Hi, guys! Happy New Year! Busy snipping loose ends, as fast as I can. Thank you, Bow Echo, Akimakel and "Guest" for taking the time to review. I appreciate your feedback.

36

Thunderbird 1, still hovering in place, over Jakarta's main pumping station-

"You mean, somebody wants him?" Scott marveled, staring at his father's grim holo. He'd just got word that the Hood had been taken from prison.

"So, it would appear," Jeff responded, in a deep and carrying voice. He seemed to be at his desk in the World Council building… and not very happy. With a sharp, iron-grey crewcut and razor-creased GDF uniform, Colonel Tracy looked like a hero. Like a legend, sprung to life. "Wanted him badly enough to break into prison, and steal him. Multiple casualties, 387,000 credits worth of damage, and an unknown assailant at large, in possession of the Hood."

Scott's blue eyes narrowed.

"Okay, but… why tell us, Dad… erm, Colonel? IR's not a law enforcement organization. This situation is way outside our jurisdiction, on every level."

Colonel Tracy rubbed at the top of that brand-new flattop with a big hand, saying,

"Because we don't know who took him, or why. Could be, it's an enemy of the Hood's, out to settle a score… in which case a body 'll turn up, sooner or later. Or… could be that one of his allies got in and sprung him. Worst case scenario, he's back in action, and loaded for bear."

Scott made a face.

"Loaded for us, you mean. What's the official line on all this?"

Jeff shook his head, breaking eye-contact with his son to tidy a stack of already squared-away file cases.

"There isn't one, Scott. As far as the council's concerned, it never happened. Total media blackout."

"So… we're on our own, then?" said the pilot, forcing himself to remain calm. Would have said more, but then Kayo cut in, leaning past his shoulder with,

"There's valuable intel just lying about over there, I'll bet. Why don't I summon up Shadow, and go have a look, Dad? You don't have to officially send me, or anything. Plausible deniability, and all that."

Jeff's brown eyes crinkled in the barest of smiles.

"That's my girl," he said proudly, adding, "I can't officially condone your actions, but… fly safe, Princess."

She grinned at him, already unstrapping and pressing her comm switch; green eyes alight with the promise of good hunting to come.

"I'm better than safe, Dad… I'm the best d*mn pilot you've got."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Thunderbird 3, approaching Jove Station-

Alan Tracy had done most of the recent flying, as Captain Taylor needed rest, his brothers were pretty concussed, and there were two frail, half-starved passengers to tote. Consequently, he spent a lot of time in the hot seat, between Saturn and Jupiter.

Their course had needed adjusting, but the biggest thing Alan did was expend loads of fuel slowing down. You couldn't just slam on the brakes, in space. You had to fire retro-rockets, using their thrust to reduce your momentum, and that meant burning fuel by the crap-ton. Hadn't wanted to do it before, because they'd been in such a tearing hurry to reach Titan, and then to head back. Now, though… unless he wanted to miss their only chance to refuel and restock before Mars, Alan had to slow down. A lot. Like, really soon.

Tried to be smooth about it, but every time he fired those rockets, the entire Bird shook; booming and humming like a street sign in a hurricane. Medical had its inertia damping field back in place, so the patients weren't badly affected. It was Alan who felt like the guy riding a jack-hammer pogo stick.

Like John at Titan, though, he had to get it just right, or risk A: overshooting the slow-moving station, or B: crashing right through it. Fortunately, Alan was a natural pilot. Not a numbers guy, like Uncle Lee, nor as seat-of-the-pants-what-the-h*ll-let's-do-this as John (who came up a few times, between rocket burns, to let Alan sleep).

Long story short, he got them there safely, being the kind of hero nobody ever wrote about, or featured in news vids. Just a guy in the background, quietly getting the job done.

"Hey, Conrad!" Alan called out, when the big, double-wheel station hung shining before him. "This is Thunderbird 3, heading home. I've got a hungry rocket, and three messed-up people needing a doctor. Any room at the inn?"

His view screen split. Now, one side showed Jove Station, with Jupiter glaring like the Angel of Death far behind her. The other side displayed an image of Charles Conrad, the young station manager, and a very good friend.

"Hey, Alan! Good to see you guys. Docking port 52 is wide open, and ready to go. Come on in. Showers are hot, and steaks 're hitting the grill!"

Alan grinned back.

"That's the best news I've heard since 'Time to go home, Alan'! Tell me there's a game room, and I'm moving in!"

Conrad grimaced, mussing the shiny black hair at the back of his head.

"Well, um… actually, Alan, most of our clientele are asteroid miners and out-bound long-haul pilots. They're more into the bar scene than video games. Sort of a rough crowd, you know? I've got a pretty fancy rig, though, up in my quarters. You and John and Gordon are welcome to use that one. We could have a tournament!"

"You're on!" Alan laughed. "But I gotta park Thunderbird 3, first. Gimme a sec, okay?"

The docking coordinates had flashed onto his lower view screen, along with a set of virtual landing lights, guiding him in to dock 52. Jove Station was huge; consisting of two concentric slow-spinning rings set at right angles, for gyroscopic stability. A spherical center hub was maintained in place by force beams, and reached via shuttle. That was command and control. The rings held everything else.

Alan had no trouble with docking. Anyone who could casually thread the needle of Thunderbird 3 down through the ring house and back to her hangar, found this sort of thing, no challenge at all. He just concentrated on staying within the landing-light path, slowing down with a last few burns, and getting a firm collar lock.

The feeling, when 3 at last stopped moving, except to whirl along as part of the station, made Alan want to kiss someone. Fleeting thoughts of Kayo passed through his mind, then. She was so beautiful, and strong, and… well, everything a sister wasn't supposed to make him think about. Only, she wasn't around, and wouldn't have given him a thought if she had been, except to ruffle his hair and call him 'Sprout'. Great. Frickin' awesome. He didn't want to be a sprout. He wanted… yeah. Stuff he wasn't supposed to.

Alan sighed; knowing and hating the truth. He was sixteen years old. A skinny blond kid with big ears and a squeaky voice. Then, he scowled and shook his head. Even Virgil had gone through a gangly phase; all legs and arms and incompetence. Grandma had told him that. Maybe, that meant there was hope for him, too? Getting some confidence back, Alan punched the ship's comm button, and sang out,

"Rise 'n shine, you guys! Wakey-wakey, eggs 'n bakey! And that's not just a cruel joke, this time. We made it! We've reached the station! We're halfway home!"

XXXXXXXXXXX

Thunderbird Shadow, gliding west like a phantom-

Tanusha Kyrano waited until the big island of Java was over the horizon; and then, after that, until not even the tell-tale cloud bank, above, was in sight. Only after, did the girl lock in her course, and place Shadow on autopilot.

She loved her plane, which had something of bat, and something more of an old SR-71 Blackbird, in its design DNA. It was built for speed and stealth; for getting to places quickly, that not even Scott could reach, in Thunderbird 1. It could also launch and fly itself; getting Kayo out of innumerable scrapes, and allowing her to zip into action on her motorcycle, while Shadow remained in the air. Of course, the boys preferred their own Birds, but they were perpetually stewed in testosterone. What the h*ll did they know?

Getting away from Scott allowed her to think, which she very much needed to do. The view and the distance brought peace; the silence, a measure of calm. The ocean below was blue-green, touched with long swathes of seaweed brown. There were tall, grey-purple clouds piling up in the south, gilded with sunglow and speared through by flashes of lightning. Had to be up here to see all that, though. You missed so much, from down on the ground.

…and she was avoiding the inevitable. Avoiding him. There had been a sort of pressure building in Kayo's mind for hours, now. She knew who it was, and that… uncharacteristically… he was asking admission, rather than just barging in.

With Shadow flying itself, Kayo turned toward that spot in her mind, and said,

"What now?"

And, just like that, she was someplace else. In thought, at least. Not the souvenir shop, this time. A dark stone chamber she didn't recognize, but sensed to be far underground and… and south?

Nikorr was there. Not lounging about, bored and jaded. Looking alert; almost angry. Would not reply to her rude question, of course. So, she took a new tack.

"I take it you didn't pop the Hood out of his cell, last night?"

"No," he admitted, "we did not… and thus, my predecessor's whereabouts are a subject of grave concern. He is to be returned to us, at once."

Her handsome cousin then pressed harder on Kayo's mind, trying to compel obedience. She fought back, coming very close to pushing him out of her head, this time. Kayo grinned, briefly, dropping into a ready stance, and starting to circle; a little playful, a little threatening.

"Getting better, aren't I?" she teased. "What 'll you do, when I'm strong enough to kick your arse, Niko?"

He shrugged.

"What else? Have you killed. In the meantime, though, I would consider it a… a personal favor, if you would find and return the previous Kyrano. I do not wish him incarcerated by Typicals, nor running loose to hatch plots. He must be returned for proper execution."

Kayo's circling had been bringing her gradually closer to Nikorr, who, without seeming to move, continually faced her. Like a hologram.

"You do realize he's my uncle, right?" she demanded, straightening up, again. Once more, Nikorr shrugged.

"And mine. What of it? We had an agreement, Tanusha. I released your pathetic World Council and rerouted the microwave beam, in return for the "Hood", and his two assailants. I even sped that ridiculous rescue mission, for them. You, on the other hand, have done nothing. This puzzles me, for you were raised with that pack of slobbering mongrels, and should have absorbed some of their "honor". Why the delay?"

Kayo took a sudden step closer, or tried to. Without moving, or drawing nearer the walls of the chamber, Nikorr maintained their separation. So,

"The Hood isn't mine to give you," she told him. "But, I'm on my way back to London, now, to find out what I can about his kidnapping. I'm willing to share what I learn, Niko… but not to just hand him over, without a fair trial. As for Scott and John…" she shook her head. "They'll come beat your butt, if they decide that they want to."

"And you?" her cousin enquired, all at once directly before her. "If information, and you, are an acceptable trade… will you return to the family?"

Very slowly and deliberately, he reached out to run a forefinger along the side of her face and down to the point of her chin, letting his hand drop for a moment, to the girl's chest. They were not in a physical place, meaning that his touch was not only felt on the surface. The contact shot clear through her like whiskey. Like fire.

"No promises," she managed to say, as though the caress hadn't moved her a bit. Then, Kayo broke the connection, because she couldn't trust him. Wouldn't allow herself to.

…But, then again, she wasn't trustworthy, either. And, worst of all, knew it.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Jove Station, in distant orbit 'round Jupiter-

They stayed at the big, whirling station for nearly a week. The place was enormous, especially after months of Thunderbird 3.

Alan hung out with Conrad a lot, which meant that he spent loads of time at the central hub, helping out with operations. Quite a job, too. Besides traffic control and maintenance, there was a crew of over a hundred to deal with, plus all of those visiting miners and freight pilots, heading to and from the far colonies. A few tourists and reporters, as well, because Jove Station was the last GDF outpost before you hit the literal 'outlaw', where the captain turned into a life-or-death god. Some folks ate up that feeling of danger.

Not Alan. The first thing he did was to take a long and glorious shower; getting out of the dang space suit and actually standing under a spray of hot water jets, for nearly an hour. Kept almost falling asleep in there, except food had been promised, too. Real food. The solid kind, that you had to eat with a knife and a fork, not squeeze from a sack.

Hadn't realized how scruffy and long-haired he'd gotten, until he caught a look at himself in the mirror, once he'd stepped out of the stall and wiped off all that condensation. Peered closely for blossoming muscles, but… nope; still looked like a weedy scrub, compared to his brothers. Like the team mascot, or something.

Posed for a minute, practicing his intense, manly scowl and determined posture. All while wrapped up in a big, fluffy blue 'Jove Station' bathrobe. (Available for purchase at the station souvenir shop, just 52 credits, plus tax.)

Then, feeling a bit silly, he put on jeans and a hooded red sweat shirt, plus his favourite white trainers, and went off to find Conrad, who'd promised him lunch.

As for Gordon, he stayed with Buddy and Ellie. First, just seeing that they got patched up, then helping them film a conclusion. Also, eating whatever anyone cared to set before him, because, hey… mighty deeds build up an appetite.

There were twelve unattached females on Conrad's crew, and Gordon Tracy soon contrived to meet all of them. After all, it would have been a disservice to the female population of the universe, if Gordon hadn't spread himself fairly. On the whole, he had a very good time, especially once the Pendergasts heard rumors of the "Elusive Jovian storm-beast", and began making plans for episode 90.

John spent the first few days making certain that Lee stayed put, down in sickbay. Had to threaten violence with a crowbar, to make Taylor lie down and just heal. Did his best to dodge reporters, in the meantime, and backed out of more than a cameo appearance on 'Into the Unknown'. Just… not into publicity, y'know?

Took awhile to get used to sleeping in gravity, again, because that sensation of being pressed on one side bothered the crap out of him. On the other hand, eating was a whole lot easier when food and crumbs stayed down on the plate, instead of forming constellations in mid-cabin. So, yeah… pros and cons.

Finally, Captain Taylor's heart muscle was fully repaired, and Doctor Culver declared the astronaut free to go. (Seemed d*mn glad to be rid of him, actually.) John shook her hand, submitted to a selfie, and then got his grumbling uncle the h*ll away from there. Outside of sickbay, Lee stopped him short, saying,

"There's a bar on this rig, ain't there, Jason?"

John nodded cautiously.

"Yes, Sir. I think so. Haven't spent much time looking around."

Taylor broke into a big, wicked grin and rubbed his hands together, saying,

"Then, what th' h*ll 're we waitin' for? I owe ya a drink, an' nobody c'n perfess ta bein' a man, if he ain't got inta at least one barfight, in space. Y'r education's sorely lackin' in specifics, Son. I aim ta repair that, startin' right now."

"Um…" He wasn't dressed for a fight, wearing just jeans, boots and a long-sleeved black tee-shirt with '5' decaled on. Also, fighting in gravity wells was a bitch… but, Lee was still talking, dragging John determinedly down the rumbling passageway.

"Now, there's two ways ta start an altercation in y'r average drinkin' establishment. Take notes, Jase. This here's what y'd call critical information, an' I expect it passed on, wunst th' time comes. First, find th' ugliest, meanest, most cross-grained sonsuvbitches in th' d*mn place, an' tell 'em they're in y'r seats. Pretty much never fails, though ya might have ta throw in some sh*t about their spacecrafts 'n mothers, if they seems reluctant. Got all that, Jase?"

"Um, yessir, but…"

"Good," Taylor nodded approvingly. "Knew ya was smarter 'n average. Second way's quicker, and a touch more risky. Ya gotta find th' best lookin' female at th' waterin' hole, sit down alongside 'er, an' offer ta buy 'er a drink. Guaranteed, some big-ass meathead 'll roll up, an' invite ya ta step outside."

John processed this information in silence for a bit, as Captain Taylor was consulting a handy wall map.

"What if all you want is a beer?" he asked, once they'd begun moving, again. "Sit beside a bunch of accountants, and pick regular females?"

"H*ll, where's th' fun in that?" Lee demanded, seeming exasperated. "Course, y'r daddy allus was th' one as needed th' most convincin'. Had one eye on his rank, th' whole d*mn time. Me an' Pete was th' ones lookin' ta shake things up."

John tried to visualize dad, Colonel Jeff Tracy, getting into a barfight. He couldn't… which was why he allowed himself to get roped into that mess at the Jove Station Storm Front.