John Tracy really hated Halloween.

Not just in a mild dislike way. Not just in a righteous religious way. Not even in a commercialisation-is-evil way.

What he hated was that it was the one day of the year which sent Thunderbird Five's disaster-filtering systems completely haywire.

The rest of the time, the software worked beautifully. It knew which were the news channels and which the entertainment ones, so it could ignore anything likely to be broadcasting pictures of disaster based on great special effects, or to have voices whose tones were in the panic spectrum because of good acting. As Brains had pointed out when he'd first been stressing out over what to do about disaster reports so serious they were broadcast on all channels, anything that bad would be on the news channels too.

On Halloween, none of his careful algorithms worked. Suddenly half the news channels on the planet were cheerfully running items featuring gore, and serious injuries, and screaming children. Every time, the alarms went off. Every one had to be checked by a human and confirmed as real or a false alarm.

He hadn't made a mistake yet. But at one point last year, he'd been dealing with a new alert every few seconds, some of them in languages he hardly recognised.

And yesterday there had been a news item about how the Halloween tradition was spreading to more countries than ever before. Everyone was playing the game, apparently. Running and screaming and pretending to be terrified or badly hurt. What was the matter with their stupid parents? College students were even worse, with ever more sophisticated themed parties. What on earth was entertaining about spending the evening pretending to be dead or dying?

He'd called the island and discussed it with Alan. Alan had laughed and told him to wind the sensitivity of the filters up. And he was right. Probably. They'd had very, very few real rescues which had only scored at the same level as most Halloween news items.

But not zero. And one of them had been a fire where time had been absolutely crucial. Virgil had emerged from the burning building, one kid under each arm and a third clinging to his back, as the roof collapsed behind him.

If they'd waited. If he hadn't picked up on that first, only slightly worried, news report. If it had been another five minutes until they'd launched…

"No," he said out loud, even though his only audience was the console. He'd leave the settings as they were. He'd never forgive himself if he changed them and missed a cry for help.

He checked the clock. Still early evening on the thirtieth, for Tracy Island and therefore for him, but on the other side of the dateline it was mid afternoon on the thirty-first. Excited children all over the western Pacific were preparing to have fun by pretending to be terrified or badly hurt.

When the radio buzzed, John jumped so hard that his chest hurt. Get a grip, he told himself. It's not even an alarm. He forced his shoulders down, and hit the response switch.

Scott, wearing his field commander face, the 'concerned about you' variant. John tried to slouch casually, but he'd never been able to fool his eldest brother.

"Alan's worried about you," Scott said bluntly. "Since Alan's never worried about anyone, I thought I'd check you out. I can see why."

"I'm fine."

"John, your heart's going so fast I can see the pulse in your throat."

"You made me jump, that's all."

"Really."

"Alan's confused."

"Sure he is."

"I…"

Scott sighed. "Father's in a teleconference, Alan's taken Tin-Tin to a massive Halloween party in LA, Gordon and Virgil are out snorkelling. It's just you and me. Let's hear it."

"There's nothing to hear. It's false alarm night, that's all."

"Alan says you could tune them out."

"Alan doesn't…" John stopped. Alan did care. But Alan's personal line of 'so unlikely it's not worth worrying about' was in a different place.

"I don't like making mistakes," he said instead. "Halloween…there are so many alarms. I'm not exactly Mr Snap Decision."

Scott grimaced. "No, you're not, and nobody thinks that's a bad thing. Dammit, John, I wish you'd said something earlier. It's too late to alter the rotation now."

"I'll be fine."

"I know you will. But you shouldn't be this unhappy."

"It's thirty hours. You're all unhappy for longer than that on a regular basis."

"We so aren't turning this into another discussion of whether you pull your weight." Scott's face wore his 'I'm thinking' expression. Off-screen, John suspected he was drumming his fingers on Jeff's desk. "Okay. I'll keep my IR communicator on me until Halloween's over everywhere. If you get overwhelmed, you call me."

"I don't need –"

"That's an order, John. If you're making snap decisions you're not confident in, you need a second brain involved. If you'd rather someone other than me, say. I won't be offended."

Virgil was even less comfortable making snap decisions than John was. Gordon simply didn't have the experience anywhere other than underwater. John nodded. "I'd rather it was you."

"That's sorted, then. Get some rest, and if you need me or you just want to talk, you know where I am."

The screen faded to black, and John took a shuddering breath. Scott knew. Hadn't laughed. Hadn't dismissed it as paranoia. And hadn't said he needed to be relieved.

And Scott was right. He should have said something sooner. Next year, maybe they could schedule the changeover around the end of October. Have two of them up here for a day and a half instead of the normal few hours. Alan would be pissed he couldn't take Tin-Tin celebrity-watching, but that was too bad.

The alarm went off for real, and he gulped. Plenty of time, he told himself. And, if you're not sure, if they start flooding in, just page Scott.

It was a little Asian girl, fake vampire fangs dripping red liquid, chasing her 'terrified' parents round the yard. The slightly bemused voiceover was explaining in Cantonese that this was a Western custom of great antiquity and reverence. John found himself smiling. Not quite.

Maybe Halloween wouldn't be so bad after all. He could do this.

And then the alarm went off five times in quick succession.