Big thanks to Tikatu, Bow Echo, and Whathavewedone, for their kind reviews.

C.

11

Edinburgh ruins, Former UK, early morning-

The news from Brains and Grandma, back on Tracy Island, was about as bad as it could be, without a death to report. The house and its launch bays, according to Brains, were a total loss. Of course, his exact words had been: "C- Complete disaster," but Scott got the gist. Anyway you sliced it, International Rescue was temporarily homeless. But, hey… trouble came in threes.

Scott had no sooner gotten off the comm with Brains than Lady Penelope approached him. Ordinarily, this would have been a really positive development, and (at first) it was. She came gliding up in her tweed suit, island pearls and high heels; blonde hair doing that slightly frazzled, sexy-Penny thing.

In the pale golden light of the rising sun, she looked stunningly beautiful. Unconsciously, Scott stood a little taller, and sucked in his non-existent gut. Grinned at her, too.

Penelope smiled radiantly back and, just very slightly, leaned against his side. The contact warmed them both, as did a quick, surreptitious hand squeeze. She smelt wonderful; not at all like soot, dirt, jet pack exhaust and "hard work", but he was on duty, and so was she. More importantly, in an organization as small and close-knit as International Rescue, work-dating relationships were a real nightmare. IR was not just a fishbowl, but a bowl with 24-hour live-feed cameras and magnifying aquarium glass. Four brothers, an inquisitive sister, Grandma, Brains and Max made it d*mned difficult to do anything in private.

Still… the back of his hand brushed her leg through that scratchy tweed skirt, causing her to lean harder against him… no harm in a little off-the-radar fun. His voice a bit huskier than normal, Scott said,

"Hey, Penny. Good to see you, and thanks for your help. If you hadn't relayed Brains' signal, last night, there wouldn't have been any pieces of John and me big enough to sweep up. It's good to know that we've got friends where it counts."

Her smile faded, at that.

"Yes, well… that is precisely what I wished to discuss with you, Scott."

"Uh-oh," said Scott, mentally preparing himself for the big, 'it's not you, it's me… let's just be friends,' speech. "That doesn't sound good."

He pulled his hand out of hers, and turned to face the crushingly lovely, ever-poised woman more directly.

"What's going on, Pen?"

"There is serious talk in the World Council… scarcely creditable, yet a fact, nevertheless… that International Rescue should face legal damages and possible arrest for, erm… "stirring up the Mechanic, and unlawful surveillance", is how the wretched old fools put it. I very much fear, Scott, that IR's status is about to change, vis-à-vis the Council of Crabby Old Barristers."

Scott blinked, so relieved that he could have collapsed. Placing his hands on her slender shoulders, he gave her another big grin, and a quick squeeze, saying,

"Is that all? Relax, Pen; you know how the Council gets; voting us out of existence one minute, screaming for help, the next. Does anyone take them seriously?"

Lady Penelope pursed her full lips in thought, tilting her head to one side. The fact that she looked like a model in this pose had surely nothing to do with her stance.

"Matters are no longer as they were," she told him. "Chancellor Hwa is a new force on the Council, and he seems determined to, as he phrased it, "scour this covert menace from our fair, peaceful globe". I should begin paying attention if I were you, Scott, and perhaps making preparations for enemies in high places, as well."

"Right. I'll do my homework, get John to run an investigation, and find out what's got Hwa's panties in a bunch. No problem. Now, about our other situation…"

He was leaning in for a kiss, still so glad that it hadn't been the "dump speech", when Gordon called out,

"Hey, Virgil? Scott? Uh… could you come over here, please?!"

There was an edge of panic to the kid's voice which instantly froze Scott's randy mood. He reached Gordon's side a half-step behind Virgil, who'd been on his comm, guiding in the GDF medical pick-up team. Gordon was kneeling beside John's anti-grav stretcher, holding a fully charged Life-Scan ™. His hazel eyes were very wide, and full of nervous concern.

"What's up, Kiddo?" Virgil asked, dropping to a crouch on the stretcher's far side.

"His life signs are fading, Virgil, like, crazy fast. I can't first-aid this one. Something's really wrong, on the inside. Like, about to die wrong."

Virgil yanked the Life-Scan ™ from Gordon's hand, and then passed it over John's unconscious body, from bright hair to space boots. Staring hard at the read out, the big pilot began to curse.

"Okay, this is bad. What happened, Tadpole? He was conscious and responding, just a minute ago!"

"I don't know, Virge! I turned my back to see about Nigel's cranial pressure, and then John said something about his stomach, got sort of quiet, and now this. Virgil, he's not dying, is he?!"

"No. Nobody's dying. Not today, not ever. Give me your med kit."

Penelope's hand had found its way back into Scott's. Now, giving it a hard squeeze, she turned his hand loose, then went over to kneel at the head of John's stretcher. Stroking his red-golden hair, she started talking in a low, cheery voice about baseball versus cricket, and whether John would have made it big as a world champion cricket bowler. Silly nonsense, meant to hold the suddenly pallid young man from slipping any further away.

Meanwhile, Virgil tore open the med kit, dumped its contents, and used his thumb print to unlock a fake panel. Into his hand dropped a plastic-wrapped disk, about the size of an old silver dollar. Virgil looked up at Scott as he tore the package open with his teeth, spitting shredded plastic onto the ground.

Scott's gut froze still harder inside of him… but he nodded, mouthing, 'Yeah. Do it.' Working fast, Virgil unzipped part of John's environment suit, enough to expose his chest. Then, he placed the gleaming blue disk over the astronaut's heart, and depressed a switch. Blue energy flared, then shrank tightly around the wounded young man. Instantly, John's body grew as still and marble-cold as an ancient museum display. Life signs didn't disappear, though; they just "asterisked". Not dead, not alive, but paused; in stasis.

It was a last-ditch and risky delaying tactic, because about one person in ten never recovered from immersion in the stasis field. They just hovered there; frozen forever between life and death, becoming their own tombstone.

"Massive internal damage," Virgil muttered. "Dammit! Why didn't I see that, before?!"

Gordon looked so guilty and frightened that Penny swept him into a sudden, tight hug.

"It is not your fault, Gordon," she told him, delivering at the same time, a very soft kiss to his unshaven cheek. "From the outside, he seemed to be but very little bruised, and perhaps concussed. Had you not spotted this decline, John might had died here, unnoticed. You may very well have saved him, Gordon." There was a lot going on in his heart, right then, but this was the precise moment when Gordon Tracy fell completely in love with Penelope Creighton-Ward.

Meanwhile, Virgil stood up and went over to Scott.

"Hospital?" he asked, brown eyes anxious and urgent.

"NO! No… not a good idea, Virge. You know why. Let's just… let's get him home. Brains' got some pretty serious medical gear down in the infirmary. It'll be all right. It's got to be all right. Come on, the GDF'll get here when they get here. Parker can stay with Team 56 until they arrive. Whistle up your bird and pack up. We're going home."

Trouble came in threes.

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Flying low over Tracy and San Mateo Island, a short time later-

Kayo had got there first, owing to the blistering speed of Thunderbird Shadow. What she saw made her heart sink still further into her boots.

"God!" she whispered. "It's like a bomb went off!"

Banking low and tight, Kayo came around for another pass, and hit the record button. The undermined house had collapsed, pancaking onto the pool deck. Landslides of rubble and deactivated insect-drones had buried the dummy airstrip leading to Thunderbird 2's hidden lair. As for the round-house, it had simply ceased to exist, lasered and slashed into gravel.

"Scott…" Kayo said, fighting to keep her voice level, "There's nowhere to land. The launch bays are completely trashed."

His holo closed its blue eyes for a moment, and started rubbing at a savage headache.

"Okay, let me think… Right. The emergency "hot pad" on the other side of the island; the one we use when someone's coming in out of control. We'll put the Birds down over there, then walk to the house. Virge, you got that?"

Virgil's hologram appeared beside Scott's. Being slower, and more heavily laden, he was farther behind.

"Yeah. Hot pad, got it. Anybody tried calling Grandma, or Brains?"

"Nice to see we're on somebody's mind," said the old lady. Her holo seemed to be leaning on a broom or mop, while carrying a probable bucket. Equipment wasn't generally picked up by the holo cams, which often left you guessing. "And good to see you all back. It's a mess over here. We're trapped in the lab with low power and we're almost out of bread. I'm about to start giving Max the side-eye and pulling out my carving knives!"

The robot responded with a long, nervous warble. Then, faintly, they heard Brains saying,

"It is only a j- joke, Max! Humor! M- Mrs. Tracy w- would never consume you!"

"That you know about!" her holo responded cheerfully, over one shoulder. "Little salt and ketchup'll perk up pretty near anything. I've et worse… and cooked worser."

She didn't know, of course. No one had had the heart to tell her. Scott puffed out a slow, nervous breath.

"What's wrong?" asked Grandma, quickly perceiving their silence and worry. "You bothered about the mess? Or getting us out of here? I got a team of GDF Seabees on their way in a cutter, and then Teddy has his power suit, so…"

She grew quiet all at once, peering sharply from face to hologrammed face. "Not that at all, is it?" she asked, flatly. "Teddy, Boo, Kayo… what's wrong? Talk to me."

Sometimes, leadership positions really, really sucked. No one was trying to step on his turf this time, Scott noticed. Nope. All yours, Scotty boy. Clearing his throat, he said,

"Tell you when we get there, Grandma. Just… need to land and get to the infirmary, with a critical care trauma patient."

"Ohh…" she said, then appeared to throw the broom aside. "Fly in as quick and safe as you can, boys, Kayo. We'll be ready."

The next few days were a total blur to Scott. What had looked bad from the air was even worse on the ground. Power went from low, to none; the World Council drafted a resolution calling for the arrest of International Rescue, and the Mechanic was still out there, somewhere, presumably nursing a grudge and after the Hunter's AI. Rescues were short-range, when they happened at all. They were unarmed and undefended, except for what the Seabees' Lieutenant Kraft had been able to loan them by way of weapons.

With the help of fifteen GDF sailors and seven Marines, they shifted rubble night and day, trying to clear the launch bays before power ran out on the Birds. The cutter Union Jack could supply a little, but not enough to keep all three Birds operational and flight-worthy.

The team had been roughing it out on the beach with the Marines, for the most part living like castaways… but worst of all was the situation with John. Brains had protested inexperience when faced with the task of raising the nearly dead.

"S- Scott!" he said, wringing his hands, "I am not a ph- physician! I c- cannot do more than p- program med-bots and scanners! N- Not even first aid! How am I, ah… am I supposed t- to heal a wound of such serious nature?!"

They were in the infirmary, about a week after arrival. The place was running on a slim, generator budget, drawing most of their power. John's bed was behind them, inside a plastic tarp cubicle. Only way to maintain a semi-sterile, air-conditioned environment. Max was nearby, fueling up the generator, again.

"Brains…" Scott began, leaning in close. "Don't bring me problems, without a solution on tap and ready for deployment. Get creative. You're a genius, dammit! Make… this… happen. Understood?"

Max rolled backward out of reach, whistling plaintively. Brains took off his spectacles; cleaned them on his shirt. His Adam's apple began to bob wildly along his neck. Then,

"John is y- your brother, and he is m- my good friend. I am n- not "bringing you problems", Scott. I am t- telling the truth. There is s- simply too much damage to major organs f- for this equipment to, ah… t- to repair."

But Scott wasn't having any.

"Not good enough, Brains. Think of something. Save his life. God d*mn it, DO YOU THINK I DON'T WISH IT WAS ME, LYING THERE?! DO YOU?! IF I COULD DO SOMETHING MYSELF, I WOULD! I would…"

Scott started shaking, then mastered himself. Straightening up to his full height, he said,

"I'm expecting a plan on my desk at 0800, tomorrow morning. That's all."

Once he'd left the infirmary, Brains cast an anxious glance at the billowing plastic-sheet cubicle, then thumped back into the rolling chair behind his own desk.

"G- Get creative," he mumbled, reaching into the lab's computer interface globe. "Well, M- max, perhaps exotic, f- fringe medicine will have many un-guessed-of p- possibilities."

He fervently hoped so, at any rate, and not just because Scott Tracy was once again behaving like a giant, walking…,

"Ah! Wh- What have we here?" Hackenbacker manipulated files in the interface globe, bringing up data related to surgical nanobots; a barely funded and wildly radical treatment for severe trauma cases. Smacked too much of artificial intelligence for the World Council's comfort, which explained why it was so little researched.

"Nanobots…" he murmured, after examining the files for an hour. "I have b- been known previously to employ n- nanotechnology in repairing and b- building machines. P- perhaps the ones we have may, ah… may be r- reprogrammed, Max?"

The robot had been squatting low on its wheels beside his chair, in sleep mode. Now it snaked up its head on that long neck to examine the opened data file. After a moment, Max emitted a rapid series of beeps, some of them questioning.

"I kn- know it is in th- the earliest phase of human t- trials, Max, but the tech s- seems most solid!"

The engineer's face settled into strong, grim lines. He pushed up the sleeves of his shirt, and jammed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose, saying,

"I w- will try, but I am doing th- this, let the Universe hear, for my friend John, and f- for Grandma, who d- did not reveal my mistake. Not for S- Scott d*mn Tracy, who may experience c- catastrophic engine failures in all non-essential body p- parts, for the rest of his life!"

Max tweeted agreement, looking on as Brains began his research and alterations. It was nearly two AM when he at last sat back, rubbing red, tired eyes. Almost, he had a plan. Nearly, he was ready to start. But first, well… First, he needed permission, and not from Scott, either. Virgil was discarded as an option, too, as he would be knee-deep in rebuilding talk with Lieutenant Kraft… and not the one to make such a decision, anyhow. There was only one real choice.

A quick shift of his comm setting brought up Grandma, who was berthed in one of the Island's few remaining useable rooms.

"M- Mrs. Tracy!" he called, softly. Would have expected a harder time waking the old woman, but she roused very quickly, sitting up in bed and reaching for something that turned out to be her glasses.

"Oh, it's you, Brains. AM, or PM?"

"AM, sadly M- Mrs. Tracy. I am very s- sorry for rousing you at such, ah… s- such an impolite hour, but I am very much needing advice."

"About Johnny?" she guessed shrewdly, starting to rise with a fling of what was probably her sheet.

"Y- Yes, Ma'am. If I could be s- seeing you, soon, it is a m- matter of urgency."

"Brains, I'll move faster than the Good Lord ever intended old bones to hustle. Hold that thought!"

True to her word, Grandma Tracy threw on an old plaid robe, and practically flew, reaching the infirmary, blinking and out of breath, in under seven minutes.

Peering hopefully at the engineer's face, she searched for signs of good news. Seeing only concern, though, she whispered,

"I should sit down, shouldn't I?"

"Y- Yes, Ma'am… it might b- be most wise of you to do so."

"Okay, Brains," said Grandma, lowering herself to a perch on the edge of his desk. "I'm as ready as I can bring myself to get. What's going on? Bad news?"

Brains shook his head.

"N- Not bad news, necessarily, Mrs. Tracy, b- but I will be requiring permission fr- from someone responsible, with a clearness of, ah… of thinking."

"Yup," she nodded. "That'd be me, all right. Fire away, Brains."

"Yes. I will f- fire." Once again, Brains took off his glasses, and began minutely polishing, all around both of his lenses. Nervous habit. "Mrs. Tracy, there is treatment which I m- might try, if given, ah… g- given permission. It involves the use of s- specially programmed, injectable surgery nanobots to perform s- system wide micro-repairs upon heavily d- damaged organs. It has b- been used successfully f- five times, failed twice."

Grandma Tracy gave him a brief nod.

"I see. Not the best odds. Go on, Brains. Something tells me there's more."

"Y- Yes, indeed, Ma'am, there is. Y- You see, the patient c- cannot be still in stasis, or the bots w- will freeze, as well. John must b- be removed from the field, before injection."

Again, Grandma nodded her understanding.

"And…?" she prodded, gently.

"And, above the r- risk that he does not emerge from stasis at all, John may p- perish of his injuries, before the b- bots can heal him. Th- That is all of it, Mrs. Tracy. I s- simply need y- your permission to proceed."

Grandma just breathed for a bit, looking past Brains, at nothing but night. Then, swallowing hard, she said,

"You have my permission, Brains… but first, I need some time with my baby boy. Can I have a few minutes, please?"

Dr. Hackenbacker reached over, took the old woman's hands in both of his, and gave them a gentle squeeze.

"Of c- course, Ma'am. Max and I shall w- wait outside."

And off he went, leaving Grandma Tracy to square her thin shoulders in Grant's old robe, and walk into that cubicle, alone.

Trapped between one breath, one heartbeat and the next, John lay perfectly still, cold and remote as a fairy-tale prince. Grandma Tracy took a seat beside his bed. Placing a hand on his forehead, she stroked back his hair, saying,

"Well, Sweet Boy…" paused to swallow and blink. "Johnny, this may have to be goodbye. Lord knows I don't want it to be… I want you to get up off that bed and live. I want you to fly in space, play baseball, laugh at your brothers, and someday have a dozen kids of your own… but I had a decision to make, and I chose the best way I knew how. In case it don't work, find your dad and your granddaddy, and give 'em my love, baby boy."

Leaning over, she kissed his cold forehead, and made a quick, secret sign there.

"I'm gonna go, now, Johnny, and the second-smartest guy I know's gonna do his damndest to help you live. Goodbye, baby. I was there when you was delivered, and I'm here with you, now. You've been a joy, all your life."

Just outside, she found Brains. Her back was straight, her head erect, not a tear on her face.

"Sh- Should I call for the others?" he asked, placing a hand on the old woman's shoulder.

"Will it help you any, to have them here?"

"N- No. Honestly, M- Ma'am, it will not. They w- will be frightened, and th- thus, very tense."

"Then let 'em be. I take full responsibility, Brains. Do whatever you can to save my boy." Then she gave his arm a pat, and went to sit down at the desk, with her rosary.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A few minutes later, inside the cubicle-

With Max attending, Brains put on his best rendition of surgical scrubs, and got to work. Loading up a syringe full of saline solution and repurposed nanobots, the engineer came to the bedside, and switched on all of its critical-care equipment. Not detecting pulse or respiration, the machinery remained silent, at first.

Next, he located a decent vein; bluish-green against the pale skin of John's throat. With his other hand, Brains reached over to the stasis disk, readying himself to switch the thing off.

"M- Max," he said, "I am n- not wishing so much responsibility, ever again. We w- will do this together, as one. At m- my signal, deactivate the, ah… the d- disk, and I will inject. R- Ready, Max?"

The robot rolled farther forward, lens covers forming a straight, determined line above its twin cameras. Chirping once, Max reached out with a jointed arm, one digit poised to tap the disk at Brains' signal. They stared at one another for a heartbeat or so. Then, Brains said,

"3… 2… 1… Now, Max!"

The disk deactivated perhaps a quarter of a second before the needle slid home and its plunger slammed to. Color and warmth (though not much of either) returned to John Tracy. Almost instantly, the critical-care monitors began shrieking and beeping, causing the woman outside to gasp. As the nanobots flared through the chosen vein and into the astronaut's body cavity, Hackenbacker set down his syringe, saying quietly,

"John, m- my friend, it is very much w- wanted that you sh- should recover. B- Be kind to your revered grandmother, please, and, ah… and bring g- gladness to her many years."

Seconds passed, then minutes. Brains watched the clock, and his friend. He had a secret weapon, though; another stasis disk, out of its wrapper and ready to deploy, just in case. Ten minutes, twenty… half an hour, and one by one, the alarms grew quiet.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

0800, Scott Tracy's new makeshift "office"-

Brains strode into the tent that served as International Rescue's temporary headquarters. Scott was there, sitting upright behind his desk, looking very much like a man who hadn't slept all night.

Virgil was present, as well, talking intently with Lieutenant Emma Kraft. Having excavated Thunderbird 2's hangar and airstrip, they could snake power feeds now to the other Birds, as well, which would put IR back in business… provided they weren't all hauled off in cuffs, first.

Scott had been listening to the pair argue about plasma couplings and voltage regulators all morning long. When Hackenbacker came in, however, he stood slowly upright.

"Brains?" he said, staring hard at the engineer's face.

"Y- Yes, Scott. I am here with, ah… with my report. It is that you should g- go see your brother."

Virgil seemed to comprehend, immediately. Turning first pale, then flushed and ruddy, he shot Lieutenant Kraft a quick nod, then double-timed it out of the tent, running like he had a ball in his grasp, and the end zone before him. Scott stood swaying for an instant. Then, he snapped,

"What are you saying, Brains? What are you trying to tell me?!"

"Th- That you brother, John w- would perhaps like to speak with you, as h- he already is w- with the others."

Scott put both hands down on the desktop, hard. Closing his eyes, he released a very long, shaky breath. Then, as Lieutenant Kraft backed quietly out of the tent, Scott said,

"I can't, Brains. This was my fault, all of it. I…"

"N- no! You will listen now, Scott Tracy! You h- have yelled, and you have b- barked, and you have d- demanded, and I h- have done as you said me to d- do! Now, you will stop acting l- like a child, and welcome your b- brother, Mr. "Can't show any emotion but anger" Scott Tracy!"

The pilot blinked. Then, lifting his head, Scott gave the furious engineer a respectful salute, and hurried out of his command tent, back to the house.