Thunderbirds Are Go One-Shots

April Fools

March 31, 2051

It was eleven o'clock at night. John sat on the pool deck, a holo-projector balanced on his leg, and his right eye pressed to the eyepiece of his telescope. He took his eye away from the telescope and began to click a few icons on the hologram. As he did this, he began to speak.

"You know, mom, I'm still upset dad tore our family away from you, but the stars out here..." he looked up, "They're just so incredible. Unbelievable. I wish you could see them."

He continued to arrange things on the the hologram, a map of the sky.

"I can see each and every star you showed me, and even more," he paused, "I know it's stupid, but every time I come out here, it feels like you're near."

A night breeze blew, and John lifted his head up to breathe it in. The warm, salty breath of the ocean, mingling with the crisp, cool air of the sky.

"It feels like you're close," John continued, "but not close enough."

At three in the morning, John packed up his telescope, and went in. He walked to his room, the rest of the house completely quiet.

He pulled up his sky map, the one he'd been working on for the past few years, and the hologram engulfed his room.

He analyzed the map. Took measurements, added data, and recorded conditions and observations he had made. The map was incredible. He could zoom deep into space, and see the stars that were only just barely visible in the right conditions. He could move through the sky, draw up constellations, or project the 2D image of the night sky onto his ceiling, adjusting the picture for date and conditions. When in 3D form, he could walk among the stars. It was the closest thing he could get to actually being in space.

Finally, at about six a.m., he collapsed onto his bed, and fell asleep.

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April 1, 2051

"Gordon!"

The cry rang out over the house, followed by the cackling of a ten-year-old blond boy.

The boy was running through the upstairs hallway, waking up most of those who weren't already up. His closest brother was chasing after him, a paintbrush stuck to his hand.

A door opened as they past it, and out from it ran an almost five-year-old with the energy of ten-thousand race horses.

The three boys ran downstairs and entered the kitchen, where their oldest brother, Scott, and their father were dumping the contents of their plates into the trash.

Gordon's chaser, the eleven-year-old Virgil, stopped short when he saw his father.

"Dad, Gordon covered my brushes in glue!"

"April Fools!" Gordon cried, excitement written on his face, "I can get away with pranks!"

Their father sighed, "Yup, Gordon got us too."

Scott looked down at the eggs they had just dumped in the trash. They had been unnaturally sweet.

"Gordon, tell me, when were you planning on switching the sugar and salt back?"

Gordon answered his father, "Well... originally never..."

His father smiled, "How about tonight?"

Gordon looked up and nodded.

Jeff chuckled, "Good.  Scott and I are going out.  Grandma Tracy is in charge."

As if on cue, Jeff's mother walked into the kitchen.