Undeniable Shocks

Brains gazed down out of Thunderbird One's lower hatch. The train's emergency exit was open, slightly to the rear of him, and warm light spilled from it into the night. It jogged a bit as the two vehicles sped on. What he could see of the floor below looked impossibly far away, even though he knew it was a mere few meters. He wore a helmet, covering his whole head, and a harness, attached to a strong line. The line would move with him, like a fishing line, and allow him to be brought back to the ship, if necessary.

"Brains!" Scott's voice rang in his helmet. "We don't have much time!"

"F-A-A-A-B!" Brains said. With that, he took a deep breath, said a quick prayer, and dropped.

Someone knocked on the door to Fermat's room. A.J. opened it, and Jason, his face flushed, breathing hard, leaned inside.

"Hey, Brain! A.J.!" he called. "The Thunderbirds are on the vid! You have to come see this!"

"O-Okay," Fermat said, saving his work. "I'm c-coming." He glanced at his roommate, who shook his head sadly.

"Too much to do," A.J. explained. Fermat nodded, and followed Jason out.

"A.J.'s leaving?" Jason asked, puzzled.

Fermat gave him a quick frown, but it dissipated as he remembered that Jason hadn't been at breakfast. "Yeah, h-he is."

"That's too bad," Jason said as he led the way. "I'll miss the kid."

"M-Me, too," Fermat said with a nod.

They stepped into the common room, where the wide vid screen was showing scenes from an ongoing rescue. Several boys were there, sitting on the edges of their seats, exchanging comments in low tones. Jason and Fermat moved to one of the sofas, both so entranced by the images that they didn't dare look away to sit down. There was obviously some kind of aircraft trying to pace Thunderbird One and what looked like a fast-moving train. Lisa Lowe's voice could be heard, narrating from wherever she was.

"As you can see, Thunderbird One is hovering very close to the roof of the train, where one of the emergency exits is open. A hatch in Thunderbird One's belly has just opened, and... oh my God! One of the operatives has just jumped out! He's wavering a bit... now taking a step forward. Oh no! He's slipped and fallen into the train! It seems the wind pushed him..."

There were gasps of surprise or cries of horror from everyone in the room. Fermat sat down quite suddenly, and his face drained of all color. His eyes behind the glasses grew huge, and he clamped a hand over his mouth. Behind his hand, his lips mouthed the word, "D-Dad!"

The instruments on Scott's panel indicated that the line had been severed. Scott swore then called, "Brains?" He paused, turning around. "Brains?" Not hearing a reply, he quickly called John. "Thunderbird Five from Thunderbird One. I'm not getting any answer from Brains and his line has been severed. Did he make it to the train?"

"His communicator's GPS indicates he did, Scott." John's handsome face wore a puzzled frown. "Let me try to reach him."

Scott waited, antsy, hoping for the best, and fearing the worst. After what seemed to be a long pause, John came back.

"I can't raise him, Scott. The comm on his helmet might be out, but the GPS is still functioning, and that indicates he's on the train. He hasn't moved though."

"Damn," Scott muttered. "I can't hold this position any longer. Base, instructions?"

Jeff knew this was coming: the decision to leave Brains to whatever fate had decreed – or risk Thunderbird One and his son. "Move, Scott," he said. "If his GPS indicates he's aboard, we'll have to trust he is."

"F-A-B," Scott replied. He closed the hatch, and brought Thunderbird One's nose up, his VTOLs pushing him away from the train. He circled around, and came up beside the forward car, scanning it visually for signs of the scientist.

Meanwhile, on the train itself, Brains had picked himself off the floor. He had fallen through the emergency exit feet first, pushed by the winds. His helmet hit the edge of the hatch, but once inside his line tightened for a split second, stopping his momentum. Then it broke, spilling him to the floor. He bashed an arm on one of the seats, as he flailed out to try and break his fall. He lay half-dazed on the floor until he realized that someone was looking down at him. An attendant, the one who had opened the emergency exit, stood over him, a confused look on his dark face.

The attendant stepped around the fallen IR operative as the latter tried to stand, and offered a hand up, which Brains took. Once upright, Brains cradled his right arm; he'd hit his humerus on the seat, and it still buzzed with the painful jolt. He looked back and forth, and asked, "Ah, the, uh, computer?"

The attendant hooked a thumb over his shoulder.

"Th-Thank you," Brains replied, giving the man a little salute as they changed places, and he moved toward the front of the train. Behind him, the attendant shook his head, and closed the overhead door.

"C-Come in, Thunderbird One," Brains said as he made his way to the sloping nose of the car. "Th-Thunderbird One, do you, uh, read?" He tapped the side of his helmet, realizing belatedly that he could hear no static or white noise in his ears. Comm must be down, he thought. I guess I go this alone. But how am I going to coordinate things with the control center?

He turned and flipped up the visor of his helmet. "Uh, sir?" he called to the attendant, who had finished his task and was heading back to the rear of the train.

The man turned around, a puzzled expression on his face. Brains beckoned to him, then turned to the control unit, pulling out a screwdriver and starting to remove the panel before him.

"You called me, sir?" The attendant was closer now.

"Y-Yes. Do you have a ph-phone?" Brains asked. "I f-fear I'm going to n-n-n... require one."

Alan pulled his most worn pair of athletic shoes out of his closet, trying to make room for his six new pairs. He tried hard to look busy, but he couldn't help overhearing what Mr. Bertoli said as Frank worked on bringing his wife around to his way of thinking.

At long last, she took a deep breath, and said, "Okay, Frank. We won't take him home... right now."

Frank grinned, and drew her to him for a sweet hug. "Thanks, hon. I know how hard this is for you."

"Do you?" she asked sharply. She turned to Dom and, reaching out, stroked her son's face with a hand. "I'm not very happy about leaving you here, Dominic," she said quietly. "But your father has a point. We shouldn't have made this decision without consulting you." She smiled slightly and stroked his hair. "You're my baby, and I feel protective, more so because of the asthma. But," she sighed, her expression turning rueful, "you're growing older, and need to learn to make your own decisions... and mistakes." Putting her hands on his shoulders, she looked him in the eye. "Please promise me you'll be careful?"

Dom smiled. "I promise." He pulled his mother into his arms and hugged her, hard, then kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks, Mom," he murmured.

Alan had glanced up when Dom gave his promise, and now he looked firmly away, swallowing to keep the tears at bay.

"Hey, Fermat. You okay?"

Fermat slowly became aware of Jason's voice, the murmurs of the other boys, and Lisa Lowe's running commentary as the rescue unfolded. His mind had been filled with horrible scenes; his father lying in the train, neck broken, or bleeding from some obscure wound... it was all he could do to slowly nod. He'd felt like his heart had stopped; his world had ended.

"I'm sure that he'll be okay, whoever he is," Jason went on, trying to reassure his suddenly shell-shocked friend. "The big question is, can they stop the train?" He squinted at the screen. "I don't see the big green thing there..."

"Thunderbird T-T-Two," Fermat automatically choked out.

"Heh. I knew that, Brain," Jason replied, looking relieved. "Just wanted to see you snap out of this... this shock. Sheesh! It's almost as if you knew the guy or something."

But I do! part of Fermat wanted to scream. He knew that lanky figure, even in the uniform and helmet. I'd know him anywhere!

"Hey, look!" one of the other watchers shouted. "He's okay!"

Fermat watched as the helicopter, or whatever it was that was trying to pace the train, changed position, coming level with the windows of the car and zooming in. There was a brief glimpse of silver and blue, and Fermat could hear Lisa Lowe over the cheers. "...Looks like the operative is up and ready to do his part in stopping this runaway train."

"Brain?" Jason became concerned as Fermat sagged back against the couch. "What's wrong with you, dude?"

"I w-w-was w-w-w-worried." Getting out the words was never harder, but the relief he felt was so sweet. His heart beat again, his world still turned, and he felt like a limp, wet noodle as he sent up a heartfelt "thank you" to whatever deity might be listening.

"You're really too into this Thunderbirds thing, man," Jason remarked, shaking his head. "You totally need to find another fandom."

"Thunderbird One and Base from Thunderbird Five!" John looked agitated, but relieved.

"Thunderbird One here, go ahead," Scott replied tersely.

"Base here, Thunderbird Five. What's the word?" Jeff stopped his pacing and hurried over to command and control.

"Brains got through to the control center on a cell phone. He's a bit banged up, but okay. He's uploading his program right now."

The attendant, whose name was Seth, watched intently as the IR operative inserted a mini-disk into the drive of the inboard computer. "This sh-should work automatically," Brains murmured. He glanced up; they were still flying full tilt along the gray-white concrete rail. "Come on, b-baby, f-faster," he muttered under his breath.

Seth looked up, and put a hand on Brains's shoulder, and the engineer looked up. They were coming around a curve, they could see – much closer than they liked – faint outlines of the construction cranes that marked the end of the line.

"G-Go," Brains told the attendant.

"Come with me," Seth said, tugging on Brains's arm.

Brains shook his head. "Not until the j-job is done."

Seth protested. "If we derail..."

"I kn-know," was Brains's reply. He had his mouth open to say something else, when he felt a difference in the train's vibrations. The noise, too, had changed, and when he glanced at Seth, he could see that the attendant felt the difference, too. He turned and looked back out through the curved front window. "We're slowing! T-Tell control to c-cut power!"

Seth nodded, and shouted, "Cut power!" into his cell phone. A second later, the car they were in dropped suddenly, jarring their teeth. The noise changed again, from a whispering rush to a loud grinding noise as the electromagnets that kept the train levitated and those that moved it forward, suddenly ceased their activity. They were slowing at an increased rate now, bobbing back and forth as the train's bottom ground over the central concrete rail.

Brains motioned to Seth, shouting, "Go!" This time the attendant needed no further urging. He turned and ran as fast as he could toward the cars further back. The drop-off point was coming up fast. Brains found himself unable to look away as the train continued to slow. Is it enough? Or too little, too late? Gloved fingers crossed, he closed his eyes tight... and the train ground to a noisy, shuddering halt. He stumbled a bit, thrown off balance, and as he fought to maintain his footing, he opened his eyes and gasped.

"Whoa."

All around him was open air. The train's headlights shone on the construction cranes, and the next, completed pylon.

He turned around. Through the windows, he could see the edges of the last part of the track. Roughly a third of the first car jutted out over the abyss.

A familiar engine's roar made him look back out through the front. Thunderbird One, gleaming in the headlight, hovered there before him. Scott was grinning, and gave him a sharp salute. Brains smiled back, and gave the pilot a limp wave.

Turning back to survey the car once again, he let out a long, relieved breath. "Now j-just how am I g-g-going to g-get out of here?"

The loud cheering in the common room totally drowned out Lisa Lowe's commentary. The boys clapped, whistled, punched the air yelling, "Yes!", and generally shouted in triumph at another hair-breadth rescue pulled off by the Thunderbirds. All of which was lost on Fermat. The only thing he wanted to hear now was his father's voice, hear for himself that the most important person in his life was safe. He got to his feet and headed for his room, forgetting that Jason had been sitting next to him.

Jason, however, had a different idea. He saw Fermat leave, and hurried to catch up. "Hey, Fermat! Wasn't that awesome! They got the train stopped just in the nick of time! Man, that guy is a hero!"

Fermat stopped in the hallway, looking at his friend with disbelief. He wanted to shout, "That's my dad! He could have been killed!" But the hard fact that he'd be revealing something he was supposed to keep secret hit him like a brick. Instead, he took a deep breath to calm himself, and smiled widely.

"Y-You're right, J-Jase. That guy is a h-hero, a real hero."

"That's the last one," Dom said, dusting off his hands. He, his father, and Alan had spent the last hour bringing Dom's boxes back into the room, unpacking them and putting Dom's things back where they belonged. Mrs. Bertoli had gone to the administration building to return the paperwork they had filled out, and to tell Mrs. Belvedere that her son would remain in school.

"The room looks pretty good," Mr. Bertoli said as he looked around, hands on hips. He grinned. "You two think you'll be able to get along?"

Alan nodded. "Yeah. We will."

The door buzzer sounded, and Dom hurried to let his mother in.

"All done," she said. "You're still enrolled at Wharton."

"Great!" Dom said with a grin.

"Lena? Why don't we take these two out to dinner?" Mr. Bertoli suggested. "Spend some time with Nick, and get to know Alan a little better."

"That's a good idea," Mrs. Bertoli said. She turned to Alan. "What kind of food do you like, Alan?"

Alan's face had lit up at the suggestion, then it fell as he remembered his own restrictions. "I'd really like to go, but my father's got it set up that I have to be with family to go off campus... or have his permission." He motioned to the shoe boxes that were stacked near his desk. "I got his okay for the shoe shopping, but I'm afraid I couldn't get it again on such short notice." He shrugged a little. "I'm sorry. Thanks for invitation, though."

Mrs. Bertoli smiled softly. "You're welcome. I can understand your father's concern. Next time we'll plan things a little better so you can get permission ahead of time."

"Sounds good." Alan glanced at his watch, and his eyebrows went up. "Uh-oh." He rummaged around in his backpack, and pulled out his math book. "I promised a friend I'd bring him our math assignment. I'd better do that now." He offered his hand to Mrs. Bertoli, then to her husband. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Bertoli. I'm sure we'll see each other again."

"It was good to meet you, too, Alan," Mr. Bertoli replied. "You take care now."

"I will." Alan snagged his jacket, and left, turning back to say a final, "Bye!" before the door closed behind him.

Alan fell in with a small group of other boys who were heading toward Maplewood. He knew one of them from his weight training class, and was introduced to the others. A couple of them gave him wary looks, which he ignored. Finally, he was at Fermat's door, and ringing the buzzer for admission.

The door slid open, and Alan hurried in. "Sorry I'm late, Fermat, but..." His voice trailed off as he realized he had walked in on... something. Fermat was nowhere to be seen, but A.J. was visible, sitting in his desk chair.

"Hi, Alan," A.J. replied, sounding down, giving the newcomer a half-hearted wave.

Alan gave him a warm smile and said, "Hey, A.J." He put his book down on his friend's desk, and asked, "Where's Fermat?"

A.J. shrugged. "He went off to make a phone call. Said he'd be back soon."

"Oh, okay." He motioned with his head to the man standing by the window, phone in hand, earpiece and mike in use. "Your dad?"

"Yeah, that's him." A.J. rose from his seat, and walked over to his father, trying to catch the man's eye and waiting for a break in the conversation. Alan came up behind him, ready for introductions.

Mr. Trumbull became aware of his son's presence, and lifted his head to nod, acknowledging that he'd seen A.J. His gaze drifted toward Alan's face, back to his phone, then quickly up again. Eyes widening with startled recognition, his conversation trailed off, then he looked down at the person he was talking to.

"Uh, Johannes? Something's just come up. I'll give you a call back in a little bit. Right. No problem. Talk to you soon." Ending his call, he pulled the earphone from his ear and asked tentatively, "Alan? Alan Tracy?"

A.J. glanced up at Alan with a confused frown, and Alan returned the look with a small shrug. "Yes, I'm Alan Tracy. You must be Mr. Trumbull." He held out his hand. "It's nice to meet you."

Mr. Trumbull shook his hand, an amazed expression still on his face. "I didn't know you were here, at Wharton. The last I knew, you were at a school where you'd had an... incident."

Alan groaned. It seemed his checkered past was still haunting him. "Uh, yeah. I had an... incident at my former school. My father sent me to Wharton last year." His eyebrows knotted up in a perplexed expression. "Do I know you? I mean, personally?"

"Well..." Mr. Trumbull looked like he wanted to say something, then quickly changed his mind. He turned to his son. "Andrew, take your garment bag down to the car, please."

"But Dad...," the boy began.

"Now, son," Mr. Trumbull said firmly.

A.J. huffed out an exasperated "humph" then picked up his garment bag and slung it over his shoulder. It bumped against his calves as he stomped off.

As A.J. left, Mr. Trumbull speed-dialed a number on his phone. "Had to get Andrew out of the way for a few moments," he told Alan. "This isn't something for his ears."

"I don't get it," Alan said, shaking his head and frowning. "What's this all about?"

"You'll see in just a moment," Mr. Trumbull assured him. He put the phone to his ear, and waited a moment, then began to speak.

"Jeff? Art Trumbull here," he said. There was a pause, then Mr. Trumbull made a rueful face. "Damn, I'm sorry. Didn't know it would be a bad time. Can you spare a moment? Well, I'm at Wharton... yeah, Wharton. My son Andrew is here as a student. Yeah." He glanced over at Alan. "Well, I won't keep you long, but there's someone here who needs something explained to him." He held the phone out to Alan, who was surprised to see his father's face looking back at him.

"Dad?" Alan took the phone. "I came to see Fermat, and Mr. Trumbull here... well, he acts as if he knows me. But I don't know him, or if I've met him, I don't remember it."

Jeff sighed. "No, you wouldn't remember Art Trumbull, but he was an old friend of mine from the early days of the, uh, family business."

The stress that Jeff put on his words made Alan look at Mr. Trumbull in astonishment. "He... He knows?"

"Yes, Alan. He knows." Jeff smiled, amused. "When I was starting this business of ours, I needed someone to keep an eye on all the legal ramifications. Art's an old friend, and the best international lawyer there is." He shifted in his seat. "Son, let me introduce you to IR Agent Fourteen."