Hi, again! =) Going to be tough, getting used to just writing on weekends. Still, absence makes the keyboard fonder. Hope you enjoy, and drop me a note, if you want to.

Lockdown

1

In space, flying a monitored GDF shuttle, approaching Thunderbird 5-

Well... the big, graceful station certainly looked abandoned. Approaching in the shade of Earth's nightside, from Global-1, Captain Ridley O'Bannon could detect no signs of life, besides the occasional orbital maintenance burn; yellow-red, against blackness. No lights, no activity, and all of the scans came back dark. No wave or beam that her shuttle produced could penetrate 5's shielded hull. Even the perma-glass windows and ring had gone opaque. From this side, at least. Eden had shown more vivacity, back when she'd checked her, that one last time; back when she'd first met John Tracy.

There were two Ridleys flying that shuttle, really. One was a decorated GDF space captain, commander of Global-1. The other was a worried young woman in love. Like everyone else, she had seen last week's news feeds from Ross Island, and knew about as much as anyone did; that International Rescue had destroyed valuable government property, failed to give warning of imminent danger, and allowed one violent psychopath to be murdered, while the other escaped; that their craft had been grounded, facilities shuttered, as EarthGov interviewed a crop of young, square-jawed new pilots. In a word: d*mn.

Being a career military woman, O'Bannon knew her orders. Knew precisely what she was expected to do, in all situations. As a lover and friend, though… she was torn.

For one thing, the Birds themselves refused to cooperate with the GDF. Once delivered to the Harmony Airfield in London… once their pilots had stalked grimly off… Thunderbirds 1, 2 and 3 had simply shut down. No one else could get in, or even approach any closer than ten yards. Not without getting a fast, nasty shock. Thunderbird 4 was missing in action… tucked up in 2, most likely… and Thunderbird Shadow no more than a rumor.

That left her target, Thunderbird 5; silvered by moonglow, silent and still as a shipwreck. No one else had been able to get aboard, so the brass had decided that Captain O'Bannon should have a go, whether she wanted to do it, or not. After all, Thunderbird 5 was the key to everything, having auxiliary control of her sister Birds. Crack 5, and the rest would fall into line, with or without the stubborn Tracys.

Maneuvering almost reflexively, O'Bannon brought her small shuttle closer to Thunderbird 5. Behind her, the Earth's continents were outlined in sparkling white against black-velvet darkness. The occasional satellite or meteor streaked past. Otherwise, there was only John's station, and loads of painful uncertainty.

She was being watched, of course. All of her shuttle's sensors were bugged, their input sent onward to EarthGov's enforcement branch. Aware of this… nervous, conflicted and yearning… Ridley forced herself to remain completely professional. Tapping a key on her virtual comm screen, the captain announced,

"I have visual on Thunderbird 5. Looks derelict, other than basic shielding and maintenance."

Winced at the last bit, as some fast-moving space junk came within a hundred yards of the station, only to be annihilated by its briefly visible soap-bubble shield. Ridley blinked, then keyed up her comm again, saying,

"Attempting contact."

"Understood, GDF-S3," came the response, from far-distant EarthGov PD. "Proceed with caution. Will stand by."

"Affirmative, Base."

The young captain took a moment to steady her heartbeat and breathing, before switching comm settings.

"Thunderbird 5, from GDF-S3. This is Captain Ridley O'Bannon, of the Global-1 space station, re… requesting permission to initiate docking maneuvers."

Before her, the space elevator hung snug in its clamps, docking claw shut up tight like the legs of an upside-down, very dead spider. Not even the hull cams were moving. The ten-foot words 'International Rescue' rolled slowly past, along with a painted-on Marvin the Martian. Virgil Tracy's artwork.

"Repeat, this is Ridley O'Bannon, of…"

Something happened, then, causing her heart to jerk hard in her chest. Golden lights snapped on, around the station's external docking hatch. No return hail, though. Clearing her throat, O'Bannon switched comm settings, again.

"Looks like the welcome mat's out," she quipped, in a reasonably calm, steady voice. "Will attempt boarding." In her mind, she was thinking: 'No, no, no, no, no! Tracy, what's the matter with you?! You're not there, Red. You're not there!'

Of course, her spacesuit telemetry would reveal the captain's stress and raging hormones to all those who waited and watched far below. O'Bannon fought to keep herself level, refusing to entertain that silent audience.

Live bait. That's what they'd made her. Surely Tracy was too smart to fall for it, though. He wasn't supposed to be there. Was subject to arrest for trespass, if caught aboard impounded government property. Trying to cover him, she joked,

"Guess that her on-board system's been pretty well-trained."

Then, nervous as h*ll, Captain O'Bannon used steering rockets and air-bursts to bring her shuttle up to the hatch. 10 yards… 5… 1… a sharp, ringing bump, and then capture. No shield-flare, no disintegration. Also, no comment from Earth.

Ridley scowled, grey eyes narrowing beneath tensely-drawn auburn brows. Her comm had gone dark, meaning that her audience had just lost their show… right? To be on the safe side, the captain said,

"Docking complete. Will go aboard, scan the station, and perform a full systems check. Stand by, Base."

No response, but perhaps she, too, was being tested, along with used. Maybe a relaxed, unworried girlfriend made for a better lure, or else they wanted to know where her loyalties lay.

Unstrapping with a swift tap to her chest lock, O'Bannon pushed away from her seat, and then drifted across to the shuttle's boarding hatch. Listened as air hissed and thumped into the newly created lock between their two hulls, wanting… She wasn't sure what. Put on her helmet, because a smart, safe astronaut took precautions when boarding a (maybe) abandoned hulk, and because she needed the armour. About five minutes later, both hatches clicked open, iris-ing wide to let her on through.

"I'm in," she reported, her act d*mn good, if she did say so, herself. "No signs of life, so far. Will keep you posted, Base."

Usually, Eos, the chat-bot, would have shown up; sarcastic and threatening. Normally, John would have been right there at the station's main hatch, telling the bot to shut up, or be switched out for a pocket calculator. Not this time. Looking around through the bubble of her helmet, O'Bannon saw barely flickering machinery, and dim blue comm screens. Ran a quick environment test. Found it normal. Lied like a rug.

"No life support," she announced. "All systems down… temperature just above freezing."

Because maybe her suit telemetry was being blocked, too. She could hope so, anyway. If not, she'd just taken her first step on the short, ugly road to court-martial.

Collecting herself with some difficulty, O'Bannon set off on a slow, thorough tour of the station. First checked the ring, and Tracy's small living space. Touched his narrow berth, with its shelf of contraband books, old pictures and game cartridges. Here, there was gravity, for the ring was still slowly spinning. Here, on this bed, she'd spent a few nights, locked in his arms, watching the planet below.

Now, Ridley took off her helmet and picked up the blue pillow, burying her face in its cloth, and breathing his scent. But John didn't appear. His annoying chat-bot didn't come whirring along on her track, to turn red and glare. All was quiet and still, with only the station's faint background rumble keeping her company.

Minding the time (they'd be checking it closely) Captain O'Bannon set his pillow back down on the bed and smoothed everything over. Not that he slept down here, much. Tracy preferred to drift in the big, central dome. She knew that. So… next stop, his favourite haunt, followed by the galley and outdoor 'tool shed'.

The dome was reached through a spoke-tunnel. Looked simple to access, but you had to time your passage just right, because the ring spun, while the station's hub didn't. So, Ridley waited until the hatch lights went from red, to yellow, to green. Gathered herself, and then jumped upward. Tracy made it look easy. O'Bannon fell short, getting just halfway into that green-lit access tube, which uttered a brief, blatting alarm. A 'not very impressive, are you?' sort of noise. She wriggled her way further hub-ward, aware that the ring had slowed, to prevent her from being snapped in half between those two shearing hatch rims. Gravity dropped away as she left the ring. Now O'Bannon was able to scoot herself along, using occasional foot- and hand-holds.

The dome and central hub were as empty and still as a bar, after last call. Nobody polishing glasses or sweeping the floor, even. No big, glowing Earth-image, and no Tracy. Crying was stupid, in space. The tears wouldn't fall, they'd just cling there like wobbly goggles. Like eyeball sweat. In her best cool, career-officer voice, O'Bannon said,

"No signs of life or continued habitation, anywhere aboard Thunderbird 5. The station is completely deserted. Central computer is down. Sabotaged."

No response, of course. Her comm and suit telemetry were blocked by whatever shielding guarded the big IR space station. Had she been attacked, no one would hear. Then,

"You lied, about life support." Not through her comm. Right beside her.

O'Bannon whirled. Flailed, actually, as she'd drifted away from the nearest grab-holds, was now close to the dome's very center. Someone took hold of her right arm. And Tracy just… appeared… his suit no longer mimicking the stuff at his back. Reached up with one hand to remove his own helmet, keeping the other on her; holding his place with tiny steering blasts.

"Not… supposed… to be… here… Tracy," she whispered, between hard, urgent kisses. Through an embrace so close, she felt him through her suit, and his. Had maybe five minutes before they'd expect her to disembark and start reporting. Five minutes to cram with kissing, caresses and talk.

"Had to come home," he said simply, pulling back enough to look at her. And, God, he was beautiful. All gilt-copper hair and sea-green eyes. Like something meant to be framed and adored; not a person, at all. "It's where I belong."

She was pressed tight up against him, wanting more, but having no time.

"You're okay?" she asked. "The news feed... didn't say... but that must've been one... hellacious fight."

"Better than I was," he told her, breaking off for another deep kiss. "Dad's been transferred to Mars…" worked his way down her jawline and throat, then back up again. Hands right where she wanted them. "They wouldn't accept his resignation, or let us keep home-schooling Alan. He's off at the Enlightenment Academy. Talk to him, sometimes, when he can reach the perimeter. Kayo… don't know about. Rest are… still on the Island… We own that, for now."

Ridley nodded, eyes closed, legs twined around his.

"I can't come back," she whispered. "They'll know you're here, if I do."

"It's okay," he replied, kissing the top of her head. "We've got a plan, Captain. Eos will clean up your suit telemetry, and I'll stay officially 'not home'. It's risky, but Scott means to…"

Shaking her head, O'Bannon placed her slim fingers lightly across Tracy's mouth.

"Better I don't know," she told him, scraping up the resolve to pull free of the man she loved… would always love. "Just… be careful, Lieutenant. Try to stay out of trouble, please. And, let me know, if you need me. The h*ll with the Space Corps. I'll do whatever it takes. Find you, no matter what."

Leaning into her, just a little, Tracy touched his forehead to Captain O'Bannon's.

"I believe you," he said. "And I… I, um…"

Half laughing, half sobbing, she told him,

"Yeah. Me, too."