Author's notes: This is a little something I thought up when I was thinking about an ethics problem a teacher asked my class last year: if two people were equally hurt, and had an equal chance of survival, and you could only save one, which person would you pick and how? Since this story deals with that question, this may possibly be disturbing for some people.

I do realize that the situation presented here is somewhat improbable. Just go with it, please? Also, this isn't my best writing – I really wanted to get this out of my head, and I therefore paid less attention to detail than I possibly should have. Still, you'll get the point. Feel free to review, but as always, please keep it polite. I appreciate constructive criticism, truly, but I appreciate kindness too.

I don't own the Thunderbirds. I don't make any profit from this.

John Tracy was, as usual, up in space. He was aboard Thunderbird Five, doing the one and only job that held any meaning for him: he was acting as International Rescue's space monitor. He didn't do it for himself; he didn't even do it for his father, the founder and leader of International Rescue. He did it for the world. Day in and day out he would sit among the stars, listening to the millions of communications that bounced around the Earth each day. To anyone else it would have been an indecipherable mess, and indeed, John was certain that not even his family could truly understand the peace he felt when he was doing his job on Thunderbird Five.

To John, however, the mess of signals and communications and broadcasts that he was able to listen to on a daily basis was what helped him make sense of the world.

The computer systems on 'Five were top-of-the-line, and most of the time the computers were able to filter out the regular conversations from the ones requiring John's attention. John rarely got to hear, for example, an airplane pilot talking to a control tower, or a ham radio operator in London talking to a stranger in Hong Kong. Thunderbird Five's computer banks were programmed with a series of key words that might indicate a distress call, though, and therefore there were occasions when these random snippets of communication were patched through to Thunderbird Five's control room. John would listen for long enough to determine that no one was in danger, and then he would push 'Five's equivalent of an "ignore call" button. This happened on average about once or twice a day, and it was these incidences that allowed John to stay in touch with the mundane yet necessary aspects of life on the planet below him.

And then, of course, there were the times when the distress calls were just that: distress calls that needed to be answered, because people were in danger and there was a chance that the Thunderbirds could save their lives. That was John's sole purpose: to catch these distress calls, assess the severity of the situation, and dispatch the rest of his family to deal with the problem as needed. To the world, Thunderbird Five was easily forgotten; but to International Rescue, the knowledge that Thunderbird Five, and consequently John, was what made their rescues possible was always at the forefront of the operatives' thoughts.

John sat thinking about this in the control room of Thunderbird Five. It was a slow day; it had been a slow week, actually. John had just come back up to the station to relieve Brains and to start his month long rotation. He had always doubted his place in International Rescue and in the Tracy family, but this recent visit with them had allayed his concerns.

"International Rescue, come in! International Rescue, please, help!" John was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of a man's voice over the speaker. Instantly he was out of his seat and standing in front of the panel that would allow him to trace the call.

"This is International Rescue," he announced as his 'Bird began triangulating on the position of the call.

"Thank goodness," the man sighed, relieved. "We need your help. We've just had a terrible storm. Lightning struck some dry brush, and now there's a fire. We tried to put it out, but it's growing rapidly and it's just too windy to contain it."

The computer beeped, and John glanced at the monitor. The man was calling from northern California. John quickly tapped into the breaking news feed streaming live from that area of the country, and sure enough, a wildfire had indeed broken out. The fire was massive already and showed no signs of slowing down.

"Is anyone in immediate danger?"

"The fire is heading for a town about twenty miles from here. There are kids in schools. We think we can evacuate some of the residents, but the truth of the matter is that there are just too many people to evacuate that quickly. The traffic will be so badly backed up that there will be no way to do a thing about it."

"I see," John answered. "Alright. Hang in there. Begin evacuating residents in the danger zone. We'll be there to help you as soon as we can."

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

John reached over. He was just about to push the button that would set the klaxon off back on Tracy Island, but he never got that far.

"Calling International Rescue," an accented voice – John guessed New York – said. "International Rescue, please respond." John felt his heart drop. International Rescue was well equipped to deal with almost anything, but two calls simultaneously was a first.

"Go ahead, this is International Rescue," John answered.

"This is the United States Coast Guard," the man stated. "We are requesting immediate assistance with an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico. A fire has broken out and twenty men are trapped."

"FAB," John answered out of habit, knowing as he said it that the man wouldn't know what the letters stood for. The message was clear, though, because the man cut the communication without a further word.

John set off the klaxon back home and waited for someone to respond. His father was the one whose face appeared on the view screen.

"What've we got, John?" he asked, and John watched as Gordon, Virgil, and Scott stood in front of their lift doors, listening.

"A problem, Dad. A wildfire has broken out in California, threatening the lives of an entire town. They request immediate assistance."

"FAB."

"Dad, wait." John watched as his somber tone of voice instantly caused Jeff to freeze. He had been in the process of turning away from the video call, but now he turned back, and John registered the look on his face. It was a scary one.

"We've also got a fire on an oilrig in the Gulf of Mexico. Twenty men are trapped. The Coast Guard needs help. They're also requesting immediate assistance."

The look of dawning comprehension on Jeff's face almost caused John to flinch. The Thunderbirds were good, but they weren't that good. Two calls for help had come in at the same time, but the Thunderbirds were only going to be able to answer one of them. For a moment John considered suggesting sending Thunderbird Two to California and Thunderbird One to the oil rig – Two was slower, and would never make it to the Gulf of Mexico in time, but One could – but then it occurred to him that the resources would be stretched too thin; that in reality the materials needed to fight the fire and stabilize oil rig, such as Thunderbird Four, were on Thunderbird Two, and not on One. One would have to combat the fire until Two could get there, but if they did that, then the people in California wouldn't have anyone to help them at all.

International Rescue could handle one call at a time, maybe two if the calls were close together… but this? This was impossible.

The Thunderbirds could try to save most to all of the residents of the California town, or they could try to save all of the trapped oilrig workers, but they couldn't do both. People were going to lose their lives; it was just a matter of which people. And it all came down to this decision in this moment.

John wondered how his father was going to choose. Who would be given a death sentence? How could Jeff even decide? These decisions had always been part of the rescue business, and every member of IR had had to come to terms with this, but never on this level. Never had they had to choose one rescue over another. Never had they had to leave an entire group of people hoping and praying for a rescue that would never come.

John watched his father's face as Jeff thought through the same thing that John himself had just realized. Jeff closed his eyes in grief for a moment. Behind him, Scott, Virgil, and Gordon waited for Jeff's decision. An agonizing moment passed. It could have been an eternity, but John glanced at his watch; it had only been five seconds.

"John, call the firefighters in California and let them know we're on our way," Jeff finally said, and though his voice was firm, John knew his father well enough to see the grief and terror and indecision on his face. John must have had a questioning look on his face, because Jeff caught his eye. "They're closer, more people are in danger, and we'll be more likely to be able to get there in time to help them."

"FAB, Dad," John answered. He swallowed past an uncomfortable lump in his throat as he watched his father turn to face his brothers.

"Thunderbirds are go," Jeff said. John turned his back, unable to watch the scene unfold. Pressing a button, he called the man in California on the same frequency the man had used.

"The Thunderbirds are on the way," he said, and he heard the relief in the man's voice as he once again thanked John. Then John took a deep breath.

"International Rescue to US Coast Guard," he called. The same accented voice as before answered the call.

"Are you coming to help us?" the man asked desperately. John cleared his throat.

"Sir, there is a wildfire in California," he said. John meant to continue. He meant to apologize, to tell the man that he was sorry, but no matter how much he wanted to help, there was really nothing he could do; the Thunderbirds had been forced to make a choice. That's what he meant to say. None of it ever got past the ever-growing lump in his airway. John sucked in a deep breath, fighting off tears that he was embarrassed to be shedding.

"I understand," the Coast Guard man said, obviously deciphering John's unspoken words, and John didn't know how to react to the comprehending, not even slightly accusing voice. "Thank you for your time. Coast Guard out."

John knew the exact moment when the oilrig exploded ten minutes later. He knew it because his space station's monitors went crazy. He silenced the alarms, sunk down into his chair, and cried.

John's sole purpose was to answer distress calls, assess the severity of the situation, and dispatch the Thunderbirds to deal with the problem as necessary. He saved people; maybe not directly, but because he was willing to listen, because he was willing to do his best to help out International Rescue in the way he was best suited, he was partially responsible for saving just as many lives as the rest of his family. John had accepted that although he wasn't part of the action, he was still doing something good, something useful. He was doing his part to help out.

He wasn't used to condemning people to death. That was something he had yet to come to terms with.