WITHIN A DREAM by TB's LMC RATED FRT

A painting that changes. Visions of an ethereal woman. A rescue gone wrong. Suddenly Virgil Tracy isn't sure what's real...and what's not.

Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
--Edgar Allan Poe

It was beautiful. It was colorful. It was...

"Finally. Finished."

The chestnut-haired man placed his brush and palette down on the nearby table. He backed away slightly, studying his handiwork with a critical eye borne of years' worth of training, practice and experience. All at once his eyes lighted upon something and narrowed. He cocked his head and moved to the left and then to the right. He stepped back, and then moved closer to the easel.

Reaching down for his palette, his burnt honey eyes never moved from what he had seen. He dabbed the brush into a mixture of brown and black, reached out with his hand and made two tiny, barely-there swipes. His eyes widened to their normal size as the palette found the table again. Once more he stepped away and gazed upon his creation. It was beautiful. She was beautiful.

He had done it. He had recreated the woman he'd been seeing in his dreams for almost three months. Every night. Every goddamn night she'd been there. He'd no sooner close his eyes than she would appear. He had no idea who she was. He was certain he'd never met her in person. Yet she haunted him night after night after night. And now she was haunting his days as well.

On rescue, he'd see her standing in the flames of a burning building. Or just beyond his reach in a collapsing mine shaft. Or on the wing of a crashing airplane. When he was alone flying Thunderbird 2, he'd see movement out the corner of his eye and turn to find her sitting in one of the passenger seats. Then he'd blink and she'd be gone. Every time, she'd be gone. So far, he hadn't confided this secret to anyone, but the lack of sleep and distractions while working were beginning to take their toll.

Virgil Tracy wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this mysterious dream woman a secret. He didn't realize that he wasn't going to have much say in the matter.

It was dark. So dark he couldn't see his hand in front of his face. Suddenly there was a mysterious pearl blue glow that grew brighter and brighter until it blinded him. He cringed, throwing an arm across his eyes to shield him from the brilliance. At last the light died down and when he uncovered and opened his eyes, there she was. Her pure white hair shimmered down to her waist. Her eyes were cerulean blue, large, opened wide and beckoning him. Her skin was tanned, her body picture perfect as the sheer robes of periwinkle draping her body fluttered in a breeze he could not feel.

She was the most exquisite creature he had ever laid eyes on. And Virgil had seen his fair share of beauties. Being rich, gorgeous and single had seen to that. A few silver rings adored her fingers and bare toes. Silver bracelets and anklets seemed to float around her wrists and ankles rather than simply lie against her skin. She raised one hand and beckoned him, silently requesting that he follow her. He took a moment to look at their surroundings. They were in a cave of some sort. It slanted downward ever so slightly, stalactites and stalagmites dotting the floor and ceiling.

He looked at the woman again. Her back was now turned to him. She was walking away. Walking down through the cave. But to where? In every dream it was the same. She would lead and he would follow. They would walk for what seemed like hours upon end until at last they came to an opening that glowed the same pearl blue as when she appeared to him. It would blind him, and he would cover his eyes. And when he would open them...the woman, the cave, the glow...it would all be gone and he would be left lying in bed, sweat pouring down his temples, streaming off his taught muscular arms and chest.

Tonight was no different. He sighed as he used the sheet to wipe his forehead. In the moonlit shadows of his room, he could almost hear something...something calling to him. He heard it every time, but could never discern words...only a consciousness. He knew it had to be her. But to truly admit that to himself would mean admitting she wasn't just a dream...not something his mind had simply conjured up in response to raging male hormones. It would mean she was real.

And he wasn't ready to admit that to himself or anyone else.

The next morning found Virgil yawning uncontrollably as he forced himself out of bed. He'd promised Brains a hand with some modifications to Thunderbird 2, and Brains was always an early bird. Virgil slammed his open palm down on the incessantly buzzing alarm clock and rubbed his eyes, trying to get them to focus on things that looked like red fuzzies but were, in actuality, numbers telling him it was 6:00 a.m. Groaning, he hauled himself out of bed and by the time he reached the bathroom, had lost his sweat shorts to the carpeted floor.

He sighed as he relieved himself, and then turned to start the shower running. He leaned against the wall, sticking his hand under the strong stream of water at odd intervals until at last he was pleased with the moderately hot, stinging sensation. He knew that a brisk shower would go a long way toward waking him up, and he really needed his wits about him to work with Brains. Geniuses were difficult enough to deal with when you'd had a full eight hours of sleep. But when you hadn't slept a night through in eight weeks...it didn't bode well for your mental fitness.

After washing himself, he stayed under the water a few more minutes, letting it revive his tired muscles and metaphorically cleanse his weary soul. At last he felt fairly ready to take on the world, and turned the water off. Droplets fell from hair plastered to his head as he stepped out of the shower into the bathroom. He grabbed a thick, white towel and rubbed his head, arms and chest, then wrapped the towel around his waist, tucking a corner to keep it in place. He shaved and brushed his teeth, then headed out into the bedroom proper.

Virgil stopped dead in his tracks. He couldn't believe his eyes. The painting. The painting had changed.

She was still there, but...he had painted her walking on a path through a beautiful green forest. Tall trees of every kind and bushy undergrowth had surrounded her. But now? Now she was sitting on a tree stump in a clearing surrounded by the very forest she'd been walking through just the night before. Jaw dropping, he made his way over to the easel and reached a tentative hand out to touch it. The paint was dry. The ridges and crevasses of his brush strokes were familiar to his fingertips, but he knew he had not painted this scene. It looked like his work, but it couldn't be. It just couldn't!

"I'm losing my mind."

The day passed without incident. The modifications and computer upgrades to Thunderbird 2 had taken all morning and a good portion of the afternoon. While Virgil and Brains had been busy with that, John had taken a trip to Auckland, taking Gordon with him. They would not return until the next day.

Scott and Jeff had been doing paperwork, mostly, that horrid mess of records and briefs that every organization had to keep. They'd both been neglecting it for far too long, and first thing in the morning, Jeff had declared the day to be Paperwork Day. Scott had grumbled good-naturedly about the whole thing, but had actually enjoyed the time with his father. When 7:00 p.m. rolled around, though, no one was happier that the paperwork was done than Scott.

Kyrano and Tin-Tin had spent the day together working on an experiment that involved several different varieties of plants Kyrano had cultivated by grafting different species together to create whole new ones. The intent was to create something of medicinal value, something natural that could coagulate and seal a wound within hours instead of the days usually required for healing when using syntheskin. They'd had an enjoyable time of it, and were now assisting Grandma Tracy with getting dinner on the table.

At precisely 7:15 p.m., the eyes in one of the video portraits hanging on the wall of the Tracy Villa Lounge began to blink as the notification beep sounded in time. Having just returned from his suite, Jefferson Tracy, patriarch of the Tracy family, walked to his desk and opened the communication line to his youngest son. The still image of Alan Tracy disappeared, to be replaced by his live countenance transmitted through space from International Rescue's space station.

"This is International Rescue Base. Go ahead, Thunderbird 5."

"Space rescue, Dad. Two astronauts were dismantling the old international space station when one of the oxygen tanks blew."

Jeff frowned. "Not Blaine and Thatcher."

His son nodded. "Mark Blaine is fine; he was on the other side of the station. But Shauna Thatcher was right near the tank when it went. She's been thrown clear and is free-floating. The shuttle can't reach their location for another three hours."

"How's her air holding up?"

"She's only got about 50 minutes left."

"Okay. Are you in contact with them?"

"Yes, Father."

"Keep Thatcher talking. I'll send Scott and Virgil up right away."

"Virgil?"

"John's in New Zealand with Gordon. Looks like Virgil's going to get his first space rescue in a long time. Keep me informed. Base out."

Jeff pressed a button on a console behind his desk. An alarm began wailing throughout the island, calling the members of International Rescue into the heart of Base Control, a seemingly innocent-looking Lounge, except for the five video portraits lining the wall...portraits showing five handsome young men, all dressed in International Rescue uniforms.

Tin-Tin, Kyrano and Grandma were the first to arrive, followed by Brains and Virgil, and finally Scott who, it was evident, had been in the middle of taking a shower. Jeff explained the situation to them, and within minutes, Scott and Virgil had seated themselves upon a couch that sat facing Jeff's desk. Jeff pressed a button and wished his sons luck. Slowly the couch began to descend through the floor on a hydraulic ram, down many hundreds of feet until at last it clicked into place on a flatbed trolley.

The trolley began to move, taking Scott and Virgil into a long access tunnel that led to the launch bay of Thunderbird 3, International Rescue's space rocket. At 287 feet high, the sheer size and beauty of the craft never ceased to amaze Scott, who'd piloted and co-piloted her more times than he could count. Adrenaline pumped through Virgil's veins as they neared the underside of the gigantic ship. He hadn't been on a space rescue in at least a year. He was really looking forward to it.

The trolley came to a stop, and the ram raised the couch upward through the airlock doors into the entry tunnel. It moved up and up, then halted and locked into place on Thunderbird 3's lounge deck. The men came to their feet. Virgil headed for a nearby chair as Scott strode to the turbo lift.

"Take up launch positions," Scott said, though it wasn't necessary. He and Virgil both knew where they had to be, but it was a tradition, rather like saying F.A.B. whenever they wanted to acknowledge something, whether it was while they were on duty, or just at home in their off hours.

"F.A.B.," Virgil replied. He seated himself and strapped in as his older brother disappeared into the turbo lift. Before long he heard the chemical rockets fire. The ship shuddered and then began to move upward through the silo, up through the middle of the roundhouse and into the blue sky dotted with wisps of white clouds. Higher and higher they rose through the troposphere, the stratosphere, the ozone layer, the mesosphere and into the outer layer of Earth's atmosphere, the ionosphere.

While Virgil sat in the Lounge eagerly anticipating this mission, Scott was in the Control Room working at putting on his uniform. Certain things had changed since eight years ago when he'd gone on his first rescue to save Fireflash; one of the most notable was International Rescue's standard uniform. The bright blue color of the original ones they'd worn had proven far too inconvenient in terms of how dirty they'd get on the job, and the sashes were inhibiting. The thing that had made them all agree to change uniform style, however, had been a harrowing experience five months previous.

Two steel workers had become trapped beneath a large metal stamping machine. It had jammed, sparing them from being squashed like bugs. But there was no way to get them out of there using conventional methods, and so International Rescue had been called to the scene. Alan, suffering from a sprained ankle received on their previous rescue, had been forced to say home, and Gordon had taken their grandmother to New Zealand for the day. It had seemed simple enough for Scott and Virgil to handle alone, but Brains had come along as well to help out.

Brains and Virgil figured out a way to get down to the trapped men. Virgil piloted the Mole, with Scott as his copilot and extra pair of hands. Brains stayed topside to monitor the stamping arm of the machine so he could give ample warning if it were to let loose and continue down its fourteen-foot shaft to the empty vat below. The Mole had reached the vat in no time. Virgil and Scott each hauled a man into the gigantic drilling machine, and Virgil started her engine as Scott ran back for the third man.

The arm had begun inching downward, but Brains had calculated there'd be enough time for Scott to rescue the third victim and for the Mole to escape back into its tunnel before the arm reached them. What none of them realized was that the platform mechanism that would lift the formed, cooled steel upwards once the stamping had been completed was also malfunctioning. As Scott hoisted the semi-conscious man into a fireman's carry, the platform began to rise.

Adrenaline racing through his body, Scott sprinted to the Mole and pretty much threw the man into Virgil's waiting arms just as the platform reached the bottom of the Mole's rear entry hatch. Scott grabbed a bar near the top of the hatch and swung his feet and body into the Mole. But he was not out of danger. The portion of the sash that rested on his left shoulder caught on one of the small hooks on the outside rim of the platform, the hooks that would clamp it into place when it reached the main floor of the factory.

He heard Virgil yell. He heard himself yell. Then he felt Virgil's hands on his sash, yanking, pulling, twisting it, trying everything he could as Scott's shoulder and arm moved up with the platform while his body and head stayed inside the Mole. If he leapt back out onto the platform, he'd be crushed when it reached the stamping arm. If he stayed in the Mole, he would lose his arm and a good portion of his shoulder. He heard Brains yelling through the Mole's com panel and Virgil's continued cries of panic mingled with his own.

By luck, good fortune or powers greater than he, Virgil managed to rip Scott's sash from his body just in time for Scott to slip his arm into the Mole. For long minutes, neither of them moved. Badly shaken, it was all Scott could do to take the time to check their passengers before strapping himself in for the ride back to the surface. Virgil's ashen face told him exactly how distressing it had been for his brother as well.

And so Virgil had insisted to their father that the uniforms they wore were not only highly impractical, but also far too visible to the public and dangerous to their very lives. Jeff, his sons, Brains and Tin-Tin had all agreed. And so it was that their new uniforms had been created, and the old ones stored away, never to be used again.

Now, as Thunderbird 3 moved closer and closer to space, Scott removed his shorts, t-shirt and flip-flops and picked up his new uniform, admiring once again its simplicity and utility. They should've worn stuff like this all along. It sure made them all feel less ‘girlie', as Gordon had put it.

It was a one-piece jumpsuit, rather like the flight suits worn by Air Force pilots, which is where Jeff and Scott had gotten the idea. It was a dark blue-gray color and zipped up the front from crotch to neck. On the upper left chest was the embroidered International Rescue logo, the only item that might differentiate them from other rescuers at the scene. And instead of the light-blue boots with colored stripes that had proven nearly impossible to keep clean, they all wore black boots. No stripes. Anywhere.

After all, as John had put it, did they need color-coding to identify one another? Alan had snickered and replied, "Only if we're all drunk." Brains had matter-of-factly pointed out that the colors only made the individuals easier to identify to the outside world, a point well taken by Jeff, who decided that colorful uniforms were indeed not necessary.

Besides, Scott thought with a smile, the striped boots made Virgil giggle. A giggling Virgil was highly amusing. The first time he'd seen them, he'd gone into peals of laughter, much to his father's consternation. He'd been pretty much able to control his mirth from that point on, but would still sometimes laugh with Scott about how silly the whole idea of striped boots was. Leave it to Ruth Tracy and Tin-Tin Kyrano to design a somewhat less-than-manly uniform, they would say.

Just as Scott finished zipping up his uniform, the turbo lift door opened to reveal his brother, who headed for the uniform storage unit and grabbed his out of it. He pulled his t-shirt off over his head and dropped his shorts to the floor. Removing his tennis shoes, he slipped into the uniform and zipped it up, then stepped into his boots. Then he smiled as he turned to face Scott.

"You know, I kinda miss my yellow stripes."

Scott couldn't help but laugh as he seated himself at the Control Panel. Virgil came to rest in the chair next to him as Scott turned on the plasma video screen in front of them. Now they were all business.

"Thunderbird 3 to Thunderbird 5."

"Reading you strength five, Scott."

"Alan, we're about to leave Earth's atmosphere. Feed me Thatcher's coordinates so I can figure the fastest way to her."

"F.A.B. Transmitting now."

Scott and Virgil watched as a dot, representing astronaut Shauna Thatcher, appeared on video screen grid. To the far left was a red dot surrounded by a red circle, which represented Thunderbird 3. The computer worked for a few seconds, then in the upper right hand corner of the screen, displayed the heading and course Scott would need to lay in to reach the helpless woman in the least amount of time.

"Thanks, Al, I've got it. Laying in course now. How are they doing?"

"Blaine's real shook up over the whole thing, keeps insisting he should've seen it coming. Thatcher's not too bad; actually, she's acting brave. But she's got only forty-two minutes of oxygen left."

"Well, according to ship's computer, we'll reach her in thirty-nine minutes."

"Doesn't leave much of a margin for error," Virgil remarked.

"No, it doesn't," Scott agreed. "But we'll get to her in time. You tell her to hang on, Al. We're on our way."

"F.A.B. Thunderbird 5 out."

"Why don't we get everything ready," Virgil said, rising from his chair. "When the time comes, I'll move 3 as close to Thatcher as I can."

"Right, and I'll wait by the outer airlock door. We'll need every second we can get."

And so they set about getting Scott into a space suit and hooking one end of a twenty-foot tether to its back. It seemed like no time at all had passed before Thunderbird 3 signaled that they were approaching programmed coordinates. Virgil slid into the pilot's chair as Scott entered the airlock. "Good luck!" he called to his older brother.

"Just keep her steady for me, Virg."

"Will do. I've got her in my sights. Estimate two minutes ‘til we're close enough to send you out. Thunderbird 3 calling Thunderbird 5."

"Thunderbird 5 here."

"Alan, patch me into Thatcher's com."

"F.A.B. You're on."

"Shauna Thatcher, this is Thunderbird 3 of International Rescue. We are approaching your location and will be alongside you in less than two minutes."

"Yes," came a soft, tired-sounding voice. "I-I can see you. Hurry...air...running out..."

"Hang on, ma'am, we're nearly there."

Scott held the other end of his tether in his hand, waiting for Virgil to give him the green light. The great rocket slowed, and Virgil maneuvered her so she was alongside the astronaut. At last he powered down and opened another channel. "Okay, Scott. Go."

"F.A.B." Scott opened the outer airlock door and latched the tether onto a U-shaped hook just to its right. He could see Astronaut Thatcher not more than twenty yards away and crouched down at the edge of the hatch, then launched himself in her direction. He reached her within seconds, his body bumping into hers as he wrapped his arms around her. Inside her helmet, auburn hair was plastered in tendrils to her face as sweat poured down her cheeks. Her eyelids were drooping and she was very pale. Scott knew they'd made it just in time.

"I've got you, ma'am. Let's get back in to Thunderbird 3."

She nodded, if only slightly, as Scott pulled them along the tether back to the outer airlock door. He pushed Shauna inside, then turned and unhooked the tether. Once that was inside as well, he closed the outer airlock door and began the decompression sequence. "Okay, Virgil, we're in and she's gonna be okay. Now let's get to the Mir IV and get Blaine outta there."

"F.A.B. Firing chemical rockets now."

Back at the Control Panel, Virgil used the computer to calculate the course he'd need to reach Mir IV. Within minutes, they were on their way.

It took less than fifteen minutes for Thunderbird 3 to arrive at the space station. A short space walk found Astronaut Mark Blaine on board the rescue rocket and strapped securely into a chair on the Lounge deck along with Shauna, who had regained much of her color since being brought aboard. Once Virgil had finished ensuring both passengers were ready to go, Thunderbird 3 headed for a rendezvous with Space Shuttle Nebula. The trip took only twenty minutes.

As Virgil stood in the airlock with the lucky victims, he started to remember why he didn't follow in the footsteps of his father and become an astronaut. He didn't like being enclosed within a space suit. Even though space suits were much less bulky and constrictive than they'd been in his father's day, being confined in any manner was not Virgil's favorite pastime. Soon enough, though, Scott gave him the word and he opened the airlock door.

What he saw almost made his heart stop beating. And then his world went dark.

"What is it, Brains, what's happened?"

"I-It's Virgil, uh, Scott. He's been moving a-and moaning. I-I thought he was gonna come o-out of it, but h-he's still u-unconscious."

Scott sat in a chair next to the hospital bed that had replaced Virgil's normal bed in his room. "Did you tell Dad yet?"

Brains just shook his head no.

"Gimme a minute with him first, Brains."

"Sure thing, uh, Scott. I-If anyone could bring him out of this coma, i-it'd be you."

Scott smiled briefly up at Brains before turning his attention back to his brother. He grabbed his hand and looked into the now-still face of a man he'd been missing terribly for so long. So very long.

"Virg? It's me, Scott. Can you hear me?"

Virgil didn't move.

"Come on, man. Help me out here. You can do it, Virg. You can do it."

Jeff stood with Brains just outside Virgil's door. "This is the first hope we've had in three months, Brains. Did he say anything?"

"No, Sir, just, uh, moaning and tossing h-his head. Scott's with him, uh, now."

"I was glad the hospital let us bring him home last month, but if he's going to come out of this coma, maybe that's where he should be."

"We're e-equipped quite well for a-any eventuality, uh, Mr. Tracy."

"I know, Brains. I know. I just...it's been three months, Brains. Three months without him."

Just then the door swished open. Scott managed a small smile for his father.

"Son? Anything?"

Scott just shook his head, disappointment evident on his face. "I have to...I'll be back," he said, pushing his way past the two men.

Jeff entered and seated himself in the chair at Virgil's bedside. As his eldest had before him, he grasped Virgil's hand tightly. "Come on, Son," he said softly, staring at his unmoving face. "Come on out of it. You can do it. We need you back. I need you back."

Moments of silence passed as Brains rechecked Virgil's vital signs. Finally Jeff leaned back in the chair, never loosening his grip on his son's hand.

"Where do you think he is, Brains?"

"I-It's hard to say, Mr. Tracy. There i-isn't much scientific data to e-explain where a patient's mind goes when they're comatose. H-He could be dreaming, o-or he could just be in, uh, limbo."

"Dreaming," Jeff said softly. "I wonder what he could be dreaming about."

"Virg, wake up. Come on, wake up!"

Virgil groaned and mumbled, "Knock it off," as he fought to open his eyes.

"He's coming to, Brains."

"O-Okay. Let me, uh, get a handle o-on his vitals."

Virgil fought through the cloud in his mind. He could hear monitors and whispered voices. With Brains checking on him, that meant he was in Tracy Island's hospital ward. What had happened? They'd been in space, on a rescue. They were just transporting the victims...just about to move them to the shuttle...

He cried out, sitting bolt upright in bed. The IV in his arm was ripped away and blood began trickling to the floor. His arms and legs flailed for purchase. Soon he felt strong hands on both arms, and hands on his legs.

"Virgil! Calm down! Lay down this instant!"

"Father! She was there! She was there!"

"Virg, come on, man, relax."

"Scott! You saw her, didn't you??? You saw her! You had to!"

"Saw who?" Scott asked as his brother finally collapsed back into bed.

"The woman! The woman from my painting! She was there! She was there, right outside the hatch! What happened to her?"

Brains reinserted the IV line as Scott replied, "Virg, I didn't see anyone outside the hatch. Our cameras didn't pick up anything except you getting cold-cocked by the hatch of the Nebula when it came off."

"Hatch? Came off? What're you talkin' about?" Virgil searched his brother's cobalt eyes. He was thoroughly confused. What was going on?

"You don't remember?"

Virgil shook his head.

"The Nebula got sideswiped by a piece of debris from the Mir IV. When they opened their hatch to accept the astronauts, it came right off its hinges and hit you square in the head. You've been unconscious for almost a month."

Closing his eyes, Virgil tried to get his ragged breathing under control as Brains injected something into his IV bag. "A month. I didn't see a hatch," he said, his voice a near-whisper. "All I saw was her."

"You said something about a woman from your painting?" Jeff asked.

Virgil nodded. He hadn't noticed his dad standing on the other side of the bed.

"What painting, son?"

"In my room," Virgil mumbled as the sedative Brains had administered began to take effect. "In my bedroom...painting...keeps changing..."

Scott and Jeff just looked at each other. In an attempt to ease their minds, Brains said, "Y-You know, with that nasty bump o-on his head, i-it's possible he's just, uh, confused."

"Yeah, it is," Scott replied. "But I'd like to see this painting all the same. Virg hadn't been himself even before that rescue. Maybe it's got something to do with whatever's wrong."

"I agree we should check it out," Jeff said. "He seemed pretty agitated about it."

With that, the two men left the hospital ward. Brains watched them go, then set about smoothing the sheets covering Virgil's body. "A-Alright now, uh, Virgil. Just rest. Y-You'll be fine a-after you get a good night's sleep."

"I still don't think it was the right thing to do. We've all gotten hurt before. Why would this time suddenly make Dad do what he did?"

Gordon placed a hand on his younger brother's shoulder. "He just couldn't stand it anymore, us nearly dying so many times. This time he thought he'd lost Virgil for good. That did it."

"Do you think Scott had a say in it? ‘Cause we sure didn't."

"Probably, Al. I know they talked for days before Dad finally gathered us all together and told us he was shutting International Rescue down indefinitely."

"John's only been home three days since he came back from 5."

"I know. He's taking this whole thing really hard. I guess he just can't be here on the island right now."

"If Scott didn't have Virg to worry about, he'd probably be going nuts. But now that Virgil's coming out of the woods, Dad'll start us back up again, won't he?"

Gordon didn't answer. He couldn't. He had no idea what their father would do.

"Gordo?"

"I wish I knew the answer to that, Al. I wish I knew."

"The painting looks pretty normal to me," Jeff said as he and Scott stood in front of the easel in Virgil's bedroom.

"I wonder who it is. She's beautiful."

"I don't know. You don't recognize her?"

Scott shook his head. "He said it kept changing. I wonder what he meant."

"Maybe after he's rested he can tell us. In the meantime, we ought to get something to eat. Come on."

Scott turned and followed his father from the bedroom into the sitting room. As Jeff walked into the hallway, Scott glanced back at the painting. The woman, seated on a fallen tree over a small creek, really was beautiful. And mysterious-looking. She almost seemed like she was hiding something.

"Scott? You coming?"

"Yeah, Dad. I'm coming."

The door slid shut behind them, leaving Virgil's room empty and silent, as it had been for nearly a month now. The painting sat upon its easel, showing a fallen tree stump over the creek.

But had Scott or Jeff come back into the room, they would no longer have seen the woman. For she was gone.

It was dark. So dark he couldn't see his hand in front of his face. Suddenly there was a mysterious pearl blue glow that grew brighter and brighter until it blinded him. He cringed, throwing an arm across his eyes to shield him from the brilliance. At last the light died down and when he uncovered and opened his eyes, there she was. Her pure white hair shimmered down to her waist. Her eyes were cerulean blue, large, opened wide and beckoning him. Her skin was tanned, her body picture perfect as the sheer robes of periwinkle draping her body fluttered in a breeze he could not feel.

A few silver rings adored her fingers and bare toes. Silver bracelets and anklets seemed to float around her wrists and ankles rather than simply lie against her skin. She raised one hand and beckoned him, silently requesting that he follow her. He took a moment to look at their surroundings. They were in a cave of some sort. It slanted downward ever so slightly, stalactites and stalagmites dotting the floor and ceiling.

He looked at the woman again. Her back was now turned to him. She was walking away. Walking down through the cave. But to where? She led and he followed. They walked for what seemed like hours upon end until at last they came to an opening that glowed the same pearl blue as when she appeared to him. It blinded him, and he covered his eyes.

But this time, he didn't wake up.

Removing his arm from his eyes, Virgil entered a small room. The woman was on the far side, beyond a shimmering pool of water that sat in the center, cradled within a bowl-shaped bit of rock that was elevated on stalagmite standing nearly five feet tall. The woman pointed at the water and waved her hand at Virgil, silently asking him to come nearer.

He found his feet carrying him to the stalagmite. He looked at the woman, and she looked at him. Then her eyes traveled to the blue water. His followed. What he saw took his breath away. A picture had appeared from nowhere, shimmering to life on the top of the liquid. It was a beautiful city made of gold, covered by something that looked like a glass bubble.

The city was deep beneath the sea. He could see creatures swimming to and from it, but could not make out what they were. A bluish light emanated from the bubble's surface, and then the picture zoomed in, focusing on one of the creatures. Virgil gasped. It was clearly a man...a man who looked just like the woman standing before him...only he didn't have legs. He had fins.

A mer-man.

He looked up at her, mouth hanging open in disbelief. The city of gold disappeared. In its place now stood a picture of Thunderbird 2. The great green ship had clearly not been used in a long time. Virgil frowned, not understanding. 2 disappeared and was replaced by Thunderbird 1, also looking dusty and unused. Then Thunderbirds 3 and 5. All looked as though their engines hadn't been fired up in years.

Then Thunderbird 4 appeared. She, too, had been lying dormant for some time. Suddenly the image winked out, and the gold city returned. There was a small submarine next to the bubble. The sub fired a torpedo, hitting the bubble surrounding the city. Virgil could hear screaming as water poured into the city. Fires sprouted from explosions but were drowned just as quickly as they started.

Horrified, Virgil was glued to the vision before him. Hundreds upon thousands of the mer-creatures died as the bubble crashed into their world like falling concrete. Those that did escape were rounded up by more submarines which appeared on the scene. Virgil felt himself beginning to panic at the sheer loss of life, even though he didn't know what kind of life it was. He looked up and found silent tears running down the woman's cheeks.

But the woman was no longer standing. She was sitting on the cave floor. Virgil rounded the stalagmite and nearly choked on the gasp that escaped his throat. For the woman no longer had legs. Like the man he'd seen in the pool of water, she was different from the waist on down. She was, as far as he could tell...

"A mermaid?"

The woman turned her sad face toward him and opened her mouth. The sound that came forth deafened him, and he cried out as his hands flew to his ears.

"Mr. Tracy! Get in here right a-away! I-I can't hold him down!"

Jeff and Scott both rose to their feet so quickly that their chairs fell to the floor behind them. They ran full-speed out of the dining room and were at the hospital ward door in less than a minute. They entered to find Virgil screaming at the top of his lungs, his hands covering his ears. He was thrashing about so much that his elbow whacked Brains on the face, knocking him to the floor.

"Virgil!" Scott cried, rushing to his brother's side. Jeff came ‘round to the other side of the bed and helped Brains to his feet. He turned just in time to see Virgil grab Scott's shirt and pull his face down until their noses were almost touching.

Scott's mouth moved but no sound emerged. His brother's eyes were wild and sweat poured from his brow. He'd never seen Virgil like this. Ever.

"Can't...stop..." Virgil gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. "Can't stop...Inter...can't..."

"Son, son, calm down," Jeff soothed, placing his hands on Virgil's shoulders. He pushed him back until his head rested once more on the pillow. But Virgil hadn't lost his grip on Scott's shirt.

"Don't...stop...Scott...keep...rescues...don't...stop..."

Scott looked up at his father. "Did you tell him?"

"No. I don't think anyone has said a word about it around him. Brains?"

Brains was just touching his fingertips to a black and blue area on his cheek where Virgil's elbow had made contact. "I-I didn't, uh, say anything, Sir."

"What about the rescues, Virg?" Scott asked, hands covering Virgil's in an attempt to loosen them.

Virgil opened his eyes again. This time he looked up into his father's face, his eyes wet with unshed tears. "Can't...stop Thunder...birds, Fath-Father...she'll...die..."

With that, Virgil's hands fell away from Scott, his eyes closed, and he went limp on the bed. Brains hurried in to check his pulse, finding it steady and strong.

"She'll die?" Jeff repeated. "Who will?"

Suddenly it dawned on Scott. "The woman," he replied. "The woman in the painting."

"What?" Jeff asked, bewildered.

But Scott was already gone.

Jeff jolted awake, certain he'd heard something. The room was dim, but as he rose to full consciousness, he knew exactly what he'd heard. Moaning. And it had come from Virgil.

Raising the lights, Jeff stood over his son, watching as his head moved from side to side. Virgil's mouth hung open slightly and he moaned. It was the first time he'd seen any signs of life since last week. All he ever did, though, was moan and move his head around. He wouldn't wake up no matter what they tried. The CT scans showed Virgil's brain had returned to fairly normal patterns of activity except that part of which Brains told him dealt with the subconscious. Its activity was off the scale.

They'd even had two specialists come out to the island. As luck would've had it, the rest of his sons had been out on a rescue at the time. The doctors had stayed for five hours, performing every test they could think to perform. For all intents and purposes, they'd decided, Virgil was as healthy as a horse. And yet he still hadn't come out of his coma. They could only guess at why he would moan and move his head, but could come up with no firm answers. They had told Jeff all he could do was wait.

And that's what Jeff had had to tell Scott, Alan and Gordon when they'd returned from the rescue later that night, Alan with two broken legs. There were no answers. No reasons. Virgil Tracy had been comatose for three-and-a-half months, and had been showing these small glimpses of life for two weeks, but other than that, life on Tracy Island and in International Rescue continued on without him. And now without Alan.

Brains and Tin-Tin spent most of their time taking care of the two brothers and trying to come up with new ways to rouse Virgil from his endless sleep. Scott spent all his free time in Virgil's room or the hospital ward with Alan. Gordon, John, Ruth and Kyrano came and went in rotation. Jeff had spent the last couple of weeks in constant vigil over either Virgil's or Alan's beds, more often than not with Scott by his side.

While with Alan they would sometimes sit in silence or play games to keep him occupied, during the long hours spent together in the silence of Virgil's bedroom, the patriarch of the Tracy family and his oldest son had begun to talk. At first they talked of memories, when Virgil and the others were children. Then Jeff had talked to Scott about Lucille. Just last night, however, right before they got the call for a rescue in Tasmania, Jeff had broached the subject that had been foremost on his mind since Alan had nearly lost his legs on the last rescue.

They were down to only Scott and Gordon to operate the equipment. John wanted to stay on Thunderbird 5 until Alan could heal, which would mean at least another month beyond when his tour of duty should've ended. Tin-Tin and Brains filled in where they could, but with so much maintenance to do on the machines, trying to help Virgil and taking care of Alan, they were stretched to their limits. As were they all.

"I don't know how much longer we can keep this up, Father," Scott had said, his voice weary.

Jeff had looked across the bed into his son's tired eyes and said simply, "Maybe we should just shut down."

But there had not been time for another word. The klaxon had sounded, and the two men raced to the Lounge, where John told them of a brush fire out of control on the island of Tasmania. Jeff would never forget the look on Scott's face as he leaned against the wall and placed his hands on the two light fixtures just above and to either side of his head. Jeff knew exactly what his son was thinking.

Would it be the last time?

"Dad."

"Scott?"

"You need to get in here right away."

"Where are you?"

"Virgil's room."

Jeff was about to ask why he was needed there, but Scott cut the transmission. Virgil had slipped back into unconsciousness. Gordon and Alan were there to check on him. "Boys, stay with him. If he wakes up again, notify me immediately."

"Okay, Dad," Gordon replied.

"Brains, you need to get some rest and put an ice pack on that cheek."

"Yes, Sir."

"Scott? What's this all about?"

He motioned for his father to cross the room. Jeff walked slowly. He didn't like the look on his eldest son's face. He came to stand next to Scott, who was standing right in front of the painting. When he turned to look at it, his eyes widened in disbelief.

"It's changed, Father."

"What're you talking about? Where's the other painting?"

"There is no other painting, Dad. This is the same one."

"It can't be. It just can't be!"

For the woman was no longer sitting on a fallen tree trunk hanging over a small creek. Now she was walking on a path through a beautiful forest canopied by trees of every shape and size. Her back was to them, and she looked as though she were in mid-step. Her face was turned to the side, eyes boring right into Jeff Tracy's. Her long white hair and even longer sheer blue robes seemed to be fluttering in a breeze.

"This is ridiculous," Jeff breathed. "Come on, Scott, where's the other painting?"

"Dad, I'm telling you, I haven't touched it! This is the same painting!"

"Painting don't change, Scott, for God's sake!"

"I don't understand it any more than you do. But something's going on here. Something that's been affecting Virgil for a long time, and whatever it is, it's driving him insane as we speak. All he does is cry out and thrash about in bed. His eyes, Dad...you should've seen the look in his eyes."

"Maybe we should destroy it."

"What?"

"The painting. Whatever it is, if it's causing that much trouble, we should get rid of it."

"No, Dad, we can't! We don't know what'll happen!"

"We don't know what's happening now!" Jeff bellowed as he moved out onto the balcony.

Scott looked at the woman in the painting once more before following his father outside. "He said we shouldn't stop the Thunderbirds, Dad."

"I know. I heard."

"Maybe that's what's at the root of all this."

Jeff turned to face his son. "What do you mean?"

"Maybe...maybe this woman, whoever she is, is trying to tell us to start operations again."

Jeff just shook his head. He didn't believe in the supernatural, much less in paintings that changed of their own volition. Still, it seemed to be the only thing that made any sense right now. But was such a thing even possible?

"I just don't know what to do," Jeff said as he paced the Lounge floor.

"But Mr. Tracy, you can't shut down International Rescue," Tin-Tin said from her perch on the edge of his desk.

"She's right," Ruth piped up from the sofa. "What about all the lives that you need to save?"

"What if we get an earthquake call or something of that magnitude?" Jeff asked. "We've got nothing but a skeleton crew as it is, and every one of us is worn to the bone. I shouldn't even have sent Gordon and Scott on this one. There's no telling when or if Virgil will ever be fit for duty, and Alan's out for at least a month! Look at us! Look at all of us!"

They did so. It was true. They were completely exhausted, every last one of them. John, although not physically present, hadn't been sleeping well thanks to recent events, and looked as bedraggled as the rest of them from his vid screen on the wall.

"Have you talked to Scott yet?"

"I mentioned it to him, John, but then we got this Tasmania call and didn't have a chance to discuss it."

"We can't quit, Dad. We just can't."

After sleeping through two more days, Virgil awoke calmly for the first time since the accident aboard Thunderbird 3. He opened his eyes to find Brains on one side of his bed, Scott on the other. Both were sound asleep. He heard a sound and turned his head to find his father walking toward him.

"Virgil. How are you, son?" he whispered.

"Okay, Dad. What's with Scott and Brains?"

"They've been by your side for the last two days. You spiked a pretty good fever." He touched the palm of his hand to Virgil's forehead and smiled. "But it feels like it's gone now. Would you like some water?"

Virgil nodded and waited as Jeff brought him a bottle of water, from which he eagerly gulped. When he'd finished, he pulled himself up to a sitting position and patted a spot next to his legs.

Jeff put the water down on a nearby table and came to sit on the bed. "What is it?"

"She was real, Dad. She was real."

Startled, it took a moment for Jeff to respond. "The woman?"

Virgil nodded. "The woman in my painting. I've been seeing her for the last three months. I haven't been able to sleep."

"I think everyone noticed you've been looking tired."

"Did you see her, Dad? Did you see her in the painting?"

Jeff nodded. "Virgil, about that painting...how many of those have you done?"

"How many of what?"

"Of the woman. The woman with white hair. How many pictures have you painted with her in them?"

"Only one. It's on the easel next to my bed." Virgil watched his father try to work through something in his mind. "You saw it change, didn't you? You saw it!"

From his chair next to the bed, Scott snorted and mumbled, shifting slightly, but remained asleep.

"I saw two different paintings, Virgil. One of the woman sitting on a fallen tree."

"Over the creek."

"Yes."

"And the other?"

"She was walking away down a path through the forest."

"She was?"

He nodded.

"That's the original. That's the way I painted it to begin with, before it began to change."

"How long has it been changing?"

"Since the very first morning after I finished it. The dreams...Father, they've been so vivid, but they always stopped at the same point. Until...Dad, I know what she's been trying to tell me. I finally saw."

"What, son?"

"She's been trying to tell me not to shut International Rescue down. But I don't get it. We'd never do that."

Jeff turned away. He couldn't bear to look into his son's eyes.

Realization dawned on Virgil's face. "Dad?"

"We had to, Virgil. We thought...we didn't think you'd live through this one."

"I don't believe it. You mean we're not operating???"

"We haven't been since they brought you home."

"No! Dad, no! You have to start again. You have to! If you don't, she'll die! She'll die!!!"

"Mr. Tracy, this is Kyrano. I believe you should come to Virgil's room right away."

Jeff, Brains, Ruth and Tin-Tin scurried from the Lounge and arrived in Virgil's room within seconds. Tin-Tin cried out with joy as she raced to his bedside.

For there he was, wide-awake. After nearly four months of being locked in a deep coma, Virgil Tracy now sat propped up in bed against a backdrop of pillows, eyes open wide. He smiled as Tin-Tin hugged him fiercely. She was followed by Ruth, who couldn't keep the tears at bay any longer. Brains channeled his joy into checking all of Virgil's vital signs while Jeff hung in the background. Great relief surged through him as his mother and Tin-Tin chattered on with his newly awakened son.

At last Kyrano managed to herd the women out of the room. Brains, satisfied that Virgil was in perfect health, headed for the Lounge to give Thunderbirds 1 and 2 the good news. That left Jeff, who slowly approached Virgil's bedside.

"How do you feel?"

"Like I've been asleep for a hundred years, Dad."

On impulse, Jeff bent down and drew his son into a fierce hug. "I'm so glad you're awake."

"Grandma says it's been nearly four months," he said into his father's shoulder.

Releasing him, Jeff, sat down in the nearby chair. "Yes. You gave us quite a scare."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"Do you remember the Japan earthquake?"

Virgil nodded slowly. "Vaguely. I know Scott and I were in a basement trying to get to three people who'd been trapped. I don't remember much after that until the painting."

"The painting? What painting?"

"The one in my room. Of the woman."

"Well, I don't know about any painting, Virgil. An aftershock hit while you and Scott were pulling the survivors out of that building. One of the walls came down on you. It knocked you unconscious."

"I don't remember that."

"We took you to the hospital in Sydney. You slipped into a coma. You were there for two months before I convinced the doctors to let us bring you home."

"And then I woke up?"

"No."

"What do you mean, no? How'd I go on the space rescue, then? Or paint the woman?"

"Space rescue? Virgil, we haven't had a space rescue in nearly six months."

Thoroughly confused, Virgil looked around his room. He noticed for the first time that he was in a hospital bed. Then he realized the painting wasn't there. He turned back to his father. "You mean this is the first time I've been awake since Japan?"

"Yes."

"And there wasn't a painting right here next to the bed on an easel?"

"No, there wasn't. In fact, your easel is in the closet over there."

"Could I have dreamed it?"

"Dreamed what?"

"I had been plagued by these dreams about a beautiful woman. I painted her, but the painting kept changing...then we went on a rescue into space. Scott and I did. There were two astronauts. We rescued them, and as we were transferring them to the Nebula, their hatch came off and cold-cocked me. I was out for nearly a month before I woke up. You and Scott, you saw the painting change. And you shut down International Rescue because you thought I was going to die." Virgil grew agitated. "Dad, you can't do it! You can't shut us down!"

Jeff placed a hand on Virgil's shoulder. "I haven't, son. None of that happened. There haven't been any astronauts needing a rescue. The Nebula was supposed to blast off two months ago, but they forfeited the mission due to mechanical problems."

"And no painting?"

"No. No painting."

"It was so real, Dad. So real. We even had different uniforms because Scott's sash almost got him killed on a rescue." Virgil looked down at his hands which were folded in his lap. "You're telling me I've lost over four months of my life, but I feel like I've lived it...only you're telling me I haven't."

The two men were startled by a yell of surprise from the door. "Virgil!"

"Scott!"

"Virg!"

"Gordo!"

Jeff moved aside as his boys embraced. Then they started talking so fast he knew he wouldn't get a word in edgewise any time soon. He stopped by the hospital ward to let Alan know Virgil was awake, then headed for the Lounge, where he put a call into John to let him know the same.

When the call ended, a very happy but very tired Jeff Tracy leaned back in his desk chair lost in thought. Perhaps now he wouldn't have to shut International Rescue down after all. It would take time for Virgil to get his strength back after lying in bed motionless for so long, and Alan would still be out of action for at least a couple of weeks...but it looked like they would survive.

He contemplated what Virgil had told him as Kyrano entered the room and came to stand by his side.

"You see, Mr. Tracy, I told you Virgil would be fine."

"Kyrano, I don't understand. It's almost as though...as though Virgil lived another life while he was in the coma. He went on a space rescue and painted some woman in a painting that kept changing. And I'd shut International Rescue down."

"Perhaps his dream was meant to convey a message."

"What kind of message?"

"That you must not cease operations under any circumstances."

Jeff rubbed his eyes before focusing on Kyrano's kind face. "But I'd only just started thinking about it after Alan got hurt. Virgil's been in a coma since Japan!"

"Everything happens for a reason, Mr. Tracy. If we search too hard for the origin of the event, we fail to see the truth it is meant to convey."

"You can't tell me this all happened just to show me I can't ever shut down International Rescue."

Kyrano merely cocked his head and held his old friend's eyes for a moment before turning and silently leaving the room.

Jeff rose to his feet and looked around the room that had been the Base of International Rescue's operations for over five years now. Finally he just shook his head and said quite loudly, "All right, already! I won't shut International Rescue down. Ever! Okay? Just leave my boys alone!!!"

Long, slender, tanned fingers dipped into the pool of heavy blue liquid which sat in a stone bowl atop a five-foot tall stalagmite. Soft laughter filled the air, sounding like a hundred tiny silver bells ringing in harmony.

The voice which next was heard sounded more like a dolphin's chatter than any language, but it was understood between those who spoke it.

"My daughter. You find happiness."

"Yes, Father. I do at last."

"But how can you express mirth after what the Oracle showed me?"

A beautiful woman with long, white hair turned to face the man swimming slowly toward her. Had Virgil been present, he would've recognized the woman immediately. "Father, have you been in commune with the Oracle of late?"

"No, my child. Not since Her dire prediction eight gleons ago. The humans will destroy us fifty gleons from now."

"You must return to Her, Father. Her prediction will have changed."

"How can you say this? What is it you know?"

"Humans will not destroy us. Humans will save us."

"Have you...contacted them? Have you broken our most sacred of laws? Have you let them see you?!?"

"No, Father!" she replied. "At least, not in reality."

"Muralea, you know contact with humans is forbidden! You may be my daughter and the Princess of all the people, but I cannot allow you to—"

"Father! I have only come to him in a dream."

"Him? Who, Muralea? Who?"

Muralea smiled knowingly. "The man who will save us, Father. The man who, with his brethren, will save us all."