It's moments like this that make me wonder what I believe in.
Through Mobile Control's open microphones I can hear muttered prayers from the priest Scott pulled out of the wreckage. If the man hadn't got himself trapped, we wouldn't be in this situation in the first place. I don't blame him though. I learnt long ago that in times of stress, humans just do what humans do. It brings out the best and worst of people. Sometimes they need a prod, or even a punch, to get them past that very human reaction to danger, but shouting at them after the fact is as unfair as it is pointless. I wish the rescued priest well, and hope with all my heart that someone out there is listening to his prayers.
I can't, in good conscience, add my entreaties to his. I was raised accepting Christianity's God in a vague, unquestioning way, but no more than that. It would be dishonest of me to dilute the priest's implicit faith with a prayer born more out of urgent need than any real belief.
Perhaps I should be asking Mom for help? I know my older brothers do, although they'd be mortified if I ever mentioned it. I've heard them sometimes, when desperation outweighs reason. After Gordon's accident. When Thunderbird Two was shot out of the sky. When a rescue goes spectacularly wrong... like this one.
They talk to you, Mom. Asking you to keep us safe, to intervene with some higher power I don't think any of them could define. Well, I'm sorry, but I never knew you. I don't feel you watching, the way they do. And, no offence, Mom, but I sure hope that wherever Virgil is right now, it's a long way from where you're waiting for us.
Even so…
We take so many chances. We defy the odds, every day. It was inevitable they'd catch up with us. I just wish I could believe there's some justice in this world - something that cares more about the good we do than about inevitability... or about the realities of aftershocks, falling masonry and traumatic injury.
Perhaps then I wouldn't be standing, pale and trembling, on Thunderbird Five's command deck, listening to my eldest brother fight for Virgil's life.
No one's talking to me. If I hadn't tapped into my brothers' wrist-coms, I'd be as much in the dark as Dad and the others on the island still are. As it is, I only have background noise and the urgent, quick-fire instructions passing between Scott and John to go by.
My legs tremble and I grip the nearest console tight. I listen to the defibrillator discharge, to the faltering beeps that follow and fade into nothing.
Scott never panics. He never backs down, and he's not giving up. But I always thought he would never beg either.
He's begging now. I listen to his desperate words as he pleads with Virgil to come back to us, and suddenly my mind clears.
I know what I believe in.
John's recharging the defibrillator, Scott picking up where he left off with the CPR. Virgil is silent, but I know - somehow I know - that he's hearing our elder brother's pleas. And he won't let this beat him, any more than Scott will.
"Come on, Virge," I whisper aloud as they give him a second shock.
I'm glad - Hell! I'm overjoyed and weak with relief - as I hear a steady pulse return, but I'm not surprised. I stay calm, listening to John and Scott hurry Virgil back to his beloved 'Bird. I already have the coordinates of the nearest trauma unit in Thunderbirds Two's nav system, long before Scott asks for them. It all seems more manageable somehow, and not just because Virgil's finally waking up and it sounds like he's going to be alright.
Scott's shown me the way. When it came down to it, my eldest brother didn't turn to Mom or to anyone else for help. He put all his trust in our brother, and that's something I can understand. I trusted John and Scott to save Virgil's life. I trusted Virge to take a hold of the lifeline they threw him and find his way back.
I'm still not sure about God, or whether the spirits of our loved ones watch over us. Perhaps one day I'll figure all that out, but for the moment, I don't need to. I know now what gives me the confidence to take the Thunderbirds into danger, or, if necessary, to send others in my stead. I can keep my cool and do my job, hating my helplessness up here but accepting it anyway.
Because I do have faith. Unfaltering, unshakable.
Above all else, I believe in one thing.
I believe in my brothers.
