Unfavorable Odds

"Alan's calling me, Dad. I'm not sure just how to handle it." Virgil sounded both frustrated and worried. "I mean, John hasn't had time to go over all the protocols with me."

"Just answer him using the tri-channel, Virgil," Jeff said. "Let him know we're listening in, but we have a rescue going on."

"F-A-B." Virgil flipped a couple of switches, and replied in a soft voice. "Wharton from Thunderbird Five. We read you. You are tied in with Base and Thunderbird One, but there is an on-going rescue, and they cannot respond."

Virgil's picture, Thunderbird Five's interior in the background, replaced Fermat's for a moment, and Alan started. "Uh, Thunderbird Five, can I get that visual back? Not that I don't like your face or anything..."

Fighting hard not to roll his eyes and respond in a less than professional way, Virgil sighed. He was only partially successful; his tone turned just a touch snarky as he explained. "I can only do one vid feed at a time, Wharton. Your screen is too small to split. But I have both you and Fermat on my screens here – there's been no change on his end that I can see. I'll return you momentarily to your regularly scheduled show, already in progress."

"Acknowledged, Thunderbird Five." Alan's own frustration was hidden under a veneer of professional attitude. "I wanted to make sure that the Commander on Thunderbird One and Command and Control were plugged in. I take it that... uh..." His mind floundered for some sort of code name for Brains, and came up empty. "...Brains is at Command?"

"He is. He's listening, and if necessary, I'll switch him in to Fermat's watch." Virgil glanced at Fermat, and tuned in a little to the Wharton chatter before adding. "You have a job to do, Wharton. I think you should get back to it." With that, he switched the screen on Alan's watch to Fermat's channel.

"Thunderbird Five from Thunderbird One." Jeff's voice, level with a hint of disapproval, sounded out.

"Thunderbird Five here, Thunderbird One." Virgil was already rubbing the back of his head and looking sheepish. "I know I was less than professional back there, Commander. It won't happen again."

"As long as you know that, I won't lecture, especially since we're on a rescue. But you will apologize at the first opportunity." Jeff's tone brooked no argument.

"F-A-B, Commander."

In the fire truck's cab, Alan was relieved to see Fermat's face again. "Hey, Fermat. You'll never guess who I met while trying to get out here to Maplewood. I didn't recognize them at first, though their voice sounded familiar."

Fermat shivered some more, but put his mind to work on Alan's comment. "W-Well, there aren't m-m-many p-p-people that you kn-know who might be at Wh-Wh-Wharton at this time of n-n-n-ight. And I d-d-doubt they're l-l-letting the s-s-students near the s-s-site, so it c-c-c-can't be one of u-us-s-s." He thought some more. "It's p-p-probably s-s-s-someone who b-b-belongs here, but is d-d-dressed d-differently than they d-d-do ordinarily." He paused, then said, "M-Ms. B-Belvedere?"

Alan's eyes widened in momentary shock, then he let out a long peal of laughter.

"Wh-What's so f-f-funny about th-that?" Fermat asked irritably. "I'm s-s-sure she would be... h-h-h... h-achoo! Hard to r-r-r-recognize under a p-p-p-parka." He lifted a corner of his sheet to wipe his streaming nose, and curled up some more.

"What's g-g-g-going on out th-th-there?" Andrew asked, his voice high and querulous.

"A-A-Alan thinks he can st-st-stump me with a b-b-b-brain teaser!" Fermat called back. He relayed the information that Alan had given him, along with his own observations and conclusion.

"I'm sorry, Brain!" Alan wiped his eyes. It felt good to let go a little, even better to let go in laughter. "Your reasoning is right, and you have the person's gender right, too. But no, I haven't seen the dragon tonight."

"O-Okay. Let me g-g-g-give A.J. an up-p-pdate." Hollering over the noise around him, Fermat told his roommate what Alan had told him.

"Th-That's a n-n-n-no b-brainer, F-F-Fermat," A.J. replied after a moment's thought. "It has to b-b-be S-Sable. She'd b-b-b-be hard t-t-to recognize without all her m-m-make-up."

Fermat groaned. "A.J. says it's S-S-Sable."

"Ding, ding, ding! Give the man a Kewpie doll!" Alan styled his voice to match the fairgrounds barkers he'd seen in movies; he'd only been to a big fair once, and he was too small to remember much. He returned to his regular voice to ask, "And do you know what she was doing?"

"What w-w-w-was she d-d-doing here?" A.J. asked at the very same time.

"W-W-Washing dishes!" Fermat shouted, scowling at Alan.

"R-R-Really?" A.J. asked, sounding puzzled.

"Hey, Brain," Alan replied, his voice softening and his face taking on a concerned expression. "I'm only trying to keep your mind off things. Yours and A.J.'s, too. No need to snap."

"Alan, I'm s-s-s-scared, and s-s-s-so c-c-cold." Fermat's voice had dropped to a whisper.

"I know, pal, I know. But we're doing our best out here." Alan's gaze shifted to the work scene, where another branch fell to earth, severed by the hard work of a safety-yellow-clad firefighter. "We'll get you out of there; I promise." He paused, then added, "I bet you don't know what Sable's real name is."

"Amy. Amy S-S-Sue P-Pederson. Z-Z-Zave told us, r-r-remember?"

"Dang. You're right. I'd forgotten that. But you still haven't figured out what she was doing here."

Fermat sighed, and shouted, "Hey, A.J-J-J.! Have you f-f-f-f-figured out what S-S-Sable was doing here?"

"I thought you s-s-s-said it was dishes!"

Alan chuckled, but it was a surface attempt at humor. Deep inside, his gut was twisting with ever-growing worry. Gotta keep these two awake. What other brain teasers can I come up with?

Onaha came into Command and Control carrying a tray with sandwiches. His mind having been with the Tracys in New Hampshire, Brains was surprised for the reminder of what time of day it was where his body sat. "Th-Thank you, Onaha," he said as he picked up a sandwich. "I'd f-f-forgotten I was h-hungry."

"How are things going?" she asked.

"The r-rescue is a w-wait and see thing right now," Brains admitted. "I think they will b-be called b-back to the m-mountain again s-s-soon. But Wharton..."

"What's happening at Wharton?" Tin-Tin was following with a pitcher of iced tea. She put it down carefully on one of the side desks, and poured a glass full for Brains.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then reached up to adjust his glasses. "It seems that this st-st-st-...blizzard has uprooted a t-t-tree, and it has fallen on my son's d-d-dormitory... right on his r-r-r-room."

Both women gasped, eyes widened in horror. Onaha walked over to put a comforting hand on Brains's thin shoulder.

"Is Fermat okay?" Tin-Tin asked, sitting down suddenly. The news was like a punch to her gut, as bad as hearing of Alan's beating.

"I'm sure he must be, Tin-Tin," Onaha said. "Brains would have been long gone to the States if Fermat was hurt."

Brains shook his head. "A-Actually, the situation is d-d-dangerous. He and his r-r-roommate are trapped in their room by the t-t-t... oak. It seems to have s-smashed through the roof, and there is the very r-r-real possibility of h-hypothermia. Alan is in c-contact with F-F-Fermat and his r-r-roommate by using the new watch communicators. Virgil has p-p-piped their c-conversation down here." He settled back in a chair and made a sour face. "I, on the o-other hand, have h-heard n-nothing from the school."

"They're probably waiting until they can get the boys out before calling parents," Onaha said, looking thoughtful. "Why don't you give them a call? You can say you've been trying to reach Fermat and would like to know where he is."

"I s-s-suppose I should," Brains said, scowling. "I'm sure they'd j-just p-put me off. I'll h-have to think of a w-w-way to do this w-without making them s-suspect that I already kn-know."

"Maybe if you call Alan again?" Tin-Tin had risen and was checking the various displays. "He could hand you over to whoever is in charge. Then you can at least say you were contacted when you fly out there." She glanced over to meet Brains's gaze. "I could take over command and control so you could go..."

They were interrupted by Virgil's voice. "Command and Control from Thunderbird Five."

Brains reached out to acknowledge the call. "Ah... C-Command here, Thunderbird Five. We read you."

"Just thought you'd want to know that the governor of Massachusetts has declared a state of emergency for the western part of the state," Virgil said. "The airports out there are closed to all but emergency traffic and the National Guard has been activated." He picked up a data pad. "According to the latest weather predictions, the area is going to get well over a meter of snow on top of the ice that was laid down earlier."

"So, even if I w-w-wanted to go out now and b-be there for F-F-Fermat, I c-couldn't." Brains pounded a fist against the console. "D-Damn!"

Virgil's expression was one of helpless commiseration. "I'm sorry, Brains, but yeah. That's about the size of it."

"Th-Thanks for letting me kn-know, V-Virgil." Brains slumped in the command chair, and absently sipped the tea.

"You're welcome, Brains." Virgil paused. "Alan's doing a good job in keeping Fermat and his roommate focused. They'll get out of this, Brains. I know they will."

"I h-h-hope so." Brains muttered. "Anything e-else, Thunderbird Five?"

"Not at the moment, Command."

"Then C-Command and C-Control out."

The sound from Thunderbird Five's feed dropped into the background, to be replaced by the sound of Alan's voice.

"Dude, she was driving the ambulance!"

"Thunderbird Two from danger zone."

Jeff and Scott both sat up straighter as they heard John's voice. "Thunderbird Two here, danger zone. What's your situation?"

"The patient is nearly ready for transport." John glanced over to where Dr. Harrington was giving Chuck a final once over. "The doctor has determined that we have a burst appendix on our hands, and time is of the essence. By the time you get up here, we'll be ready."

Scott was already initializing the VTOLs as Jeff replied, "F-A-B, danger zone. ETA, ten minutes."

"F-A-B, Thunderbird Two. Danger zone standing by."

"Well, it's about time," Scott said, shaking his head.

"I told you we haven't been here as long as you think, Scott." Jeff checked his controls. "De-icers?"

"Fully functional. We're good to go." Scott pressed a switch. "Thunderbird Five and Command from Thunderbird Two. Lifting off for the danger zone."

Virgil's voice mingled with Brains's as they both said, "F-A-B."

With ponderous grace, Thunderbird Two lifted skyward into the storm. Lisa Lowe hurried out from inside the hospital proper, followed by her camera crew. It took them a few minutes to set up, but soon her weather-chapped face was being broadcast live.

"This is Lisa Lowe, in North Conway, New Hampshire. Thunderbird Two has just lifted off, en route to Mount Washington Observatory..."

Mr. Magnuson climbed into the truck's cab, pulling off his snow-laden cap as he did so. He nodded at Alan and asked, "How are they doing?"

"Maybe you'd better ask for yourself, Mr. Mags." Alan held the watch up so that Mr. Magnuson could see Fermat's face.

"How's it going there, Fermat?" The security chief was upbeat and smiling.

"We're o-o-okay, but c-cold, s-s-s-s-sir. Gonna n-n-need some hot c-c-c-c-cocoa when this is th-through." Even Mr. Magnuson could see Fermat's shivering.

"How's Andrew holding up?"

"A-A-As well as c-c-can be e-e-e-expected, s-sir."

"We're working hard to get you out of there. Just stay awake for us, okay?"

"W-We're t-t-trying." Fermat's teeth were chattering worse than ever.

"Good man." Mr. Magnuson nodded at Alan, who lowered his arm. Then he said in a quiet voice, "Mute it, for a minute, if you can, son."

"I'll be right back, Fermat," Alan assured his friend. He pressed one of the side buttons, and the word "mute" came up on his screen. "I hope he can't see that," he muttered.

"Alan, we've got a major problem, and I don't know how to break it to them." Mr. Mags looked out the wide windshield, past the swishing wipers. "The National Guard can't get out here, not with any aerial equipment. We're waiting on some of the tree trimming services, the ones who work on exactly this kind of problem, but..." He turned to Alan. "I'm very much afraid they won't get here in time."

Alan felt something cold clench around his heart. The idea that his friend might actually die from this had been lurking around the fringes of his mind for a while now, but he had managed to subdue it by talking with Fermat, and watching the firefighters and other rescue personnel cutting the tree apart, one branch at a time. Every branch that fell had fueled his hope, but now, with just a few words, that hope was gone. He found he had nothing to say.

Mr. Magnuson put a chilled hand on Alan's shoulder. "I'm sorry, son. I wish I had better news."

Pulling in both lips, he set his teeth on them firmly and shook his head. I will not cry. I am a Tracy; I will NOT cry. But a tear escaped anyway, trickling down his cheek and falling on his sweatshirt.

"Alan..." Mr. Magnuson began. Alan shook his head violently.

"No. They're not going to die. They can't." He turned to face the security chief. "You can't get the National Guard. Fine. There's someone even better."

"You mean the Thunderbirds?" Mr. Magnuson's slight smile was rueful. "If I recall correctly, even they would have to fly some distance to get here. Even at their fastest, they probably wouldn't be in time."

Alan shook his head again, with less force. "No, you're wrong, Mr. Mags. Before I came out here, I saw a news broadcast. They were in New Hampshire at some mountain. I bet they're still nearby. They could get here like that!" He snapped his fingers to make his point. "Call them, Mr. Mags. Please. Don't give up."

Mr. Magnuson rubbed his chin. "New Hampshire, you say?"

"Yeah, and with Thunderbird Two. That's the big workhorse. I bet it could pull that tree off easily."

Mr. Magnuson looked thoughtful for a moment, then he nodded. "Okay, Alan. I'll see what I can do to contact them. We'll keep working here, and you have to keep working, too. Better get back to Fermat and Andrew."

Alan grinned and gave the security chief a quick salute. "Yes, sir!"

"Good man." Mr. Mags clapped Alan on the shoulder, then put on his hat and gloves again, and stepped out into the blizzard. Alan saw him hunch his shoulders as he passed in front of the truck.

Pressing the mute button, Alan called out, "Sorry about that, pal. Mr. Mags needed to talk strategy with me."

All he got was a breathy groan in return. Fermat's eyes were closed, and his head jerked upwards slightly at the sound of Alan's voice.

"Fermat! Hey, Brain, you gotta wake up!" Alan tried hard to keep the panic out of his voice as he shouted. Fermat shook his head and muttered something unintelligible.

"Okay, pal. You asked for it." Hunching up over the watch again, he pressed the button to connect him with Thunderbird Five. "Thunderbird Five from Wharton, come in, Five."

Virgil's harried face appeared. "What do you need, Wharton? Make it snappy; the rescue's at a critical phase."

"Fermat's falling asleep, and I need his watch to put out more volume." Alan spoke quickly and concisely. "Can you fix that from where you are?"

"I... think so." Virgil rolled the control room's chair to another panel. "Yeah. Looks like I can. Maximum gain?"

"Yeah. He has got to hear me and wake up!"

Alan's feet had barely started to tap the floor when Virgil came back. "Try that. And good luck."

"Thanks, Thunderbird Five." Alan paused, then added, "Expect a more official call requesting help, okay?"

Virgil opened his mouth to say something, but what came out was. "Okay. Yeah. I will." He turned his head toward the console again. "Gotta get back to it. Thunderbird Five out."

The picture changed to Fermat again, but didn't show Fermat's face. "Oh, God. He's dropped off, and relaxed his arm." Fear lent volume to Alan's voice as he hollered, "Dammit, Fermat, wake up! Wake the hell up!"

The shouting seemed to have done some good; there was a jerky motion, and some mumbling. Alan kept calling. "Come on, man! You gotta wake up! That's it! Let me see your face, so you can tell me off you... you... wombat!"

The groaning got louder, and the screen showed that the watch was moving. Finally, Fermat's face, his eyes only open to slits, appeared. "P-Pinhead."

"Man, am I glad to see your face... fruitcake!" Alan felt tears of relief pricking at his eyes, and he swallowed heavily. "How are you doing?"

"So sleepy. F-Feel so w-warm now."

"No!" Alan's alarmed shout made Fermat jerk, and his eyes opened a bit more. "Stay with me, Fermat. Stay awake! Don't become a... a... zombie!"

Fermat smiled, a dreamy expression. "I'll t-t-try... dipstick."

"How about A.J.? Can you call for him?" Alan feet were beating an unconscious tattoo on the rubberized mats. "C'mon, geek! Gotta keep him awake, too!"

Fermat seemed to gather himself. His eyes, still heavy-lidded, opened some more, and he angled his face towards the bathroom. "A.J.!" he called. "Hey, A.J.! You o-o-okay?"

There was a muffled mumbling coming from that direction. "I h-hear him... weirdo. Doesn't s-sound good, though."

"Okay, dingbat..." Alan began.

"No f-f-fair!" Fermat's protest brought a pained smile to Alan's face. "No using p-parts of w-words over!"

"Okay... dork."

"M-My turn, f-f-flake."

The epithet made Alan glance up and out the window. He shivered. Almost all he could see was swirling white snow, batted about by currents of wind. "Lots of flakes out here, Fermat. Call A.J. again, okay?"

As Fermat strained to call for his roommate, Alan closed his eyes briefly and sent up an unspoken, fervent prayer. Please, God, let my dad get here quick! Fermat won't last much longer!

"Calling International Rescue. This is Wharton Academy for Boys calling International Rescue. Please come in. We have an emergency. Calling International Rescue..."

Virgil gritted his teeth. Thunderbird Two was on the mountain, trying hard to get in position for transferring the patient. Winds were strong up there, and even Jeff was having trouble lining up the cargo carrier the same way they had before. Alan's call had only added to Virgil's chores, and now came the call he had been expecting. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, mentally counting to ten as he pushed the tension aside.

"This is International Rescue, Wharton Academy. Reading you strength four. What is your emergency?"

The man's voice lost a lot of its terse tone as he replied. "Oh, thank God. We got through." There was a pause at the other end, as if the speaker was trying gather his thoughts. "Well," he began, "You may not know it or not, but we're in the middle of a blizzard here, and it was preceded by an ice storm. The combination of wind and snow-weight took down one of our old trees, and it smashed into a dormitory. We have several students still trapped up there, and we need to get this tree off in order to get in and rescue them. National Guard aircraft are grounded... and we'd heard your people were nearby."

Virgil waited until the speaker had finished. "Operatives are in your general vicinity, yes, but they're in the middle of a rescue. I will relay this to our commander; he'll be able to give me a better ETA for their arrival at your location."

"Time is of the essence, International Rescue. These boys won't hold out much longer."

"I understand that, sir. We will be with you as soon as our current operation is completed." Virgil checked another screen, one that showed where the call originated. "I have your position marked."

"Is there anything we can do in the meantime?" Whoever was calling sounded as if he understood. "I have a lot of personnel and equipment here."

Virgil paused for a moment. What would make it easier for Dad and Thunderbird Two to get this tree off the building. Ah, I think I know. "Can you give me a visual on the situation?"

"Yes, I think so." A window popped up on the screen, and a streaming picture of the tree appeared. Virgil involuntarily let out a low whistle.

"I can see why you need to take this off whole." He gazed at the picture critically. "Taking off some of the horizontal branches at the side would help. Get about halfway up the tree and give us six to eight feet of clear space on the sides. Our clamps will function more efficiently with that done."

"You got it!" Whoever was speaking sounded happy to have something constructive to do. "We'll have it ready for you." There was another pause, and the voice turned pleading. "Just please... hurry."

"We will, sir. I'll contact you soon with an ETA. Who am I speaking with?"

"I'm Carl Magnuson, head of Wharton security."

"Thank you, Mr. Magnuson. Keep this channel clear. I'll be back to you soon."

"Okay, International Rescue. And thanks."

"Don't thank us yet, sir. We still have a lot to do. Thunderbird Five, on standby."

Virgil muted the channel. He stopped briefly to gather himself; knowing that Fermat was among those in the dormitory made his stomach tie up in knots. He then opened communications with both base and Thunderbird Two.

"Thunderbird Two and Command and Control from Thunderbird Five. Come in, please."

Two screens, which had been showing muted visuals of the island command center and the cockpit of Thunderbird Two now same to audible life.

"Thunderbird Two here," Scott said, the camera moving to focus on him.

"C-Command and C-Control here, Thunderbird Five. St-Status update?" Brains was flanked by Tin-Tin and Onaha, and all three looked worried.

"I just received a call from Wharton. They're asking for our help." Virgil paused. "Thunderbird Two, can we... can we leave the current danger zone and help Wharton? Then come back to pick up this patient?"

There was silence in the cockpit, and on the island. Scott's head was turned toward his father, whose clenched jaw had tightened ever further. Finally, he spoke.

"No."

"But this is Fermat." Virgil's tone was half-shocked, half-pleading. "He doesn't have much time."

"Neither does this gentleman," Jeff said. The camera near the pilot's station turned on, splitting the cockpit screen both on Five and at the island. "We have to finish this now."

There was a silence again, then Brains asked, his voice taut and quiet. "Wh-What if it were Alan? Would you d-do the same thing?"

Jeff shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and swallowed heavily. "Yes. Even if it were Alan. Or Virgil. Or Gordon. Or John. Or Scott. He is a Thunderbird. Other lives come first." He paused. "And as a Thunderbird, he'll never give up. We'll never give up." With that, he nodded at Scott. "We're in position. Let's do this."

In the small space between the bunks, Fermat was finding it hard to think. Something at the back his mind told him this was another symptom of hypothermia; it had been part of his Thunderbird training over the summer break. Alan was still talking to him, and loudly, too, but he wasn't making much sense. Most importantly, Fermat had stopped shivering.

In the bathroom, A.J. was curled up on a ball. The snow and wind weren't so bad here, but the cold was just as deep, and the tree's shifting groans every bit as loud. Under his robe, he had on three pairs of socks, a pair of his own dirty underwear, gym shorts covered by sweatpants too big for him, a t-shirt, a long-sleeved dress shirt, and one of Fermat's hooded sweatshirts. He had the hood up over his still-damp hair, and had wrapped himself in as many towels as he could lay his hands on, regardless of whether or not they were dry. His hands were tucked up under his armpits; the left one throbbed from being jabbed. He was still shivering, and kept listening for his roommate's calls to him. Occasionally, he could hear Alan's amplified voice, muffled as it was.

"F-F-Fermat?" he called. His teeth still chattered some, but that was easing off and he was beginning to feel drowsy. "F-F-Fermat, are you th-th-there?"

All he got back was an unintelligible mumble, and Alan's muffled answer. He wiped his cold, runny nose on the sweatshirt sleeve, and quickly tucked his hand back into its spot. "We're n-never gonna get out of here," he whispered.