Merry Christmas, from Japan!

22

Just over Tracy Island, coming in hot and wildly unstable-

He was blind and struggling; able to see nothing but a pair of seething, yellow-green eyes; barely able to sense the Bird's controls in his tightly clenched fists. Someone had seized hold of his mind. Was forcing Scott Tracy out of his own head, planning to maybe attack his home and his family.

NO.

With less than a second to act, Scott hauled the Bird's lever-grips, hard. Alarms blared, sudden and harsh as a whip-crack, but Scott wouldn't let go. The rocket-plane veered sharply downward, hurling its pilot against his seat straps. Fire and acid ate at the edge of his consciousness, making his head seem to shatter, exploding with pain.

Utterly blinded, unable to think, he did not cease his power dive. If anything, the pilot banked harder. Couldn't see where he was headed… ocean or mountainside… but that didn't matter. He would not let himself be used as a weapon. Refused to harm the innocent people, below.

Autopilot tried to take over. Scott tore the system out of its housing, by feel. Brains overrode comm silence, shouting questions, but Scott couldn't answer him. Not without giving his attacker the quarter inch needed to win this terrible fight. Could make no sound at all, before a shock like nothing he'd ever felt… explosive concussion, pain, noise and wrath… bludgeoned him down into absolute blackness and silence.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Over the southern Pacific, approaching Australia-

The scheming Director led his council through a tight metal passageway, using colourful bulkhead maps to plan their route. He had two goals in mind. First, take a valuable hostage. Second, use that mewling leverage to seize control of the aircraft and then force it to land at Site B, up in the treacherous Adirondack Mountains. Only, he hadn't reckoned on the rumbling cargo-lifter's bulkhead security cameras.

Scuttling along that ringing steel corridor like murderous roaches, the council tripped a surveillance cam. The small, hidden lens issued no sound or motion that might warn the band of escaped prisoners they'd been spotted. Instead, it routed a signal forward, alerting the busy pilot.

With Virgil and Colonel Casey aft and below, attending to injured disaster victims, Captain Taylor was alone in that big, two-man cockpit. There was plenty to do, but spying a blinking alert, Lee didn't ignore it.

Freed a gloved hand from the steering yoke to click 'details'. Saw part of the viewscreen in front of him shift to the image of seven angry, armed men sneaking along a maintenance passage.

Lee cocked an eyebrow, gauging their progress through Thunderbird 2 by camera number and transmitted bulkhead map.

"Mmph!" he grunted. "Looks like we got us a breakout."

He could not desert his post, nor ask Vic and Sarge, down below, to abandon their patients. On the other hand, looked at the right way, the whole d*mn ship was a weapon, and Taylor had all he needed to handle the situation, right there in front of him.

Sparing an instant to stroke down his big, bushy moustache, Captain Taylor sent a message to Vic and their GDF ride-along: Lock down for emergency maneuvers, he told them. Next, Lee slapped an inertia-dampening field on the pod and medical centre, canceling relative motion… for friendlies.

Then, passengers seen to, Taylor started to fly. His way; full out, red-lined, balls-to-the-wall. Flipping on edge, diving, swooping, climbing and soaring in barrel rolls and high, zero-G curves. Put Thunderbird 2 through her paces like a rodeo horse, making her engines howl and her fuselage scream. Near knocked himself out, a time or two… but not quite.

As for those scuttling prisoners, anything not fastened down or caught in a specialized forcefield was hurled like a tennis ball from one bulkhead, deck and overhead to the other. Slammed from launch Gees to sudden weightlessness in seconds, over and over.

Shrieking, cursing and begging for help, they soon dropped their weapons, huddling up into tight, fetal curls. Taylor hummed tunelessly, chewing spearmint gum as sea and sky switched places in his viewscreen time and again.

"Nice afternoon f'r some barnstorm flyin'," he remarked to himself, as a final unconscious conspirator flopped to the deck. "Inverse corkscrew's m' favorite, but there's them as swears by th' Immelmann loop or the Tracy hook. Might hafta try 'em all over again, just ta be fair an' impartial."

Australia was just over the horizon, putting him well into local radar. A deeply puzzled Flight Control Officer called up, demanding explanations.

"Thunderbird 2, this is Perth Regional Air Space. What is your status?" he asked tensely. "Highly erratic flight pattern detected. Are you declaring emergency?"

Grinning broadly, Captain Taylor straightened the Bird out and throttled back.

"Just a little shake-down flight, Control," he responded. "Thought I had sumthin' loose in the rear." The FCO might have retained some suspicions, but Taylor had things to do. Switching channels, he dropped the Bird's internal inertia dampers and sent an all-clear.

"Sir? Everything okay, up there?" demanded his middle-born nephew. "What's going on?"

Lee shrugged as well as the seat straps would let him.

"Nuthin' much, Vic. Just an unauthorized tour group I was aimin' ta redirect. Had a little "come ta Jesus" moment with 'em, is all… and we got a serious clean-up on aisle six, if ya wanna send in th' maintenance drones."

His nephew's bluntly handsome face shot through concern, surprise and then humour almost too quickly to catch. Next,

"Understood, Sir. I'm on it," he said, adding, "The patients are pretty much stabilised, so…"

"Godfrey alright?" Lee cut in, managing to sound almost casual.

"Yessir," Vic nodded. "He'll be okay, once we get him to Base. Blood loss, shock and a chipped left clavicle, is all."

Lee resumed normal breathing.

"Good ta hear," he admitted, "seein' as all we've got's th' one diver. I mean, I might could do it in a pinch, but Alphy's been up there alone f'r awhile, an' meteorite damage adds up purty quick. 'Bout time I headed on home f'r a spell."

Already moving, Virgil Tracy smiled at the image on his wrist comm.

"No problem, Sir. We've got things under control. Do what you have to, upstairs."

Sounded good. Question was, with no Dad and no Lee, could International Rescue handle future missions? Would the GDF even give them a chance to try? Could five young men, their sister and grandmother keep right on saving the world?

Virgil didn't have any answers, just plenty of hope. At least, until twin alerts arrived from Island Base and Thunderbird 3, stirring the pot all over again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Space, at nearly the same time, just above a gleaming and spinning orbital docking rig-

-for the safety of everyone present, do not open the storage container in medical-

…or something to that effect. An obvious diversionary tactic about as subtle as "Arggghhh! What's that behind you?!"

Kane paid no attention, but one of the juveniles… the Hood's stolen niece… flitted into the ship's crew-repair station. Then, d*mned if she didn't cycle open a locker and unseal the box; so swiftly that the Mechanic couldn't shift any nanites to stop her.

He witnessed it all on his bulkhead monitor, because every sensor and lens on the IR spaceship now reported to him. Got a crawl full of data, at the same time as that box lid unlatched and came up.

There was crap, there was sh*t and there was effing disaster. This topped all three and planted a flag. Being a cyborg, Kane could easily read text and watch events at the same time.

What developed was this:

2-14-61, Martian scout team collapsed ceiling of undetected lave tube and plunged within, encountering alien artefact. When brought to the base and unsealed, the artefact was seen to release viral and cybernetic pathogens.

(Meanwhile, the curious girl craned her head to see what was inside of that heavily plated neutronium box. Reached in and drew out some species of force-shielded vial. That would have been defense enough, except that… as an ersatz Tracy… she had very high clearance.)

The crawl proceeded:

Biologicals shortly became infected such that their DNA was rendered unstable, converting them into a 'soldier' or 'carrier' of the vanished alien race. Mechanicals were ruthlessly hacked, causing them to be warped in shape and purpose.

(Heart beginning to pound, the Mechanic took action. His nanites swept through the stricken vessel like fire through paper but did not get there in time to prevent the girl from keying open that vial. A dusty powder rose up from its top; black and faintly sparkling. The dark-haired girl made a face, reacting in shock and disgust as if at a very strong smell. Then, her flesh seemed to bubble and flow; first turning lumpy, then jerky and frenzied. Next, as if something within was clambering out, her blackened skin tore like a too-small, slimy cocoon. Remade in seconds, Tanusha Kyrano slashed her way out of her former body, revealing a thing of blades, pincers and warty, hardening armour. The creature lifted its head and bellowed a rasping cry, while all around it, machines began to alter and shift conformation.)

The last bit he could read, before camera feed shut down was:

Their primary directive appears to be the seizure and conversion of all native life forms, incorporating their genome. Machines begin to generate frigid ammonia gas, poisoning the atmosphere. If humanity is to survive, you must deliver this sample intact to a GDF lab complex for analysis.

…and then the crawl ceased, as a powerful, rending concussion shook the near bulkhead. The Hood's converted niece was apparently smashing her way out of their crew-repair station.

Kane was not a game player or watcher of Tri-vids. He had little imagination. Could, however, recognise an apparently genuine threat.

"TRACY!" he bellowed, causing the bulkheads to thicken and warp, entombing what slashed and fought for release from the crew-repair station. "Your vessel has been compromised!"

No reason on Earth he should care about them… only, his own folk were in danger now, too. Any infection that struck both organic and mechanical life would tear through a cyborg like a blade through calm water. Already, Kane's sensors detected seeping ammonia gas and plummeting temperatures. He had to keep this doomed plague ship off-world, no matter the cost to himself or the Tracys. That's why he did it.