A short one, this time. Happy Thanksgiving, you Guys. =)

23

The prototype, gliding down at a very steep and rapid angle-

Captain Lee Taylor had flown on earth, out through space, over the Moon's cratered surface, and up in the red skies of Mars. He'd also taken part in a rescue mission to Titan. What he had not ever done was operate a craft underwater… other than one hijinked stunt with a "borrowed" undersea tourist yacht, back in his wild academy days.

Well, there was a first time for everything, and Doc didn't build no junk. So, with the sun coming up and shields at maximum power, Lee cut straight for the ocean; flying a silvery, bat-shaped evacuation ship. Surface was kinda choppy, he noticed; ruffled by grey-green, fifty-foot swells and weird, glowing lights.

"Hang onta y'r processors, Mike," he said to the Minimax buzzing his right shoulder. "We burnt up a good bit o' fuel gettin' down here, so I figger on makin' our first load quick an' light, dependin' on circumstance." If the city was breaking apart, he'd take as many folks as he could cram aboard, regardless of danger. They could always be shifted to Thunderbird 2, on resurfacing.

That was Plan A, till a couple of rapid developments busted things up, starting with Beth's sudden,

"Lee, we just lost Thunderbird 4! Gordon's icon dropped clean off the board, right in front a' me. Can't hail him, neither. What's goin' on, down there?"

He hated to see a pretty lady all het up with worry, so…

"Can't rightly say, but I aim t' find out. Switchin' over t' Thunderbird 2… Vic? Need a status check. What've ya got on Thunderbird 4, Son? Y'r Auntie says Godfrey's up an' disappeared on 'er. Sumthin' wrong with th' comms?"

A brief burst of interference garbled Virgil's response.

"…on, Sir. I'll check," said the big, dark-haired pilot. The line fell frozen and silent for a moment or two. Then, Virgil's staticky image was back, looking concerned.

"Something's happened, alright. The comm buoy's still down there and transmitting, just fine. It's reporting no signal on the other end, though."

Taylor's heavy dark brows collided hard over icy blue eyes.

"Alright, then. Let's settle down an' work th' problem, Vic. Best case scenario, all we got here's a failure t' communicate. Worst case, sumthin's happened t' Godfrey." And Chip, he didn't say aloud. "Need ta get down there t' find out f'r certain which one… but I was figgerin' on Godfrey's help with th' transfer. I'm one h*lluva feller, but I cain't fly, direct traffic onboard, an' rescue trapped people all at th' same time. Need ya t' get a remote pilot on 2, an' then shift over here with me an' th' Mikes. Hang on, Vic... y'r Auntie's still waitin' f'r news."

Virgil signaled "yes" with a rapid click of the mic, already making preparations. Just like Janice Ming was remotely flying Scott's Bird, Josh Kelly was going to have to take over Thunderbird 2, while Virgil evacuated Pacifica City, with Captain Taylor.

Gordon had said something about a hole in the water. Part of that transmission-disk failure, maybe? Had the hole opened up again, this time hauling in Thunderbird 4? There was just no way to tell, from five-thousand feet in the air.

Fortunately, he did not have to wait and watch from the sidelines, this time. Glinting in the pale light of morning, Thunderbird P had come up from below him, ready for transfer. Turbulence was a bear and a half, with the currents between their two Birds scissoring wildly in every direction. He'd made the jump through worse, though. Just had to wait for…

"Virgil, I'm ready to take over, if you want to hand off control," came Josh Kelly's calm, quiet voice and image. "I promise to keep her out of the drink, and stand by for passengers, Sir."

The cargo pilot grunted, not sure what gave him a sharper twist; handing over remote control of Thunderbird 2, or being called "Sir".

"F.A.B., Josh," he responded, hitting a certain green switch on his instrument panel. "Annnnd… she's all yours. Just like the sim, Buddy, keep to the basics: level flight at all times, and watch your altitude. The weather, too. Storm systems can spring right up while you're back in the head, taking a le…"

"Language, Teddy," cut in Grandma, looking tense. "Y'r broadcastin' live."

…and Josh had over a hundred hours of sim time. Didn't need any mother-hen lectures from Virgil E. Tracy.

"Yes, Ma'am. Sorry."

Virgil released the steering yoke, then stood up and patted his Big Girl's curved bulkhead, murmuring,

"Keep him outta trouble, Hon. He's just a kid."

Looked around, once; taking in every noise, sight and sensation like a bracing, strong-coffee gulp. You just never knew. Then, it was time to strap on a harness, and step outside.

XXXXXXXXXX

Down below, a short while earlier-

Having righted the massive, domed station and halted its trench-ward slide, Gordon Tracy rode out the worst of that float-deployment turbulence, then fired up his Bird's single engine. Meant to head for one of the VIP docking bays, under Pacifica city, only it didn't work out like that. Something got in the way. He'd cut through about twelve yards of black, swirling water, when it happened, again.

Only, the hole that opened up this time, was one h*lluva lot bigger. Much closer, too, with no blue sky on the other side. Only wavery darkness, sprinkled with small, moving lights. Scruff uttered a shrill squeak by way of warning, but it just didn't matter. Gordon couldn't have evaded that sudden, gaping portal, even if he'd had his brothers' Birds and the whole GDF locked on. Thing was right in his path, and Charlie wasn't strapped all the way in, yet. Torn between steering Thunderbird 4 and bracing his flailing young son, Gordon picked Charlie. Grabbed hold and yanked the kid tight to his chest, needing the strength of ten.

Then, swept up by the most powerful current he'd ever experienced, Gordon was flung over some kind of mid-water cliff. There followed a brief few seconds of blank nonexistence, and then the sub just dropped like a rock, leaving Pacifica City once more alone in the darkness.