To The Moon And Back

Chapter Two

Far up above the earth, nestled amongst a backdrop of stars, Alan Tracy lounged at the vast control console in Thunderbird Five, three weeks into his four-week tour of duty in International Rescue's orbiting space station and communication hub, listening to one of the strangest calls he'd had to date.

The woman, English by the sound of it, had been babbling so quickly that he hadn't been able to interrupt her. At first, he was sure it must be a prank call, they got those from time to time, bored kids or drunken idiots were the norm. But this woman -for all her hurried talking as if she didn't want to bother them, acting the way one would ask a neighbour to remove a spider from their bathtub if it wasn't too much trouble- had an undertone of panic and fear he was all too familiar with.

The moment she came up for breath he took pity on her. "This is International Rescue, receiving you loud and clear. What's your emergency?"

He listened, one eyebrow raised in disbelief as the sound of a mild scuffle crackled over the airways and a male's voice called out, "It's not really an emergency, we'll be fine."

Maybe he had been wrong and this really was a prank call? "Look, I know things can be a bit boring, but you really shouldn't call us if you aren't in danger."

The scuffling noise grew louder, sounding for all the world like they were fighting over the radio transmitter.

"Are you still there?" Alan called.

"I don't know about you," the woman yelled, although her voice sounded distant like she was holding the transmitter too far away from her face, "but I call being in a rust bucket rocket that's going to fall out of space any minute, an emergency situation! Now let go of it!"

All traces of amusement left Alan's boyishly handsome face as he straightened in his chair, instantly on alert. The woman sounded like she was really in trouble and someone was trying to prevent her from getting help. Was there more to this than he had first thought? "Wait, hold up, hold up! What was that you said about a rocket? Is anyone hurt?"

The woman growled in annoyance and a rustling was heard over the line, followed by a yelp of pain and a male's "My ankle!"

"I'm here, I'm here, sorry!" The woman's voice sounded closer again as she cleared her throat. "My friend," Alan heard the loaded pause that made him doubt that they were friends any longer, "knows a guy who knew a guy who had a rocket. But now we're on said rocket, and the guy that their guy knew who could fly it, is passed out on the floor. The auto-pilot is off -if it even exists- and this rocket is roaring through space rattling like a bag full of tin cans, so we'd really appreciate some help."

Alan could hear her panting, slightly out of breath as if that barrage of information had exhausted her, her voice rising in pitch and volume as she talked. She sounded less like she was messing around and more like someone who was about to fall into full-blown panic, something he wished to avoid at all costs.

He believed her, she sounded so genuine, but he had to ask, just to be sure. "Are you being serious?"

"Yes, we are," she assured him, her voice strong and clear, like those few seconds of silence had given her the chance she needed to regain her composure.

"Let me make sure I heard this right," Alan said, reaching for his clipboard to start taking notes. "You're on a rocket with no pilot -I'm assuming no co-pilot is on board- without a working auto-pilot and none of you have a clue how to fly it, let alone if it's space-worthy?"

Alan heard the gentle rustling of clothing over the line as she shifted uncomfortably. "That's about the size of it, yes," she finally admitted, her voice losing some of its confident edge.