Welcome to the member's 'do it yourself' part of the story-writing.

Here, we members of the International Rescue collective can give a bit of our talent of creative-writing to the site. 

So, if you have bits to add onto the story (which will be constantly updated), send it to me at either of the following: 

jojo_tracy@hotmail.com

jojo_tracy@thunderbird1.co.uk 

F.A.B and good writing!

Psylocke

Get Spaced

FRAN

Alan Tracy was in a bad mood.

Since getting up, he had spilled his cereal in his lap, stubbed his bare toe twice, found the crossword doodled over, (Gordon, no doubt,) and discovered, after getting changed for a swim, that the pool had been drained for cleaning.

He had every reason to feel mutinous and foul this morning, but his family just didn’t understand. No, they were deliberately, he was sure, trying to wind him up! And at that moment, it was Virgil with the bloody piano, non-stop!

"Enough Beethoven!" he cried at his brother, as they all sat in the lounge. "He’d turn in his grave at hearing that one again. And again, and again, like me! Have some compassion, Virg!"

Virgil merely grinned, and paused dramatically before playing Chopsticks at twice its regular speed. Surprisingly irritating, when played like that. But what could he do with his father sat at his desk with the paper, other than glare at his spiteful sibling.

Then it was Gordon’s turn, from his almost horizontal pose on the recliner. "What’s with you, kiddo?"

Too chirpy! Far too chirpy!

"Nothing, okay? I’m just sick of that tune!"

Chopsticks getting even quicker in the background. Just ignore him, the horrible person, Alan told himself.

"Virgil," called Gordon, sweet as sugar.

Chopsticks could now break land-speed records.

"I say, Virgil!"

Still no reply. Virgil has assumed ‘lost-in-beauty-of-music’ pose.

"Hey! VIIIIRG!"

"YES GORDON?"

Oh, for goodness sake!

"ALAN SAYS HE’S

SICK OF THAT SONG!"

"SORRY?"

"I SAY, ALAN SAYS HE’S SICK OF THAAAT SONNNG!!"

They’re barely four foot apart, for crying out loud!

"WHICH SONG’S THAT THEN?"

"Y’ KNOW! THE SONG!"

"OH! YOU MEAN THIS SONG?"

Wonderful! We’re back on Beethoven! Alan hated his brothers. They were so immature!

His father, unhelpful as he was, just chuckled and told them all to pipe down. Now Alan really hated the word and all who inhabited it.

Scott came over from the bookshelf and sat beside Alan on the couch, still smiling at Gordon and Virgil’s behaviour. Opening his book, he regarded Alan curiously as he rubbed at his temples, as if trying to disintegrate them.

"Come on, Alan," he asked quietly, "what’s on your mind?"

"I’m not a little kid," muttered Alan. "You don’t have to coax problems out of me with sweet-talk, you know, so just quit it!"

"So there is a problem to coax out?" Scott couldn’t help smiling at his baby brother when his mood got this bad. He just received an acidic glare, so he grinned amiably and returned to his book.

"Don’t do that!" Alan almost screamed, he was so irritated.

"Sorry Alan, but I read all the time," said Scott without looking up, totally used to his little brother’s mood swings. Though he hadn’t had to deal with one as bad as this since Alan was about eighteen.

"Not reading! Condescending!" Alan was getting louder.

Scott looked up calmly.

"Explain."

"You’re doing it now!" Alan yelled. "Being all calm and smiley like I’m some dumb little kid having a tantrum!" Scott resisted telling Alan that that was exactly how he was behaving. "I’m not a baby! You have no right to look down on me!"

Scott raised his eyes to his family, and they all sat back and waited for the eruption.

"I hate it when you get all parental on me, Scott!" Alan got to his feet in anger. "You’re not my father! And I hate it when Dad doesn’t set you guys straight when he should! And I hate it when Gordon and Virgil make fun of me! And – "

"Did it occur to you, Alan," put in Scott, "that if you’re so full of hate with everything you see, then maybe it’s not the rest of the world at fault? That maybe something’s not all right with you?"

The silence in the room that followed was too much for Alan, conscious that all eyes were on him. He did all he could do, and stormed out.

"Sheesh!" Gordon announced, ever good with words.

"What’s with him?" Virgil swivelled on the piano stool. "I haven’t seen him that bad since the day before his graduation."

"He’s just a little brat," muttered Gordon.

"Don’t be cruel, Gords," Scott frowned. "He’s twenty-one now. He hasn’t exploded like that in years. Something must actually be wrong. He’s not kid enough to have tantrums anymore."

Jeff sighed. "Just give him some time. He won’t come down for lunch, I’ll bet, so I’ll take him something and find out what’s going on then."

Jeff went to see his youngest son at one o’ clock, and found him lying on his bed, glaring at the ceiling.

"You can’t pretend nothing’s wrong now," smiled his father, putting a plate of ravioli on his bed.

"Dad, I don’t think anything is wrong." Alan sounded calm, but picked up his fork and stabbed a pasta parcel with more force than was really necessary.

"Is that so? Well if nothing’s wrong, you can go and apologise to your brothers."

"I didn’t do anything to Virgil and Gordon! They were picking on me, remember?!" He was losing it again.

"What about Scott?"

"Scott? Why?"

"Well, he can’t help trying to ‘parent’ you a bit. He’s almost ten years older than you, and it’s only natural, especially after the way he helped after your Mom died."

Alan sighed; mention of his mother knocking all spite out of him, as ever.

"I know. I just found it maddening, that’s all!"

Jeff smiled. "We don’t see you as a kid, Alan. Or at least we didn’t. Are you through behaving like a brat now?"

Alan bit back a hundred indignant retorts for the sake of the peace and nodded. He tried to carry on with his pasta, but dropped his fork and turned to his father.

"It’s no good, Dad. Something is wrong, but I can’t quite put my finger on what." Jeff actually felt incredibly sorry for his son when he muttered, "I feel so foolish."

"Why, Son? Who’s making you feel that way?"

"The guys," he said, without thinking.

"What have they said?" Jeff was going to rip them up if they’d been on at him meanly.

"Nothing. It’s just…" Alan took a deep breath and tried to explain. "Well, take Scott. He’s been all over the world for the air force, and took a year out to see Europe before he joined them. And Virgil got posted to the Arctic for a spell after collage. And John exploring space more than Earth, and Gordon spending a year underwater researching marine farming, and –" He sighed again. "I just guess I always wondered when they were seeing all these wonderful things, what I’d see when I got my chance. It wasn’t if I get my chance, it was when. Which is ironic now because it’s too late, coming straight from collage into International Rescue. I just feel like I’ve missed out on seeing the world, somehow."

He was sure his dad was going to go off the wall a little, telling him what an adventure International Rescue was, and all the different places it took him. But Jeff simply smiled at his son, and said,

"Why didn’t you say so?"

Two days later, Alan was standing in a bustling market place in Asia, and he felt great. The sun was hot, the people, friendly, (the women, uncommonly pretty!) and the country, fascinating beyond belief. Every day was a wonderful adventure as he lost himself in the culture, only himself to look after. He was sure that things couldn’t get better.

The Hood was sure that things couldn’t get any better. He was so convinced, he was actually laughing! He’d always known that the strength in the Tracy’s family was their closeness, the fact that one was never alone. Imagine his surprise when, out buying food at a market place North of his jungle temple, he watched as Alan Tracy wandered right past him!

Stalking him for the rest of the day was enough to discover that he was quite alone, and even climbing to the roof of the little hotel the boy had chosen reaped it’s rewards, when he heard him talking on the video-phone to his father.

"Yeah Dad. Tomorrow I think I’ll go to this Sikh Temple I heard about from the locals. They say it’s absolutely awe-inspiring!"

The Hood could hardly believe his good fortune.

That time tomorrow, he would have a hostage of the utmost value to Jeff Tracy, and there the negotiations of the future of International Rescue would start.

He couldn’t help it. He laughed all over again.

 TO BE CONTINUED ON PAGE 2...