Hi, guys. Thank you for reading. Tikatu, Thunderbird Shadow, Susan, Creative Girl, Bow Echo and Whirl Girl, many thanks for your kind-hearted reviews. Responses forthwith! Newly again more edited.

2

FAB-1, plunging through lightless depths, somewhat earlier-

As always during these trips, the atmosphere inside of her vehicle crackled with muted resentment and tension. To put it mildly, John was unhappy, and the nearer they drew to that trench-side city, the surlier he became. Looked nothing short of spectacular, of course, with his Titian hair and sea-green eyes, athletic figure and sharply tailored white tuxedo. Yet…

"You might smile, you know," she admonished, adjusting his crooked black bowtie. "We aren't attending your execution, John."

He shot her a withering look, leaning further away on that smooth leather car seat.

"And, you could take 'no' for an answer, Penny. I hate this crap. All of it. The suit, the parties, the weird food…"

"It's a tuxedo, Dear," she corrected gently, hiding a smile. At least he was venting, now, rather than quietly seething.

"…the not knowing what I'm supposed to say, or which fork to use…"

"Eos has downloaded a full set of dining instructions, and urbane, witty repartee, as well as perfect dance muscle-memory."

"...And dancing. I especially hate dancing with rich old ladies. Makes me feel like a d*mn wh… public escort," he amended, no doubt prompted by Eos's scripted responses. Through the window behind him, Penny glimpsed strange, pale fish with dangling lights, and long trailing streamers of mucus. Parker was driving, naturally, while Sherbert lay curled up asleep on John's lap.

"Do be reasonable, Dear. You know perfectly well that my guests attend these functions, and donate so well, in hopes of espying the fabled John Tracy," she reminded him, lightly patting one of his tensely clenched hands. He muttered something barbaricly American, but did not move away, prompting Penelope to retrieve one of those dreadful beers he enjoyed so much, from the limousine's backseat refrigerator.

"Thank you," John growled, beginning to relax (as he always did, eventually). Didn't wait for a bottle opener, but used his fist and the edge of the privacy screen to pop off its top. Finished the vile brew without surfacing once for breath.

"How long is all this going to take?" John demanded, slipping from denial to negotiation, and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Scott was far less trouble, all things considered. Penny kept her tone light as she said,

"Oh… not more than seven or eight hours, I should think. There will be a twenty-thousand-credit per plate luncheon, of course… followed by the arrival of Mr. Reeves' transmitted passengers… and then a glorious, undersea ball. All of the best people shall attend, including (it is rumored) His Majesty."

But, John had heard nothing after that time-estimate.

"Eight hours?" he repeated, numb and shocked as an accident victim. More beer, Penny decided.

There was a fine line between drunk and relaxed, with John Tracy, and Penny had long ago learnt it. Yes, he was mulishly stubborn and difficult; cross as two sticks at the start of these ventures. And, yes… his participation was vital. Very much worth all the delicate handling. Her donors, friends and peers could not get enough of the tall, awkward IR 'mystery man', and would pay staggering fees to see and talk with him. Also, he was a dab hand at resolving sudden emergencies.

"It shall seem to fly by, I assure you, Dear Boy."

John heaved a gusty sigh, accepted another cold beer, and fell to petting Bertie, who responded with a yawn and luxurious wriggle. Wondered how, exactly, he let himself get talked into these Godawful things…

"Pacifica City, straight up ahead, Milady, Mister John," Parker broke in over the speaker. The huge, seafloor trench and force-domed city came into view, like a strange sunrise in cold, rushing darkness.

"Very good, Parker. Thank you," Penny responded, craning past John for a better look.

Roughly the size of shattered and barren Long Island, Pacifica City was part research facility, part playground for the famous and blindingly wealthy. Penelope's friends, in other words. Two beers weren't enough.

"Confidence, Dear," she said to him, apparently sensing his mood shift.

"I'm plenty confident," John groused, handing Bertie back to his elegantly dressed owner. "With a rifle, a baseball, a horse, plane, or my station, I've got all kinds of confidence. It's just…" he gestured at the swarms of brilliantly-lit personal subs, the wavering floodlights and vast, glowing dome. "…this. Social stuff. I'm just no good at it."

Penelope smiled and leaned across to kiss his cheek.

"You'll do splendidly, Dear Boy. Besides, think of all those poor, needy dinosaurs. Now, chin up, and all that. Parker is pulling us into the private reception bay. Expect the off one or two paparazzi."

FAB-1 curved around in a flare of bubbles and luminous deep-water animals, to glide from cold, crushing darkness to the city's brightly-lit entry lock. Had to pass through the main hatch and no less than five force gates to reach the VIP arrival bay, which had been designed to resemble an undersea grotto.

Pour-stone walls, seaweed curtains and haphazardly scattered gems made the place look like an abandoned pirate's cave. There were even a few artful skeletons.

The pink limo/ aircar/ submarine bobbed to the arrival bay's surface, then docked at a long, red-coral jetty. Their surroundings looked amazingly real, down to the flashes of full moon and ragged cloud glimpsed through "cracks" in the sea-cave "roof". Almost, you'd have believed yourself back above water.

Parker sprang out of the car, first; as comfortable tying up to a pier as he was pulling into the drive at Creighton-Ward Manor. Once he'd bowed and opened the door, Penny handed up Bertie, who gave the patient driver a sleepy nip.

Next, Lady Penelope extended a slim, be-ringed hand, allowing herself to be drawn forth into a second dawn of flashing camera lights. The crowd called her name over and over, begging for smiles or selfies.

Penny remained serene, knowing that she looked perfectly stunning in her tea-length gown of rose silk and pink diamonds. With her deliberately mussed up-do, flushed cheeks and smudged lipstick, she would appear to have already had a very nice time, indeed.

"Lady Penelope! Over here!" called the crowd, waving cellphones and photo-shoot pictures. "This way, Lady P! Give us a smile, for the audience!"

Then, John came forth. To his credit, he managed a smile. And somehow, that slight air of discomfort… that unicorn-emerging-from-the-wood awkwardness… merely added to his charm.

Putting on the expected show, Penelope reached for John as though he were her date, in fact, rather than simply a stunningly attractive prop. She kissed his cheek while a galactic storm of flashes went off, and that mob of reporters and onlookers gawked.

"Smile, Dear," she prompted, tiptoeing up to speak into his right ear. "It is only a crowd. Things shall be rather quieter, within."

Right. Not the first time he'd done this sort of thing, but John would cheerfully have taken his chances plunging back into the water and swimming for the surface, rather than face a herd of grabby society females and their preening dates.

Lunch went better, because Eos' light programming worked, giving him all the right reflexes and plenty to say. Still didn't look forward to dancing, though, and mostly alternated between fending off the Duchess' under-table advances, and staring out through the dome.

The view was incredible. Part of the reason he came to these things was because Penelope always arranged new and intriguing locations to hold them. Also, the causes were pretty much worthwhile. Who wanted a lot of sick, homeless dinosaurs? The way Penny put it, he was all that stood between triceratops and complete re-extinction. That scenery, though…

The grim basalt trench outside plunged like the Grand Canyon, lit by cleverly placed spotlights and submarine drones. Meanwhile, strange, blind creatures drifted past, together with giant sharks enough to delight the hearts of a dozen crazy explorers. Certainly kept him riveted.

Penny stood up at one point, and tapped her fork gently against the side of her crystal champagne flute, quieting the buzz of laughter and chit-chat. Nodding to her assembled guests, she gave them a short, heart-felt speech in thanks for their generosity. Behind her, temporarily blocking the view from outside, a holovid screen displayed scenes of frolicking saurians.

"…and thank you, most especially, for finding room in your hearts for these poor creatures, dredged up from the mists of time and extinction as weapons, now abandoned. Were it not for you, Ladies and Gentlemen… Your Grace and… most especially… Your Majesty, they should all perish miserably of disease and starvation. Of course, you have already contributed greatly to my little cause, just by purchasing admission, but I ask you to open your hearts and your wallets yet again, my friends, for creatures who cannot speak to beseech your aid. Creatures like my Wild Life Fund mascot, Bitsy."

Then, at Penelope's signal, Parker came through the dining room doors, leading a young parasaurolophus on a halter and lead. Almost as big as the driver, the blue-mottled dinosaur had a graceful, back-sweeping crest, and walked upright (like a chicken, actually). Its eyes were quite wide, and as amber as Gordon's. Its forelimbs bore little hooves on each finger, and it appeared to be chewing cud. Smelt funny; sort of a mix between new-mown hay and badly tanned leather.

Penny had to have brought it down earlier, John figured, because there was no way he would have missed that, no matter how much medicinal beer he'd downed.

The assembled diners gave a drawn-out gasp and cooing noise, then began to applaud. Already, wallets were gaping, as Bitsy and Parker made their way round the outside of that horseshoe-shaped table, and waiters cleared up the feast. For a mere two-thousand credits, you could buy a fist-sized plug of dinosaur chow (looked like tobacco, smelt like sweet feed) to give Bitsy. Parker took him from one diner to the next, stopping first at a smiling, grey-haired King Denys.

John shook his head, figuring that Penny would make a mint on cuteness, alone. More dinosaur images cascaded onto the screen, as Bitsy made his rounds with Parker. Left a big pile of dinosaur horse-apples on the marble tiled floor, but the wait staff cleaned it all up, looking decidedly strained.

John liked big animals, especially horses. Didn't know what to make of the swan-necked, crested reptile, though, when it finally got 'round to he and Penny. It had a beak, and hundreds of cheek-teeth, plus nostrils that closed up tight, like a camel's.

He rubbed its forehead, at the same between-the-eyes spot that Apple enjoyed. Got a sort of burbling hoot in response, which everyone present laughed at.

"Hey, Fella," John murmured, ignoring everyone else. "What's a nice guy like you doing in high society? You get roped into this mess, too?"

He didn't buy any dinosaur chow, but discovered that saurians enjoy a good scratch, just like horses and dogs. Hide was loose, and pebbled like a football, was all. Warm and sort of thrumming, underneath; like a big, sleepy cat. Breath was a mist of cabbage-y compost.

Anyhow, between one thing and another, it was a much mellower John Tracy who accompanied Penny and her guests to the party's other big spectacle, the televised arrival of Buddy and Ellie Pendergast. Except, that's not quite how things happened.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

In the cloaked Chaos Cruiser, hovering low above Kyoto-

Havok had flown them carefully downward, avoiding buildings, drones and sudden updrafts. There was a mostly-empty carpark near the tower. Meant for government higher-ups, it made the ideal drop point for Fuse. Serene in the distance, Fujiyama meant little to that focused pair. Just another big heap of in-the-way rock.

"Nuthin' fancy, Sib," Havok ordered. "You drops in, starts a few tremors, then waits f'r pickup. Once th' power's out and everyone scarpers, we nips right in and snags th' goods. 'Alf of 'em, anyways. Rest is gonna be submarine work. Got it?"

Her brother nodded seriously, stifling a volcanic belch.

"Got it, Ev. In an' out. No funny stuff." Then he grinned at her, boasting, "Watch me make 'em scream and scurry like mice, 'Avok!"

"Right. Only, make sure yer bleedin' 'arness is on, this time!" she snapped, keying open the Cruiser's drop hatch. "You was d*mn lucky not t' be kilt, last time you went ruddy dive-bombin'!"

He reached out with a big, metal-clad hand and mussed up her short, brownish hair.

"I knows what I'm doin', 'Avok." Backing toward the windy, whistling drop hatch, he added, "I'll 'ave 'em all pissin' their pants, watch me. And, if IR shows up, even better. We owes 'em one, Evie."

Havok snorted, turning back to her flight controls.

"Wotever. Just come back safe. Got enough t' plan, without 'avin t' rescue your sorry arse."

Fuse waved at his sister's armoured back, then leapt straight down out of the drop hatch, bellowing, "BANZAI!" at the top of his lungs. Cracked the pavement on striking the ground below like a purple meteorite. Didn't just hit and smash, though. Triggered.

Just as, above, Tycho Reeves was mashing that button… just as, off in Pacifica City, the toffs was all gathered to welcome their transmitted guests… Fuse sent a powerful electromagnetic pulse into the nearest fault line. And, all of Kyoto moved.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

At just about the same time, inside the huge spaceport-

Tycho pressed the red button. Machinery crackled and hummed. Power flowed from Kyoto's grid to the transmitter disk. Buddy and Ellie first sparkled like electronic ghosts, then vanished, entirely.

All around the transmitter hub, holo-screens tuned in to the scene in Pacifica City, where the Pendergasts were meant to appear. Only, a sudden wild, bucking tremor shook the earth, before they turned up. Power shut down. Lights flickered and swayed, as the ground rumbled and flexed underfoot. Stressed concrete bent and began to crack, fighting to absorb the tower's drunken sway.

The crowd did not panic or run about. Instead, they followed procedure, going to well-marked safety zones. Tycho would not leave his transmitter, though. The holo-screens had vanished into the aether, but his personal comm link to the tech crew in Pacifica City remained.

"Nothing, Sir!" one of the receiver-crew called out to him, barely audible over the bellow of earthquake and crowd noise. Then, he heard something else; a sudden, shrill scream and thunderous torrent, followed by staticky silence.