Thank you again for reading. I appreciate it. =)

34

Venice, under the roiling surface-

Turned out to be a kid, alright; panicking blindly, flailing and clutching the instant Scott's IR rebreather snapped on. The boy had been caught beneath cracked slabs of concrete and twisted electrical wire, the strings of his orange hoodie waving around him like seaweed. Out of that rampaging current, at least.

The pilot was worried that he'd got there too late, but went right to work because you never could tell, with children. Kids below ten years of age could survive the d*mndest things, including long hours in cold, murky water.

Right. As IR's first responder, Scott was trained to cope with most situations, from caving disasters to emergency space station evac. His brothers were specialists, but Scott had to be able to pinch-hit for all of them, plunging right in as soon as he got to the danger zone.

The rebreather went onto the child's pallid face, along with a self-clearing mask. Air pushed into those straining lungs. Blue-grey eyes shot wide open, then, and the boy turned into a wild, kicking animal. Still trapped in his concrete prison, half strangled by coils of wire, the kid tried to climb right up Scott like a tree. Couldn't sedate or talk to the little guy. Couldn't cut through that tangled nest of dense wires, while fighting a panicked drowner.

He had to get the boy under control and calmed down, first, using the sort of thing Gordon would do. There was an auto-flotation device in one of his sash pockets. Scott fumbled it out, hit the switch and then shoved the expanding blue float between himself and that frantic child. It erupted to full size in less than a second, with handholds and bad-weather air pockets enough for five people. Keeping the float tucked under the concrete slabs, he set it for neutral buoyancy. No sense having it shoot straight up to the surface.

Now for the tough part. Using as little force as possible, Scott got the young boy resituated, with his head inside an airspace, groping hands on the textured grips. Then, switching his helmet mic to the float's internal transmitter, he said,

"You're safe, buddy. Hold on tight, and I'll get you back up to the surface. You're mom's going to be okay, too. She's the one who sent me to get you. I'm Scott. What's your name?"

All of this whilst tugging a plasma torch out and cutting that mare's nest of

wires away. A wet, gasping cough was his only answer, at first. Then,

"Luca. I'm Luca. Is mom here, too? And Sara and dad? Where's my dad?!"

Sh*t. The penny dropped like a brick, as he realized that this was Luca McGill, son of the Chancellor. Which meant that her husband and three-year-old daughter had to be somewhere nearby. Best case scenario, together, if Calvin McGill had hung on when they fell. Only… how long could the guy hold his breath?

Scott pulled an elastic safety strap around Luca's churning legs and waist, meanwhile scanning the water for Luca's sister and dad. Willed them to be there, to not be too late.

"I'm going after them next, Luca. See those blinking lights in front of you?"

"Uh… uh-huh. I see 'em, Scott," replied the young boy, still coughing up muddy water.

"Good. Those're status lights, and they have to stay green. Keep an eye on them for me. If they fade or turn yellow, tap the control bar, beneath. Got it? Can you do that?"

(Actually just a distraction, those "status lights" were meant to soothe waiting victims, giving them something to do.)

"Yes, sir. I can do that," said Luca, nodding his wet little head. "You'll find Daddy an' Sara? You'll save them, too? An' help Mommy?" The kid was starting to cry, reacting to terror and shock.

"We'll find them," Scott promised recklessly. "Keep those status lights green, and stay calm for me, Luca. That way, I can get to them quicker."

"Okay. Hurry, please. Hurry!"

Thank God, Gordon showed up about two seconds later, giving a thumbs up, then finger-spelling 'C-h-a-n-c M-g-i-l-l'

'I know,' Scott signed back. 'Two more. Help look.'

Gordon nodded behind his faceplate, doing things with his hazel eyes that meant he was hitting the helmet's Heads-Up Display. Then, like a pair of sleek dolphins, the Tracy brothers went hunting.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Island Base, the Ring-

Brains sent the projector's basic theory to John, along with guidelines for use. The device had never before been tested, and they'd have only one decent shot at making this work. He needed someone in charge of its operation who had a firm grasp of tachyon physics, and that meant his one-time colleague Moffy, or John.

Tachyons were tiny, ephemeral particles that traveled always faster than light, which in turn moved them backward in time. They could (he'd researched and reasoned) be made to carry a ghost image with them. Theoretically, out to a certain person or spot in the past.

At least… that was his hope. Had John not been busy with Kayo, getting a girl with shattered legs out of the water and onto Pod 4, he might have provided some feedback. Too much else going on for more than a brief, acknowledging grunt, though. That girl needed help; needed painkillers, topical antibiotics and rapid-inflatable splints.

"I d- do not know how far in the, ah… the p- past my device will p- project, John," the engineer fretted. "Also, th- there is a definite risk of, ah… of t- temporal madness for the user. In any, ah… any c- case, I have only sufficient anti-proton f- fuel for a single attempt."

"Copy that," snapped the redhead, making way for Penny to set up an IV. Dozens of video drones darted and buzzed overhead, bothersome as a cloud of silvery gnats. Then, maybe worse, those other two transport shuttles turned up, bringing the rest of the Triumph contestants.

"Seriously?" John muttered, adding words that would have raised a blister on concrete, followed up by his usual "sorry" to the live mic and blushing listeners. Because, yeah… a rock group and Navy logistics crew? At a dangerous mission site, broadcasting live? What the h*ll else could go wrong?