Turnaround
1
Tracy Island, down in the massive, underground lab complex-
He might never get another chance like this one. No, he wasn't glad that Mr. Brain's pregnant wife was in trouble. Wouldn't wish that on anybody… but it meant that his worried boss had left him alone in that big, noisy lab, with all that a guy could want in the way of special equipment. Not much supervision, either, because even Max was busy keeping those Birds in the air, and helping their pilots come home. As for sensors and crap like that, the GDF-blocking "camera glitch" had cut those off, making his movements almost invisible. But that was only half the story.
Thing was, Caleb Gonzalez had been on the Island, helping Mr. Brain for months. Long enough to learn his way around the lab, crack some codes and maybe, actually do it; access the far future and bring Kaise back. He hadn't forgotten her. Wouldn't let himself. Could still hear her laugh and cute, chirping voice; see her tall, skinny form. Like the poet said: Lovely in her bones. Her big green eyes and that mane of heavy blonde hair. Could still feel her touch, from when she'd held his hand on the sunny, warm beach, that day. He'd sort of tried to kiss her, then, with stupid, funny, nose-bumping results.
Yeah. Altered-past memories were all that was left and the only thing he could cling to, since time had swept her away. Like a missing tooth, y'know? That place you kept poking your tongue in, not really quite believing. Only worse, because sometimes he missed her so bad, he thought he would die.
Weird, that he wasn't sure how they'd met, any longer. Something to do with a meteor strike, or crap like that. He couldn't remember. Well, he and Kaise could figure it out, once she was here… and now was his chance to get moving on that.
Caleb took a quick, casual look around, just to be sure. All he wanted was Kaise back, not to cause trouble, or get kicked off the team. He had to be careful. Made like he was checking equipment, even picking up and carrying Mr. Brain's dropped tablet. Made him look more official.
The time crystal was off-limits. Didn't know how to control its jumps and didn't dare risk wiping out half the lab complex, screwing around with something that dangerous. Walked right past that triple-locked door without even looking.
But, the new transport disk, the one Mr. Brain had improved from Reeves' first design… that, Caleb thought he could manage. Like, y'know… fifty-thirty (with twenty percent being 'who the heck knows'). It wasn't locked up, even. Not very fancy, either. Just a prototype, his boss called it; all jury-rigged parts and trailing cables, humming like a nest of hornets as it bled the Island's powerplant.
Circular in shape, and a little less than knee-high in size, the circuit-laced disk took up half of the transport lab, with a computer workstation crammed in on the side across from the main doors. Caleb had spent a lot of time there, recently, and he knew the place well.
The dark-haired, substitute aquanaut felt his gut clench as he walked into that brightly-lit room. Looked down at his borrowed tablet and pushed a few windows around with a forefinger, just like he was actually doing his part-time job. Spotted something, then. A choked-off signal from the submarine access tunnel. It was opening up to admit a 'friendly'.
Hunh. Thunderbird 4 was on her way over, in the belly of Virgil Tracy's ride, Thunderbird 2. So… who else would use the undersea access tunnel, without calling in to say "hey"?
Caleb scowled, his dark eyebrows knitting themselves over worried brown eyes. Then, just like that, he figured it out. FAB-1, of course; coming in on the down-low to stay off of GDF radar. Duh. Lady P did that, sometimes, when her wonder-car was in sea-going mode. She was a spy, right? Just back from Pacifica City with John Tracy, probably.
Relieved, the young man walked a quarter-way 'round the buzzing transport disk to Mr. Brain's deserted workstation. There, he put down that borrowed tablet, cracked his knuckles, and set straight to work, making things right again.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Awake, and uncertain-
For the second time in two days, Scott Tracy shuddered himself back to consciousness, not sure where the h*ll he was, or what was going on. Moments before, he'd been swept up into the roaring maw of a cyclone. Now…
He opened his eyes in a hurry, thinking of Granddad, Mom and the rest of his family, only… they weren't around. Instead, he was lying down on a bare concrete floor, with two blurry figures bending close over him. Head hurt, body ached, needed water and food, but he managed to blink his vision almost back into line. Heard,
"Scott, dearest… are you quite alright?"
That cultured accent was a dead giveaway, and no, he wasn't alright. Not even a little bit.
"Penny?" the pilot asked, in a scratchy-dry voice.
"And me," said the other. John, it sounded like. "You're safe now, Scott."
Penny was holding something to his mouth, as John helped him sit up. Bottle of water; sweet and cold as anything he'd ever tasted, beside Mom's peach iced tea. Rescued, he guessed… only the recent 'visit' to lost family still sat like a rock on his heart. Not their fault, though, and no real way to explain. They'd just write it off as concussion, or something.
Instead of talking, he drained the last of that water like a victim plucked from the blistered surface of Mercury and tried to feel grateful. Place he was in seemed dim and industrial, with exposed pipes and bare, unfinished grey walls. A corridor of some sort.
"Where are we?" he asked, as something chased around the corners of his mind that didn't make sense. "How'd you find me?"
"We simply tracked your wrist comm, dear one," said Penny, with a warm smile in her voice. "It wasn't that hard, for an agent of my caliber."
"Especially with a little online help," John put in, shifting Scott's weight further forward. But… why was he so d*mn weak? And why did everything feel wrong?
"What happened to Pacifica City?" the pilot hazarded, plucking that question from some deep and fevered subconscious well.
"Whatever can you mean, Darling?" Penny enquired, smiling softly; leaning in as if for a kiss. "You were engaged in the rescue of two small boys trapped in a crumbling manufactory, when the roof collapsed. Fortunately, our Virgil has located the little scamps, and we have found you. Shall we proceed to Thunderbird 1?"
Without a medical scan? A few things clicked in Scott's mind, at that. Some loose suspicions and vagrant thoughts gelling to form a quite solid 'H*ll, no.' He took a deep breath and then pulled away from his concerned 'brother' and lovely, golden-haired Penny.
"Stop," he ordered them. "Cut the bullsh*t and talk to me. Who are you, and what the h*ll do you want from me?"
Whatever response Scott had expected, it wasn't that his rescuers would just fade, becoming barely-possible ghosts moving in silent slow-motion. Their background changed, too, shifting to dim unreality.
There was a man approaching. Less walking than just getting bigger and more solid by the moment. Scott struggled to his feet, wishing he knew where he was, or how he'd got there. Certainly wasn't in Kansas, anymore… though most of his heart was.
The oncoming man was tall; between John and himself in height, Scott estimated. He looked a lot like Kayo; black hair, green eyes, sinewy figure. Not the Hood, though. Too young. Dressed in a charcoal grey business suit of expensive, tailored cut, he looked like an arrogant, handsome, jet-set billionaire.
They stared at each other in silence for a long, brittle moment, each refusing to show weakness by making the first move. Then, their misty surroundings began to take the form of a corner office conference room. Long wooden table, swiveling office chairs, white board, eagle's-nest view; the works. Phantom John and Penelope were still gesturing and reacting, off to one side, looking like someone had swiped-left and minimized a still-open window.
There was a frosty pitcher of ice water on the boardroom table, so Scott filled himself a glass and drank it down, never taking his eyes off the green-eyed young man. Early to mid-twenties, Scott figured, wishing that he felt less thirsty and drained. Something told him that this was no phantom.
"It isn't real, and so cannot satisfy," the man explained, smiling slightly. "Genuine, physical needs will cut through illusion every time. The machines may provide overall hydration, but your throat remains dry. Thus, you experience thirst. Hunger, as well."
"Where am I?" Scott demanded, changing the subject. He set the glass down on the tabletop, determined not to try drinking again. Not here. Outside, long ribbons of glittering air traffic streamed by, herded by blinking security drones. Any city, anywhere.
"Safe," said the other man. "For the moment, if evidently not very comfortable or cooperative. Suspicious, aren't you? Straightforward questioning has accomplished nothing. Nor has the appearance of welcoming family and friends. Worthless specters, the lot of them." And with that, he waved a hand, causing the ghosts of John and Penny to vanish away.
Scott felt his muscles bunch, as a horrible thought took hold.
"What did you do to them? My family in Kansas? Where are they?"
The dark-haired man shrugged. Made a second, can't be bothered gesture that opened a window in midair. Through it, Scott saw absolute destruction and ruin. No house, stable or barn. Not anymore. Just matchsticks and open cellars. Then the scene zeroed in, as though knowing just what he was looking for.
There was… he saw a thin, twisted arm in a pink sleeve, projecting from out of the rubble. Over there, what looked like somebody's jean-clad leg.
"They were real," Scott gasped, like someone had punched him right in the gut. "You son of a bitch, they were real!"
And he leapt or tried to. Got nowhere at all, because he could not seem to move forward. The other man cocked his head a bit, seeming pensive.
"I suppose so, from their perspective, and yours, having been part of that, erm, created reality. Fascinating technology. Stolen, of course, but all the better because of it."
Scott wanted nothing more than to beat that smirking, immaculate bastard right down to his socks.
"Send me back, God d*mn you!" the pilot snarled, fighting to keep his voice below a shout. "I've got to dig them out! There might… might be somebody still left alive!"
Again, that slight head cock, the faintly amused half-smile.
"In return for…?" the other man hinted, but Scott was too troubled… tired, thirsty and frantic with worry… to think straight, or bargain with snakes.
"In return for me not letting my brothers kill you, when they find this place."
"Ah. Very generous… Scott, isn't it? Yes, well… I am not at your physical location. We are communicating through a shared, partly psionic network, not unlike your own 'simulation chamber'."
Scott felt a thin, icy river course down his spine.
"How do you know about that?" he demanded aggressively, once again trying to lunge forward and grab his smiling tormentor, who remained always just out of reach. "Who else have you captured?!" Because he sure as h*ll hadn't spilled any secrets.
Nikorr Kyrano smiled at the projected shade of his distant prisoner, saying,
"It makes me happier than I can express, to leave you wondering, Tracy. Go then. Pick up what shreds remain to you."
And, just like that, he was gone; batted aside like a figure of cobwebs and smoke. The Kyrano had another guest to attend to, only this one was not far, at all.
