14

Strapped up safe in the Prototype's medical bay, more or less half awake-

Scott listened as the giant new Bird taxied clear of all obstructions and then lifted off, roaring like avalanche, thunder and volcanic ruin combined. First came deep and rumbling vibration that soon smoothed out into fast, banking flight. Like most pilots, he loved to fly, hated being flown. Knew he could do the job better than Captain Taylor… except for that partial blindness thing, and, uh… not being able to hear very well.

Whatever. Just like John had regained some feeling and movement in that unlucky arm of his (thanks to the Survivor, possibly?) Scott would recover full use of his senses. He had to. Vacations, sick leave and sleep were for weaklings; those who couldn't keep going, no matter what. Scott Tracy wasn't weak. Wouldn't let himself be.

There was a fragrant bundle of female leaning half out of her bulkhead jump-seat to cuddle him. She shouldn't have done that; it wasn't safe to be out of restraints during take-off… but Scott didn't fuss. She felt good, draped halfway across him like that, drowsing and murmuring fond, silly nonsense.

One of his arms held her tight, linked to his right hand like a muscular human safety belt. From time to time he sleepily craned over to kiss the top of her tousled blonde head; feeling her rubbing her face languidly back and forth against his bare chest. That sparked certain ideas, but, yeah… not here. Not with Max standing by uttering righteous, safety-wise chirps. He'd probably trank them both if they tried anything, and then they'd arrive at the Island unconscious, still locked together and NEVER hear the end of it.

"Scott, Dearest…" Penny murmured, blue eyes closed in a drowsy soft smile.

"Yeah?" he managed, drifting into that warm, half-lit phase between dreaming and wakefulness. There were clowns on the rib bucket. Puppies noodle-walked the left aileron, 'cause Lee couldn't goddam make peanut butter French-fries… sideways.

"I am of ancient, proud lineage, maintained by WorldGov at public expense… cannot marry outside of my, erm… 'set'… without descending to commoner status."

Hunh? Noble bean-pillows? (He was marrying Penelope in an underwater cave system fed by unicorn pipes. The Mechanic and Dad had escorted her in, then turned away to serve everyone rice pudding and whiskey in dripping clamshells. Gordon performed a lively interpretive dance… John married Eos… while Alan read the ceremony off of the ancient vegetable-scroll he was wearing as a formal robe. Virgil sang and played the Mineral March, meanwhile, and everyone said, "Happy Birthday". Grandma and Brains brought in the rings, which were two sparkling bottle caps they clamped to their noses with wire. Kayo set off fireworks that flashed in the lemonade cave sky, reading: Please come quickly. I need you.)

Asked about it all afterward, Scott could only say that he knew Kay was out there, somewhere, calling for help, and that they had better move fast.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tracy Island, around the same time-

Virgil Tracy was bone-weary, rumpled and had that 'lived-in' look. Yeah, that's the word. Lived-in. Also a couple years older than he had been that morning, with (no lie) a few silver-grey hairs at the temples. Maybe, like Dad, he was going grey early?

Anyhow, his face still looked mostly the same, as a quick glance in the mirror revealed, when he went to the head to wash up. Harder lines at the mouth and brow, though. Jaw slightly sharper. Stuff like that.

A shower would have been nice, but twenty minutes wasn't enough time to do much sprucing up. Emma was coming, and he meant to meet her on the tarmac, even if the Hood, the Chaos Crew, twenty shape-changers and Chancellor Shaw, himself, barred the way.

There was no time to shave, either, which she'd no doubt give him crap over… but Virgil didn't care. His woman was coming, and that's all that mattered right then. Brushed his teeth, dashed at his pits, spritzed on some of Scott's 'Eau de Real Tough Guy' cologne, and then loped on out of the bathroom, causing the door to swing wide and bang hard on the wall. Might've left a dent, but he'd fix it later, or Max would.

Anyhow, crossed the house in Olympic-sprint record time, grinning like a fool. Swore he could already hear the plane's engines, mosquito-whine faint in the distance. Impossible, of course, but great incentive to hurry. Raced outside, through the main doors, down a long set of landscaped cliff-stairs and down to the airstrip, in soft evening light and a rising breeze from the gossiping sea. A few shy stars and a fresh slice of moon were just peeping out of that liquid-dark sky.

Virgil inhaled deeply, getting himself together before Emma arrived. What would she think of the changes? Would she notice, or care?

Sea-smell and night-blooming tropical flowers, flitting bats with their high-pitched clicks, it was all so d*mn beautiful. Not like the Ranch, but still home. Still where he wanted his woman… and maybe someday their children… to live and be happy. Be safe from the outside world.

Now, for certain, Virgil spotted a tiny set of blinking red-and-green landing lights, high up in the sky to the north and east. No sound yet but wind-song and surf-roar, and the joyful thud of his own bursting-full heart. Would she want to stay? If he asked her to give it all up and move to the Island, maybe take up a job with IR? Moffy had done it, for Brains. Would it even be fair to ask?

Virgil watched the mail plane's slow, banking approach. Of course, he could have done it better. Wouldn't have had so much trouble with crosswinds… but then, this guy was new; sort of a last-minute sub for Rogers, their usual courier, who'd gotten the flu, or something like that.

Not sure what he noticed first, or in what order everything happened, but… as best Virgil could later recall… his wrist comm's face burned suddenly red, on a frequency that meant only one person. Then, the landscape around him seemed to suddenly come apart into hissing clouds of tiny, smoke-like recycling nanites, streaming fast and hard for that labouring plane. Mechs were there, too; some bursting from the ocean, some shooting out of the house in a great, droning swarm.

His first thought was to launch in Thunderbird 2; to somehow get to the threatened craft, first. Only, there was no time at all.

"John! Dad!" he called out, slamming his glowing red comm. "Need emergency force-shielding on target bearing west-south-west Tracy Island, now!"

Then, Virgil triggered launch, anyhow, hurtling lava rocks, boulders of coral and spits of black sand to his Big Girl's runway, meaning to meet her halfway. Heart pounding, mouth dry, mind silently screaming: Move, dammit! Hurry!

He could hear 2 in the distance, already growling her furious pre-launch runup. The runway lights flashed, and klaxons blared, as Virgil Tracy ran like a man whose fiancée's plane was about to be taken apart in midair. Too far… not enough time…

Something big and noisy half collided with, half picked him up from the ground. A hornet-drone and several Mini-Maxes, working together. Struggling with his awkward weight, they flew Virgil through wind and darkness, got him to Thunderbird 2, and dropped him right through his Girl's open top hatch.

She seemed to shimmer and seethe in the moonlight; as though she wore armour of skittering mechs. Virgil crashed too fast, slammed the deck too hard to pay much attention. Skinned his knees and palms in the process. Didn't care.

Surged to his feet and just about made a new forward hatch, rushing back into that lit-up and waiting cockpit. Face and voice calm, he hit the comm for Thunderbird 5 and desk, both.

"Emergency launch protocol. Aircraft in distress. Ready Island Base for possible attack, assailant unknown." And then, thinking that someone else was probably listening, "Thanks. Hold her together, somehow. Just hold her together, till I get up there."