RSS

Thunderbird 7: The Paradox Cycle

Thunderbird 7: The Paradox Cycle

Thunderbird 7: The Paradox Cycle

Episode One – The Other Thunderbird 7

The Rift was never silent.

Alan Tracy sat rigid in the pilot’s chair, fingers white on the controls as Thunderbird 7 trembled through another timestorm. The chronorings whirred and sang, golden arcs pulsing against the endless void outside. The Rift was not space, not sky—just an ocean of shifting light where centuries crashed against one another like waves.

Then came the voice.

“Thunderbird 7 to base,” it said, sharp through the static. “Alan Tracy reporting. Requesting assistance… repeat, requesting assistance.”

Alan’s heart jolted.
He hadn’t spoken.

The Encounter

A shape emerged through the violet fog: another Thunderbird 7.

At first, Alan thought it a reflection, a trick of the storm—but the closer it came, the clearer it was. Identical spindle-shaped hull, silver-blue sheen, chronorings burning with unstable light. But this craft was damaged: panels scorched, vanes twisted, hull cracked along its side as though it had aged a hundred years.

And inside its cockpit—Alan saw himself.

The older Alan’s hair was grey, his eyes hollow. His voice trembled when the radio opened again.
“This is Thunderbird 7. Who are you?”

Alan swallowed hard. “This is Thunderbird 7. Identify yourself.”

The reply came after a long pause, tinged with exhaustion.
“I am Alan Tracy. I flew into the Rift thirty years ago. I never came back.”

Warnings in the Void

The two Thunderbirds drifted close, their chronorings pulsing in opposite rhythms, clashing like two out-of-sync clocks. Alarms shivered across Alan’s displays as time itself buckled.

“Listen to me,” the older Alan said. His voice was Alan’s voice, but worn down, frayed like rope. “Every rescue you’ve made—it had a cost. Every life saved in one strand means another lost in a parallel. Look.”

The Rift peeled open like a wound. Alan saw visions—

  • London, still burning, never rebuilt.
  • The Titanic forever sinking, passengers frozen mid-scream.
  • Mars, red deserts swallowing broken domes under a black sky.

“These are the fractures,” his older self said. “International Rescue meddled too far. History is a dam—you punch holes in it, and eventually the flood will drown everything.”

Alan’s jaw clenched. “That’s not true. International Rescue saves lives. That’s our vow.”

The older Alan gave a weary smile, almost pitying.
“Then why am I still here?”

Collision of Clocks

The Rift began to howl. Both Thunderbirds juddered as their proximity pulled the timelines tighter, crushing seconds together. Alan’s chronorings shrieked, sparks bursting from the consoles.

“Alan,” John’s voice crackled faintly from Thunderbird 5, across centuries, “you must pull away. The paradox won’t sustain two Thunderbird 7s in the same stream.”

But Alan hesitated. Through the cracked cockpit window of the other craft, he could see his older self raise a hand in salute, a strange look in his eyes.
“Go back,” the man said. “Do better than I did.”

Then the Rift roared like a beast. Alan slammed the Chrono-Lever forward. His Thunderbird 7 tore away, vanes glowing, the other craft tumbling backward into the light until it was gone.

Return to Base

Thunderbird 7 jolted back into real skies with a sound like breaking glass. Alan gasped, chest tight, staring at the calm ocean below. He’d made it back.

“Thunderbird 7 to base,” he said hoarsely. “Returning home.”

Tracy Island’s palm-fringed runway slid into view, the hangar doors opening. Everything looked normal. Too normal.

Inside the command room, Jeff Tracy stood waiting. Alan climbed down from the cockpit, pulling off his helmet, relief flooding through him.

But something was wrong.

Jeff’s hair—there was a streak of grey that hadn’t been there this morning. Scott’s uniform bore a patch Alan didn’t recognise. And when Virgil clapped him on the shoulder, he said, “Good to have you back, Alan. After all you’ve been through.”

Alan frowned. “Been through what? I was gone five minutes.”

The others exchanged uneasy looks.

The Shard

Later, in the hangar, Alan walked the perimeter of Thunderbird 7, running his hand over the scorched hull. Something caught his eye: a shard of metal lodged deep in one seam. He tugged it free.

It was a fragment of plating. Burnt, corroded. But the letters were still visible.

THUNDERBIRD 7 – UNIT 2.

Alan stared, his breath catching. The chronorings on his ship pulsed once, softly, as though in response.

To Be Continued in Episode Two: “The Phantom Missions”

 

Comments are closed.