Unpopular Choice

"Okay, let's go over this again." John didn't have to shout to be heard, not yet. Daniel McCullough was suiting up, getting ready to open the Observatory's garage door to the weather again. Gordon was busy checking harnesses, including the ones that would suspend the floating, all-weather, anti-gravity stretcher between him and his brother. Chuck, the patient, was encased in an inflatable cocoon with a clear panel over his face so he could see and be seen. This particular stretcher cover was made of a lightweight nylon, and was held away from his body with warmed air that circulated around him. There were three layers to the enclosure; a quilted, zippered sleeping bag to conserve body heat, the main inflated layer which actively warmed, and an outer one – also full of circulating air – which created a buffer between the main part of the cocoon and the conditions outside. The outer skin was also weather-proofed against all but the heaviest deluge. Brains had based the idea on some inflatable yard decorations he had seen as a child.

The two nurses were tied in with the stretcher on each side, while Dr. Harrington was also attached to it and positioned behind the male nurse. The grouping itself offered both a windbreak and a steadying force to the floating platform. Gordon checked their connections, then fastened himself in at the rear.

"I'll go first this time, to act as trail-breaker. Again, we'll be working against both wind and Thunderbird Two's backwash. Keep a hand on the stretcher; Gordon and I will be guiding it and making sure it stays on course, but you'll be able to help steady it. Once we're inside Thunderbird Two and unfastened, we'll take you to our sickbay for the trip to the hospital." He turned to Dan. "Are you ready?"

"Ready here," Dan replied with an emphatic nod.

"Thunderbird Two?"

Jeff had been listening in. "F-A-B. Lowering pod now."

"F-A-B." John nodded at Gordon. "Let's go."

Dan opened the heavy garage door, letting in a biting wind that carried bits of ice and snow along with it. John peered across to where Thunderbird Two hovered. It seemed close enough, but as soon as he stepped out into that gale, he soon revised his estimation. The path that Gordon had made earlier had been all but obliterated by the wind-blown snow, and a fresh layer of rime ice made the going more difficult. When he entered Thunderbird Two's back-draft, he was nearly blown over by the cross-currents. One of their charges was knocked off their feet, and John heard Gordon call in his headset, "Hold up, John. Gotta help Doctor Harrington up."

He stood still and held up a hand, making the other two stop as well. He could feel the changes in pull that Gordon's movement and the doctor's fall and eventual righting worked in his harness. Another voice came into his headset.

"Everyone okay down there, John?" Scott was watching them on a viewscreen, keeping track of any minute changes in their position, so he could inform his father. He glanced at Jeff, whose white-knuckled hands gripped the controls tightly, keeping the wind from blowing them too far to one side or the other.

"F-A-B, Scott. We'll be there soon."

Gordon gave John a verbal thumbs up, and the group surged forward again. John willed as much strength as possible in his legs, pushing hard against the crusted powder, breaking it up for those behind him. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, he came to the lowered ramp, and waited. As each of their charges made it to his position, he loosed them from the stretcher, and indicated they should get aboard. Once Gordon had reached him, he took hold of one end of the stretcher, reaching his arms back and gripping it firmly. Behind him, Gordon grabbed it, too, and let John precede him up the ramp.

"We're aboard," John said.

"F-A-B. I'm coming down to help." The ramp had begun to close before Gordon was off of it, so he had to step lively in order to join John inside. Once it was closed, John let go of the stretcher, which hovered serenely in one place, and took off his gloves. He was out of breath, and his cold fingers fumbled with the harness fastenings. As he and Gordon extricated themselves from their gear, they could feel the pod moving smoothly upwards, and a loud clank sounded to indicate when they were once a part of Thunderbirds Two's smooth belly.

Having divested herself of gloves and harness, Dr. Harrington took a look in at her patient.

"He's awake, and seems to be breathing well," she said, glancing over at John and nodding.

"Let's get him and you up to our sickbay." Scott had stepped into the pod's interior. He took a minute to help John with the last of the clasps before taking the head of the stretcher. "Gordon?"

"Got it." As Gordon passed by John, he clouted his older brother on the shoulder. "Nice work, 'Fram'."

John's face took on a puzzled frown. "'Fram'?"

Gordon said nothing more, just grinned from behind his helmet's face plate as he helped pilot the stretcher onto the lift.

"I c-c-can't believe he s-s-said that." Brains had his glasses off, and he was pressing the heels of each hand into his eyes. "He c-can't possibly mean it. My son..." He broke off the sentence with an almost sob.

Onaha patted his shoulder awkwardly, trying to comfort the engineer. "I'm sure that Mr. Tracy will do all that he can..."

Brains's anguished face hardened into a scowl. "If this had b-been Alan, he w-would have d-d-dropped e-everything..."

"No." Kyrano had silently entered the room, and now spoke, his voice soft but commanding. "He would not shirk his duty to complete a rescue, even were his sons' own lives at stake." He came up beside Brains, who now held his head in his hands. "You know this, Professor Hackenbacker. He has shown you this in the past."

Brains lifted his head. "I've a-also seen h-him d-drop everything and r-run to his son's r-r-rescue – even when that s-son was in o-outer space."

The reminder of the Hood's attack silenced the Malaysian. Tin-Tin piped up. "I'm sure Alan is doing his best to keep Fermat awake, Brains. And... Fermat's tough. A lot tougher than he looks." Her tone was positive, as if no one could gainsay her. "He'll come through this, Brains. You'll see."

Brains's scowl was back. "I h-hope you're r-right, Tin-Tin. I'll s-still have a few w-words for Jeff when he r-returns."

"Everyone secured?" Jeff's voice was unusually taut and his words clipped.

Scott made his way to the co-pilot seat. "Everything's F-A-B, Commander."

"Then let's get out of here."

Thunderbird Two rose swiftly, pivoting as it moved in the direction of the hospital. Scott frowned at the altimeter and speedometer. "You're in a hurry."

Jeff said nothing, just upped their speed and rate of descent by a notch, roaring back into the blizzard, driving Two as if his life depended on it. "Get on the horn to the hospital. ETA: five minutes."

"F-A-B." Scott touched the screens that put him in contact with the hospital. He also made sure Virgil could hear what was going on.

The rear cockpit door opened, and John walked onto the flight deck, taking one of the other seats. "Gordon's staying below with the doctor and company. They'll be ready to move as soon as we arrive."

Jeff acted as if he hadn't heard. "Thunderbird Five from Thunderbird Two."

"Go ahead, Thunderbird Two." Virgil's voice rang out.

"Tell Wharton that our ETA is twenty minutes."

There was a pause, then Virgil said, cautiously, "That's... pushing it, isn't it, Commander?"

"There are lives at stake, Thunderbird Five." Jeff was all business. "Unless you want to tell Brains that we took our own sweet time..."

There was silence in the cockpit, and from Virgil. Scott broke it with, "Coming up on the hospital."

"John, swap places with Scott. Scott, help those folks disembark, as quickly and safely as you can. Five minutes or less, please."

Scott and John exchanged glances as they rose. "F-A-B, Commander," Scott said as he hurried from the cockpit. John slipped into the co-pilot position, logging himself in at that station, and keeping an eye on communications.

Thunderbird Two swooped into the parking lot far faster than John thought was safe. Jeff brought the cargo carrier down as close to the hospital's emergency entrance as he could. At their arrival, several well-bundled figures hurried from the building, converging on the Thunderbird. A smaller group was braving the cold and wind – Lisa Lowe and her camera crew.

"Activating camera fogger," John said, reaching out to toggle that switch. "De-icers at maximum."

"We're ready down here, Commander." Gordon's voice came over the intercom, but Jeff already had Thunderbird Two's chassis pulling away from the pod. Through their own inner cameras, John could see the pod's door opening, and the hospital crew waiting for their patient.

"I'll go with them to bring back the stretcher," Gordon said. John saw him start down the ramp behind Dr. Harrington and her nurses.

"No. Get up here as quickly as you can."

"What?" Gordon stopped and looked upward. "But the stretcher..."

"Leave it. It's not important." Jeff hadn't shut down the engines completely and was already powering up the VTOL jets. He nodded at John. "Shut that pod door."

"F-A-B." John's hands moved across the controls on the panels before him. On screen, the door was rising, pulling upright, with Gordon moving off the ramp just in time. "Door is fully closed. Lowering over the pod, now."

As soon as Jeff heard the tell-tale sound that meant the pod was secure, and even before John could report to him that it was, he had Thunderbird Two airborne. Scott and Gordon came onto the flight deck, the former rubbing an elbow.

"That was a pretty quick take-off, Dad," Scott said as he sat behind Jeff and to his right. "Caught me off-guard."

"Why did we leave the stretcher behind?" Gordon asked, frowning. He took the seat behind John. "You're always such a stickler for keeping track of the equipment."

"It's expendable." Jeff's tone was curt. "We have something more important to think about right now."

Gordon shot a look at his oldest brother, who said quietly, "Fermat."

"Yes. Fermat." Jeff's tone was not only curt but grim. "Thunderbird Five from Thunderbird Two. An update, please."

Virgil looked frazzled."Alan's still talking to Fermat, but from what I'm hearing, Fermat's barely hanging on. I have no idea what's going on with the roommate; Alan only knows about him from Fermat's response." He shook his head. "It doesn't sound good, Dad."

"F-A-B, Virgil." Jeff considered for a moment, then asked, "Can we get some visual on the situation? Try to scope out the problem en route?"

Virgil sounded triumphant. "Already got it, Commander. Downloading information right now."

"We should probably bring Brains in on this," John quietly said. "He'll know best how to handle removing the tree."

Jeff was silent, and John figured that he hadn't been heard. "Dad, we should..."

Jeff raised a hand. "I heard you the first time, John, and I agree." The commander's shoulders heaved with his heavy sigh. "I'm just not looking forward to the conversation, that's all." He nodded toward the console.

One of the video screens came up with Mr. Magnuson's recording. "I told them to cut a six to eight foot length on the sides about halfway up. They'd already been cutting along the top and bottom."

"That might be enough..." Jeff shook his head. "Let's get an expert opinion on this." He called to the sons sitting behind him. "Gordon, Scott, get your snow gear on. I'm sure we'll be out in it at some point tonight." Then, he turned to John. "John, get me Command and Control. Time to face the music."

"Brrr!" Mr. Magnuson slid into the firetruck's cab again. He pulled his thick scarf away from his reddened nose and mouth, smiling as widely as cold muscles would let him. "You are officially a hero, Alan Tracy. The Thunderbirds are on their way." Taking off his gloves, he began rubbing his hands over the dashboard heater.

Alan grinned. "Wow!" He turned to his watch. "Did you hear that, Fermat? The Thunderbirds are coming!"

Fermat's pale face slowly screwed up into a frown. "Th-Th-Thunderbirds? D-Dad? Is my d-dad c-c-c-c-coming?"

Alan's eyes widened, and he thought fast and hard. "Whoa! Dude! I said the Thunderbirds, not your dad!" He turned to Mr. Magnuson with a worried frown, murmuring, "He's worse than I thought."

The security chief smiled slightly, his bushy, wet eyebrow rising in concert. "Almost every boy thinks his dad is a hero. I'll pass along the information, though, and see if they can't put on a little more speed." With a sigh, he put his gloves back on. "I'd better get back out there. They want us to cut some more branches off for whatever they plan on doing." He poked Alan with a thick, wet finger, then pointed to the watch. "You keep up your end of things here."

"Yes, sir!"

The door opened, bringing in the arctic blast once more, then Mr. Magnuson was gone again. Alan turned back to the watch. "Dude! That was a close call."

"D-Dad?"

"Your dad's gonna be helping, I'm sure, Fermat. Just hang in there, buddy. The Thunderbirds are on their way to save the day."

When Fermat did not respond, Alan put his fingers in his mouth and tried to whistle. But it was a skill he had never really developed, despite his brothers having tried to teach it to him more than once. Instead, he tried to whistle as loudly as he could using the way he did know. It made Fermat blink and scowl.

"You d-d-didn't have to d-d-d-do that. It h-hurt."

"Good!" Alan said with satisfaction. "You have to stay awake. Yell at A.J. for me."

He got a mumbled call in response. "You call that yelling? Try again."

Fermat's next attempt was somewhat louder, but not enough to suit Alan. "Never mind, dude, I'll do it." He got close to the microphone and shouted, "Hey, A.J.! You out there?"

"Ow!" Fermat complained. "A-A-Alan!"

"Well, at least you're not in dreamland anymore. Did A.J. yell back?"

"I th-think so." Fermat's voice petered out into a slurred mutter.

"C'mon, Fermat. Stay with me here! They're coming! The Thunderbirds are coming!" Underneath the frantic verbal call was a fervent shout of another kind. C'mon, Dad. Hurry up! We're running outta time!

"Command and C-Control here, Thunderbird T-Two." Brains's brittle, no-nonsense tone rang through the cockpit, and his tight-lipped scowl filled a viewscreen.

Jeff took in a deep breath. "Brains, I..."

"Later, C-Commander. After the b-b-boys are safe."

The abrupt dismissal took the wind out of Jeff's sails. "F-A-B. Have you seen the vid?"

"Y-Yes. You'll n-need to clear branches off f-further up the t-tree, n-nearer the c-crown. The laser c-cutters will make short w-work of that. The c-clamps should suffice to p-pull the t-tree out, but you w-won't be able to c-carry it m-much of anywhere with the weight d-distribution you'll h-have. Be sure to t-take it out at the s-s-same angle it went in. Th-Then just pivot it at the b-base, and d-drop it at the end of the d-dorm. Wharton c-can cl-clear it from their dr-drive." The last bit was spat out in the most bitter tone Jeff had ever heard Brains use, but he didn't dare ask after it right now.

"Sounds like a plan, Brains. Thanks. Thunderbird Five, did you get that?"

"F-A-B, and I've already sent the information on to Wharton. What's your ETA?"

"ETA is about 30 seconds, Thunderbird Five." Jeff was already cutting back on Two's speed, powering down horizontal thrust, powering up vertical engines. A final banking turn, and they could see the bright lights that surrounded their target. He guided the cargo carrier into a crawling glide over the dorm quadrangle, sending the other trees into stiff paroxysms, knocking more snow-laden branches to the white blanket below. Cutting the back-draft to minimum, he brought Thunderbird Two to a majestic hover just short of Maplewood.

"John, your snow gear again, and pull out the new camera. You won't be able to use it outside with this wind, but you might find it of help inside the dorm. Gordon, Scott, the laser cutters. Take the rescue capsule down, and release it. I'll get the grabs ready." He turned his command chair around to face his retreating sons. "Be careful. Especially you, Gordon. You've all been on campus recently, and Gordon... you were most recently a student. Avoid people as much as possible."

"F-A-B." "Yes, sir!" "F-A-B, Commander."

With their acknowledgments, the Tracy sons hurried from the cockpit, and Jeff turned back to his piloting.

On the ground, above the wind's howl and whine, Alan heard the familiar sound of Thunderbird Two's approach. He couldn't see it from where he sat until the mighty green prow edged beyond the trees. The knot of worry that had kept him bitter company since he had heard the news of Maplewood's disaster untangled entirely. He had never seen Thunderbird Two, and his father, and his brothers, through the eyes of someone waiting for them, someone praying they'd come, watching with growing anticipation for their arrival. But now he did. Now he realized just how much more than physical rescue they carried with them. The relief he felt brought tears to his eyes, and his voice caught as he shouted into his watch, "Fermat! They're here! The Thunderbirds are here!" He whooped, and punched the air... the motion ended with him calling, "Ow!" and shaking the hand that had hit a strut in the firetruck's cab. He glanced at his watch to see Fermat's reaction, and found his screen full of static. "Damn! Did I break it?" A moment's thought, and he realized, "The camera fogger. I can't see Fermat any more!"

Inside, Fermat heard Alan's shout before the picture was abruptly cut off. A smile spread across his cold face, but his muddled thinking still made him think that his father was among the rescuers. He raised his voice, directing it toward A.J.

"D'yah h-hear that, A.J.? Th' Thunderbirds are h-h-h-here! M'Dad's here t-t-t-to r-rescue us!"

A.J. had heard the engines rumbling above the wind, and knew something was going on, but it was getting hard for him to think, too. All he got out of Fermat's slurred shout were the words "Thunderbirds" and "Dad". In his dazed mind, it translated a bit differently, and he muttered to himself, through still-chattering teeth, "Wha's my D-D-Dad d-doin' wit' the Thunderbirds?"