'Allo! Not going to risk going shopping, today. Too hazardous. Getting the oil changed in my Jeep, instead. Happy countdown to Christmas! =)
25
Pacifica City, far to the west and below-
There were several large groups of refugees, crowded around sealed hatches or 'outside', under the perma-glass dome. Waiting in darkness and cold for instructions or rescue, they'd kept up their spirits as best they could.
Those above, on the park-like 'surface', had seen Thunderbird 4 moving around overhead, setting small glowing objects here and there on the city's great, curving spans. Those below had no such comfort, at first. All they knew was tilt and tremor, blackness and creeping, life-snatching frost. Breath misting in air that grew slowly staler, they huddled in sealed compartments and waited for rescue, sometimes knocking on the pipes and bulkheads around them.
Power had been diverted to keep up the force shields, leaving the city unable to coordinate its own trapped emergency crews. See, the push to convert an over-budget undersea research station into a playground for WorldGov's elite, had left critical gaps in Pacifica City's "incident readiness".
Bertie knew none of this, of course. He was only a small, gen-mod pug with an outsized vocabulary and high intelligence; smart enough to realize that something was very wrong, and that his friend/ mother/ alpha (insert complex scent and vocal-tone "name") was not present. This upset him greatly. He was a creature of action, surrounded by others of his playful kind, most of them panicked and howling. Deserted. Only the… very large bird?... remained calm; munching flowers and shrubs as it stalked through the freezing-cold dog place. There were cats, too, on the other side. Bertie (Not his real name, though he'd respond to it. His own sort knew him as 'Rolls-in-grass-to-get-rid-of-the-stink'. He did not enjoy perfume.) ignored those spitting and hissing not-dogs. Instead, looking up at an impossible to understand glassy sky holding back miles of dark water, he spotted something lit up and moving. Not a great fish. One of the 'cars' (they were all cars, to Bertie) that he'd sometimes ridden in, no head-out-the-window allowed.
The loud man was coming? Smells-like-salt? Bertie's short tail wagged, and he barked once, to let Smells-like-salt know where he was. Held on to two thoughts, when the ground beneath him started to shake again, going from hillside to flat: find Sweet-smell-soft-lap, and keep the very large bird from harm.
For her own part, Penny had just got that second hatch unlocked and was heaving it open… no water on the other side, thankfully… when the city started to shudder and creak worse than ever. The people massed behind her cried out in surprise, clinging to each other for balance. Over half of them were still crouched in the ballroom's maintenance crawlspace, waiting for the word to proceed.
Most would have tumbled and pitched through the ceiling's decorative panels, which were not well secured. Only, that glittering reddish energy flared brighter, suddenly, seeming to stitch the bulkheads and panels together. No one fell through to the half-flooded ballroom, below, at any rate.
Penny and His August Majesty, the Right Royal King Denys, clutched at each other and grabbed for the still-swinging hatch. The city was not falling, however. It was… was somehow straightening; returning to horizontal.
Penelope uttered a noise between laughter and sob, saying,
"They've come, Sir. International Rescue are here, I am sure of it!"
The king puffed out a long breath that was part shaky laugh. Bracing to ride out the quake, Denys nodded.
"No doubt, you are correct, Lady Penelope," he observed, gently disentangling himself. "And I would wager two gems from the state scepter, that they've been summoned by your young man, John."
Penelope hesitated. The fiction that she and Scott's brother were dating… had an actual romantic relationship… was good publicity, but entirely untrue. Right, then. All at once, Penny was done with lies.
"John is not my young man, Sir. He is simply a very dear friend, whom I often coerce into attending these charity social functions," she admitted, adding, "I do hope that all is well with him. If not… if… if he's lost, it shall have been my greed and insistence which doomed him."
Denys patted her shoulder.
"Chin up, my dear," he told her, very quietly. "Others depend upon you for strength and leadership. A Creighton-Ward is never dismayed… and the Tracys are well noted for their habit of charging through trouble with all flags flying. I shall make a further wager… of Kensington Park, this time… that your friend is very much alive."
Penny sniffled and laughed, at that.
"I shall be most pleased to lose such a wager, Your Majesty… but what shall I offer in payment, once John proves you right?"
The king, a widower, said simply,
"Why, no more than a kiss, My Lady. With that, I shall deem myself amply repaid."
Penny blinked, very glad that the darkness hid her sudden blush and startled expression. Once, on a lark, she and Clarence had scarpered off to New Town, where they'd had their fortunes read by a wrinkled old hag called Isolde.
Clarence, she'd prophesied, was "destined for greatness". Nothing odd about that, for the heir to one of Britain's largest private fortunes. But Penelope's hand she'd stared at awhile, squinting and muttering. Then, peering up at her young Ladyship with watery eyes, the old charlatan had predicted a singular fate.
"You will live a long and complex life, with many loves. One of these will die defending you, one will turn his back, and one will break your heart."
…Well, old Isolde had got the "complex" part right, at any rate. Forcing a smile into her voice, Penny said to the king,
"You are most gracious, Sir. Shall we push chance a bit farther, and try our luck through this hatch?"
There was only cold and dark beyond it, of course, though Penny could feel a bulkhead ladder stretching upward. There was a peppering scatter of knocks and taps, as well. These came from too many sides to be certain of meaning or direction, unfortunately. There were others alive, though; that was certain… and Penelope had just the means to free them, if perhaps not the time.
"Having been successful thus far, I can only say: forward!" replied the king, sounding cheerful. "However, we must leave a marker behind, so that your friend and your manservant may follow."
Grateful for the change in subject, Penny said,
"Very well. I shall go first through the hatch, Sir, if that seems good to you. Libby…?"
"Yes, Ma'am?" answered the young singer, through teeth that chattered with cold. She'd been supporting the shivering duchess, doing her best to keep the older woman conscious and talking.
"Signal the rest to come forward a few at a time… there's a good lass… and report their number to His Majesty once you've done, please."
"Yes, Ma'am, I'm on it," said the girl. She was a paying guest, not a servant, so Penny said,
"Thank you, Dear," before slipping out through the open hatch, trusting to luck and John's tuxedo jacket for protection. Complex lives, after all, were rarely safe or comfortable.