Good news to report! My daughter is safely arrived in Japan! :') Enjoying herself at a Pokémon event in Tokyo, too. Anyhow, it's sort of quiet, over here. Plenty of time to write, huh? Thank you, my friends, for putting up with my somewhat meandering tales. I write what comes, y'know? Edited!

15

Blazing away from Kyoto, Japan, in the swift and disguised Chaos Cruiser-

They'd got an offer right out of the gate. Literally, as her brother took the controls and flew like a focused maniac, Havok had no sooner put up her goods… full schematics for the Reeves Transport Device… than somebody bit.

Kept his identity to himself, of course; with electronic distortion masking voice and figure, but the offer was more than generous. Twice what she'd been hoping for, actually. That, in itself, made the girl rather wary.

"You realize… you'll not be getting' the ruddy device, just th' plans t' construct one," she'd pointed out over engine and wind noise, as Japan dropped away and behind in their wake.

"I am aware," he'd replied; his voice a low, digitally-altered rumble. "And I expect to be the only recipient of those plans, at the price I am offering."

Havok considered, while her implants cleaned up excess adrenaline, and healed minor hurts. Whatever. Figured she could make a backup copy, wait a bit, and then sell that, but her mysterious client seemed to have anticipated this plan.

"You have exactly one chance to play straight with me," he growled, over the Cruiser's comm projector. "Construct your own device, or attempt to sell those plans again, and I will know what you've done. There is no place on Earth or in space that can hide you, if I decide that you need to be killed."

Hmm… an assassin, maybe? Well, he couldn't be all that good, Havok reasoned. She scowled, causing some of the healing cuts on her face to flex and sting.

"Right, then. In that case, I want more money." She told him. "But I'll sweeten th' deal f'r you, too. What d'ya say t' two f'r one? My sib was able t' touch-scan Thunderbird 3, not long past. Fancy a set of complete plans f'r a bleedin' International Rescue craft?"

"Exclusive?" demanded the buyer, sounding suspicious. Havok pictured him as a big-time industrial magnate, or one of them dirty politicians what fattened themselves on diverted public funds. "I would need to be the only buyer for that, as well."

"Exclusive," she promised, nearly meaning it. After all, profit was profit. "For three-hundred-fifty-five million."

A steep asking price, but birds had evolved to be plucked, and a lass had to make a living. She glanced once at Fuse, busy at the controls, but her brother only shrugged.

"Let's get what we can, an' be quit of it," he told her, making ready to download the data by retracting one of his purple alloy gloves. "Whut we doesn't 'ave, they won't chase us for."

Good advice, and maybe she ought to have listened; only, money talked louder than sense, sometimes. Especially when you'd grown up rough and hard, scrappin' f'r bloody near everything. Anyroad, Havok figured she saw a way t' have her cake, and eat it with sprinkles, too. The client said,

"Three-hundred-fifty-five million. Both sets of schematics, completely exclusive. Do we have a deal?"

Seeing nothing just then but healing and retirement, with maybe an asteroid-dome estate thrown into the bargain, Havok agreed, saying,

"Deal. Open a channel, Guvnor, an' my sib 'll download th' plans. Funds t' be transferred at th' same time, or we cancels transmission, directly."

They'd been soaring high over the arctic circle, crossing the North Pole on their way back to Europe. Passed back into daylight, at some point; its dim glow casting long blue shadows on the tormented ice-field, below.

Now, as their mark opened his download channel, Havok split the signal; part to the buyer, and a copy to storage. Sent him their transaction account number, too, while Fuse pressed an ungloved hand to the comm's transfer plate. You know… same as you would, when sealing any modern electronic deal.

Didn't take but an eyeblink, because the implants that 'enhanced' Havok and Fuse made even that happen faster. Mere second or two, it was, from everything normal… 'stone the crows, we're gonna be rich'… to a sudden, violent explosion, as the Chaos Cruiser came blasting apart in midair.

XXXXXXXXX

Manhattan Island, on a chilly and bleak afternoon-

'Run', was a relative term, when the ground you were crossing was littered with rubble, crashed vehicles and predatory vines. Might have been better stated as: proceed at best speed through an obstacle course, while infected by God-knows-what, and encumbered with useless camera gear. Didn't matter which direction, because most of those derelict buildings were stumpy and broken, the streets between them all but erased.

Seemed like a good idea to seek altitude, though, so John shouldered Ellie's equipment bag, shoving her and Buddy, both, toward the least dilapidated structure in the area. Tall and quite narrow, it projected above all that destruction like a glass-and-concrete axe-blade. Just a few hundred yards away to the north. Easy, right?

As that dark, rippling circle yawned wider overhead, they slip-scramble-lunged their way across corroded wreckage and fallen girders, raising clouds of rusty flakes, and laser-chopping that hungry forest of lashing vines, as they went. Every step landed on glass, bone and mortar, or sent them crashing through the rusted roof of another stalled ground-car. Would have gone faster, had Buddy not kept trying to dig out his video-cam. John took that bag, too, and half-tackled the woozy explorer, forcing both Pendergasts to keep moving.

The sky-gate was still expanding, he saw, centered directly over their abandoned subway tunnel. Could have been random chance, but John didn't believe in coincidence. The transport device. It had to be.

Redoubling his speed, the tall astronaut hurried onward. Heard mostly his own hoarse breathing, along with rattling vine-pods, and Buddy's daft travelogue. The explorer seemed determined to describe everything around them, as though on the air, all the d*mn time. Ellie added her fever-struck bit as well, leaving John to clear their path with laser slashes and just plain muscle.

"'Ere, in th' shattered remains o' downtown Manhattan, I'll risk my life t' find out th' truth o' what 'appened. 'Ang on, Mates, f'r a season y'll never f'rget!"

"Too right, Buddy!" chirped his lovely blonde wife. "The action's only just started!" (And, so on.)

Anyhow, John got them to shelter, shortly before that weird dark circle flashed like a giant strobe, releasing thousands… millions… of metric tons of cold, thundering water. Yeah. At that point, 'run' became 'climb'. The noise passed comprehension. Water didn't normally drop that hard, from that great a distance, onto a graveyard of metal, glass and broken stone. Air pressure and noise like that could take away all ability to think in words. The h*ll with season thirteen. John seized a Pendergast in each arm, kicked his way through a cracked glass wall, found a broad, rust-frozen escalator, and ran for it; taking two steps at a time. The roar outside grew even louder, as surging dark water ploughed up that vine-laced wreckage and flung it, hard. Repeated thumps and slams shook their truncated building to its foundations.

On the bright side, Brains' miraculous party suit had some impressive exo-gear talents. It could use that same multi-dimensional particle energy, and lock right onto his limbs, enhancing John's strength and endurance still further. Nine flights of rubble-choked stairs called that a good thing.

See, the building was hollow at its center, with many balconies opening onto a big central square. John kept just ahead of the surging water, sometimes flinging the Pendergasts in front of him, just to get them up higher. Sprained Buddy's left wrist that way, but there wasn't time to talk, or offer apologies; only move.

When the noise finally stopped, when they'd climbed as high as they could on that partly-amputated skyscraper… nowhere left to run, no farther to climb… John at last dropped his stunned cargo.

They were up… dunno… eleventh or twelfth floor, maybe? With jagged shards of plateglass window forming castle-like crenellations, and a flooded city, down below. Other buildings rose from the water like islands, here and there, but most had succumbed; crumbling away as if they'd been built out of sand. Smelt like the ocean, and rust. Sounded like muted thrumming and rumbles, with occasional toppling crashes thrown in. Gordon might have liked it, but John 'd had more than enough of d*mn water.

Buddy and Ellie shivered and coughed as they captured some big-money footage of downtown Manhattan at rush hour. John simply looked around, wondering if that portal really was connected to Dr. Reeves' transport machine, and if it would open, again. Because, if so… Well, there wasn't any higher they could climb. And, as for braving those unsettled, wreckage-fanged waters…

"Buddy, look there!" Ellie gasped, pointing out at 'Lake Manhattan'. A sudden ripple had troubled its surface, making a long, V-shaped eddy.

"Crikey…" whispered the dark-haired explorer, his bloodshot eyes wide with delighted amazement. "Th' Salty. It 'as ta be!"

But John shook his red head and went right back to searching the skies.

"School of fish," he said, dismissively. "There are no giant sewer crocs in New York City, trust me."

Had a lot on his mind, because a distress signal might bring his family running, but would most likely summon GDF Security. And, since they were trapped in a no-fly, no-go quarantine zone, unwanted attention would end all of their problems, the hard and permanent way. That's why John looked at his wrist comm but didn't much use it. Not beyond a lone, rapid signal. Needed Plan B, instead; right the h*ll now.

Down below lay stark, restless water and tumbling wreckage. On the horizon, in every direction, a gap-toothed madman's grin of broken concrete and twisted girders. Overhead… cloud-stippled skies, and one of those big, clunky pollution sweepers, making its rounds. Staring at the clattering, gourd-like thing, John started to get an idea. (He genuinely functioned best under pressure.)

Then, the astronaut heard what he'd been dreading all along; the low, hornet-like buzz of a GDF seeker-drone.