'Allo! Thank you, Bow Echo, Tikatu and Whirl Girl, for reading and reviewing. I appreciate the feedback. :) Edited more.

9

Thunderbird 2, circling low over Pacifica City-

Gordon was packed up and ready to go; and twenty cred richer, although what he was going to do with a case of beer, he didn't know. Sell the stuff to John, maybe… once they'd finally rescued his sorry arse, and found the Pendergasts. Those emergency floats were extremely compact; made of super-strong, carbon-nano tube fabric and monstrously compressed helium superfluid.

No less than fourteen of the things now studded the hull of Thunderbird 4 like round, blinking gems, just the color of sunset… or Zara's bathing costume. The thought made him smile, even whilst rushing, because Zara was special.

To be a hundred-percent frank, Gordon Tracy 'd had lots of empty relationships. Since the 'Santa Fe' incident had shifted him onto that path, it had been hot-and-cold-running lasses. Some had even hung on awhile. Anika, for instance. He'd met the lovely gymnast at the '63 Summer Olympics, and thought… y'know, maybe this time…

But, her career and his just hadn't worked out. Fond memories, though. And then, well… that crush on Penelope, his brother's not-quite-any-longer fiancée. Penny was beautiful, sophisticated and amazing; with a pedigree that stretched back to the frickin' middle ages. She was a sleek and elegant older woman, about whom Gordon had entertained some pretty lively fantasies. But, he would never, EVER break the bro-code. Sacred stuff, man. You just didn't do it. So long as she was attached to Scott (and for at least a year afterward, or when his oldest brother found someone else) Lady P was off limits.

So, yeah… there'd been lots of interchangeable substitute females. And now, Zara. No, he hadn't pushed her to have sex. Hadn't seen her naked, or done any more than kiss her face and slim neck. For one thing, Chip was usually present. For another… she mattered. A lot.

He had quite a reputation, Gordon knew, and he didn't wish to frighten off the best thing… with Charlie and Thunderbird 4… that could ever drop into his life.

These were the thoughts that Gordon had to squash, as more prosaic, "back to business" demands took over. Down in pod 4, he'd been racing like h*ll to complete those floats, clamp them onto his Bird, and then clean up and run a full systems-check.

Thunderbird 4 was a bit heavy, but maybe he'd miscalculated the helium mix? Gotten some O2 in there, somehow? Tough to decide, because the anomalous mass kept flickering in and out, and he didn't have time to tear things apart and go hunting (or, so Gordon thought).

"Ready to hit the drink, Fish-stick?" he heard Virgil ask, over that booming-loud intercom.

"Just about," Gordon called out, snapping his multi-tool shut and placing it back on his belt. "Two minutes, tops."

"Make it snappy, Kiddo. We're on the clock," his brother replied. "Not sure what's going on, down there, but I'm picking up temperature spikes, plus more of those tremors. Either way, it doesn't look good, so be extra careful."

"Yes, Mom. I'll look both ways before I cross the street, and eat all my veggies, too."

"Smart-ass," Virgil muttered. "Let a kid brother win one lousy bet, and he thinks he knows everything."

Gordon glanced around the interior of that big, vibrating pod; taking in its quiescent machinery, arching ribs and high metal roof. 2's engine noise had changed subtly, as she banked around and cut airspeed. The deck tilted sharply, triggering his magnetic boot soles. Time to go.

With a nagging tug at his subconscious… a feeling that he'd overlooked something crazy-important… Gordon vaulted athletically up and into his waiting Bird. 4 was clamped to her silvery skids, and completely immobile. Wouldn't release until her pod hit the water, and the wide slipway deployed. She'd then slide into her element, the same way Gordon did, getting into the pilot's seat.

The yellow Bird wasn't large inside, with barely room for one-and-a-half emergency passengers (as Gordon liked to joke, "You get to pick which half"). Once on the seat and strapped in, the diver got busy. He was careful and slow with logging in and warming her up, knowing that Caleb was watching, on the other end of the cam. Narrated a few things as he went, too.

Couldn't really imagine anyone else in Thunderbird 4… but if Caleb Gonzalez really was gonna fill that seat, then he'd d*mn well better be ready. Probably, Virgil was doing the same thing for Josh Kelly, up in the cockpit of Thunderbird 2. Anyhow, it took the pilot longer than usual to signal: ready to drop: y/ n?

Ordinarily, Gordon would have jabbed "Y" straightaway, but something still didn't feel right. Ran another scan. Thought he detected some extra mass, then lost it again, gave it up as a bad job, and pressed "Y".

"Brace, Gordon," his brother's voice advised, over the aquanaut's helmet comm. "I'm releasing the pod. Fire a comm buoy as soon as you're in. No screwing around on your own."

Uh-huh.

"How long have I been doing this, Virge? Six years? Almost seven? Think maybe I've figured it out, by now?"

Virgil chuckled.

"Maybe you have, Tadpole… but I'm still gonna give you sh*t about it, just like you do, with Alan."

Ouch.

"That's different," Gordon grumped, as the big pod-clamps retracted with a fusillade of thundering BOOMs. "He's just a kid."

Then, there was no more time for talk. The pod was free, and dropping fast. The same wild, stomach-lurching ride as always… except that it suddenly wasn't. Pod 4 simply stopped falling; smoothly and suddenly, with no lurch, thump or crash. All at once, perfectly still.

"What the h*ll?" Gordon muttered, about to punch his comm, again. That's when he noticed Scruff, his son's plaid bio-droid rabbit, sitting perched on the arm of his seat. The toy's ears were perkily upright, its nose twitching, as it sat and gazed at the startled aquanaut.

"Scruff? What're you doing here?" Gordon demanded.

"Is Charlie in trouble?" the rabbit enquired, in Gordon's silliest 'story-telling' voice.

"What d'you mean, is Charlie in trou…?! Oh, my God. Is he in here?!" All of a sudden that extra mass, all the time in the world to construct fourteen floats, made sense.

The toy's left ear drooped. Looking evasive, it said,

"That depends. If he's in trouble? If you's mad at him?"

Gordon felt his heart clench. Felt stress like a mountain come crashing down.

"He is. He's here. Sh*t! I mean, crap. I've got to get him back home!"

Only, he couldn't. Not with pod 4 already on its way down; with the Water Bird locked and loaded, while people waited for rescue, below. Gordon ran a hand through his sandy-blond hair and back down across his face. Meanwhile, Scruff just sat there, scratching fake fleas and expecting an answer. Finally,

"No, Scruff," he said to the plaid velvet rabbit, in a very calm voice. "Chip isn't in trouble… but we're going to have a talk about this, later on. Tell him to come out here, please."

The rabbit twitched its nose at him, then seemed to flicker, briefly. Said,

"Promise he's not in trouble, double-swear to Grandma?"

That did it. Gordon started laughing. Maybe he should have been angry, but the situation was at once so ridiculous and so scary, that he just let it go. Plenty of time to be stern, later on, he figured. And then, just like that, his son was there; about four years old, at the moment, rushing forward to hug him and climb on his lap.

"Remember you promised, Dad! You said you wasn't mad!" Chip reminded him, peeking up through light-brown bangs, and hugging hard.

"I remember, Kidlet… but this is a dangerous place, so you're going to have to listen sharp, and do exactly what I tell you. Understood?"

The boy nodded solemnly, reaching over to scoop up his patient toy rabbit.

"Yes, Sir. I unnerstan. Me n' Scruff 'll be so good, like you never saw, in the world."

Gordon cocked an eyebrow.

"Well, for starters, strap yourself in, then let go of the pod. We're gonna do a really big belly flop."

"Jus' like the pool?" Charlie asked, growing excited. "Like when we jump off and go 'Whoa…! SMACK!?"

"Yeah, Big Guy… just like that, only louder."

…and then they were falling, again. Butts off their seats, stomachs up near the roof of their mouths. Chip shrieked with laughter, waving both hands and his rabbit. Then the pod splashed down; first ringing like a huge gong, then dipping and swaying on rough, choppy seas. 4's comm lit up across the board as Virgil, Alan, Grandma and the Oversight Committee all called in at once. No two guesses what about…

"Hang on, Kidbert," said Gordon, triggering hatch-drop. "We're going in."

XXXXXXXXXXX

Somewhere else-

Might've been just dumb luck, or energy following the path of least resistance, but when John existed, again, he wasn't alone. Saw a subtle green flash, then felt himself tumbled around by tons of cold, dirty seawater. Like the rinse cycle, without getting actually clean. Got the pent breath knocked out of him as he smashed between a hard surface and that poor, abused shark. Scraped himself all down one side, too, but didn't much feel it, at the time.

The water drained pretty fast, though. John caught several half-gulps of air, and swore he could hear someone shouting, when not tumbled down through that dark-roaring-battering water. Soon enough, he stopped bashing his head on the ceiling, because the water level sank, draining away through crevice and crack and both sides of the… tunnel?

Couldn't see very well, at first, but struck something promising, and caught hold. Managed to clamber up out of the torrent, onto some sort of concrete ledge. After a moment to get himself together, John lit up his wrist comm for a look around. Got more yelling, and an answering flicker of light. Sort of distant, with wavery reflections from troubled water and damp stone.

Looked like an emergency crash beacon, but he couldn't be sure without getting up to find out, and… yeah. That wasn't happening, yet. So, he glanced around, instead. Found himself in a cracked and ancient tunnel, its walls pierced through with rusted steel bars and part of a train. There were signs bolted to the concrete, mostly too faded or damaged to read. The one he could see was a public health advert. Pretty clearly, he wasn't in Pacifica City, anymore.

Wrist comm showed high levels of radiation and weaponised bio-contaminants. Not good. Double-plus ungood, in fact. Heaving a gusty sigh, John hit his own emergency beacon, even though A: he wasn't priority, and B: radiation might interfere with his signal.

Then, okay… definite on the lights and shouting. John rose from his crouch to face the approaching noise. Sounded oddly familiar.

"Cooee! Coooooeeeee! Oy! C'mon out! You've nuthin' t' fear from us, unless y'r the elusive sewer croc… and even then, all we'll do is take pictures!"

"Not elusive," John muttered, as Buddy and Ellie sloshed into view, waving their orange emergency lights. "Just like my privacy."

"Holy Dooley, look who's 'ere, Buddy!" cried Mrs. Pendergast, splashing up to John's ledge. On the bright side, he wasn't completely bedraggled. Still had his cufflinks, bowtie, dress pants, trick shoes and that miraculous shirt. Was bloodied and soaked, but more or less in one piece. Not like they'd had to rescue him, or anything.

John leaned down and offered Ellie a hand up, then Buddy, as well. Both of them hugged and pounded him like family. Not an A-frame hug, either. Full-contact group squash, of the aunts-and-cousins variety. Not knowing how long they had left, John smiled and put up with it. They were going to have to get out of here fast, avoid the GDF and find a hospital, because, even in this shaky, off-color light, both explorers were already showing signs.