Hello. Me, again.. Thanks guys. :) Edited more.

Counterpoint

1

Space, in the absolute centre of things, as usual-

What it all came down to was balance. Did he want to find and restore Eos? Yes. Did he have to stop himself from racing down to the Island infirmary to get back to O'Bannon? H*ll, yeah. Was he needed on Thunderbird 7, Pac-Orbital and Mars, 700 FN? Clearly.

…But he was just one man, who could get more accomplished, much faster, from Thunderbird 5. Plus, the office commute was highly enjoyable. John rode the space elevator again like a fool. On the outside of his nice, safe passenger capsule instead of its crash couch. Did have the forcefield expanded to cover him. Just wanted the view and that crazy-wild ride; out there in blackness, where stars burnt naked and fierce. No one but him ever did that, though Ridley had watched through his helmet cam, once.

Anyhow, he got to the station, leaving chaos and gravity back there on Earth like old, dirty clothes. Jaeger managed the docking process with some remote-flight assistance from John. Then, just as the space elevator came gliding up to her cradle, the astronaut let go his grip on its cable and rocketed free; watching the pod nudge home to her clamps.

"Capture," he murmured, to nobody else but an ocean of silent white stars.

Couldn't get in the usual way, but that was no actual problem. Triggering his exopod's ion thrusters, John crossed the slow-whirling transparent ring. Soared past sensors and comm masts, skimming over the giant words THUNDERBIRD 5, to slip in through his unblocked "back door".

"Danke, Mein Freund," said John to a blinking red dot on his wrist comm, breaking several pesky d*mn laws.

-Gern geschehen- replied the AI, in a language that nobody spoke, anymore. -Eos ist nicht hier-

"Ja. Ich kenne," John muttered. He knew that Eos wasn't at home… but he meant to fix that, in a quick d*mn hurry.

Funnily enough, all systems were go and the airlock performed like a champ, despite having no one aboard but Mini-Max, for nearly a week. Felt longer to him, but then, he'd spent six months subjective time away in the future. Scott and Lee, much longer than that.

Shoving useless minutiae out of his thoughts, John sped on inside. First recompressing, then getting the usual lemon-fresh decontamination hose-down. (Blame that one on Grandma. She'd picked all the scents.)

And, yeah. He had a thousand red-hot-right-the-h*ll-now emergencies screaming at him for instant attention… but it sure felt good to be home. Weightless, able to fly, and away from the messy distractions of Earth.

He shed his bright yellow exopod in the airlock, ordering 5's maintenance bots to have it returned to the launch tube for fueling. Mini-Max met him just inside the station's big central dome, beeping, chirping and flying wild loops.

"Good to see you, too, Max," said the redhead, removing his helmet. Small, nearly subconscious puffs of his suit's guidance system steered him across the dome. "Need you to get with Jaeger… you'll require a language interface… and help him complete a 4-dimensional beacon he's building. Have to use one of Brains' tesseract portals. Check the shed."

Max buzzed past his head. Chirping assent, the tiny white robot shot away like a very determined firefly. That seen to, John relaxed, letting the dome rotate freely around him. Because, once again, it was good to be home.

All of the station's systems checked in, next; showing green across the board, if a little weird, time-wise. But, yeah. Good to go. Slipping his earpiece back in, IR's space monitor got straight to work.

"Gordon Tracy, from Thunderbird 5. I'm upstairs. Scott and Captain Taylor should be with you in... fifteen-point-two-three minutes. Dad, Alan, Brains and Piper are scheduled to show up within the next hour." (After a prolonged stay in the future. Just how long, depended on the perils of transforming Mars.) "Sit-rep, Gordon."

His younger brother's image appeared in midair beside John, followed by holos of Scott and Captain Taylor. Medical data for Virgil and Josh were quickly uploaded, as Gordon said,

"Hey, John. Thanks for getting back in touch. It's, uh… good to hear a friendly voice. Can you talk to the GDF, please? Get 'em off my ass? Their C.O. wants a frickin' statement, and I don't have time."

John nodded.

"On it, Gordon. Hang tight."

Switching channels, he hailed the GDF light cruiser.

"IF-28 from Thunderbird 5. Lieutenant Rice, John Tracy. Do you copy?"

A government holo showed up, with all the usual budget-cut skips and distortions.

"Thunderbird 5, Lieutenant Rice. I'm getting no cooperation from your field agents, Captain Tracy. Need an update on the status of Captain Clarke and his crew, Sir."

Sir? Well… yeah, he'd got promoted after that business with the deflected alien impactor… and rank had its privileges. Might as well make the most of it, especially considering that a small, muted image of Ned Tedford was now up there, too. John slapped a traffic sorting program on Pac-Orbital's woes, swiped Ned to one side with a polite "International Rescue, please hold" and then got back to Rice.

"Lieutenant, our medic is doing all that he can to stabilize and save the crew of YF-37. They're in the infirmary, getting triaged for treatment. Be advised that there are transmorphs present, as well."

"Yes, Sir," said Rice, unhappily. His holo had flickered right on beside that of Gordon. Not much older than John, the Space Corps lieutenant had brown hair and eyes, and a slight growth of beard. "I'm aware of that. I've been ordered to take them into custody, Sir. Straight from the top. International Rescue has been directed to stand down and not interfere. Transferring orders… now."

The emailed packet arrived with a brief, chiming ping, showing up in the dome's EM field as a bright-red, rotating envelope. Great. Times like this, Scott got headaches and ulcers. John just went utterly clinical.

"Lieutenant Rice, I strongly advise against your intended action," he said. "Those shape-changers are extremely dangerous. Please inform Colonel Casey…"

"You'll have to do it yourself, Captain," said the grim junior officer. "I've been told to shut up and follow instructions."

Uh-huh. And any attempt to countermand a Colonel's orders would land John and Rice both before a military tribunal. Fun. Good times. Still, Dad was on his way. Maybe he'd have better luck with the GDF dragon lady?

Scott pinged him, next, looking grumpy and tired.

"John, what's the situation in there? Should we go in armed up?"

Lee's holo was busily polishing "Bessie", his trusty and well-loved laser rifle.

"Negative, Scott," said the astronaut, adding, "Or… pack a few surprises but keep them well hidden. Casey wants her own people handling those transmorphs, not us."

Scott's heavy brown eyebrows slammed together like a couple of runaway freight trains.

"Seriously? What the h*ll is she… never mind."

Like John, the former fighter pilot still had strangling ties to the GDF, and orders were orders; "inactive reserve", or not. Better to shut up than say something stupid. "Understood, Thunderbird 5. Tracy, out."

That problem sorted, John next slipped a search program of Brains' into the station's main scanner. Using the best telemetry that Hackenbacker could come up with after the fact, the search program was intended to track and find…

Ping.

"Gotcha," John murmured, expanding the program's holo-sphere to bring a small, blinking red dot into focus. "C-SIR2149, Doradus Cluster. Hunh. Rogue massive planet heading this way at sixty-two percent light… currently eighty-point-five light years away, ejected by some kind of black hole collision. Looks like we've got our bogie."

Then,

"John, Darling?"

Penelope popped up on one of his last free channels, cradling Sherbert and smiling.

"Are you there?"

"Yes. I'm here, Lady Penelope," he admitted. "How can I help you? That, uh… doesn't involve parties, balls, soirees or Ascot, I mean." In any way, shape, form or nightmare.

Her image reflected nothing but saintly, designer-clad fondness. Hah.

"Don't be such a stick, dear boy. I might have called merely to chat, mightn't I?"

John blinked at her. In a wary, low voice he said,

"Right. Only, it's a little hectic, up here, so if there's nothing pressing, Penny..."

The lovely blonde noblewoman nuzzled the top of Bertie's head. Better him than me, thought John, who'd had to put up with the same treatment at more than one photo-op. Her ladyship pouted, saying,

"Very well, I shall come directly to the point, John darling. It is simply Kayo. She appears to have gone missing. Captain Rigby is quite beside himself with concern, as is dear Grandmama. And, as you are so close to our Tanusha, I thought that perhaps you might aid me in locating her? Hmm?"

? thought John, beginning to scan for his sister's wrist comm. About the same time, his private line buzzed on Ridley's priority-access channel. Annnd a knot of freighters was about to collide with each other and the Pac-Orbital docking ring. Nice.

Had Eos been present, he would have had her take some of those calls in mock-John format, as she'd first done while trying to kill him, back when life was simple. Only, his AI was missing, too. And Jaeger was about as convincing as a cardboard movie standee. Maybe less.

John took a deep breath and prioritized. To Gordon, he said,

"Focus on saving lives. Let the GDF capture those shape-changers. We're not law enforcement, Gordon."

To Rice: "Understood, Lieutenant. Your security detail is free to come aboard Thunderbird 7, once I've notified her pilots. Stand by."

Then, flipping channels to address Scott and Lee in the maintenance flitter,

"Proceed with caution, Guys. You'll be three-deep in GDF peacekeepers. All they want is those transmorphs. Gordon's data indicate that most of them were subdued by our clones… but stay alert and keep out of WorldGov's way. Casey's not playing."

Over to Thunderbird 7, before Scott could answer, John said,

"Thunderbird 7, from Thunderbird 5. Sam, Mark… this is John. I've got a GDF cruiser security team who'd like to remove those prisoners. Let them in, please."

(Meanwhile, got the freighter tangle sorted by diverting six of them into another shipping lane. Ned was still yelling on mute, though, and Gladys had dropped some more petals.)

His brothers' clones popped up in holo form, crowding John's view field still further. Sam (Synthetic Alternate Me, as Scott had tagged him) nodded once.

"Very well, John Tracy. Local authority shall not be interfered with. How long do they intend to remain aboard ship?"

"Uh… I'd guess an hour, at the outside. I'll keep them motivated. In the meantime, I think I found what you're looking for." And, with that, John forwarded the data on C-Sir2149.

Beside Sam, Virgil's clone alerted. Named Mark, (because, Virgil Mark II) he was a paler, unlived-in version of the big, husky cargo pilot. Voice sounded pretty much the same, though.

"Eighty-point-five light years away? With the Alcubierre Drive at maximum power, we could reach that distance in sixteen months, John."

Well…

"Yeah," John agreed, reflexively doing the maths in his head. "Closer to seventeen months, actually, but that's good. Seventeen's a prime number, with all sorts of interesting tricks and behaviours. Anyhow, Scott and Captain Taylor will be there to manage the peacekeepers for you. And, uh… listen. Could one of you stand by at medical with a molecular disruptor? Just in case there's a patient that's too far gone to save?"

The disruptors scanned and recorded whatever they atomized, meaning that copies could be produced at need, once Brains built the proper machinery. Call it a fail-safe. Mark was already unstrapping to float away from his seat.

"On my way, John," he responded. Of all the former maintenance drones… himself, Sam, Matt and Sylvie… Mark had become the most human. The most Tracy.

No luck on the Kayo scan, but John was not out of options. Have to try harder, was all. Sending Ned and Gladys a little smooth jazz hold music, he next picked up his private line.

"Ridley?" John asked, feeling a lot of stuff that didn't want to stand forth and get named. "Are you okay?"

On Earth, she did not wear a helmet or snoopy cap. Just a dark-flowered tank top and shorts, with her long red-brown hair fastened back in a braid.

"Hey, Tracy," she answered, smiling at him with all the force of an incoming asteroid. "I'm fine. Well… better than I was. Holes patched, cuts stitched, bones welded and almost ready for action. Best vacation, ever, right? What about you? How was Mars?"

John considered. (While hanging at mid-dome, monitoring events effing everywhere. Trouble up in the arctic, now, too. Missing weather station crew)

"It was busy," he admitted. "And lonely. I, uh… I missed us. Missed me being around you. Not a situation I'd care to repeat. So… if you'd like to make things permanent, Captain, I, um… I would agree to that. With rings and paperwork. You know… everything. Me, always. If, you know… you'd like that arrangement."

Ridley's mouth dropped open. Evidently, he'd floored her completely. Then she flushed, going pink clear up to the roots of her hair, big grey eyes starting to flood. Away off camera, John could hear somebody whooping aloud. Kraft, probably. Great. Just what he needed. An audience.

On the bright side, O'Bannon seemed not to notice.

"That's… the worst d*mn proposal I've ever heard, Tracy. And, the answer is yes. Absolutely. Forever and always, if I have to climb up there myself and kidnap you. When?"

Something inside of him felt like explosions of light… and Gordon was back on the line.

"ASAP," said the space monitor, very calm on the outside. "Virgil's got paperwork on file, already. I'll pull some strings for him and…for us." Felt good to say that. Us. Together with Ridley O'Bannon. A couple.

Then,

"Thunderbird 5, from 7 Med Centre. John, it's me," called Gordon, sounding tense and concerned. "We got a problem."