A QUIET BEGINNING by PURUPUSS RATED FRC

Jeff starts a new venture... and wonders if he's made a big mistake.

Author's Notes: I've been hearing that people are wondering if Purupuss is still writing Thunderbird stories. The answer is a definite "yes!"

This story, "A Quiet Beginning" was written a year ago and I've never got around to posting it, partly because I'm working on its sequel and have been all year.

If all goes to plan, there will be four stories in the "A Quiet..." series. This, "A Quiet Beginning", naturally marks the first in the series. The second story has already been posted: "Brothers in Arms". The third story, the one I've been writing since the end of last year, is called "A Quiet Year" (which pretty much sums up my output - especially since I don't think you'll be seeing it until next year.) The final story, if I write it, will be called "A Quiet Day".

I would like to thank quiller, D.C., Boomercat and Calliope for their help in the creation of this story, even if they haven't read it in a year and probably can't remember what it's all about.

"But that's crazy!"

Jeff Tracy had been expecting this reaction and therefore managed to suppress the sigh that threatened to escape. But expecting didn't necessarily mean wanting, and he had to work hard to maintain his impassive expression.

It was Thanksgiving weekend and the family were enjoying being together again. In this, possibly the last time that the Tracy clan would enjoy each other's company for an indefinite length of time, Jeff had decided to take the opportunity to try to convince his sons to join him on a new venture. His mother had 'left him to it' and had 'gone for a walk', promising to be back in time to prepare lunch.

So far things had not gone well.

Jeff looked at the young men seated around the dining table before him. Men? He would always think of them as his boys.

There wasn't a son who wouldn't bicker with his brothers, tease his brothers, try to ignore his brothers, and strive to carve his own way through life to distance himself from his brothers.

There wasn't a son who wouldn't rally around when one of his brothers was down, support his brothers in times of adversity, stand up for his brothers, and, Jeff had no doubt about this, lay his neck on the line to save his brothers.

The question was; were they all willing to lay their necks on the line to save complete strangers?

Jeff began to analyse his sons.

Alan: Hovering at that awkward age between childhood and manhood. He habitually displayed the immaturity that characterised youth, and Jeff was beginning to realise that the teenage years were promising to be a long hard road for the both of them. Alan's main interests appeared to be cars and speed and Grandma Tracy had nearly had a fit when she gone along to his last go-kart race and had seen the way he'd driven without regard for own safety or that of others on the track. Jeff himself had experienced qualms at his youngest's recklessness, and it was only the knowledge that Alan was trying to carve his own niche away from the aura of four overachieving older brothers that stopped him from putting his foot down and banning the hobby all together. He felt that it would be better to encourage the boy to think about what he was doing instead of acting first and accepting the consequences later.

But, for all that, when Alan was prepared to get stuck in and work with, as opposed to antagonise, his elder brothers; he showed a strength of character and loyalty that Jeff knew would form the basis of a strong, caring, independent, young man. One that he would have no hesitation in including in his team.

Gordon: Not much older than Alan, but his body shape gave him the appearance of someone at least five years in advance of his age. He'd been a swimmer since that first day that he'd been introduced to the pool; living, breathing and sleeping everything to do with the water. His room was a shrine to the sea and all things aquatic. His goal, an Olympic gold medal, had seemed in Jeff's mind to be a fanciful dream until that phone call from the selectors of the American team asking if Gordon could take part in a training camp. Jeff had given his permission with some misgivings. For all his dedication to his chosen sport Gordon was still a prankster; a mischievous teenager for whom life was a game to be played and not to be taken seriously.

The water was so much a part of Gordon, that he often spoke of wanting to become a member of the World Aquanaut Security Patrol. Jeff could only hope that he would knuckle down at school enough to achieve his goal. The future organisation would need an aquanaut and Jeff knew that there was no one he wanted, or needed, more to fill that role than his red-headed son.

Virgil: In many ways the opposite to Gordon. As serious as his brother was fun- loving, their differences sometimes caused friction between the pair of them. Friction, but never antagonism.

A freshman at the Denver School of Technology, Virgil was, by all reports, taking to his studies like a duck to water and Jeff had to admit to hearing this news with a guilty sense of relief. Virgil's other talents, painting and music, seemed to be little more to his father than hobbies and Virgil's tutors' assertions that the boy had the potential to turn professional, had caused Jeff some concerns; if for no other reason than he could see no way that such talents could be used productively in his future plans.

John: A paradox. Quiet: but with a gift for languages and communications. Intelligent: but loved to while away the hours doing nothing except gazing at the stars. Something of a loner: he'd often given the appearance of being an observer outside the family while still maintaining his place as an integral member. Jeff knew exactly what future role he wanted his quiet son to occupy in his plans; just as he knew that John wouldn't say much at this meeting, but when he did speak it would be something well reasoned, thoughtful and pertinent.

John had been accepted into the Space Agency a year ago on his own merits and not because he'd been the son of an astronaut. He was working hard, hoping to get the opportunity to spend some time on a space station studying the universe that he longed to understand better. Jeff had hoped that now John was working for the Agency, in an environment that encouraged his interests, the young man would start coming out of his shell.

Scott: Tall, dark and handsome. Confident, intelligent and driven. An overachiever at anything he put his mind to. He was a natural leader and had seemed to have spent most of his life keeping a parental watch over his younger brothers. Even when he'd gone away to university he'd call home at least three times a week to check that all was well. Holidays had always meant a flight home to be with his family... and to stuff himself on his grandmother's cooking.

And now Scott was carving a career for himself within the Air Force. Officers that Jeff had served with during his own time in the service were happy to report on how well Scott was doing, how respected he was by his subordinates, peers and superiors, and how he seemed to take to flying each and every new plane as naturally as if he'd designed it himself. All attributes that Jeff wanted to be able to call on in the near future. If Scott was willing to join them...

"You're talking about forming a top-secret rescue organisation?" As usual the eldest was being their spokesman. "Why? Surely the local fire brigade, ambulance service and other organisations can handle anything? They've had the training and they've got the resources."

"I'm not talking about the type of rescue that those services can handle," Jeff replied, treading carefully. "I'm talking about the type of disaster where people are trapped and all hope seems lost."

"You mean you'd have bigger, more advanced machines?" Virgil asked, his eyes lighting up at the thought.

"Well... yes," Jeff admitted. "That's why it is top-secret. The machines we've got planned could create havoc if they got into the wrong hands. But what I'm envisaging is a rescue organisation that will be bigger than any other." He expanded on his explanation. "Geographically speaking."

"It'll cover the whole state?" Gordon guessed.

"Even bigger than that," Jeff paused. "I'm talking an international rescue organisation."

"International?!" Alan bounced up and down on the overstuffed chair. "You mean the States, Canada and Mexico?"

"I mean the entire planet."

There was a moment's silence as his sons absorbed what he'd said. Even Alan stopped his jigging about.

"You're kidding!" Gordon breathed.

"Hold on," Scott held up a hand. "The whole planet? You mean every land mass on Earth?"

"And the oceans too." Jeff glanced at Gordon and saw his son's interest levels go up a few notches.

"You'll have a base on every continent?" the red-head asked.

"No. Only one top-secret base. Miles from anywhere so we can't be tracked."

"Only one base?" Scott clarified. "Miles from anywhere? Do you know how long it takes for a plane to fly around the world?"

"I do, Scott," Jeff pointed out. "I have done it a few times myself."

"Therefore you must realise that by the time your rescue organisation reached the scene of the emergency, chances are you'd be too late."

"With normal aircraft, yes," Jeff agreed. "But I'm not talking normal aircraft. Here..." he reached into a folder, "let me show you some blueprints. I met a young man in Paris...." He pulled out some papers, "he's got perhaps the greatest engineering mind ever known, well, definitely the greatest I've ever come across..." Sorting through the sheets, Jeff found the ones he wanted. "I've got blueprints and concept pictures... He's designed a submarine." He handed the drawing to Gordon.

"You're kidding," Gordon repeated as he took and examined the plans. "It won't hold a very big crew."

"No, only one person," Jeff admitted. "It'll be carried to the danger zone inside a transporter plane. It'll be outfitted with all manner of tools. Lasers, cannons, rams, grabs," he pointed at the front of the drawing of the sub, "search lights."

"You're kidding," Gordon echoed as he poured over the blueprints.

Jeff pulled another set of blueprints out of the folder. "Here's the transporter; 'Rescue Two'." He gave the plans to Virgil.

"'Two'?" Virgil queried. "How many craft are you making?" His eyes widened as he saw some of the aeroplane's statistics. "Look at the size of this thing!"

"Five. 'Rescue Two's' the cargo carrier. She'll be the one that will carry the rescue equipment around the globe."

"And how fast will it fly?" Virgil asked, his finger tracing the outline of the diagram.

"Five thousand miles per hour."

"Five thou...?" Virgil stared at his father.

"That's impossible!" Scott exclaimed. "The fastest plane in existence is the 'L6-X Swift' and it can only go three and a half thousand miles per hour. This thing's bigger and bulkier than that. There's no way it can go as fast, let alone faster!"

"When these planes are built the 'L6-X Swift' will be superseded," Jeff informed him. "It won't be the world's fastest aircraft any longer..." he pulled another set of plans from out of the folder. "This will be." He handed the papers to Scott. "'Rescue One'."

Virgil peered over his brother's shoulder. "How fast will it go?"

"Fifteen thousand miles per hour."

"You're kidding?!" Gordon exclaimed.

"That's impossible," Scott stated; but he still spread the plans out in front of him so he could examine them better. "Rocket plane, huh?"

"Can I see one?" Alan asked, bouncing on his seat again.

"Okay, Alan," Jeff smiled. "You can look at the spaceship."

"Spaceship?" Alan asked. "Wow... Minty!"

"So you're not restricting yourself to saving one planet then?" Gordon smirked and Jeff felt a slight twinge of apprehension. His second youngest had already decided that the whole idea was a joke.

"The main purpose of 'Rescue Three' is to ferry people and supplies between Earth and the space satellite..." Jeff said as he handed his final plan to John, "'Rescue Five'. But it's also designed to be used for space rescues."

"You mean like if the International Space Station had a fire in the oxygen tanks and all the crew was unconscious and it was going into decaying orbit and was going to crash on Washington DC in a blazing fireball wiping out the entire United States Government and half the population of the eastern seaboard?" Alan gasped, his eyes shining. "Then this..." he read the name on the side of the diagram, "'Rescue Three' would swoop in and save the day in the nick of time?"

Jeff almost laughed at his youngest's enthusiasm. "I would hope that that would never happen, but yes. I think that we could," he mimed speech marks, "'save the day in the nick of time'."

"You said that 'Rescue Two's' a transporter," Virgil said. "It's going to be carrying..." he checked Gordon's blueprints for a name, "Rescue Four..."

"Yes."

"What else?"

"That's what Brains is working on now..." Jeff began as he opened another folder.

"Brains?" Scott frowned. "Who's Brains?"

"The engineer who created these machines..." Jeff didn't miss the glance that passed between his sons when they heard the name. "He's envisaging a drilling machine, something able to combat fires, a set of vehicles able to replace the landing gear of aircraft..." He produced a drawing of each machine as he listed it. "I haven't seen the full extent of his plans yet. I wanted to show you boys the five main craft first."

"Brains," Scott repeated. "He must have a name other than Brains?"

"He does, but he doesn't use it," Jeff told him.

"Doesn't use it..." Scott stared at his father. "You're bankrolling this whole exercise are you?"

"That's right."

"Based on some drawings."

"Detailed blueprints," Virgil informed his brother. "They're pretty thorough."

Scott switched his attention to the young man seated next to him. "How long have you been at Denver?"

"A few months."

"A few months and that makes you an expert?"

Jeff wanted to avoid arguments. "It's what you can't see on the blueprints that is what makes these machines truly special. Brains has devised several new alloys, which will be used in their production. They'll be stronger, will have less friction, be faster, and more heat resistant than anything else in existence. The craft will be energy efficient, non-polluting and utilise a totally new propulsion system. That's why they are top-secret. You must tell no one about these plans, understand? No one will know where the organisation is based, who is running it or anything about it. Not even the government or military."

John had been quietly perusing the blueprints of 'Rescue Five'. "Dad."

"Yes, John."

"This satellite..."

"Yes, John," Jeff repeated.

"This isn't a secret too, is it?"

"Yes, it is."

"But that's not possible," John insisted. "I've been doing some work on satellites and their placements. Every satellite in orbit has been listed on a register and it's getting crowded up there. You can't just put a pirate satellite up in space. Apart from the logistics of building something this size," he indicated the plans on his lap, "it's bound to be seen by somebody." He paused. "And it could conceivably create the disaster that you're trying to prevent."

"I have taken that into account," Jeff explained. "I've purchased every satellite area above the base. 'Rescue Five' will be in the middle of a buffer zone."

John's lips formed an 'O' of understanding.

"You've been working on this for a while then," Virgil commented.

"Yes." Jeff nodded. "Many years. I've been biding my time until I found the perfect place to base the organisation, someone with the skills and mindset to design and create the equipment... And until I was sure that I had the right people to operate it."

"Where is this 'base' anyway?" Scott demanded. "Where on Earth could you find somewhere far enough away from civilisation to operate a 'top-secret' base that could house craft this size?"

"Remember the island where we spent last Christmas?"

Gordon's face broke out in a smile. "That place was great! Miles and miles of ocean."

"Exactly," Jeff agreed. "Miles of ocean and much of it as devoid of human life as a desert."

"Okay!" Scott sat forward. "So you've got the designer. You've got your top-secret base. You've got the equipment..." he flicked at the blueprints for 'Rescue One'. "Who do you think is going to be mad enough to pilot these things?"

Jeff took a surreptitious breath. This was the moment of truth. "I was hoping it was going to be you and your brothers."

There was a stunned silence.

Then Gordon started to laugh. "Nice one, Dad. You had us all fooled for a moment there."

Not for the first time in that meeting Jeff suppressed a groan. "I'm serious, Gordon."

"Yeah, right. Come on, Dad. What's the punch line?"

Jeff extended his hands as if he were showing that he wasn't hiding anything up his sleeves. "Honestly, Gordon... Boys, I am deadly serious here. I want to form a rescue organisation, working title International Rescue, and I would like each of you to consider if you want to be part of that organisation."

"Us and who else?" Scott asked.

"Initially just you five as field operatives. Each of you will be in charge of one particular craft; you've got 'Rescue One', Virgil - 'Rescue Two', John - 'Rescue Five', Gordon - Rescue Four'..."

"You've given him," Scott pointed at Alan, "a spaceship!? Need I remind you what happened last time he played with rockets? How much did you have to pay?"

"Hey!" Alan protested. "That's not fair! It wasn't my fault! The wind caught it! Dad..."

"Don't forget that these aren't going to be built overnight," Jeff reminded them all. "It'll take time. And you'll all have a lot of training before we can put International Rescue into operation. You'll all have to learn how all the equipment works; and not only your own craft. Also you'll need to develop a good medical knowledge, practise various rescue scenarios..."

"And what is John supposed to do with a satellite?" Virgil asked, looking up from 'Rescue Five's' blueprints. "It doesn't do anything."

"'Rescue Five' is designed to intercept every radio signal beamed out from the Earth. The on-board computers will scan every one for a message containing the words help, or International Rescue, or any variation of those words in any language. John will have a lot of input with that." Jeff smiled at his elder blonde son, who looked troubled.

"And once he's done that?" Scott asked. "Then what?"

"He will man the satellite and relay genuine messages to us at the base..."

"John can't stay alone out in space forever," Scott interrupted. "Have you forgotten that even he needs human contact?"

Jeff frowned at the insinuation that he had little regard for his son's wellbeing and tried to keep his cool. "I was going to say before you interrupted, Scott, that John's tenure will be part of a rotation between you all. But I know John will enjoy his time above the Earth's atmosphere, 'Rescue Five' will be equipped with a state of the art telescope."

"And the rest of us?" Gordon asked. "Do you think we'll enjoy it?"

Jeff directed a steady gaze at his aquatic son. "I will admit that I do have concerns about some of you. But I am sure that by the time we are ready to begin operations this problem will have been ironed out."

"So you're hoping that the five of us will be working for you," Scott said. "But you'll in effect only have four of us available once you've commissioned 'Rescue Five'." He shook his head at the stupidity of it all.

"What's Grandma gonna say?" Alan asked.

"I've already talked to your grandmother," Jeff informed them. "She's behind me one hundred percent." His sons appeared surprised at the revelation.

"Right," Scott sat forward. "After you've banished John to a tin-can in outer space..."

"Cislunar space," John corrected.

"Cislunar space," Scott amended. "What then? What is this thing supposed to do?" he indicated 'Rescue One's' plans again. "It doesn't have any equipment apart from..." he examined a section of blueprints closer, "some armaments."

"You'd be in charge in the field, Scott," Jeff told him.

"Great. Bossing us all about as usual," Alan muttered.

"You'll fly to the disaster zone, coordinate with the locals, and radio back to base via 'Rescue Five'. Once you've ascertained what is needed Virgil will head out in 'Rescue Two' with whatever personnel and equipment is required." Virgil, in deep contemplation of 'Rescue Three's' plans, looked up when he heard his name.

"And if 'Rescue Four's' needed and it's the middle of nowhere with no land for miles," Gordon asked, "how's it going to get from 'Rescue Two' to the water?"

"'Rescue Two's' got a detachable pod." Virgil picked up his original blueprints to show his brother. "It looks to me like you'd get dropped into the water." He looked at his father. "Am I right?" Jeff nodded.

"Okay. Forgetting about the concussive effects of a belly flop into the ocean... That's got me into the water. How do I get out again?"

"'Rescue Two' has a system for picking the pod up again," Jeff explained. Gordon made no comment.

"What about the danger?" Scott asked. "You do realise what you are asking us all to do, don't you? One of us could get seriously hurt... or worse."

"Believe me, I've thought long and hard about this," Jeff admitted. "And there's no way that I would force any of you to join my venture if you didn't want to. You'd all already thought you'd decided what you were going to do with your lives. You've all got your own goals. And I won't blame any of you if you don't want to literally risk everything for my dream."

"A dream." Scott made a dismissive gesture. "That's all this is, Father. I know you've talked about creating a rescue organisation for years, but you can't be serious about it now. It's impossible." He folded his arms and sat back as if the discussion was over. "The whole idea's crazy," he finished, reverting back to his original argument.

Jeff decided that he had no option other than to play his trump card; one he'd hoped that he wouldn't have to use. "Many years ago the six of us went through a trauma that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. If a rescue organisation with the right tools had been able to reach your mother in time, she might still be with us today. I believe that International Rescue could help prevent other families from going through the pain we went through."

There was a long period of silence as his sons mused over his rationale.

"This won't bring her back, Dad."

It was the comment that Jeff had hoped he wouldn't hear. "I know that, John. And I'm not trying to. I'm only one man, but I'm hoping that, with your help, I can use the considerable resources that I have to assist others. Call it a living memorial to your mother."

"I call it crazy," Scott stated.

Jeff glanced at the clock in the wall. "I've asked Brains to join us for lunch so that you will all get the opportunity to meet him. I'm sure you've got questions you'd like to ask him. In the meantime you'd probably appreciate some time to discuss my proposition between yourselves, without me here." He stood. "I don't expect a decision any time soon, but if you want me to answer any questions, I'll be in my room." He looked down on his seated sons with a feeling that they didn't need any more time. He already knew what their responses would be. It looked like International Rescue was a dead duck before it had even been hatched.

Trying not to show his disappointment, Jeff left the lounge and walked down the hallway to his bedroom. It was only when the door closed behind him that he allowed his shoulders to sag and his head to droop. In an uncharacteristic gesture of despair, he threw himself on his bed and covered his eyes.

Not one given to introspection or self pity, Jeff was nonetheless aware of a gathering depression. It wasn't so much because his dream was over, he could always find other operatives; it was because he had a feeling that he'd lost something even more important...

The respect of his sons.

The idea knotted him up inside as he considered the boys' reactions.

Alan had been full of childish enthusiasm, but without any thought of the potential pitfalls.

Gordon had obviously decided that the whole thing was a practical joke and was simply going along for the ride.

Virgil had seemed keen, but Jeff wasn't sure that it was for the right reasons. The last time he'd seen a gleam like that in his son's eye, the boy had been gazing wistfully at a derelict steam locomotive that was for sale.

John: Who knew what went on in that quiet mind? He hadn't said much, but Jeff had a feeling that he'd been analysing all that he'd been told... Analysing and rejecting it.

Jeff cast his mind back to the day that he'd discussed his grand plan with his mother. For some reason she hadn't been as hard to convince as he'd expected. But she had made one salient comment: "You'll need Scott on board. Convince him and the others will follow. Without him... International Rescue won't get off the ground."

Jeff knew that this was probably true. International Rescue was going to be a dangerous enterprise and his operatives would need a leader in the field that they could trust implicitly. Trust could be gained over time, but, once they started operations, time was a luxury they couldn't afford. In Scott Tracy International Rescue already had a trusted and respected leader, despite his brothers' habitual complaints about his bossiness. They were as loyal towards him as he was toward them, and Jeff knew that they would accept his role as commander without hesitation.

The problem was that Scott Tracy had made it clear that he was the one who was the most against the idea of forming International Rescue.

Jeff didn't blame him. All Scott's life he'd dreamed of joining the Air Force and being allowed to fly the world's most exciting aeroplanes. He'd shown himself to be a gifted pilot and the Air Force had been quick to make use of his leadership qualities. It was Scott's recent promotion that had forced Jeff's hand, encouraging him to choose this Thanksgiving weekend to reveal his plans: before his eldest son got so enmeshed in Air Force life that he couldn't be extricated.

International Rescue needed Scott Tracy.

Scott Tracy looked around the lounge and made a decision. "We can't talk here; walls have ears. My room... Now!"

He had been getting used to subordinates jumping to his every command, but his orders didn't have the same effect on little brothers. Alan and Gordon did oblige by goose-stepping down the hallway, while John followed in such a dream that he nearly missed the door. Virgil gathered together all the plans, but didn't head straight for his sibling's room, instead taking a detour through his own. He emerged to find himself face-to-face with a scowling brother. "I was getting my coloured pencils."

"Why?"

Virgil held up the plans. "Colour scheme."

Scott growled. "Get in my room."

They entered the bedroom to find it had been taken over. Alan and Gordon were using Scott's video game console to compete against each other on a car racing circuit, while John was staring at the computer monitor on his desk. Virgil plonked himself down on the bed and began making notes in the margins of the blueprints.

Scott looked around his room in dismay before deciding to tackle one interloper at a time. He towered over his next youngest brother, folded his arms in disapproval, and glared down at him. "What do you think you're doing?"

John looked up from the search engine screen. "I'm looking for the name of a good psychiatrist."

Scott stared at him for moment. Then he nodded. "Good. Continue."

"Do you think Dad's gone loopy?" Alan called over his shoulder as his car swooped around Gordon's. "Will they come and get him and put him into a straight jacket and take him away?"

"You cheated!" Gordon complained.

"Eat my dust, Sucker." Caught up in the game, Alan forgot his questions.

"Turn that thing off!" Scott ordered. He disconnected the console's power supply.

"Hey!" Alan protested. "I was winning!"

"Forget it," Gordon advised his little brother. "His stuff's all out of date anyway." He went to stand. "I've got a better game in my room."

"No one's going anywhere," Scott reminded them, leaning on the top of his younger brother's head so he couldn't get to his feet. "We've got more important things to discuss. What are we going to do about Father?"

"I think 'Rescue One' should have a scarlet nose cone, don't you, Scott?" Virgil asked, his attention on the drawings and not the conversation. He set to work with a red coloured pencil.

"Virgil..." Scott scowled. "Will you stop doing that?"

"Watcha doin' Virg?" Alan asked.

"Trying to decide what colours these 'Rescue' vehicles should be."

"Oh! Can mine be orange?" Alan begged. "I want an orange spaceship."

Virgil smiled at his youngest brother and made the appropriate note. "What colour do you think your sub should be, Gordon?"

"Guys!" Scott snapped. "Stop it! Can't you see the whole idea's ridiculous?"

"Relax, Scott," Gordon soothed. "It's a joke. The whole thing's one of Dad's jokes."

"I thought he was joking last year when he said we were going to have a summer Christmas," Virgil said as he picked up another of the drawings. "He wasn't..." He bit the end of one of his pencils. "It's not Christmas without snow."

"I thought that was a great holiday," " Gordon leant over so that he was able to reconnect the power supply to the video game. "I was able to swim in the sea every day."

"Would you leave my stuff alone!" Scott wrenched the power plug out of its socket again and then, ignoring his brothers' protests, picked the game off the floor and put in on a shelf out of reach.

"Anyway, I don't think he's joking now," Virgil said, as he worked with a green pencil. "I think he's serious."

Scott made a sound of annoyance. "Have you found any good shrinks yet, John?"

"Maybe... I'll have to..." The telephone on Scott's desk rang and John beat his older brother to the handset, much to Scott's annoyance. "Hello..." Always more comfortable engaging people in non-visual conversation rather than face-to-face, he smiled at the phone. "Oh, hi, Hillary... No, it's John... He's here..." His smile reversed into a frown. "Whoa! Calm down... What did you say? What!" Alarmed he looked at his brothers before covering the phone's mouthpiece. "Alan," he hissed. "Turn on the TV."

"'Kay," Alan agreed. "Which station?"

"Any... ah..." John thought quickly. "News station."

"Whose room is this?" Scott exploded as the TV came to life. He saw the pictures on screen and his anger evaporated. "Where is this?" As if in answer to his question the words: "Breaking news - Earthquake hits Los Angeles" scrolled across the bottom of the screen. "L.A.?"

"Calm down, Hillary," John repeated. "Take a deep breath."

"Is that Hillary Mackie?" Scott whispered.

John nodded, and continued to make reassuring noises into the phone. "Are you sure he was there...? How are your parents...? Look, this is Gary we're talking about, remember? If he can survive years of getting into trouble with my big brother, then he's not going to let one little earthquake worry him."

"Gary?" Scott looked back at the destruction on TV. Gary Mackie had been one of his closest friends. Through their school years, until Scott had gone to university, they'd been inseparable to the extent that Gary had almost been regarded by the Tracys as a sixth brother. "Is he in L.A?" He leant on the back of John's chair.

"I'm sure he'll be fine," John was saying. "You probably can't get through because everyone's trying to ring in and out... He's probably trying to ring y... Okay... If you want to talk, call me any time on this number. Bye, Hill..." He hung up the phone.

"What's the story, John?" Virgil asked.

"That was Hillary Mackie," John confirmed. "Gary's been living in L.A. the last few months, working at some studio, building movie sets. She heard about the earthquake on the radio and hasn't been able to get through to him to check he's okay. She's tried his cell phone and land line, but both networks are overloaded. She's scared out of her mind. Her father's just come home so hopefully he'll be able to calm her down." He bit his lip. "I wish I could do more to help her."

Normally a comment like that would have had been an opening for some teasing from his younger brothers, since it had been long suspected that John had had something of a crush on Gary's younger sister.

"She's sure he's in an area that's been hit?" Scott asked, the worried frown creasing his forehead deepening.

"He works in Hollywood," John explained. "She's assuming the worst."

"Maybe Hollywood wasn't hit?" Alan suggested.

"It'll have been affected to some extent," Gordon told him. "There's no way that an earthquake of that size," he indicated the destruction on the TV screen, "could hit Los Angeles and not cause some damage."

"How bad is it?" Scott asked, as he shifted some of the plans that Virgil had spread about on his bed and sat down. "Have they given any stats yet?"

"Don't know," Gordon admitted. "It looks pretty bad where they're filming."

"Reports coming in," the TV picture changed to an announcer seated at his desk," that a large section of the L.A. underground roading network has caved in. This underground network, designed a decade ago to reduce congestion through the city, is practically mirror image of the highways on the surface. At the time of construction some circles expressed concern at building such a structure in an earthquake zone..."

"Ugh," Alan grunted. "Imagine having to work underground."

"Dad's company wasn't involved with its construction, was it?" John asked.

Virgil shook his head. "No, he didn't even put in a bid for the contract. He said that to build a structure of that type and size right in an area with that many earthquake faults was asking for trouble."

"I heard about that!" Gordon said. "They call it the worm passage. There's a rumour that the real reason why it was built was so that all the rich jerks wouldn't have to put up with mere mortals trying to be nosy and spoil their views from their overpriced and over blown mansions..."

"Hey!" Alan protested. "We're rich!"

"We're rich," Gordon agreed. "But we're not jerks... Peter, one of the other swimmers on the swimming camp, competed at the last Olympic games. He said that before they left the team was invited out to Hal Maxpen's, place..."

"The movie star?" Alan asked, his eyes wide.

"The very same. He said that Maxpen has his own private underground road leading from the network to his underground garage. The garage occupies three levels beneath his mansion and can house up to thirty vehicles. The numbers on the buttons of the elevator going up to the house were made up of whole diamonds and the car was lined in gold..."

"No way!" Alan gasped.

"I'm not kidding," Gordon confirmed. "Peter said..."

"I don't care what Peter said!" Scott snapped. "The point is that a lot of cars use that underground road. How are they going to rescue the people trapped in them?"

"Dig?" Alan suggested.

"It'll take them hours," Virgil told him. "I wonder how many survived the 'quakes?" He bit his pencil again. "I hope the ventilation system's still working."

"They'll have to drill down to dig them out," Scott stated. "But what could they use as a drill?!"

Virgil handed him one of the concept drawings.

"This is just a picture, Virgil!" Scott screwed it up and threw it onto the floor. "It's useless!"

The scene changed on the TV. Surrounded by the wreckage of indistinguishable buildings, adults were walking about in a daze and children were crying. A man, presumably a father, wandered into shot carrying the limp body of his child; tears of grief streaked though the dust on his cheeks. "A Thanksgiving children's show has turned from comedy into tragedy," the announcer intoned.

John rubbed his face and looked away. "I can't stand this."

Now a cub reporter was preparing to do a face-to-camera next to a blazing building. Behind him what remained of the famous Hollywood sign was visible on Mount Lee. From this angle the sole remaining letters, H, O, and W seemed to be asking what everyone was asking: How could a disaster of this magnitude happen in the twenty first century?

"Are we rolling, Joe?" At an unheard confirmation the reporter began talking to his audience. "I am standing in the heart of Tinsel Town, in what used to be one of studio lots in the Hollywood area."

Scott gave a groan. "Where's Gary?"

"The entire studio appears to have been destroyed in the 8.2 strength earthquake that hit just hours ago." A billboard of what seemed to be a polar bear logo burned free of its supports and fell to the ground, narrowly missing the young man. Sparks and cinders floated about him, landing on his shoulders and in his hair.

"Who is this idiot?" Alan asked.

The reporter didn't miss a beat. "It is indeed fortunate that this earthquake occurred on Thanksgiving when many businesses are closed. Had this earthquake hit on a normal working day the already high death toll could have been much higher..." On the TV screen an aftershock hit, causing the camera to wobble crazily and the reporter to stumble. He regained his balance, his poise, and turned back to the camera. "As you can see all rescue efforts are hampered by continuing aftershocks. But don't fear, NTBS will continue to bring you live coverage from the scene of this disaster. This is Ned Cook returning you to the studio."

"If he's not careful he'll end up with a building falling on him," Gordon grumbled. "Serve him right."

The phone rang again. Scott made a grab for it, but once again was beaten to the punch by John. "Hello... Hi, Hillary. Any... What does...? Okay, put him on... Hi, Mr Mackie."

Scott was hanging onto the back of John's chair again. "Any word?" he hissed.

John didn't ask the question, but instead listened to the frantic man on the other end of the phone, his frown of concern migrating to an expression of helplessness. "I don't know that... Well, yes he does... The thing is, Mr Mackie, I don't know if he even knows about the earthquake yet. We'd been having a..." he hesitated, "family conference and we five... Okay, I promise I'll ask him, but I don't know if he'll be able to do anything... I'll call you back when I have... Goodbye, Mr Mac..." He hung up the phone.

"No word?" Scott asked.

John shook his head. "No. They want Dad to pull some strings to find Gary. The problem is," he indicated the TV set, "look at the scale of this disaster. What can one man do without help...?" His voice trailed off as he heard an echo of something said not very long ago.

"Well, I can help!" Scott asserted as he finally managed to reclaim his telephone. "Now we'll find out what a real organisation can do." He dialled the number of his Air Force base and waited. It was some time before he got through to his commanding officer and explained what he had in mind. "I can fly to the nearest unaffected air base near Los Angeles, Sir..." His expression changed from one of grim determination to one of disbelief. "But... I want to do something, Sir... My friend's out there and there are all those other people. Surely I can do something to help... But..." His brothers saw a chastened expression cloud his face. "Yes, Sir... I understand, Sir... Thank you, Sir... I will, Sir... Good day, Sir." He hung up the phone. "Thanks for nothing, Sir."

"They don't want your help?" Virgil guessed.

Scott shook his head. "No. He said that he can't do anything until he receives orders from higher up, and he's not prepared to mobilise troops until he receives the word. In the meantime the top brass are sitting on their hands and people are dying!" He picked up his pillow and threw it on to the now forgotten plans. "I could help!" he raged.

There was a knock on the door. Not wanting to be caught out lying on his bed contemplating the ceiling, Jeff sat up. "Come in."

The door opened and his mother stepped inside tying an apron around her waist. "We're home," she announced. "How did it go?"

He favoured her with a rueful look. "They all think I'm crazy."

She sat beside him and took his hand. "Now don't exaggerate. They can't all think you're crazy."

"I'm not exaggerating," Jeff insisted. "I could see it in their eyes."

"All of them?"

"All of them. Especially Scott."

"Oh..." She squeezed his hand. "Well, I know you're not crazy, Jeff. Maybe once they've talked to Brains they'll realise that they're wrong."

"I'm not so sure about that," Jeff admitted. "They think that Brains is trying to con me out of my billions."

"Brains!?" Grandma laughed. "That boy doesn't even know what money is. So long as he's got his work he's happy."

"He's got to convince them of that, and you and I both know that Brains isn't the most socially confident person. By all accounts he's never interacted well with others of his age group and I'm worried that just by looking at him the boys will intimidate him. No disrespect intended, but he'll be lucky if he can string a complete sentence together, let alone convince them that he is able to create these fantastic machines."

"I was thinking about the names of those machines as I drove over to pick him up," Grandma said. "'Rescues' just doesn't have the right ring to it... But, we'll worry about that later." She gave her son a look that said that she wasn't going to accept any arguments. "You'll just have to go and tell Brains not to let them intimidate them. And you'd better go and do it straight away; I've left the poor boy alone in the lounge. He'll be in a nervous lather by now."

"Right." Jeff stood and ran his hands through his hair. "Where are the boys?"

Grandma's forehead creased in thought. "I think they're all in Scott's room. I heard the TV going."

"The TV?" Jeff frowned. "I thought they'd still be debating about what to do about their old man."

Grandma pushed him towards the door. "Go and talk to Brains and then convince them that the only thing that they have to do about their old man is support him in his wonderful venture."

Jeff took her advice and walked down to the lounge. "Brains," he held out his hand in greeting. "Thank you for coming."

Brains, looking tiny sitting on the worn sofa that was accustomed to holding tall, muscular young men, stood, his face brightening when he saw the man who'd been showing him such kindness. "M-M-Mr T-T-Tracy," he stammered. "Th-Th-Th-ank you f-f-f-for inviting m-m-m-me." He gave Jeff a limp handshake.

"Now relax," Jeff instructed him. "I promise they won't bite. And if they do, I'll bite them back."

Brains, hoping that it was the right thing to do, gave a nervous laugh.

"I've shown them the drawings," Jeff continued. "And..." He hesitated, unsure how Brains would take his sons' lack of enthusiasm.

"Wh-What did th-they th-think?" Brains asked, his eyes shining with nervous anticipation.

"Ah... Virgil seemed to be impressed," Jeff prevaricated. "My middle boy. He's the one at the Denver School of Advanced Technology."

Brains nodded and tried to file that bit of information away in his memory banks. So far he'd had no luck keeping track of which Tracy son was which, and he had a feeling that he'd never be able to.

"However," Jeff continued, deciding that a little honesty would help prepare the young man for what he was about to face. "The eldest, Scott, needs a bit more convincing that your creations are capable of doing what we know they'll be able to do. The thing is... His brothers tend to follow his lead. If we can convince him, I'm pretty sure the others will come on board."

Brains looked frightened. "S-S-So I've got to c-c-convince, ah..." his face registered a blank.

"Scott," Jeff reminded him. "Named after Scott Carpenter."

"Ah!" Brains' face lit up again. An astronaut. Surely he could remember that.

The camera panned along the monorail track until it came to a gaping hole. Beneath the waters the glint of metal was just visible. "Initial reports state that much of the waterfront has subsided into the sea. The sightseers in monocar number 3242 had no chance to escape as their 'car was pulled beneath the waves of Los Angeles harbour," the announcer stated. "There is little hope for their survival."

"Why don't they at least send a boat out to try to save them?" Alan asked.

"Probably the same reason why all the fires can't be put out," Scott said. "A lack of personnel." He sounded despondent.

Virgil, the blueprints lying forgotten on the floor, put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "You did all you could. At least you were able to offer to help. The rest of us can't do anything, no matter how much we want to."

"Why don't you send a submarine from San Diego?" Scott asked the TV set. "Some of those people might be able to be saved."

"They're too far away, all the high speed subs are out on manoeuvres, the subs available don't have the necessary equipment, and part of the seabed has risen up blocking the entrance to the harbour," Gordon told him. "Probably the seabed shifted when the waterfront collapsed."

Scott stared at him. "How did you know that?"

Alan twisted around on his seat on the floor. "The TV told us while you were on the phone."

There was a knock on the door. No one said anything and after a moment it slid open. "Boys..." Jeff looked around the room at his sons. None of them appeared to have noticed the intrusion and they all seemed to be glued to the TV set. "What are you watching? A movie?"

John didn't look away from the screen. "I wish it was, Dad."

"Dad!" Alan jumped to his feet and ran to his father. "I want to be part of your organisation. I want to help those people! Can I? I'll even stay on 'Rescue Five' to give John a break. I want to help them. Can I, please?"

"Whoa!" Jeff grasped Alan by the shoulders. "What are you talking about, Alan? Which people?"

"Tho..." Alan caught sight of Brains and stared at him. The scientist shifted uncomfortably under the young man's gaze.

"Which people?" Jeff asked again. "Scott?"

"Gary Mackie's there, somewhere, in all that!" Scott gestured towards the TV that trapped his attention. "And the Air Force won't let me help."

"Where?" Jeff asked. "What's happened?"

"Los Angeles has had an earthquake," Gordon informed him. "A big one." He saw Brains, and like Alan, stared.

"8.2," Virgil clarified. "The aftershocks look to be pretty big too." He glanced over at his father and saw the young stranger standing at his side. He glanced down at the discarded blueprints scattered untidily on the floor and then back up with an expression of respect.

"Lots of people are dead or trapped," Gordon added.

"And Gary's there?" Jeff frowned. "Have you heard if he's okay?"

"No," John glanced at his father and started when he saw Brains. "Uh... Who...?"

"This is Brains..." Jeff began the introductions and Brains shrunk back when, finally, five pair of eyes turned on him. "Brains these are my sons. Alan, Gordon, Virgil, John and Scott."

"Ah!" Brains said, and his face lit up as he recognised the names of five of the Mercury Seven. Here at last was a way of remembering the Tracy sons.

Scott gave the young man the once over. He was surprised to note that the engineer who had created the machines that had so captivated his father, appeared to be younger than he was.

"Could International Rescue help these people?" Alan was asking.

"Obviously not all of them," Jeff replied. "But we'd be able to help many who would otherwise have no hope. This would leave the regular rescue teams free to help those that they can."

Alan turned to Brains. "Can I join your organisation?" He begged the young stranger. "Please."

"Uh..." Brains looked at his future employer, unsure how to reply.

"Alan," Jeff said gently. "I don't expect you to decide now. This is an important decision, one that could affect all our lives in many ways. You have got to consider all the pros and cons. This is going to be a dangerous undertaking..."

"I don't care," Alan insisted. "I want to help."

"Me too," Virgil said. "If these machines of yours... um... Brains," he started picking the blueprints off the floor, "can do half of what you claim, I want to be involved." He indicated the TV. "Look at the people we'd be able to help."

"Virgil," Jeff began. "You've got to think about..."

"I'm in too, Dad," John announced. "There is a Jewish proverb that says that he who saves one life, saves the world. This is bigger than all of us. If we could help at least one of those people, I'd be happy."

Jeff stared at the young man. This, from his quietest son and in front of a complete stranger, was what could almost be called a full length speech.

"Count me in," Gordon piped up. "Besides," he treated his father to one of his familiar cheeky grins, "if you want to give me my own private submarine, who am I to turn you down?"

"But the risks," Jeff protested. "You've got to consider them. You've all got to consider them."

"Are you trying to put us off?" Virgil asked. "You're not sending us out there totally unprotected. These things," he held up the plans, "have tons of safety features. And I'm assuming that we'll all have our own personal safety gear..."

The phone rang.

Scott made a dive for it, but, yet again, John beat him to the receiver. The blonde greeted the caller uncertainly. "Ah, hello...? Yes... How...?" He grinned. "Sure, I'll put him on." He held out the handset to his older brother. "It's for you."

"Who...?" Scott lifted the earpiece to his ear. "Scott Tracy spea.... Gary! Where the heck are you!? Are you all right?!" He relaxed and his family shared smiles of relief. "You did what? Why didn't you let someone know...? I'll bet they are... Sure I understand... I hope so too... We'll have to get together sometime this weekend. Okay, sounds good... Catch you later, Gary... Bye..." Scott replaced the handset with a happy smile of his own.

"Well?" John asked. "Where is he? He can't be in the middle of the 'quake; the line was too clear."

"He's at home," Scott stated. "He thought he'd have to work this weekend and wouldn't be able to get home for Thanksgiving, but the studio is ahead of schedule so they've given everyone the weekend off. All the flights were booked out so he hitchhiked home and walked the last three miles. He was planning on surprising his family."

"I'll bet he did that all right," Gordon grinned.

"He was wondering why everyone was making such a fuss over him until Hillary told him about the 'quake." Scott frowned and looked back at the scenes of devastation on the television set. "He's got friends out there in L.A. He's worried about them." He gnawed on his bottom lip before becoming aware that six pairs of eyes were fixed on him.

No one said anything as Scott looked at each of them in turn, seeing everyone's unspoken question: "will you join us?"

He finished up by locking eyes with his father...

...

"I'll think about it."

If you are wondering what finally caused Scott to sign up with International Rescue, you'll find the answer in quiller's popular "The Deciding Factor", which could be regarded as the de facto second story in the series, (if quiller will permit me to describe it as such).

As said at the beginning, "A Quiet Beginning" is intended to be the prequel to "Brothers in Arms", but both stories can be viewed as separate entities.