Sincerest thanks to Bow Echo, Tikatu, Whirl Girl, "Guest", Akimakel and Creative Girl 29, for their helpful comments, reviews and suggestions. Late posting, today, due to unforeseen complications at the gas station.

11

The North Pacific, near Cutwater Destiny-

With the GDF Cloud-Carrier out of commission, there was nothing to hold back that storm, which looked like becoming a right monster. Somebody else's problem, though, because Gordon's business lay below. The waters were dark and turbulent, at first, rolling in giant, wind-driven cycles of foam, debris and savage cross-currents.

This close to the rig's massive steel legs and risers, the ocean broke up into strong, chaotic whirlpools that would have flipped Thunderbird 4 like a bright yellow poker chip, had Gordon Tracy been less of a pilot. He didn't fight those currents, he rode them; with judicious touches of force shield, now and again.

A less well-designed rescue sub, with an inexperienced pilot, would have been in serious, possibly fatal, trouble. Gordon plunged on in, dropping 4 swiftly through the worst of that wild, slashing turbulence; down where the currents ran strongly in just one direction per level, and debris mostly hung in the water, spinning gradually downward.

"I'm in," he said, once his situation had calmed enough to allow conversation beyond blue-streak cussing and snatches of prayer. "What 'm I looking for?"

"Quite a shopping list," John replied, sounding pretty relaxed for a guy out there facing a cyclone. (But he'd always been sort of odd.) "There's a rescue craft down. I've dug up her schematics, and she should have an ejectable pilot-escape pod. Fischler designed it, though, so…"

Gordon had cut on his Bird's powerful head lights, sending twin spears of gold to transfix the darkness.

"…So, it probably works for sh*t, and is still sinking along with the wreck," he finished for his brother, adding, "Got it. One about-to-be-crushed escape pod. What else?"

"A toy rescue submersible, likely operating beyond its mud-puddle depth rating, with an inexperienced driver at the helm. Fischler-designed and GDF-trained, respectively. Sending last known coordinates."

Gordon shook his sandy-blond head.

"Wow. This just gets better and better. Want me to pick up anything else, while I'm down at the wreckage-mart?"

A brief burst of static interrupted their link, but not for long. The action of seawater on exposed metal always produced electrical fields, but his comm was designed to compensate for that.

"…damage to the rig's substructure. Penny suspects deliberate sabotage, and she may be right. Get some pictures, and shore up whatever you can, but those two missing kids have got to come first. Situation's under control, up here."

To the rest of the world, John Tracy was the voice of hope and salvation. To Gordon, he was an instruction manual and a lifeline; calm assurance that… no matter what stupid fix he'd got himself into… there was a clever way out.

"Got it: rescue noobs, patch derelict, and snap a few 'Get out of Jail Free' pix. Stay safe up there, John, and, uh… y'know… say "hi" to Penny for me, or something."

More static, then,

"…stick with "hi". Scott 'll shoot me, if I attempt any 'something'. Besides, she's too demanding. Got all the female trouble I can handle, as is. Now, leave the shiny stuff alone, don't press any big, red buttons, and come back safe, Gordon."

The aquanaut grinned.

"Aww…" he protested, "you never let me have any fun!"

Might have heard a headshake and sigh before his brother cut comm, but Gordon couldn't be certain. He was a different guy than he had been, though, dating back to around their Titan rescue. Gordon-before thought with his muscles and gonads. Gordon-after tended to think matters through. To be logical, almost. Did his best to hide it, though, and to not think about why he'd suddenly started to change. Why, all at once, Kayo seemed almost as attractive to him as Penny. Being a man of action, Gordon Tracy shoved all of that sticky emotional crap back in the mental closet where it belonged, and got back to work.

John had sent him coordinates for the newbie rescue pilot's crash site, but of course, the kid would've drifted since then. So, he…

…almost collided with a big, shredded piece of black wing, and what looked like a crumpled landing skid, twisting slowly past in his high-beams, trailing bubbles. Gordon's heart clenched. Hitting the comm, again, the aquanaut snarled,

"John! Is Shadow supposed to be out here?! Have you heard anything from Kay?!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Thunderbird 3, clamped to the rig's low side, facing her bright-orange doppelganger-

Alan had worked a few calculations and made some hasty adjustments. Despite all his grousing to Piper, the boy found shield-strength-and-configuration maths more annoying than difficult. Especially crap-itacious, because he wanted to keep talking to the pretty girl with the purple hair, parked right across from him.

Got their combined fields up high enough to cover the observation tower, then gave 3 her orders. Next up, a short stroll in the fresh (cold, screaming, butt-clench dangerous) air. Much like an amourous squirrel would cross a four-lane highway to reach an alluring female on the other side, Alan Tracy made ready to hop out onto the main deck, and, um… coordinate evac. Yeah, that was it. And maybe she'd want to come help all those people escape, too?

Heart pounding wildly, Alan unstrapped from the pilot's seat and stood up. Cleared his throat then, and said,

"Got that shield up, John. Just gonna go out, now, and help get those folks loaded onto Thunderbird 2, okay?"

Fingers tightly crossed, thinking: please say yes, please say yes, please say yes…! Alan edged away from his rain-and-spray lashed windows. Then,

"Understood, Al. Be careful. It's getting interesting, out here."

Meaning that his brother was actually getting a workout, environment suit, and all. Had he been physically present, Al would have hugged him, and then got all embarrassed about it, afterward.

"I'll catch what I can, and duck all the rest, John. Promise!" Dang, he sounded stupid! Like a dumb kid! But John said only,

"Roger that. Keep me posted," and then cut comm.

The young astronaut just about cartwheeled out of his noisy cockpit and out to the hatch, snagging his rocket-board on the way, because, hey… a guy needed to make an entrance, y'know?

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Thunderbird 1, high in the air over the stricken deep-water drilling platform-

On the bright side, most of those hurtling, burning chunks had been blasted out of the sky already. Whatever it was had been huge, but not infinite. D*mned weird, though, how they'd almost seemed aimed at the drilling rig.

Hadn't much time to speculate, because there was Scott Tracy-style work to be done; fast, wild and hazardous. Would never admit this to a living soul (except John or Virgil, maybe, when they'd had a few beers) but sometimes, flying Thunderbird 1 was better than sex.

With light, reflexive control gestures and swift cable shots, the handsome pilot locked onto one crashing husk after another, casting them far from the tottering rig. Took a few hits, himself, but nothing 1 couldn't handle. Until he got a sudden warning from Brains, that is.

"S- Scott, you are, ah… are using up sh- shield strength and thrust f- faster than they can, ah… can b- be recharged. Please attempt t- to avoid collisions!"

Scott looked out at a squalling, screaming dark sky, clawed by fiery trails of debris. Then, he just laughed.

"Sorry, Brains. Doing my best, here, but I've got more dance partners that I can handle, and some of these wallflowers… just won't take no for an answer."

"Uh- Understood, Scott. But, I m- must request that you use r- restraint, please, as Th- Thunderbird 1 has suffered a s- serious charge drain from s- sitting at, uh… at H- Harmony Airfield, for so l- long."

Scott Tracy grinned savagely as he banked after another chunk of blazing debris and speared it in midair.

"Have a little faith in your work, Brains. Thunderbird 1's your masterpiece. I could fly her with one wing and a quarter-tank of gas!"

Inside the cockpit of Thunderbird 2, meanwhile, Virgil Tracy shook his head. Seriously hoping that his brother's words didn't turn out to be prophetic, he eased his big girl up close to the high observation deck. Had to be careful not to nudge the spindly tower right the h*ll over into that stormy and raging ocean.

His harness was still on, so the dark-haired pilot figured that once he'd got the observation deck stabilized, he could start bringing people aboard through the overhead hatch. Penny or Parker first, he decided, because someone needed to mind the store while he was out "shifting cargo".

The steel tower was half crumpled, swaying wildly with each blast of wind, and slick with rain in his searing white floodlights. There were people clinging to that tilted, wet railing, staring hopefully upward. Sometimes, speed and power were called for, in his line of work. Sometimes, the skilled hands and sharp mind of a surgeon.

Humming quietly to himself, Virgil edged forward, letting Thunderbird 2's onboard systems compensate for the wind shear and updrafts. Pushed himself past tension and on into 'Just get the job done, Tracy.' You couldn't afford doubt. Not when lives depended on swift, confident action.

With the engines rumbling and a banshee wind howling past him, outside, Virgil matched his motion to that of the tower. His brown eyes were narrowed in concentration, his gloved hands barely twitching at the controls. Thunderbird 2's broad green nose drifted gently forward, her own shields first touching, then mating with Thunderbird 3's. Bumped the swaying tower with the slightest of grinding noises, helping to hold it in place. Score.

Hundreds of feet below him, the prototype was nudging her way up to the drilling platform like a horse questing for treats. Lee had a harder time of it, as the Bird he was flying was not fully operational. It was very much seat-of-the-pants, on his end. Not that the older man minded. Having docked many cargo shuttles to fast-moving space stations in his day, Lee Taylor was nothing, if not delicate. Especially with Brains and Max alongside, calling out numbers. It was messier down here than in space, sure… but the essentials remained the same: insert tab A in slot B, and don't get yourself killed. (Anyways, no Texan was ever going to get shown up by a bunch of d*mn kids. H*ll, he'd have flown the mission broke and hungover, on a dare.)

"P- Proceed cautiously, Captain T- Taylor," murmured Brains, seeming wide-eyed and shaken. "Five meters… three… one…"

The engineer was braced back against his seat like he expected a big, fatal crash. Briefly, Taylor considered shouting 'BOOM!' when they made contact, but decided against it. The poor little guy would likely have fainted dead away. Instead, when the prototype snugged up to that big concrete slab, the pilot grinned and said,

"Relax, Doc. I was flyin' more cross-grained bitches than this 'un, back when you was still pissin' y'r nappies. Just you 'n Mike, over there, get ahold a' Jase n' Alvin, an' let's get them folks loaded up, so's we c'n all go home. Beth's got supper cookin', an' I'm d*mned if them GDF boys is gonna get it all!"

The engineer's brown eyes widened still further.

"Out th- there?" he whispered, pointing through the viewscreen at rising wind and spitting rain. At darkness, split by the harsh glow of floodlights and lightning.

"Yup. Slap on a harness, an' tether up, then head on out ta th' hatchway. Ya won't fall. Leastaways, not very far. An' if ya do, Mike, there, c'n haul ya right back, again."

Brains inhaled sharply. Since their visit to the Ranch, nothing had gone right for the engineer, and this situation felt doubly frightening. He had no special suit. No jet pack or exopod. Only his mind, a little courage, and the will to help out. Then Max extended an arm, and warbled a long string of encouraging beeps.

"Y- Yes, of course, M- Max. You are quite c- correct. I am fully equal to, ah… to th- the task at hand."

Straightening his thin shoulders, the engineer unstrapped and stood up.

"Hold her s- steady, Captain Taylor. I shall go forth, and b- begin bringing others aboard."

Once again, the moustached pilot grinned at him.

"You got it, Doc. Me an' Big Bertha, here, won't budge, come hell or high water. Now, scoot! Get out there, an' show them island boys how it's done."

Brains gave him a single nod, then turned and strode aft, shifting with the Bird's movements like an old pro. Max started to trundle on after him, then turned his head on that long, limber neck to regard Lee. The robot chirped something, next, that sounded a lot like a question.

Taylor shrugged.

"Sometimes, Mikey," he said, "All a man needs is a job. Puts a little starch in his drawers, if ya know whut I mean."

Max beeped a response, then tapped Lee's near shoulder with a curled-up mechanical fist. Moments later, he was out of the cockpit, after his best friend and creator.

XXXXXXXXX

Back in the air, once more, over that GDF observation deck-

John Tracy hovered aloft in his exopod. It was rainy and cold up there, with nastily shifting winds, and a major storm coming on, but all he could think of was Gordon's question? "Have you heard anything from Kay?!"

No. He hadn't, because Little Bit… Tanusha… wasn't here. She was safe, someplace else. She had to be. Two things came to John's mind, then. That sudden bright flash and explosion, when the first big chunks of space debris had come rocketing down… and the time she'd just learnt to ride her bike and shouted excitedly, "Look, John! No hands!" and then raised both arms high, like Gordon always did. She'd hit a bump and taken a header, scraping herself up pretty badly, in the process.

Just that one time, he hadn't run alongside of her. His sister had gotten hurt, but she hadn't cried. Just pressed her face against his neck, as he guiltily carried her home. Right.

Switching comm settings, he snapped,

"Status report, Kayo. Where are you?"