:)

21

Thunderbird 4, in the deep ocean over Pacifica City, just a little bit earlier-

One thing about acceleration, time-wise, it frickin' hurt. The air in his rescue sub seemed to convert itself into syrup; burning hot, and hard as h… heck to push through. Charlie was moving up front, but so very slowly, as Gordon went repair-panel-diving. Must've cut himself a dozen times on wires and parts that weren't designed to be handled at ten times normal speed. Had to reach past a constellation of shimmering, stationary sparks and several small fires; careful not to touch all that dangerous, time-frozen energy.

Got the job done, though, because if there was one thing Dad and Brains had always hammered into him, it was: know your Bird. (Did y' catch that? He'd almost thought 'D*mn Bird', and then… Sh*t. Never mind.)

Anyhow, Gordon Tracy wasn't one of those guys who could field-strip and reassemble their vehicle, blindfolded. That'd be Virgil, or John. But, he could replace shorted components and splice up a few curling, burnt wires like nobody's business. Took maybe ten subjective minutes, as… in real time… Thunderbird 4 drifted ever closer to that wavery patch of blue sky and lost city. Charlie would count to ten, five times, Gordon knew. Then, he'd lift his hold on the sub's interior, bringing the aquanaut right back to normal.

All Gordon was after was restored steering control and power. Nothing fancy. Didn't even bother to slam the maintenance panel shut, once he'd wound up repairs. Just sprayed some chemical fire extinguisher, then twisted around and lunged forward, again. Knew better than to touch his steering controls. Would have snapped the twin go-sticks right off or shorted the instrument panel, at that speed.

Instead, as small Charlie completed his count in painful slow-motion, Gordon looked out through the viewport at some kind of… of hole, believe it or not. How it existed, why it had opened up over Pacifica City, the aquanaut had no clue. Something to do with that transport device, maybe. What he did know was that it seemed to lead to an ancient, wrecked city, at a much different time zone. Late afternoon over there, looked like.

Through that weird, shifting portal, Gordon stared down and sideways at worn, jagged buildings like a jaw full of leering teeth. Saw wreckage, trash, and rising water. Yeah, so… Thunderbird 4 had force shields, and some limited 'drop-glide' abilities, but that'd be a mighty long fall onto God knows what, and he had work to do, here.

"Ten!" he heard his son shout, and was all at once back in real time, fighting to control a whirling, juddering rescue sub, in what felt like a frickin' tidal wave.

"Hang on, Chip!" he told the boy, who grabbed tight to his armrests, and nodded.

Next, Gordon cut hard on the starboard control stick, gunning his engine past redline. Thunderbird 4 slewed sideways, like a hydroplaning ground car. She rattled, flexed and shook; that normally silent engine screaming panther-loud. The portal swung in and out of view as Gordon directed his Bird away from that gaping hole. Tried to, anyhow. That much water, falling that fast, was tough to claw his way out of.

Honestly? He would have lost that fight, had the portal not suddenly vanished, leaving Gordon smack in the midst of a twisting, wild vortex, headed right at Pacifica City. And, oh sh*t, oh sh*t, oh sh*t, because, unless he could get the sub back under control again, he was going to hammer that perma-glass dome like a cannonball.

Maybe he said a few words. Might've enriched his young son's vocabulary to doctorate-level. Did not hit the dome, though. Instead, turning the Water Bird nearly sideways, Gordon shot through a wide, round opening in the city's crumpled, trench-side support leg. His shields flared as they scraped past protesting metal, but he didn't do any real damage.

Slipped around backward, tumbling like a leaf in dark water, then steadied Thunderbird 4 just over that yawning undersea trench. Its muddy lip was collapsing faster than ever, now; weakened by seaquake and portal. Yeah. Time to get busy.

Once more deploying 4's grasping arms, Gordon began plucking floats from his hull and setting them gently onto that wrenched, twisted leg. Figured he'd brace that one first, then stabilize the rest of Pacifica City with additional, carefully placed emergency floats. Not simple, at all. Each float first locked on magnetically, then flash-welded, and could not then be shifted. Gordon had to position each one just right, the first time, or waste time cutting it loose.

This was quite a task, considering that the city's support legs were every one of them the size of a giant suspension bridge. Worse, the whole structure was tilted about thirty-two degrees trench-ward, and still slipping.

Charlie had meanwhile abandoned his seat restraints to kneel on the chair cushion, both hands braced on the instrument panel, staring outward; eyes wide, jaw dropped. Knew enough to keep quiet, and sometimes gave time a small nudge this way or that. They were getting it done, though. Working together, father and (stubborn, stowaway) son were saving a city.

Even Scruff was working, keeping a sharp button eye out for new portals. See, Gordon had no idea why the thing had opened up in the first place, or what had induced it to close… but he didn't intend to get caught by surprise if it happened again. He was in a race against the trench's unstable, crumbling edge, and the spider-like city's damaged support legs. Last thing he needed was…

"Hey, Fish-stick! You okay, down there?" Virgil cut into his thoughts, speaking from high overhead.

"Yup," Gordon responded, not taking his eyes from the viewscreen. You couldn't just trigger one float at a time. Not without tearing the whole dang city in half. "All good, down here. Five floats in place, nine to go. How's it going, topside? Did you manage to duck that power-flare? Heard anything from Buddy and Ellie?"

"Eh," shrugged his older brother, verbally. "It got a little rough, but I made it. Nothing solid on the Pendergasts, yet, but Dad thinks he might have a lead. I'll keep you posted, Kiddo. Send me whatever schematics you've got, and I'll pass it up to Thunderbird 5."

"Gotcha," Gordon nodded, hitting a series of switches. "And, uh… you're not gonna believe this, Bro, but… there was a hole, or something, right over Pacifica City. Like a window, only its other side was a city, somewhere else. Daytime, there, so… other side of the planet, I figure."

"Sure, why not?" Virgil grunted. Then, sounding wistful, "Remember simple problems? Buildings on fire? Landslides? Capsized cruise ships? Crap like that?"

Gordon shrugged his broad shoulders, working a tension crick out of his bunched muscles.

"If everyone minded their business, obeyed the laws and did the smart thing, we'd be out of work, Virge."

"Maybe so," remarked his brother, as Gordon began performing an especially crucial maneuver; finding just the right underbelly spot for a twelfth float. "But, it'd be nice if all the mad scientists, crazed villains and dumbass attention-seekers would take a break, once in a while. A month, y'know? Just a month, where the worst that goes wrong is Grandma's peanut-butter-salsa casserole. Er… sorry, Grandma, if you heard that. It's delicious. Seriously. Can't get enough."

Imagining their grandmother's likely response to that blunder, the aquanaut grinned. Charlie was listening avidly all the while, because "Uncle Verbal" was his favourite Nother-brother, after "Uncle Allum". He stayed quiet, though, because he wasn't supposed to be down there. Only, duh… Dad needed him!

"Okay, Virge," said Gordon, after maybe ten further minutes. Shooting the complete layout of those floats up to Thunderbird 2, he went on: "I've got 'em in place. Will inflate at your go-ahead. What happens then? It'll take, like, six months to get everyone off there, one trip at a time."

"Funny you should ask, Godfrey," came a really welcome voice, over the comm buoy. "Me an' a passel o' Mikes is headed y'r way, right now. Doc swears he built this 'ere Bird ta go anywhere at all, in whatever conditions," boasted Lee Taylor. "Guess we're gonna find out real quick if he's right."

Gordon grinned almost wide enough to split his sandy-blond head in half.

"Dang, they're letting just anybody drop in, now," he joked. "Next thing you know, the GDF 'll show up!"

"Don't hold y'r breath," growled Taylor. "Last I checked, they was held up by 'inclement weather conditions'. Must be sprinklin' over there, or somethin'."

"Naw," Gordon scoffed. "They're underwater. It's just a really loud fish-fart." Then, to Virgil, "How does my placement look, Bro?"

"Uh… Dad says put another float on the northeast edge of the city, just over the promenade brace. Says its gonna build up too much torsion, otherwise," responded the pilot, who'd already forwarded Gordon's schematics to Thunderbird 5.

"Everyone's a critic," grumbled the diver, nudging Thunderbird 4 around the city's perma-glass dome. Inside, his floodlights shone upon people waving up at him. "I'm on it, and tell Dad thanks for the assist."

"Will do, Kiddo. Suggest you place a hull speaker, too. We may have people trapped down there."

Gordon nodded, already prioritizing. Whole thing looked a lot more doable, with Uncle Lee on his way.

"Okay. Pulling away from the area… standing by to engage… and inflating… now."

Thunderbird 4 was no more than a brightly-lit speck in those crushing cold depths, but she was all the hope that Pacifica City had. At Gordon's signal, every one of those blinking red-orange emergency floats exploded to life at once, filling with wildly expanding helium gas. The noise was thunderclap loud; a spherical shockwave rocketing outward past Thunderbird 4 and that rumbling trench.

The floats swelled tremendously, slewing the undersea station back upright, again, and hauling that crumpled support-leg completely free of the ground. No doubt incredibly noisy inside, but at least they'd know that help was here. That they weren't all alone.

"Hang on, Guys," Gordon whispered, once the city stopped moving. "I'm coming in."