One more, little short one, because I seriously could not get this scene out of my head, all day long! Thanks for your patience, guys. :) Edited!

28

High in the air above Pacifica City-

Dropping on his tether like a spider ballooning on a long, silken thread, Virgil Tracy crossed the gap between Thunderbird 2 and the Prototype. Dicey proposition, because roaring, snapping, buffeting winds spun and swung him, giving that depthless horizon a wild, drunken sway. Still better than space, though.

As he paid out his steel-alloy tether, sliding ever closer to the round, open hatchway, below, Virgil started to think: Japan… families… Kane… Scott gone, and the Chaos Crew unaccounted for… Right. There were a lot of pieces to that puzzle, but the pilot reckoned that he might still be missing a few. Chewed on the matter for awhile, then grunted, saying,

"Heads-up display, personal comm list."

His helmet's receiver chirped obediently, then opened a small, glowing screen beside the shifting 'distance to target' data. The newly-conjured display held a list of numbers. Better yet, it tracked his blinks and eye-movement, allowing the big, dark-haired pilot to scroll through his contacts. Anyhow, Virgil selected one of the numbers, waited a bit for connection, then muted his body-cam feed and said,

"Kane, I've got a question for you."

He was about thirty feet closer to the bat-shaped prototype, but swinging like a pendulum. Had to wait for Captain Taylor to move his huge, silver Bird into better position, and cut off some of that battering wind. Plenty of time for a call, in other words.

"Speak," came the brief and guttural answer.

"Yeah, thanks. Listen, who's in charge of Japan? Is there a 'Special' family making their base, over there?"

Josh was doing a pretty good job of holding 2 steady, meanwhile. Well-taught, obviously.

"Japan is Hiro territory. Effing shape-changers. They can mimic whatever they've touched, up to a point. Can't imitate cyborg parts very well, or copy a subject's memories. You through wasting my time?"

Virgil snorted, watching the sun whirl in and out of view; reeling swift and loose as a tipsy dance-partner.

"Yeah, Buddy… love you, too. And, uh… thanks, Man, for any hypothetical services you might have provided, recently."

The Mechanic hung up on him, which was just fine with Virgil. He'd nearly reached Thunderbird P by that point, and had to stop talking, anyhow. Three of the Mini-Maxes darted out of their hatchway lair, battling air currents and inertia to reach him with a tether and harness clip; this one connecting Virgil to the rumbling Prototype.

That steel-alloy line was heavy. Almost more than three small robots could handle, even working together. They got it up there, though; allowing Virgil to take hold and link up.

Now, he hung suspended between the two rescue ships, like a wind-rattled bead on a long, silver cord. Rest was a frickin' cake walk, though. Just had to slip down the line, pass the faint, hair-lifting crackle of hull shielding, closer and closer, till he'd landed with a solid THUNK on the Prototype's space-burnished hull. Feet scrabbled and slipped for a bit, until his boot-soles locked onto the Bird's electromagnetic field. Only then could Virgil unclip and release the tether to Thunderbird 2, giving it four sharp tugs in a bold, symphonic rhythm.

Tuh-tuh-tuh-TUUUUG!

Instantly, the line began reeling itself up and out of the way, back into Thunderbird 2. Virgil lifted a hand in farewell, as the giant green cargo-lifter banked away, her engine noise changing from roar to shrill scream. Her belly caught the sun as she went, making that huge white "2" flash like a neon sign.

"D*mn," he thought, "She's beautiful."

Then, it was time to head on inside and get to work. Virgil pounced through the open hatch and onto the Bird's metal deck, landing with the coiled grace of a panther.

"Welcome aboard," boomed Lee Taylor's flat, drawling voice, loud as thunder over the comm. "Ain't no inflight movie, no free drinks, an' no reclinin' seats. No stewardess, neither. Me an' Mike's th' purtiest things onboard… But y've just scored y'rself a first-class ticket f'r this here historic maiden sea-voyage. Any last words?"

Virgil grinned up at the nearest bulkhead camera.

"I'm hungry," he responded, because the last thing he'd eaten had been a cheeseburger and onion rings with fancy-sauce, while Grandma shopped for supplies… how long ago? Ten, eleven hours?

"Beef jerky an' case o' beer in th' mini-fridge," said his uncle. "Plus, some o' y'r auntie's best Vienna sausage meatloaf. All three major food groups, right there. Put some hair on y'r chest."

"Uh…" said Virgil, wondering who else was listening in, and how best to respond. (Hey, Grandma!) Unclipping the prototype's tether, he triggered hatch-close, shutting out freezing wind and wild noise. "Sounds great, Sir. Thanks a lot. Be up in a second."

Well… beer and jerky had been Virgil's salvation on more than one occasion, although this time, he'd stick with bottled water. Body-cam audience, y'know?

"Shape-changers," he thought, striding forward. "Could they help me find Scott and Gordon… or are they causing the problem? And, how do you get in touch, to find out?"

With a city to save, and the frickin' oversight committee watching his every twitch, Virgil wasn't sure how to start investigating. Was willing to bet that not much went on in their territory that the Hiros didn't know about, though. Could he get them to talk, was the issue? Or... would it be smarter to clue Kayo in, and let her do the wall-to-wall questioning? What if they touched her, and stole her shape? Or Scott's? Too much to think about, too little time, and way too much trouble, ahead.