Some edits herein follow. Thank you, Eternal Density and Tikatu, for your reviews.

9: Anamorphosis

Otherverse, Mexico City-

The object's sudden, ghastly appearance in the midst of the Plaza de la Constitucion… the Zocalo… caused a near-disastrous panic. It was like a hovering meteor, not large, but fierce with radiation, pulsing away and back again every 15 seconds. People stampeded at first in every direction, and the driver of a bus (laden with excited young children on a class trip) could not swerve in time to avoid the apparition.

It flashed away before he hit it, then back again, materializing atop the right seat row. In his flecked passenger mirror, Manuel Peron could see crushed seats and screaming children; could see and feel his bus folding in half like a jackknife. He cut off the bus's engine and surged to his feet… his own small nephew, Carlos, was somewhere in back… triggering both sets of emergency doors as he did so.

The ends of the bus rose into the air, its center weighted down by that glowing object, each burning pulse deforming the vehicle more deeply. Children scrambled forward, leading a dazed teacher. Working swiftly, Manuel tossed them out the front door to the anxious crowd of street vendors, Chalingas and tourists below.

One small girl had fallen in mid-aisle. Manuel went back to get the child, whose legs had been deeply gashed by jagged metal. She clung to him and cried, begging that he help her friend, Adelberto, still trapped beneath their crumpled seat.

"Por favor… por favor, Senor Peron, ayuda lo! Te pido que ayudar a 'Berto, porque no puede salir!"

He promised, handing the girl off through a broken window to the outstretched hands below. A number of policemen had by this time entered the loudly crumpling bus; confused, but determined to help. They started toward the densely weighted center, down an aisle that was ski-slope steep and seething with hard radiation. You could feel it on your face and arms, like the full sun at midday.

In the pit of his stomach, Manuel knew that here was no safe place to be, yet little Carlos had not been among those who'd escaped through the front doors and people were still trapped; the teacher's aide and a number of children, including Adelberto. There was nothing else for a young man to do than press on, then, and try to assist.

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Spartanburg-

Another piece of the object had materialized in the hills outside of town, burying itself in the southbound lane of highway 85. A huge pile-up ensued; a loud, steaming, honking chain-reaction crash that stretched for three miles. Cars in the northbound lane crashed, too, swerving to avoid a tree-trunk sized, charred tentacle, and each other.

The object had roughly the size of a truck or camper, but mass enough to crack the pavement below. Nor was the road all that got crushed. The rear bumper of a Volkswagen beetle projected from beneath the radioactive intruder, its warped vanity plate reading: 'My Toy'.

State Troopers began arriving within minutes, racing along the shoulder, running lights and sirens. One of them thought to call International Rescue.

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Elsewhere-

Her difficulty was this: divide infinity in half, and there remained twin infinities. Like the hydra, the number of worlds to be searched seemed only to grow with each slashing beacon, and John Tracy did not respond.

Some of the universes were sterile. Uninhabitable by analog, carbon-based lifeforms. Even these she searched, as there existed the .002174 percent probability that her companion might manifest there, and persist long enough to be retrieved.

All other applications had been shut down, diverting power and memory to the search engine of Five. Her queries went forth without ceasing, disturbing the AIs of a myriad Earths, some of which responded with threats. These she avoided, sparing no resources on needless conflict. Not when Braman yet existed.

At this point, what her companion would have termed: brain storm took place. Widen search to include manifestations of the Alien Intelligence/ Braman. Attach sub-goal call/ retrieve John Tracy.

Almost at once 'infinity' collapsed to 'many'. A mere seventy universes. This quantity, she could encompass with ease.

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Mexico City, otherverse-

Thunderbird 2 landed in the smoggy Zocalo like the eagle who'd first guided the Aztecs here. Virgil brought her down in a hurry, without much finesse, for the confused disaster reports they'd received had mentioned 'radiation' and 'children', not words he liked to hear in the same sentence.

Through 2's cockpit windows, Virgil could see a police line, massed crowds, anguished faces, ornate buildings… and (off to the left) a bus, folded into an upturned V-shape. Every few seconds, the vehicle flexed; twitching like a landed fish and oddly glowing.

Gordon was already below, in the Firefly.

"Wait a minute," Virgil called to him, hitting the pod communication switch. "Let me get a radiation suit on. I'm coming with you."

"Okay," his younger brother replied, "…But make it quick, Virgil. As much radiation as that thing's putting out, if we don't get there soon, rescue's going to be pointless. We'll be buttering toast, not saving victims."

Never very subtle, Gordon.

"I'm hurrying!"

And so he was; merely jerking the silvery radiation suit from its locker without pausing to put it on.

Virgil suited up as best he could in the lift, stuffing himself into the arms and legs with several mumbled curses and a hyper-extended thumb. What he got for rushing, he supposed…

He was still zipping up as he raced across the gantry and down through Firefly's open hatch. Gordon handed him in, visually inspecting Virgil's hastily-donned radiation suit as he did so. Shaking his red head, the young swimmer connected the suit's power feed to its belt-pack, then reached up to shut the hatch.

"Ready?" he asked.

"You bet. Let's do it, kiddo."

Up front, Gordon took the driver's seat while Virgil triggered the pod-release sequence. After a short, shrill alarm, Thunderbird 2's hydraulic legs dropped to the ground, and she began to move, lifting off the pod like an ostrich rising from her egg-clutch.

Virgil suffered an instant of reflexive worry, but calmed himself. Here, there were no Antarctic winds; just late-afternoon sunlight and yellow-brown smog. Paradise, relatively speaking.

Virgil dropped the pod door almost before Thunderbird 2 was out of the way, forming a ramp to the Zocalo's cobbled surface. Firefly's locking clamps had already been retracted, and her engine brought to life, allowing Gordon to throttle up and surge along the quivering, booming ramp.

A hundred yards to the school bus, maybe.

"Dad, we're on-site and ready to go," Virgil informed Island Base (a little late, but he'd been busy).

"FAB. Watch yourself out there, Virgil. Local authority claims that the object is dangerously radioactive."

They knew that already, but…

"Yes, Sir," Virgil nodded. "We'll be careful. Ask the police and EMTs to clear the wreck, if you would. We need room to work."

In better times, John would have done the translating, from Thunderbird 5, or Scott, from Mobile Control. But Scott was off in South Carolina and John… Never mind. Virgil refused to follow that thought to its chilly conclusion. Instead, he began humming, wishing that he, rather than Gordon, was at the wheel.

Firefly's heavy treads bit into the cobbled square. She crossed the distance from Bird to school bus in less than two minutes, squashing discarded souvenirs and dropped food, her bulldozer-like blast shield raised high.

The comm crackled once, and Jeff Tracy came back on.

"They're pulling out, son," he announced, "but I can't say they're happy. Four kids and a teacher's aide are still trapped inside, and pry bars have proven ineffective."

Gordon was too busy parking to respond, but Virgil said,

"Understood, sir. We'll proceed with caution, and have those folks out of there in time for supper."

Firefly lurched to a stop directly before the still-warping bus. Its steaming black undercarriage and slowly spinning wheels filled their view screen. Not a pleasant sight.

Gordon left the engine running but locked the brakes as, over the view screen, their father nodded.

"Take care, boys. Dr. Hackenbacker's analyzed radiation coming from the Spartanburg object and it matches what we encountered on Thunderbird 5. This could be anything from a trap to a full-scale invasion. I've notified the World Defense Forces, and they're on their way, but there's no substitute for alertness and forethought. For the love of Heaven, be careful!"

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Spartanburg, South Carolina, a little earlier-

The Carolina Highway Patrol had managed to clear enough of Highway 85's northbound lane to permit a cautious landing. Scott Tracy lined up with the curving road and brought his Bird gently down. He had to be careful, for there were police helijets and medflight vehicles in close proximity, and a weird… thing… ahead. The site was ringed with wooded hills, but Scott's blue eyes were locked to that misshapen alien object.

Alan magnified their view with a quick button press, saying,

"Dude, that's weird. It changes every time we drop a foot, or shift angle. Like… I dunno… like it's got more sides than it should."

Scott grunted agreement, sending images and telemetry back to Island Base as Thunderbird 1's engines shut down.

"We're going to need the radiation suits, Al," he said aloud, once the sleek silver Bird grew quiet. "Get dressed, follow my lead, and be ready for anything."

Scott had a very odd feeling… something between creeped-out warning and unaccountable hope… as though that strangely insectoid object held a sack full of answers. Following standard procedure, he called in.

"Dad, we're in place and ready to roll. I've sent some data for Brains to chew on. Let us know if he has any advice."

"Will do, Scott. In the meantime, use extra caution. We have no idea what we're dealing with, here."

"FAB."

He and Alan unstrapped and deplaned with great haste, arming themselves on the way out.

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Inside-

Almost at once, John became disoriented. He stood in the midst of an Escher print; darkly-gleaming machinery and stilled parts spread all around and overhead, with behind him a single window onto cold, grey, windy hell.

He looked back, once again, but Matt Tracy had gone. All that John saw through the opening was a rippled plain of glass studded with bits of twisted metal and a lone, rolling food can. That way lay only death. Here…?

He shrugged his good shoulder. New varieties of same, most likely, with a slim chance of escape, if he could just work out which way to go, and how to get there.

Every step through the probe's crowded interior changed his view, shifting the 'deck' and internal parts as though up and down weren't there, or simply didn't matter. There were other weird effects, as well. Gravity had dropped off noticeably. He didn't weigh as much as usual, by about a third… and more of those odd, parallel memories were popping up. More than one time dimension, probably, screwing up cause and effect. Well, he had an answer for that. Hopefully.

A touch released the capacitor's hoarded charge, switching on his home-made force field. The shield flickered to life around him like a skin-tight bubble, causing John briefly to smile. Always nice when things actually functioned.

Gathering confidence, he moved further forward, looking for another opening. Progress was sketchy, though.

Back and forth, side to side and up-down he understood and could navigate. The other axis… a sort of in-through-out… he had no idea how to negotiate. This made reaching a goal nearly impossible, like trying to drive through city streets to the library without being able to turn left.

Shit. Missed again…

The interior was filled with dangerously sharp appurtenances, quite a few of them closer along that newly added direction than he'd guessed. Once or twice, John found himself blocked by something that he wasn't substantial enough to move. Here, he was like a paper cut-out trying to fight its way through the inside of a vacuum cleaner. Things would literally appear from midair as he moved, attached to sections of the probe which lay outside his limited view. Lovely.

Spotting what looked like a flash of light, John pushed in that direction. By this time, he'd figured out how to move fractionally along the new axis; he could imagine himself expanding or contracting, motions which won the tired young man a scant inch or so of progress with each all-over flex or release.

Making his way around a suddenly materialized… well, it looked like a piston, but probably wasn't… part, John had a sudden parallel memory of climbing through the inside of a rock drill. On the Moon. One of Brains' less loveable inventions, as he recalled…

"And I still owe that jackass a black eye."

Hell of a guy, Ike… but he did get some odd notions.

Okay, back to business. Creep forward, to the right, ducking the weird half-wall that all at once crossed his path, and then exhale, visualizing himself contracting through the 'in' direction… And there it was again; that bright, 'out doors' sort of light.

Next came a voice; Alan's, saying what sounded like,

"Ladies…! Free to good home, if you know what I mean."

John hurried his pace. He hadn't called out before, on hearing Virgil, and he didn't do so now. Too much chance of luring an unprepared brother to his death. No matter; he was almost there, and would soon be able to tell Alan exactly what he thought of that lame-ass pickup line.

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Mexico City-

Virgil had had to boost Gordon, then accept a hand up into the bus; no easy task at high altitude, while in full radiation gear and hauling a plasma cutter. Both of them were strong, athletic young men, however; the one an ex-football player, the other an Olympic swimmer. They managed the deed with a minimum of fuss, easing themselves down the canted aisle by clinging to seat backs.

Ahead of them, the alien artifact pulsed and hummed, reminding Virgil of an extremely compact light-house. Its inexplicable weight had folded the bus nearly in half, smashing several rows of seats together and trapping a handful of whimpering children and the teacher's aide. The stench of blood and spilled fuel filled the air, unpleasantly thick.

"It's okay, folks," Virgil called aloud, working his way along the aisle's ridged, black rubber mat. "We're with International Rescue, and we're here to help."

Gordon said pretty much the same thing, but in Spanish, a language he'd always been drawn to. Kept talking, too, to keep the victims' spirits up.

Seen close to, the object was about the size of a microwave and hissing with loosed power… something like a balloon that had been inflated and released. It vanished and reappeared about every fifteen seconds, allowing just enough time to dash in and begin cutting people free.

Virgil started prepping the plasma cutter and then stopped, for Gordon, who'd been speaking to the young aide, was taking off his radiation suit.

"Gordon! Are you crazy? What the hell are you doing?"

The red-head wouldn't quite meet his angry stare, mumbling,

"They need it more than I do, Virgil. They've been exposed longer, and Rosa thinks she can wrap it around some of the kids."

"You're an idiot!" Virgil snapped, removing his own suit. "Tell her there's one for her, too. Just to try and cover however much exposed flesh she can."

Gordon grinned at him, then; that boyish, 'first to the wall, gold-metal claiming, I am the champion,' grin.

"Softy."

"Shut up and hand the suits through. You've got fifteen seconds from… now!"

Talking all the while, Gordon darted forward, leaving a reckless half-second too early. He lunged to the squashed row and, one hand to a seat frame for balance, shoved their radiation suits through the small, warped opening left between floor, seat back and crumpled chassis. Just before his fifteen seconds were done, Gordon surged away again, panting,

"Virgil… we've got to hurry. Rosa says that there's nothing beneath her. One of the kids has fallen through, and is hanging on for dear life to her leg."

"Outside, you mean? But that's good, right? The EMTs can…"

"No, Virgil. I mean nothing. Total, cold darkness."

The same as happened to John. It had to be… and Virgil Tracy refused to run, or to let this thing claim any more victims.

"Right. Climb over to the other side and be ready to yank people out, kiddo, double-time. I'm cutting."

"Yeah." Gordon slapped his back before heading for the rear of the bus. "Luck."

"You, too."

They were going to need it, in spades.

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Spartanburg-

Scott was worried already. Alan's attempts to make time with a couple of female troopers… in uniform, yet… only irritated him further.

"Dammit, Alan, keep your pants zipped and your mind on business! This is serious!"

They stood on tilted pavement now, before that ruptured alien vehicle, assessing the situation (or the local romantic potential, in Alan's case).

"Take it easy, Grandpa!" Alan scoffed, flexing a little. "Unlike some, I am man enough to handle danger and babes-with-guns at the same time. Just call me Double-oh…. Crap!"

Something was moving, within.