even tighter, Scott felt pain throb back through his head. The lights seemed too bright and he dimmed them, almost reducing the room to darkness. He could see the moon through the windows, tonight a crescent so sharp it looked like it could cut. Scott could always see the moon when he sat at the desk, but the moon held a different fascination than it had for his father. But Scott couldn’t sit and watch it tonight, not without seeing things behind his eyes that he didn’t want to see. Pulling out the drawer, Scott loaded up the mission files. They displayed across the air, files after files after files lighting the room is a blue-green glow. He paged up through them, going backwards until he reached the first file. Looking at the small image Scott didn’t think, he just clicked.

Alan was sprawled across the couch, arms pillowed under his head. He didn't often find himself unable to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes the sound of rocks hitting flesh made his ears scream. The soft click of Scott typing on a keyboard helped keep the sound away and Alan stared at the ceiling, wondering what was going to happen next. Tracing patterns into the air with his eyes, Alan listened to the robotic voice that told them John was on his way. That made his stomach roll, fear clawing at the insides of his chest. John didn't come down unless it was serious, and while Alan was aware that it was serious, just not that serious. Swallowing he opened his mouth to voice the thought to Scott, but something blue caught his eye from the doorway. As Virgil strode into the room Alan switched the thought over, intending to ask after Gordon. The words died in his throat as he saw Virgil's face. Alan sunk back into the cushions, trying to disappear into the fabric. There was a storm written on Virgil's face and fire in his eyes. His movements were stiff, like just containing the fury was taking a physical toll. "Scott Tracy" The words held death itself and Alan couldn't help but stare at Virgil. Scott looked up from the desk, his face almost angelic in its sincerity. It twitched briefly as he took in the expression on Virgil’s but settled back. "Virgil." Scott rose from the chair and faced Virgil over the red surface of their fathers desk. The stance was almost familiar, the only missing element their father sitting with his hands steepled in front of his eyes. "What the fuck were you thinking?" Virgil's voice didn't go up, it went down, the words soft and calm. He reminded Alan of John when he was angry. "What the fuck was I thinking? I was thinking that I had to get six people out of a collapsing mine shaft before they joined the other two." "Oh, I know why Scott but that wasn't my question. It was what the fuck were you thinking?" "I answered you." "Maybe I should be more fucking specific, seeing as your thick skull can't seem to understand." He stepped even closer until the desk was touching his legs and Scott drew himself up to his full height, looking down at Virgil. He didn't seem to notice the difference. "What on God's green earth made you decide to send in Gordon?" "I couldn't go in, and he was he only option." "He was not." "Virgil, you weren't there. I had to make a decision-" "There's always another way fuckwit! You almost got him killed!" The desk must have been digging into both of them now, phantom hands keeping them from each other’s throats. Alan found himself praying John would hurry up because without a voice the desk's authority only went so far. "You know how it works Virgil. I had a situation and had to make a decision. Maybe I didn't run through every single fucking possibility but I didn't have time! Gordon's competent, he's good at his job. He agreed with me and, and" Scott paused, hands combing through his hair before he slammed them on the table. "AND I KNOW ITS MY FUCKING FAULT ALRIGHT! HE'S LYING DOWNSTAIRS AND YOU HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT I'D DO TO MAKE SURE HE WASN'T. Fuck Virgil, I'd lie there instead if I could." "THIS IS NOT ABOUT YOU SCOTT! DON'T YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND? THIS IS ABOUT GORDON." "I know -" "NO YOU DON'T! THE PROBLEM ISN'T YOUR DECISION MAKING, ALTHOUGH THAT'S HARDLY ANY BETTER. IT'S THAT HE SHOULDN'T HAVE BEEN OUT THERE IN THE FUCKING FIRST PLACE! HE'S A FUCKING CHILD!" Virgil stepped out around the desk, facing Scott with nothing but air. "YOU DON'T SEEM TO REALISE THAT SCOTT." "Virgil, he does his job. He wants to do this, he knows the risks and he's good at it. You know it too, and in most of the world you're just as much of a child as he is." "YOU'RE STILL MISSING THE POINT! IT'S NOT THAT HE CAN'T SEE THE RISKS IT'S THAT HE SHOULDN'T BE MAKING THE DECISION. YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE LET HIM GO!" "No you don't - I give up. I don't want to have a fight Virgil." "YOU JUST DON'T GET IT DO YOU? YOU LET HIM GO IN, AND YOU SHOULD HAVE KEPT HIM HOME." The alarm the signalled John's approach lit up the room. Alan relaxed, knowing it was going to be alright. If their father couldn't keep them apart, John would be able to. Scott turned away from Virgil, going towards the door. Virgil grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him back. "I'm not finished." "Yes you are." Alan barely processed the movement except for the sound of bone and skin meeting its counterpart and Scott staggered, catching himself on the desk. The room froze and time slowed as a drop of blood dripped down onto the desk. Alan couldn't move, transfixed by Scott's bleeding face and Virgil's bloody knuckles. Then everything unfroze. "WHAT THE FUCK!" Scott pushed himself off the desk and straight at Virgil. His fist made Virgil stagger. Alan jumped off the couch. "Guy's stop it!" Virgil looked up and threw himself at Scott, tackling him to the ground. Scott's head narrowly missed the desk and then they were rolling. Alan couldn't tell which blow belonged to who. "STOP!" They didn't, and Alan could hear the sound of running. Kayo and John appeared at the door and paused for only a second. "Hey!" Kayo went for Scott and John for Virgil. John grabbed Virgil around the shoulders and hauled him backwards while Kayo grabbed onto Scott and did the same. John had trouble, his height the only thing giving him a hope against the truck that was Virgil. John swung around so that his body was between the two of the, still locked onto Virgil. "Both of you, CUT IT OUT!" John shouted the last words and for Alan it was a day of firsts. John didn't shout, Virgil didn't hit. "THAT IS ENOUGH!" Breathing hard, Scott tried to shake Kayo off but she kept her grip. Virgil just stared at Scott until John got in his line of sight. "Let me go." Virgil's words were ground, his tone red. John shook his head. "Sit down." Virgil glared at him and Alan could see Kayo saying something to Scott. John just looked back, his face almost blank and finally Virgil dropped into a crouch. "Alan, would you check on Gordon?" Alan tried not to run from the room, relieved at his dismissal. It didn't stop the sick feeling in his stomach and the image of blood on the white floor. As he was walking out, he heard John's voice. "What the fuck is wrong with you two?" Then he was out of earshot and Alan picked up his pace, running down to the sick bay. His thoughts swirled around his head and at the whirlpools centre was what he'd just witnessed. Alan arrived outside the door too soon, forcing himself to breathe in and out, to calm himself. The knob of the door was cold against his skin, and Alan twisted it. It was like all sound had been amplified and the door creaked open. Alan peaked through the door. "Gords?" "Alan" His brothers voice was scratchy and soft, sending the fear monster inside Alan's chest into another fit. Alan walked over to the chair and sat down next to the bed. He didn't look at anything but Gordon's face, and even that wasn't scratch free. A large bruise darkened the left side of his face, a scrape on the bottom of his jaw. Alan pursed his lips, thoughts once again swirling and winding through his skull. "Hey, what's wrong?" Gordon's battered face held a slight frown, concern in his eyes. The irony of it all made him want to laugh. He was fine, Gordon was not. "Nothing." "Liar. It's the others isn't it?" "Yeah." "Well they're not here. And you're not allowed to worry." Alan just stared at Gordon and the frown which turned into a grin. "I'm sick, which means you have to do what I say. Get the cards. I want to play cheat." The grin made Alan's shoulders decompress, the fear monster quiet in his chest. He went to get the cards.

The explosion had been as vicious as it had been unexpected, and all John could do was watch as vitals flickered across the screen. People liked to label John with many words, and emotionally detached was one of them. The whole family smiled and laughed at the labels, but he could see the truth behind their eyes. Sometimes they thought he wasn’t quite human. Sitting at the monitor watching the blinking vitals fade and stop, John wasn’t emotionless but he would have given anything not to feel in that moment. If there was a chair he wouldn’t have sat down; in the tradition of Jeff Tracy that was in relief. And John felt no relief at what his computers told him. Alan’s suit was functioning but he was not, and John had an answer to the paradox of the irresistible force: a body and a brick wall. It was the immovable wall, and Alan had slid down it like a broken doll, limbs sprawled across the concrete. Virgil had died soundlessly, his organs fried and scrambled by the shock like eggs in a microwave. Gordon’s and Scott’s were silent, their sensors ripped from their suits. The station was silent, the air around John’s head pressing in on his brain, his ears ringing from the audio. Amidst the silence came a voice. “Johnny?” Scott’s voice sounded like it had been dragged out of a throat filled with nails. John could hear the sound of his own breathing in the empty air. The sound of the nickname made his blood run cold and his eyes hot. “Johnny, are you there?” John’s hand moved before his mind, clean fingers pressing down the button as he spoke. “I’m here.” The sound of Scott’s breathing filled the room, laboured and wet. John couldn’t hear his own anymore. “Are they alright? Are Virgil and Alan alright?” The desperation made the voice reedy and weak, like a rat scrabbling up the wall of a bathtub while the water lapped at its feet. John’s lack of reply made a bubbling sound come out of Scott, something that would have sounded like a sob in an intact human. “Scott, I’ve lost Gordon’s readings.” “He’s not here anymore John.” “I can’t be sure-“ “He’s in too many places to be here Johnny.” The voice was even, but the tone wasn’t calm. Another desperate breath as the water lapped at the rat’s throat. It was wet and rattling. “Johnny?!” “Shhhh. It’s okay.” It wasn’t okay, it was worlds away from okay but Scott’s breath was choking him and his voice was scared. “You there Johnny?” “I’m here Scott. I’m not going anywhere.” But John wasn’t there. In that moment John would have traded anything to be sitting in the rubble, to be able to reach out and touch the broken, bleeding body. But he wasn’t, he was miles away. Watching but not seeing, watching but not feeling. “I think I can see the stars Johnny.” “What do they look like?” John didn’t have the heart to tell Scott that he couldn’t possibly be seeing the stars at 11 in the morning. “They’re nice. But I can’t see you.” “I’m never there.” “You’re always here. Its just sometimes I can’t see you.” The water running down John’s face sizzled on the electronics but he couldn’t wipe it up. His knuckles were white and he couldn’t feel his body. “Can you talk to me Johnny?” The words were whispered, the breaths were rattles. John opened his mouth but no sound came out, no words coming into his blank and swirling brain. Finally a voice emerged, smooth and calm. John didn’t know whose it was. “Sure Scott. What to you want me to say?” “Tell me about the stars again.” “They can burn between 2600 and 33000 or more degrees Kelvin, and they come in many colours: blue, yellow, white, red, orange.” There was another, laboured, rattling, wet breath and John’s voice would have broken but the strangers did not. “They’re born from dust and hydrogen, from the bodies of stars that died before them. And when they expand and die they will form new stars, leaving only small pieces of themselves behind.” There was no breath anymore, no sound from the broken body and John couldn’t see from the liquid in his eyes. He didn’t know how he ended up on the floor, but he lay there anyway, face pressed into the glass, the weight of gravity nothing to the force that was keeping his body on the ground. John couldn’t hear anything, trapped somewhere deep inside his own body, deep inside his own brain. If this was what it was like to be God, then John didn’t want the job. The small giggle that worked its way out of his lungs was twisted and choked into a sob. Because John didn’t believe in God. And now he was alone in the sky, the black of space draining the life out of his limbs, the world below taunting him with its beauty. John shut his eyes and didn’t open them again.

“I’m bloody starving.” “I could do with some food.” Virgil dusted off his pants as he spoke, but only succeeded in smearing more soot across the blue material. “Something with too much salt and fat.” Scott looked down at Gordon, and found himself smiling. “Sounds like a plan”

When the four of them walk into the fast food joint, still covered in soot and dust with shirts and pants pulled hastily over their uniforms, they almost give the poor girl behind the counter a heart attack. It was nearing 3 in the morning, and almost the end of her shift, and the last thing she needed was young men that looked like they had been on the losing side of a fight. Instead however, they ordered their food quietly and sat at one of the tables in the corner, relatively calmly. When she called out the number, the tallest retrieved it with a smile. He tipped well.

When he walked into the kitchen, Gordon noticed John was crying. He’d been worried for a long moment, going over to see if anything was wrong. But John had laughed and continued cutting the onion up, explaining why the onion was making him cry. Gordon had asked what he was cooking, and the reply was sausage rolls, Alan’s favorite. “Why don’t you ever cook my favourite?” It had been hard to keep the whine out of his voice, but Gordon had been satisfied with the result. John paused in his cutting and looked down at him, their height difference back then almost more than a foot. “I don’t know your favourite.” That had hurt, like a knife in his belly. John cooked for Scott and Alan and Virgil but not for Gordon. He must have noticed the change in Gordon’s face because he frowned. “You said it wasn’t nice to pick favourites from so much good stuff.” Feeling instantly better, Gordon had made a show of thinking while John tipped the meat into the pan and the onion began to sizzle. “Shepard’s Pie.” “Huh?” “That’s my favourite thing you cook.” “Well, how about next time I cook I’ll cook it for you.” “Deal!”

The next time John had cooked it hadn’t been Shepard’s pie and it hadn’t been for Gordon; no, it had been for Alan again. This time the hurt was a dull ache, but somewhere deep in Gordon’s chest because there was another ache, another pain. This pain was one of a suddenly cut-off transmission, followed by an explosion that had obliterated every part of the ship. There hadn’t even been a body for the coffin. And so Scott and Virgil and John and Alan and himself had been dressed in black, again, standing in front of a hole, again, burying a parent, again. A whole set of again’s that this time left Scott in charge. They all cried differently, and Scott had cried like they were being torn from his body until he’d bled out and then all that was left was anger and a lingering pain. Gordon had wept, like he’d always wept and Alan had tried not too but ended up crying anyway. Virgil’s face had been stony despite the tears on his cheeks and John’s face was carved from marble, his eyes unable to leak liquid.

It had been at midday, after Virgil and Alan had disappeared, leaving only dirty plates and broken glass in the sink. The door was slightly ajar and something had made Gordon pause to look into the slither of light. Scott was standing, talking to John’s emotionless hologram. “Look John I need you down here.” “I’m busy Scott, this is important.” It wasn’t the hologram that made John’s face look emotionless – it was the stone underneath the skin itself, only visible in the blank eyes. “Look.” Scott slammed his hands on the desk and Gordon jumped at the sound. He faced the tiny hologram, knuckles white and wrapped around the edges of the table. “John.” Scott’s hands tapped it again, slapping lightly on the surface with no real power or emotion behind the gesture. There was something helpless in the movement. “I can’t do this. I just can’t. Gordon won’t swim, doesn’t get out of bed; Alan won’t talk to me and keeps shouting at Virgil. Virgil… I don’t know. He just disappears into his room, into the studio. I can’t do this John.” “Yes you can. I seem to remember you telling me to keep my fucking nose out of your business last night. And that you can handle it and to shut the fuck up because I don’t know what I’m talking about.” Scott didn’t say anything and Gordon knew what he was talking about; they’d all heard the fight. Every word of it. “I’m sorry John. I’m so sorry.” Scott had dropped back into the chair, face in his hands. “I can’t do it. I can’t deal with it.” There was a long silence, and then John’s voice sounded again, softly. “I’ll be down in three hours.” “Thanks.” Scott’s reply had been whispered and Gordon crept away into the hall.

He’d avoided John, keeping out of the way and trying to hold himself together. John disappeared down to the beach after Virgil and they were there until the sun dropped below the horizon and the moon started to rise. It was the smell of onion and pastry that drew him to the kitchen. Gordon couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. John was cutting onions, tears dripping down his face but Gordon had a feeling they’d been there before he’d started cutting. He’d helped him silently, checking the pastry and fetching various ingredients. The dinner had been silence, terse, and all Gordon found himself able to do was stare at his plate and occasionally shove some food into his mouth. He left before Alan started shouting at John and instead of listening stuck a pillow over his head and stared into the darkness.

Gordon shook his head and refocused on the ceiling, a difficult job to do in the field of white. Gordon shifted again, considering pulling the blinds shut. Last night he’d stumbled into Scott’s room for the debriefing, and repeated himself over and over again, going over everything, every mistake, every failure he’d made. And when he finished, Scott had looked at him and frowned, mouth opening to say something about how he’d messed up and Gordon had burst into tears. Normally, he would have felt embarrassed but all he felt was sick and tired and he knew that he’d fucked up. Scott had muttered something about how it wasn’t his fault and then wrapped him in a hug. They’d sat there until Gordon had run out of tears and then Scott had walked him into his room and Gordon had gone to bed. Then he’d woken up and now he was watching the light and trying not to remember the sounds of screaming. Or rather, the absence of screaming. The sound didn’t carry properly underwater. Feeling ill at the thought, at the image of the trapped faces with black holes of mouths gaping for air that wasn’t there, Gordon bolted upright and leapt off the bed. Time to do leave the room and the faces with it.

The 30th began with a stealth attack, the difficulty being setting up without anyone noticing. He woke early and had his swim before dripping back into his bedroom and waking up his computer. Gordon sipped on a glass of water as he worked, carefully setting up the audio and distributing it on a timer to the array of speakers across the island. While they were perfect for music and announcements, Gordon doubted that his father approved of what they were going to be used for. But that was half the fun. The other half was evading John for two whole days, keeping him unaware of the pieces falling into place. The next step was lighting, and he opened up the code for the islands lighting. Gordon almost gave up hope at what looked to be over 16 pages of solid code but instead took another gulp of his water and prayed that no rescues would fall in the next hour.

If there was one thing that John could be relied upon for it was documentation. Every step in his process was carefully laid out, carefully documented for whatever poor sap happened to inherit the almost overly complex coding for the light timers. Gordon didn’t know where John had picked it up: all his early stuff was a complete mess, and it used to take him hours to trawl through to find the good bits, but Gordon was thankful that he had. Opening his own document, he began the alterations, carefully inserting and modifying the little lines of code until they formed the tapestry of what was going to conspire.

Gordon had a set of rules for each of his brothers: five governing factors for keeping them off his tail. Virgil’s had been cemented years ago, Alan’s ever-so-often augmented and Scotts occasionally re-arranged and Kayo had seven. John’s however were hard to pin down and keep track of, but there was one that always held true: he had a spectacular sense of timing. Unfortunately that often didn’t bode well for Gordon, and when the hologram flickered on he barely managed to hide his work in time. “Hey Johnny.” “Gordon I have a job for you.” “Yeah?” “Its solo: we have a trawler taking on water.” “Why is it always a trawler taking on water?” The huff of laughter in reply was enough and Gordon grinned, saved what he was doing and took the steps down to the hangar two at a time.

When he arrived back Gordon showered and just managed to avoid falling into bed, but he swung himself back onto the computer and polished off his code. Carefully hiding it within the neat lines of Johns, Gordon shut off the screen and stretched. It was time for the kitchen.  

Despite the quality of the cooking that often came out of the kitchen, Gordon liked the kitchen. Finding a large enough bowl he raided his small and secret supply of glucose syrup and food dye. The clear liquid drained into the bowl and almost reminded him of science class, back when he’d gone to science class. Gordon had hated everything but the experiments, and he’d taken to those with gusto. Lighting things on fire was always on his agenda. Briefly disturbed by Alan fleeing his homework, Gordon began to stir in the dye. It was a complicated process, and Virgil would probably have been better at mixing up the colours than he was. Gordon tipped in the red and began to drop in the green, bit by bit.  Despite his quest for realism, he was careful to make the blood a little too red and a little too thin.

Bowl carefully under his bed, Gordon returned to John’s code and did some more tweaking, copying the good bits into his compilation. With a yawn he wandered down for some more food, stopping in the living room. Virgil was sitting at the piano, lid up and hands on the keys but not playing. “Hey bro.” Gordon got a grunt in reply and Virgil narrowed his eyes slightly as he looked into the ether. Stuffing a bagel into his mouth Gordon watched him think for a long minute, before Virgil shook his head and returned to earth. “And here I thought that Alan was the astronaut. Welcome back to Earth.” “Very funny.” Virgil grabbed the rest of Gordon’s bagel off his plate before Gordon could intervene. “Hey! Get your own!” “Why would I when I can have yours?” The bite he took was prolonged and the amount of enjoyment over-played, and Gordon gave him the best glare he could. Virgil just grinned and finished the mouthful. “Thanks.” “I hope you enjoyed it.” Gordon returned to the kitchen, this time preparing two instead of one before returning to the piano.

He was lying in bed when the klaxon sounded, and Gordon could stop the long sigh before he rolled out, taking most of the sheets with him. Staggering out into the living room wondering what emergency could possibly have called for klaxons at 11PM, he was met with a grim faced family and an exhausted Alan. “FAB. Time to go Gordon. Alan, you stay as reserve.” For once, Alan was more than happy to curl up on the couch and Gordon couldn’t stop a slight twinge of jealousy as he changed into his uniform.