10
Tracy Island, the lab-
Brains stood before a specially shielded work bench, examining a "prisoner"; one of the drones they'd taken from the Mechanic's previous attack. That one had taken place underwater, so this particular drone resembled an evil dark cuttlefish. It was deactivated at the moment, laid out upon the bench like an aetherized patient awaiting surgery.
Max stood at Hackenbacker's side, recording the procedure and collecting data. He was nervous, was Max, and kept extending and retracting various tools. Even lifeless and silent, the drone had him spooked.
Grandma Tracy sat off to one side, telling her rosary beads, and giving her Lord his marching orders. It took a special person to cling to religious belief in the world of 2065; one with no fear, a major rebellious streak, and a powerful sense of individuality. Grandma Tracy had all of these traits, in spades, and she'd raised all of her boys just the same. Brains was proving a tougher case, but Grandma hoped that she'd sooner or later get through to him. At the very least, he hadn't turned them all in, and neither had Kayo.
For the time being, Dr. Hackenbacker had more immediate things on his mind. Powering up the workbench force shield, Brains said aloud,
"Okay, M- Max… I am going t- to activate our little friend, and s- see what it does. Begin, ah… r- recording."
So saying, Brains reached through the field using a pair of virtual gloves, and removed a tiny disabler from the drone's flat body. At once, it began to tremble and glow, then to flap around inside its enclosure, no doubt attempting to swim.
"S- Subject is active, but c- confined. The field seems to be preventing c- contact with the Mechanic, and his other d- drones."
"Well, that's good," said Grandma, between beads.
"Extending a p- probe within the field, to intercept attempted comm f- frequencies," the engineer told Max.
This was trickier, and involved a small antenna coming up through the surface of the workbench.
"Ah! It is b- broadcasting, indeed! I h- have its frequency. Max, are you getting this? It is 14.12 gigahertz! Th- That is a satellite frequency. I think that… Holy cow! It is attacking m- my antenna!"
The reactivated drone had flapped and jerked its way over to the exposed metal rod, and was now slashing at it with bladed tail and lasers, both.
"Nasty little so-and-so, isn't it?" said Grandma, coming up to stand at Brains' other side. "Who the heck would want to spend their lives surrounded by these awful things?! That Mechanic's a real louse, and crazy, to boot. Needs to end up under the jail, you ask me!"
She was openly wearing her rosary, a development which had Brains gaping in horror.
"Again, Mr. Hackenbeck," snapped Grandma, "If the GDF cares so gosh-darned much, they can kiss my saggy, wrinkled behind, and come get me!"
"H- Hopefully not, Mrs. Tracy," said Brains. He'd been Hindu, once, and he knew what "come and get me" led to. "Now, l- let us open a bit of the sh- shielding, so that we m- may test my frequency jammer."
The drone had been curled around the neutron-steel antenna, carving out chunks. When the shield opened up, it stopped its burning and slicing, dropped back to the work surface, and faced north. It also emitted a sharp, ringing PING.
Max reacted before even Brains or Grandma Tracy, slapping the field controls back to full power. Once more, the mechanized "fish" began aimlessly wandering about.
"Max! I d- did not have time to test m- my jammer!"
"No, Brains," said Grandma. "Could be he's right. Did you stop to think that maybe, if that thing is in contact, if it got a signal out, now they know where we are?"
"Oh, no…!" Brains whispered, dark eyes huge behind his thick glasses. "M- Mrs. Tracy, I…"
"Just you hurry with that scrammer, Brains. Something tells me we'll be needing it, soon."
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Scotland, near the ruins of old Edinburgh-
Virgil Tracy stepped away from his masterpiece, justly proud and extremely tired. By his reckoning, it had been over eighteen hours since they'd got any sleep. Alan was starting to droop, but Gordon looked good for another three or four hours. More, with music blasting through his headphones. Couldn't risk the EM "noise", though. Not yet.
"Okay, you two. Saddle up. You can catnap some, on the way. Let's see what this baby can do."
In the pod's weak light stood a real beauty, its long, gleaming drill and yellow hull fairly glowing with leashed power. Basically, he'd sleeked down and armored the Mole, giving it a sort of electromagnetic pulse cannon, besides. Naturally, none of this tech had been tested, yet. This was going to be a lot like one of Brains' famous "on the fly specials". Not the most spacious craft though; someone would have to double up.
Now, as Gordon and Alan clambered into the newly constructed vessel, their brother shouted for Scott. After a scant handful of seconds their oldest brother arrived, to stand blinking in the pod's feeble light.
"We're done," Virgil announced, showing the pilot a slim yellow drill-car on treads. "I figure, staying low and out of sight, we can dig down to the old bomb shelter for Team 56."
Scott nodded slowly, walking inspection around the small, wicked craft. He had to step carefully over all of the strewn parts and equipment, but he very much liked what he saw.
"Good call, Virgil. It's their last known location. Or, at least, the stairway was. Makes sense." Turning a bit, he gave his younger brother a searching look. "So, You'll be, um…"
"I'll be taking Gordon and Alan. They're good in tight spaces, and they do a great job at patching up victims. After Team 56, we'll come up with a plan to reach Kayo and John."
Scott said nothing, only folded his arms and nodded, again. Virgil, on the other hand, had removed his remote operations cuff, and now held it out to his brother.
"Take it," he said. "Keep my best girl out of trouble for me. Fly her up remotely, if the Mechanic attacks."
Scott Tracy accepted the cuff. He strapped it onto his own left wrist, wondering when, exactly, he'd lost control of this mission to Virgil. They stared at each other for a long, tense moment; blue eyes meeting brown; blame and cold rage making an impassable wall between them. Virgil turned away first, saying,
"Yeah. Gotta go, if we're going to have any chance at all."
"Right, then," Scott replied, looking off somewhere. "Luck, Virgil."
"We're gonna need it," was all that his brother would say.
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London, former UK, at nearly the same time-
Inwardly, Penelope seethed. She sat in the back of her much altered, baby pink Neo-Rolls Royce. Sherbert lay asleep on her lap, short legs pedaling the air, round little tummy exposed for tickles and kisses. She'd been dressed to the hilt for this meeting, in an antique Chanel suit and Saint Laurent pumps, her hair in a sleek golden chignon. Now she was covered in dog hair, and wispy blonde tendrils were escaping control to curl round her cold, stony face.
"Stupid bloody idiots," she said, very softly. "The cheek.. The effrontery, to suggest that International Rescue deserve arrest for stirring up the Mechanic!"
Up in the driver's seat, Parker risked a discreet glance at the rearview mirror. Sometimes, she spoke to herself, sometimes to him, and it was wise to know which was when. As she seemed not to be addressing him, yet, Parker turned his full attention back to the road. As usual, they had it pretty much to themselves. Very few people still drove, in 2065. Not with free public transport available to all. Even fewer required a driver.
"The Hood was quite correct," Penelope went on, savagely. "The World Council are a lot of sniveling, back-stabbing, worthless old imbeciles, and I'm well quit of them!"
Then, only marginally louder, and in altered tones, she called,
"Parker,"
"Yes, Milady?"
"What is our current situation, vis-à-vis fuel?"
"I topped 'er off before we left the Manor, Milady. Thought you might be wantin' the car after reasonin' with the World Council."
Penelope snorted, a quite un- ladylike sound which she endeavored to convert to a sneeze. Pretending to believe this, Parker handed back a fine linen handkerchief.
"Shall we be 'eading up north, Milady?" he ventured, glancing back, once again.
"Yes, indeed, Parker… with all haste. If the World Council refuse to do more than draft a "stern resolution", then it is up to us to fill the gap, and fill it, we shall. To Scotland, Parker. Quickly."
Parker smiled, hitting the switch that would trigger FAB-1's conversion from ground car to aircraft. Wheels turned in, fans deployed, and then the grille extended, providing more intake. Pulling back on the wheel, Parker took them skyward. As they soared away from the asphalt and into deepening gloom, he said,
"To Scotland, Milady. We should arrive in Forty minutes, give or take the odd wind."
Bertie woke up a bit at the car's sudden change in pitch. The little pug was well-accustomed to such odd doings by now, though, and so he merely opened an eye.
"There, Bertie! There's a good, angel-boy! Mummy has work to do, and won't my little Bertins be excited to watch?"
She tickled the delighted small dog's chubby belly with one hand. The other casually sorted the contents of her bright red, crocodile Hermes bag, until her probing fingers closed round a certain gold compact. She didn't bring the comm device forth, or attempt to use it, except to depress a certain bright jewel on its cover.
'We're coming,' she signaled. Because, if the governing council were spineless cowards, and the GDF a humorless joke, you could always rely on a Creighton-Ward; especially one with her heart in the game.
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In midair, leaving the Mechanic's vessel-
Kayo flew as fast as she could, trying to keep to the swarm's darting cover. They seemed to move en mass like a flock of birds, executing sharp turns and swoops without warning. Failing to match their grace, Kayo felt like the one off-beat clod in a line dance; always late and out of step. The jet pack buzzed and whirred against her back, ringing metallically when struck by a drone she'd flown into. Down there, somewhere, lay the dubious safety of land, but Kayo couldn't see it through all of those massed, humming forms.
'I hate this, I hate this, I hate this…!' the girl thought, wishing that she dared summon Thunderbird Shadow. Would have been nice, except that having her Bird stripped to its struts before her eyes was not something Kayo wanted to risk. She'd seen what those drones could do to a Hunter. So, onward; no matter how blind and awkward she felt.
The further trouble with swarm flight was that you were well disguised within the vast cloud of drones, but obvious as a Wednesday morning hangover should you choose to break free. Still, riding the horde clear down to their half-consumed goal wasn't aces, either. Might as well have herself delivered directly by post to the Mechanic's front door. This had seemed like a much better idea, back on the launch bay.
'Right,' she decided, bracing herself, 'I'm just going to drop straight out, while there's still a chance that I'm not right on top of him.'
Cutting power to the jetpack, Kayo began gliding steadily lower, looking about for John, as she did so. One thing was certain; goal one, as soon as she found her brother again, was that shattered stairwell, and Team 56.
'You're not left behind, Rayna,' she promised. 'You've not been forgotten!'
Between darkness and worry, Kayo entirely failed to notice when half of the swarm darted away from the rest, and began streaming south.
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Tracy Island, up in the kitchen-
Grandma was hard at work, supervising the auto-chef's lunch preparations. She would have liked to try something spicy and saucy, herself, but lacked any skill in the kitchen. Pouring water was just about Grandma's speed, and even that sometimes went wrong. She'd been known to burn grape Kool-Aid (a long, messy story).
At any rate, Brains had special dietary needs, so her auto-chef supervision was actually useful. That helped a bit.
"No. It's vegan!" she snapped "Vee-Gan. No meat products, you stupid heap of chips! I'll…!"
Click. Grandma stopped threatening the chef to look up at her kitchen's skylight. Click. Click.
"Now, what in blazes… Oh! Oh, my." Just over her head, crouching upon the perma-glass dome, three new drones were doing their best to saw their way through.
Click. Make that four. Soon the clicks were coming so fast and so hard, that it sounded like a Wyoming hail storm. A darkness like nightfall descended as the house disappeared beneath a writhing mass of mechanical bugs. The roof creaked, and perma-glass started to sag.
"Brains!" shouted Grandma. She snatched up a broom and a loaf of bread before sprinting for the lift. "Brains, you might want to hurry up with that blammer of yours! They're here!"
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Out on the surface, by Thunderbirds 1 and 2-
It had been quite a sight. The mole, with Virgil driving, had rattled from its pod on big metal tank treads. Then, after rolling clear of the Birds, and finding a smooth patch of ground, she'd been lifted on her telescoping carriage, tilted at a forty-five degree angle, and fired downward, her drill whining like a giant mosquito.
Scott had stayed well back, because the Mole tended to fling rocks and dirt with abandon while it chewed into the ground. So gleeful and fierce was its debris storm, that Virgil always drew an old cartoon character, the Tasmanian Devil, on the Mole's hull. His work was a bit rushed, this time out, but still it looked pretty good.
After the last stone was flung and the final vibrations had faded away, Scott was left alone with two massive Birds. For something to do, he used Virgil's remote to bring Thunderbird 2 back down on her pod. Even remembered to close the pod door first, this time.
She settled to the ground with an earth-shaking BOOM, followed by the snapping noise of her clamps taking hold.
'Might as well be ready to roll,' Scott figured, feeling things that hurt too much to drag out and ponder. What he really wanted to do was talk to John, but he couldn't, because… Because he'd flown away and abandoned his brother and sister to the Mechanic.
Groaning, Scott dropped to a seat on one of the pod's empty gear crates, his head clutched tight in both hands. If a tear squeezed through, no one saw it, nor would he ever confess. Then,
Click. Snap.
'Hang on'.
Confused, Scott lifted his head, looking around in the circle of Thunderbird 2's low beams. Something buzzed through the air, hit the dust about ten feet away, and began crawling forward, beating its wings like a drum.
"Uh-oh," said Scott, rising to his feet as more, and then more of the insect-drones landed around him. "Oh, h*ll, no!"
Moving fast, he turned and raced for his Bird. On the way, Scott triggered both cabin-open, and Thunderbird 2's emergency launch, praying he'd gain the cockpit on time.
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Roughly the same instant, about a hundred miles north-
Kayo dropped from the air, only a little bit battered and snatched. She'd used night vision goggles and instinct to make her way back to the collapsed bomb shelter access, and arrived to find John already waiting.
"Seriously?! How did you know where I'd go?" she half grumbled, half laughed. Stepped forward, and would have embraced him, but John moved away. Although she dared not risk a light, she could tell from his tense posture that something was urgently wrong. Smile fading, the girl whispered,
"John? What is it? What's going on?"
The devil with risk! They were in it up to their necks, already. Kayo pulled out her mini-torch, and set it to the lowest possible beam; just enough to make out John's face. For the first time all day, he was actually looking at her, seeming to struggle for communication. Then,
"Kayo…"
"Yes, John. I'm listening. What is it?"
"Know… they know… here. Coming."
"The bug-drones? Coming this way?"
He managed a nod, then seemed to lose focus again, and had to claw very hard to regain it. Indicated the stairwell, saying,
"Inside… You."
"Right. Inside, us."
Kayo grabbed his hand and began to run for the blocked doorway, pulling her brother behind her.
"Take it they've switched codes or something, and decided we're not quite their sort?"
He didn't respond, but loped along in her wake.
"Got it. Move or talk, but not both at the same time. Still an improvement."
Kayo began to hear sharp clicking noises and dusty thumps, followed by the staccato beating of millions of wings. She reached the door and, though the rubble had shifted again, was able to barely squeeze through, still holding John by the hand. His right arm got in, and part of one shoulder, but the rest was mostly too tall and too broad to quite fit.
"NO!" Kayo shouted, hauling at him ferociously, trying to force him on through. "John, use the suit, get this debris out of the way!"
He obeyed, shifting a few slabs of concrete, until the ceiling bowed and slumped over her head, threatening to collapse. Take any more, and the whole thing would fall.
"Go," he said through the gap. "They can move… this. Won't care… falls, roof. Find 56. Get to safe, them, you."
Sounded simple, put that way. Only, he didn't, couldn't know of an earlier Kayo, alone and afraid, small enough to fit where her mother and daddy could not. All at once she was back there again, hiding herself, looking on at what she was too d*mned small to prevent. Only partly in the here and now, Kayo tugged at John's arm again and again, refusing to let go. He pulled his hand free at last, using strength she could not counter, and said,
"Go. Order."
Panic solved nothing. It hadn't then, and it wouldn't now. What she needed was a good idea. Kayo kissed her fingertips and reached through the gap once more to press them on his cheek. Finding words, she said,
"Right. I've a plan. Keep them busy, John… make up a new code, tell them a logic puzzle, anything! I'll be back with my torch and the cutter!"
Then she began to run down the stairwell, leaping gaps and tilted steps by luck and instinct. To the devil with risk, again! This was no time for stealth!
Keying her wrist comm, she shouted,
"Emergency backup to the bomb shelter, NOW! Code one life-or-death, hurry!"
It was Brains who responded, saying,
"K- Kayo! It is g- good to hear your voice! We are a b- bit occupied ourselves, now, but I have a f- frequency that I think may serve as a k- kill switch, if I c- can just figure out h- how to boost it."
"Brains," she panted, running and leaping in almost complete darkness, "shut up and broadcast, now! I'll find you a relay!"
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Outside-
The drones had fallen silent and still, because their master had arrived. The Mechanic jet-packed into the midst of them, landing with bent knees and straightening with raw, fluid power. Looking directly at the trapped astronaut, he paced forward like a lion; slowly, and with intent.
John (he had to keep reminding himself, using the name as a focal point: I'm John) was struggling hard just to complete a thought. Every word and sight, or physical touch, triggered a blizzard of data. Saw a rock, immediately flooded with every byte of information that the Global Network possessed about rocks. Each image, each page, every word. He kept rabbit-holing, falling into pits of data which threatened to utterly drown him. Even the Mechanic set off a maelstrom of news and GDF reports.
"Tracy," he boomed, bringing John back to focus, for awhile. "The Hunter's just a shell. It's AI is missing. Hand it over, die quick. Make me work, I make you scream. The little b*tch, too, once I dig her out of her bolt-hole."
'AI?' John placed a protective hand over the box that hung at his belt. 'Two AIs. Accident' (Lost it again for a second, because the term "accident" pulled up a crap-ton of data.) But Eos was in the box, too, not just Omega.
"Stupid effing hero! You're not going to stop me. All that circuitry says you're gonna do what I want, like it or not."
The Mechanic stretched out an arm. John backed a bit, was blocked by rocks and rubble. Cycled his environment suit to gas-giant setting, then launched himself forward. Didn't take too much thought to land a punch, but one was all he got before fire and electric-hot pain shot through him; before circuits branched and cast nets, piercing organs and lancing themselves at his faltering heart.
As John collapsed to the ground, the Mechanic shook off the blow, and his shattered chest armor.
"You're gonna pay for that, Tracy. Would have done it quick, but you had to waste my time."
The astronaut fought to rise, feeling things going catastrophically wrong inside of him. Pain had ceased to register by now, except as one more shrieking system-failure alarm.
"Still trying? Let me record this. The rest of your litter deserve a treat. Can't waste all that talent."
It was then that a jet-packed thunderbolt shot out of the sky, feet first. Scott Tracy crashed hard into the gloating Mechanic, sent him rolling across the ground and into a crouch.
Rising slowly to his full height, the Mechanic snarled,
"What the h*ll?!"
"He's not alone, jackass! No Tracy is ever alone!"
Should have taken another shot at the Mechanic, but instead threw himself toward John, who had finally managed to stand.
"Ready to kick some ass, Little Brother?"
Another black hole of data, around the term "ass", then back to the surface. Scott's face, grinning savagely… the Mechanic, moving closer… Kayo, somewhere.
"H*ll, yes," he growled in reply, tasting his own blood, and wanting some back. Together, they faced the Mechanic.
All around them the drones clattered and buzzed, rising into the air as a killing swarm. Then, just as fast, they shut down again; deactivated by remote-relayed signal. Victim to the same kill-message, the Mechanic's ship yawed in midair, plunging for the ground with a storm of metallic shrieks and violent explosions.
Scott fired a series of rapid punches, striking hard at face and gut. John grappled the Mechanic directly, using Jupiter-level strength to heave the man up and slam him down hard. About then, Kayo's plasma tool sliced a new doorway through rock, spilling her into the night. The Mole burst from below ground, disgorging Tracys before it had even stopped moving. A sky car landed, next, beaming the kill-signal through Penelope's compact. As soon as it touched down, Parker vaulted into the fight, holding a pack of concussion grenades.
Virgil Tracy, at the very corner of their vision, took a certain stance; legs braced, hands locked together, outstretched before him, holding something heavy and dark. Meanwhile, Gordon paced round to the other side, wielding a very long spanner.
"Drop!" Virgil shouted, "Now, or by God, I'll blow your d*mn head off! Or better yet, DO move! Give me an excuse! Please… give me an effing excuse!"
That rivet gun was a great prop, and it might even have worked the way Virgil so badly wanted it to, but they never found out. The Mechanic shrugged, cracked something between his fingers, and flash-banged them all.
"Watch your back, little boy," he said, hitting his jet pack. "It's not over."
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Later-
"A rivet-gun?" Scott asked, once his vision had returned, and he'd shucked off the out-of-juice jet pack. Virgil had been supervising Gordon's medical attentions to John and to Nigel. Now, he spread his hands and shrugged.
"It's all I had, Scott. Thank God he believed me, and didn't look close, huh?"
The sun was rising, looking wasted and sere through all of that smoke. Virgil was quiet for an instant longer. Then, rubbing at the back of his neck with one big hand, and staring at the ground, he said,
"Scott… figure I owe you an apology. No, let me finish! Hear me out, then bark. Was thinking some ugly stuff, awhile back… only none of it was true, and… I'm sorry."
Scott sighed, then shoved his brother's shoulder.
"Nothing to apologize for, Virge. I was wrong. I admit it. There should have been another way."
Nearby, on a stretcher, John heard his brothers. And then, he did not.