'Allo! I think I've responded to most of your kind reviews. Will double check, just in case. And, tip of the hat to Disney and Buzz, for their really cool line, too. Edited more!

31

Elsewhere, trapped in lessening darkness-

That grey patch was growing brighter, he was sure of it. And the sometime-noise… those infrequent whirring and beeping sounds… seemed to contain snatches of speech. Only, he couldn't understand what was being said. That was weird; very unsettling, because… other than John, for fun, sometimes… no one ever used different languages. Unity forbade it; like religious belief and political parties. Even regional accents were fading. "All are one", as the WorldGov motto proclaimed.

So, whoever had him wasn't official. They couldn't be. Not that he'd had much time to think these things over. Those questions had suddenly taken a very much harsher tone.

-Why have you allied yourselves with a wet-handed, rebel Kane? –

Sorry. No. Since they weren't answering him, Scott ignored them. Tried to focus, instead, on finding and moving his right hand. Even the thumb, or just a few fingers. If he could fight his way through that d*mn block, regain control of his own body, he could break free. Find the others, who were probably down here, too. That would change everything, because… with John and Virge at his side… no one could keep Scott Tracy anywhere.

Only, he felt like a cloud of thought, drifting in some kind of echoing void, with only questions for company. Worse, his reasoning was becoming more sluggish. Scott had to wonder: how long ago had he last eaten or drunk? At home, on the balcony… Max bootleg soda and a roast-beef sandwich with crisps. Since that time, nothing. Was he being hydrated and drip-fed? Or had they condemned him to die of hunger and thirst, unable to so much as breathe on his own, or swallow?

-What is Dr. Hackenbacker's true identity? –

Heh! Good ol' Brains… He saw the poor guy, huddled nervous as h*ll on a wooden bench, during one of his family's pick-up basketball games. Brains was supposed to sub in, but hated to play against Scott, John and Kayo, or Virgil, Gordon and Al. Got creamed every time he set foot on the court.

Wistfully, Scott remembered the feel of that thudding hard basketball, bouncing off concrete and into his expert hands. The swishing, ringing sound the ball made, as it arced through the basket from midcourt. Heard running footsteps and grunts, saw Virgil's arms upraised and waving, trying to block his shot. Kayo, wide open and signaling for the ball. He could see her right by the goal, glowing with sweat and determination; dark braid swinging. Threw her the ball with all of his might, thinking: Kay, where are you?

And then, believe it or not; so faintly, he might have been wishing it, the pilot heard,

'Scott?!'

…followed by total silence. A crashing down of blackness like nothing he'd ever experienced. A hammer, squashing him back to unconsciousness.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Falling, with style-

Thunderbird 4 was a game little sub, designed to handle whatever the water could throw at her, and keep on chugging. See, emergencies happened in all sorts of places; from the oceans, lakes and rivers to flooded caves, icy moons and toxic retention ponds. He'd braved them all in his bright-yellow Bird. Now, Gordon Tracy was doing his best to pilot his way down a tidal wave- waterfall. Backward.

Engine on full blast, scanners running at wide-angle sweep, sweating bullets, the aquanaut used his steering jets to avoid tons of hurtling debris. Because, yeah. There was all kinds of crap in his way, on top of everything else.

Charlie hung on tight, not hiding his face or closing his eyes, either. Just clinging to Gordon's uniform sash and watching the scan feed. Would make a h*ll of a rescuer, someday. A h*ll of a Tracy.

Ground had to be somewhere nearby, he figured; hopefully pretty well flooded. All he had to do was survive the drop; just make it to level water, no matter how turbulent or fouled with detritus.

The noise and vibration were fierce; a combination of alarms, engine scream, torrential roar and crashing, pinging debris. Shields absorbed most of the fury, but 4 shook and rang like a struck, falling gong, even so.

"It's right there, Dad!" Chip shouted, pointing at the scanner. "There's the water, right there!"

Yeah. Fifty feet, and closing too fast.

"Hold on tight, Kiddo," he said, "It's gonna get rough. You might black out. If we're still in one piece, hit the comm. Yell for help."

…because, in his mind, anything at all could happen to him, but Charlie was going to stay safe. Just a kid… Please...

XXXXXXXXXXX

In the air, high over a troubled undersea city-

Virgil headed forward at best speed, barely pausing to hit that minifridge and snag a few sticks of beef jerky. Bottle of water, too, which he drained practically inside-out, then tossed to one of those hovering Mikes… er, Maxes, he'd meant to say.

Up on the barren flight deck, he shook Lee's hand, then dropped to the copilot's seat with a gusty, "Whuff!" of mingled stress and exhaustion. Strapped in, still busily chewing.

"Welcome aboard, Vic," his uncle repeated, smiling broadly. "Good ta see ya."

Much like his prototype Bird, Lee was a basic kind of guy. Would do the job every time, without fuss or frills (although you could expect some bold and outrageous lying, afterward).

"Thank you, Sir," Virgil responded, around a mouthful of spicy, half-chewed meat. (And, God, he'd been hungry.) "Pleasure to be here. What's the plan?"

Lee's salt-and-pepper mustache split in a sudden wide grin.

"Same as ever," he chuckled. "Drop in there, put our ass on th' line, and come back smilin'."

Taylor was already pushing the steering yoke forward, to nose the Bird sharply down. A couple of rapid keystrokes brought her shields up to full, sealing all hatches with a chorus of thundering CLANGs. Engine noise changed pitch from idle purr to powered roar, as the horizon began to tilt crazily, and her viewscreen filled up with nothing but restless green ocean.

"Hafta… do this… jus' right," Taylor grunted, diverting more power to forward shielding. "Gotta make us some cavitation. Get that top layer broke up with bubbles. Musta done it a million times already, in simulation."

Uh-huh.

"How many times in real life, Sir?" Virgil enquired. Just, y'know, for information.

"Countin' today?" the astronaut mused. "Wunst… but I trust Doc's figgers. Hey… know how them engineerin' boys deals with constipation, Vic?"

"Nope," Virgil responded tensely. That ocean was scary close, now; not looking 'broke up', at all. "Can't say as I do, Sir."

Taylor winked an icy blue eye at the younger pilot, saying,

"They work it out with a pencil."

That's when they hit the surface. Beaten to froth by the forcefield, sea water hissed, popped and spumed like a geyser; shooting hundreds of yards in the air, to hang there in glittering diamond sheets before crashing back down.

Virgil's white-knuckled grip on his armrests relaxed by slow degrees as they A: didn't die, and B: began powering lower, without breaking up in the process. He'd dared the water in Thunderbird 2 once before, but she'd been fitted for space, and he'd been at the controls. Différent situation, altogether. Taking a deep, shaky breath, the handsome young pilot laughed at himself.

"Looks like Brains' got himself another winner," he ventured. Taylor nodded.

"Told ya. Always bet on them skinny, bean-countin' neck-beards, Vic. They know whut they're doin'." Then, "Island Base, from Don't-rightly-know-whut-we're-callin'- 'er. We're in, Beth, an' headed f'r Pacifica City."

Sally Tracy's concerned face appeared before them, in glowing holograph form.

"Understood, Lee. You boys be careful down there, an' keep us posted, regular. Josh's got Thunderbird 2 warmed up and ready ta back you-all up. Fixin' cheeseburger puffs f'r supper, tonight, so don't keep a body waitin' too late."

Her image and voice seemed to fade as the prototype ship plunged lower. Captain Taylor mouthed something silent and personal before she'd quite vanished. Then, clearing his throat, he fired a comm buoy, and got right back to business.

Virgil had been down in Thunderbird 4 once or twice… more often, if you wanted to count sim-time… but this was different. The prototype's hull flexed and creaked, adjusting to pressure changes. Being mostly uninsulated, still, it also beaded right up with condensed breath and vapor, making the bulkheads sweat. Her cabin temperature dropped, and the light level changed from watery-pale, to green, to murky blue and then darkness; speared through by glittering flood lights. A singular trip, for a guy whose every instinct was for staying out of the Goddam water.

"I got a fix on 4's last known position, Sir," the raven-haired pilot began, because talking helped him control his hawk-in-the-water nervousness. "If he isn't there…"

"Then, we'll know that them energy flares is sendin' more 'n just Pendergasts wanderin' crost th' globe. All o' them missin' folks cain't be no coincidence, Vic."

The muscular middle Tracy frowned, turning things over in his head. Some of Lee's notions matched what he'd been thinking.

"You figure the transport disk's opened some kind of… dunno… portal? One that doesn't need the machine, to operate?"

"Cain't rule nuthin' out at this point, Vic," the Texan grunted, tracking Gordon's last transponder signal. "Cain't make no definite plans, neither. Not till we see whut we're up against, here. Just be ready f'r pretty near anythin'."

"Yessir," Virgil nodded, unstrapping to rise. "If you don't mind, I'll head aft for a look at that diving pod. Might be able to make some adjustments, and help things along."

Anything was better than staring out the viewscreen at drifting pale motes and startled sea-life. Offered Lee that last stick of beef jerky, even. Taylor nodded again, not taking his eyes from the instrument panel. Said,

"Thanks," then added, "Make sure we c'n dock with th' city's access ports, Vic. Best equipment in th' world won't do us one d*mn bit o' good, if we cain't hook up."

"That's what she said," joked Virgil, adding, "I'm on it, Sir. Send me the specs."

Virgil was halfway to the Bird's construction hold when he (with John, Dad, Alan and Kayo) felt… scratch that, knew.

"Oh, sh*t. Scott."