Might be a little less polished than usual, owing to antibiotics. Sorry, if so, and thanks for reading and reviewing. =) Edited again! Dang! Sorry so sloppy... seems like every time I look, I find more!
7
Earth, at an unseen, but critical crossroads-
The Global Defense Force, under General Steele, had been tasked with containing International Rescue and its many allies. Two weeks of relative inactivity from the Tracys might have led the GDF to believe that they were succeeding at this, but the illusion was shattered completely, that Saturday.
First, the supposedly impounded Birds roared to life out at Harmony Airfield Testing Facility, near London. One moment, the three force-shielded hulks had been sitting out there on the tarmac, guarded by soldiers who took a few selfies, and periodically threw rocks at them. Just to watch the shields flare and to speed up their power-loss, of course. Next moment, Thunderbirds 1, 2 and 3 howled to wild, shaking life. Each of the craft sounded a booming alarm, letting the troops and technicians around them know to take cover.
One or two of the soldiers fired on the awakened Birds, only to have their blasts absorbed by the shielding. The rest called for help as they ducked behind sandbags and down into bunkers. Very wise, as it turned out, because five minutes after that first deep alarm, all three of the Birds were airborne.
The GDF would have scrambled fighters in pursuit, only nothing would launch. Their Interceptors and SkyDivers had suffered a total systems collapse, if not already aloft. If flying, they simply would not lock onto the fleeing Thunderbird aircraft, nor follow them. A very strong and insidious computer virus had infected the GDF guidance and weapons systems, which were now at the mercy of whomever had written that devious code.
Even the buzzing surveillance drones plunked to a sudden landing in droves, clanging on rooftops and runways like crisp metal hail. Civilian aircraft were untouched, though, as were emergency response teams, Union Jack, Global-1 and Shadow-Alpha Base.
The GDF learnt a lot from this incident, including that having their weapons linked to a central recharge and kill-switch field left them extremely vulnerable to tampering. All at once, those soldiers, sailors and spacemen were holding nothing more than a lot of expensive clubs… unless they were O'Bannon's crew, or Kraft's. GDF peace officers retained charge of their small arms, as well, preventing chaos and crime in the cities. There was one other locus of failure; a small, elite school in the hinterlands, home to the youth of every rich and important family on Earth.
Needless to say, Chancellor-Elect Shaw called an emergency meeting of the World Council. Turned out to be the best attended… and liveliest… session in living memory. The Council's reach had exceeded their grasp, it appeared, but there was far more to come.
XXXXXXXXXX
Manchester, former United Kingdom, at the Enlightenment Academy, around 3:45 AM-
Having made his mind up, Alan Tracy was quick to take action. Scooping up his red personals bag, the boy padded back over to his bed, and then switched on the small lamp at its headboard. Didn't cast much light or heat, but enough to get the job done.
See, those glowing ID badges were how the school's robots and systems kept track of the students, and the badges were charged by body heat. So long as the bright oval badge was close to a citizen, it had power, and reported that student's location and status. Alan had figured that one out, pretty darn quick. All he had to do to keep the badge quiet, was give it another heat source, at just the right temperature to mimic a peacefully sleeping, cooperative citizen. That's why the lamp, okay?
Moving quickly, one eye on the time, he put his hand close to the bulb, till he found just the right not-too-cold, not-too-hot spot, then plucked the badge off his tan coveralls and set it right down, there. Flipped it over, so the sensors would pick up that heat source, and think they were touching him. Heh! Cool, huh? No one could say that Alan R. Tracy didn't have his crap together, stealth-wise.
Then, it was out through that half-open window, using some of the graceful acrobatics that Kayo had taught him. Was real careful not to raise it, any, or touch the sill, which was frickin' loaded with sensors. Next, a two-story drop to the ground below, athletic headstand and flip a la Gordon, and back on his feet, bag in hand, and ready to go. Only, the ukulele had jangled a little bit, so Alan paused, heart pounding, for a swift look around.
He'd been placed in the Peace Dorm, along with Young Citizens M through Z. The wide, red-brick building lay just behind him, now, separated from Unity Dorm (A – L) by a stone flagged courtyard. There were trees and benches all over the place, a fountain, and that smooth, arching dome. Right now, its hex-screens were set to display the night sky, as seen from somewhere below the equator. Familiar constellations winked at him from overhead, making Alan more homesick than ever.
Then, that fake sky did something funny. Al had automatically scanned it for the glinting pale dot that was Thunderbird 5, his brother's space station. Tough to miss, as it usually parked about ninety degrees from the horizon, as seen from Tracy Island, like a home-brew polestar. Only, this time, it was moving; arcing from zenith to northward, and blinking a different pattern.
Not Morse code… too obvious… but a message, for sure. Alan considered a moment, then slapped himself on the forehead, growling,
"Duh! John's got control of the system, or it wouldn't be showing our sky. Got it, Bro!" The young astronaut waved at that small, blinking dot, grinning hugely.
The rest was easy, pretty much. Keeping low, to avoid being seen by the counselors or roving security teams, Alan darted away from Peace Dorm, across the courtyard, and out to the vegetable garden. Was careful here, too, because he didn't want to crush all those hand-tended lentils, tomatoes and peppers. Could have gone a different way, but he really liked the smell of tomatoes on the vine… sort of sharp and 'green'… and because he could duck down among the plants for cover, if he had to.
Then, on past the goat paddock, where the sleepy beasts lay folded up on the ground, or hunkered head downward, chewing their cud, dreaming of milking and feed. (Yeah… milking a goat? Weird experience. Didn't want to do it again, like, ever.) Heard a security team coming along, about then, talking quietly of a new Thunderbird crew, or something. Alan, who'd got no news, except for what John could hurriedly tell him, ducked behind the hay shed and listened, hard.
"Yeah, they're young… but maybe it's time for new blood," one of the Contributing Citizens was saying.
"I dunno, Frank," said the other, whose facial and developmental characteristics were disguised by zier uniform (just like everyone else). "My, uh… 'relative'… was over in Scotland, when IR stopped that big killing machine. Seems to me like they did a pretty good job. Plus, those new guys don't have real Thunderbirds, even! Who would you rather have showing up, if you was hanging by your toes from a collapsing bridge, or something?"
They tramped onward, still arguing in low, urgent tones, armed with their "buzz-sticks" and trank-patches. Alan waited until the last gravel-crunch and whisper had faded, before he rose from his crouch and went on.
Had to thread his way between the prairie and forest biomes, to reach the dome's edge; that place where the "sky" curved down to touch Earth. Also, the one place on campus where he could call out, and sometimes reach Thunderbird 5.
Heard a few rustlings on the way, but saw only a curious fox, and one swooping owl. Got to the dome after maybe a fifteen-minute scurry, then hunkered down, and set his wrist comm to call John. Got a quick, coded message in response, saying: Al, signal, and take over 3.
Chewed his lip for a second or two. Signal? The "secret knock", maybe? Sort of a family joke, but… whatever. Alan tapped at his wrist comm with a forefinger, like this: tap-tap-tap-tap-tap… TAP…TAP.
Then, all at once, a holographic image of Thunderbird 3 popped into the air over his left wrist, its glow kind of muted. Alan grinned, stifling the urge to leap up and holler. Winked up at the "sky", instead, and got right to work; first of all reaching to over to "touch" the image, and turn it around toward Manchester.
Harmony Field was just two-and-a-half minutes away, as the Bird flies. Better yet, 3 was in the air, already, with grappling arms, a force shield, and his rocket board; all right there, ready to go.
By the time his red Bird showed up, the whole campus was alert and on lockdown, with alarms flashing, and the dome-sky set to display Eddie and Shala's disappointed faces… but Alan left without a backward glance. 3 came in low, on impellers, mostly, using her jointed arms to pop loose a few dome panels. Next, Al's rocket board swooped in like a robotic swallow, its faint noise and humming lost in the rumble and glow from outside.
Strictly speaking, the back-flip wasn't necessary… but it sure felt good, and he stuck the landing. Dead-on hit the board, which bobbed underneath him, then steadied. Alan sailed through that hole like an aerial surfer. Threw in a killer air-guitar riff, even. 'Cause… dude… style points. And, Gordon wasn't the only one who knew how to make a dang exit.
XXXXXXXXXXX
Thunderbird 5, in space over the Pacific, and moving fast-
"How much longer?!" the pilot demanded, trying not to sound as impatient as he felt. Hated not standing on solid ground. Especially when trying to remote-fly his Bird. His brother looked over.
"ETA, about as fast as we can get down to the elevator, Scott. Suggest you put on some speed," replied John, turning away from that big, spinning Earth globe. Then, to Eos, "Keep us on course, Pretty Girl. I'll handle descent and hook-up."
"Yes, John," she responded, adding, "Caution is advisable, as there is a cyclonic weather system developing, 16.3472 kilometres east of Cutwater Destiny. In five of seven more-accelerated universes, this system has already evolved into a major storm."
"Naturally," grunted John, catching up to his already-gone older brother. Scott wasn't in the mood for conversation. Wasn't in the mood for anything other than reaching the danger zone; quick, fast, and in a d*mn hurry. "Why wouldn't it?"
Not that he lacked for company. Eos was all hands at the moment; dusting him off, patting him down, rubbing his shoulders. All through the suit, which she'd upgraded for a hard, fast "sky-drop" descent. Sometimes, she was more nursemaid and babysitter than best friend.
He and Scott did that sort of awkward shoulder-clasp-and-quick-embrace thing, and then parted; his brother to strap in on the elevator's couch, John to seal things up and head outside.
Although he couldn't see it from here, Cutwater Destiny was almost directly beneath them, now, about 175 miles away, straight down. Reason enough for a quick stop at the exopod bay, and a little more armour.
Only the second time he'd ever come down like this, and going to be a h*ll of a ride, force shield, or no. As he'd gone out through the starboard EVA hatch, John had some hull to cross, before he got back to that elevator. Should have been concentrating, but risked a few glances at Earth, the way he liked her best. From a distance. Too much sunlight to see any stars, but the view was still breath-taking.
The terminator was slowly creeping across the vast cloud-shot Pacific, creating a line of advancing nightfall. And, yeah… that cloud mass was definitely turning ugly and cyclonic. Of course, they could always get lucky and have the thing miss them… and the World Council could suddenly develop a spine, too. About equally likely, in John's estimation. He'd passed his tool shed and "spacement", using bursts of exopod thruster, when Eos said, through his helmet,
"John, Chancellor-Elect Shaw has requested to speak with you."
"Yeah, I'll bet. Sort of busy, Sweetie. Just… act like me, and hear him out. If he wants to bargain, we're willing to listen. Otherwise, he can piss off, and take a d*mn number."
Eos processed all that with a brief, electronic chirp. Then,
"Very well, John. I shall bargain from a position of strength, with 'hardball' techniques."
The red-haired astronaut smiled. Gliding along like this, without shooting off into space, was more work than most people thought, but he managed to say,
"We're trying to save the world, not take over it, Eos. By all means, work him over, but, y'know… gently."
Mischievously, she gave him a warm, all-over suit rub, starting from the neck, and working downwards.
"Like this?"
"No! I mean, stop that. Trying to focus, here."
Trouble with AIs was, they tended to grow in unexpected directions. Just like people. Really hoped Jaeger was okay… would at least get in touch… but had no time to dwell on the matter, because he'd reached the elevator, with its wickedly powerful docking claw gleaming white.
Knocked on the outside, to let Scott know he'd arrived, then keyed up his wrist-comm docking controls.
"Well," John announced, as he lowered the claw and shot over to land on top, "Here goes nothing."
XXXXXXXXXXXXX
Thunderbird Prototype, out over Asia, and chasing the Sun-
To speed things up a little, Virgil Tracy had decided to go meet those on-coming Birds. Save some time, that way, because P was one fast-moving rescue craft. Just… without much actual gear on board.
Grandma 'd been right about the weather. There was something nasty brewing off to the east. His big girl could handle it, though, once he got to her. Grandma was correct about the timeframe, too. Twenty-three minutes after launch, a trio of specks hove into view. Two of them shot on past him; one on remote-pilot, the other doing a snappy barrel roll by way of "hey, Bro!"
Smiling, Virgil flashed his lights at the hurtling rocket. Then, from beside him, Captain Taylor said,
"Best you head down ta th' cargo hold, vic. I'll take over, here. You send th' Doc on up. Fly safe."
"Yessir!" said Virgil, unstrapping like a man with someplace to be. Thunderbird 2 had drawn alongside by this point, as Lee banked around to match her speed and direction. Together, they soared over rumpled mountains and distant, dust-coloured plains.
Seen from outside, like this, the cargo-lifter was huge, green and beautiful, with a blunt, curving nose, stubby wings, and bright running lights. That big, white-painted "2" made his heart clench the way Emma did. Both were all he'd never known he always wanted, back in the day.
"Get ta steppin', Vic, afore Godfrey takes off on his own. He's tryna get th' cargo hatch open, already. I'm ona drop us lower, where th' winds ain't s' fierce."
Virgil nodded, burst out of his seat, and strode aft, bellowing,
"Hold your ponies, Fish-Stick! I'm coming!"
Met Hackenbacker heading forward, clinging to the sounding bulkhead with both hands, and looking like he was going to be sick(er). Virgil gave him a fond back-slap on the way down, joking,
"She's all yours, Brains! Hold her steady, and for God's sake, try to keep Lee out of trouble!"
"I w- w- will do my b- best, Virgil," he said, as near as the pilot could translate, over wind roar and engine noise. Poor guy looked airsick, frozen and bunny-stunned, but there was just no fixing some people's need to stay home with hot tea and a good book. Oh, well.
When he reached the freezing cargo hold, Virgil found Gordon already tethered up and itching to go; one hand on the webbing, grinning like a shot fox. The big rear door was wide open, revealing bright sunshine, high winds and… just below them… Thunderbird 2. His circular boarding hatch had cycled open, about the size of a playing card, from this distance. Piece of cake.
Virgil clipped his harness and tether to a handy bulkhead brace, then worked his way aft. Bumped fists with Gordon, then said, over the helmet comm,
"Let's do this, Kiddo. Places to go, people to save."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
London, at the GDF tower, General Steele's office-
With everything going precisely according to plan… a dangerously powerful hacker caught in the act, ungovernable would-be heroes resisting arrest, and faulty equipment endangering innocent lives… Steele sat back in his big leather chair, ready to take in the show.
