Hey, you guys. :) Sorry about the mess with chapter 36. Was trying to fix a problem that Tikatu pointed out, and ended up making things worse. Got it solved, eventually, but had to delete and repost the chapter to do it. This time, for sure, chapter 37! Thanks, Bow Echo, Susan and Tikatu, for your kind and helpful reviews.

37

A bit earlier, in Thunderbird Prototype, nearing Pacifica City-

The family rule was: the mission came first, no matter what was going on, elsewhere. That Scott was in serious trouble, possibly injured, Virgil knew. Couldn't divert from his goal to try and help out, though. Not without dooming eight-hundred people, plus Penny, Parker, and maybe John. Worried or not, heartsick or not, he had to press on.

Needing to be useful, stay busy, he went down to the Prototype's cavernous maintenance bay, meaning to check out that diving bell. The Mini-Maxes did good work; Virgil knew that. But going aft gave him something to do besides not fly the plane. Ship. Submarine. Whatever.

Wished the hull and struts didn't flex and contract so much; groaning like they'd been beat up and robbed. Wished that he and Brains had ever gotten the chance to finish the Bird, which had jack-crap in the way of amenities. Only thing was, Lee had kept the Prototype hopping, with all of those trips back and forth to the Moon. There simply hadn't been time.

Stalking through the barren passageway, now, Virgil imagined what he'd fix up, and just how he'd go about doing it. Saw paint, bulkhead braces and cargo-webbing, decent bathroom facilities and a genuine crew cabin. Maybe even a med station.

Two or three Maxes zipped around the young man as he strode along, thinking. These sometimes lit on his head or broad shoulders before taking off, once again. Didn't bug Virgil, who'd always liked machines.

Down in that vast and echoing maintenance bay, he found the big, roughly spherical diving bell, along with what looked like a mile of reinforced cable. Checked out the airlock-attach setting, saw that it matched what he'd seen of Pacifica's outer hatches. A massive, clawed thing, composed of Brains' nano-structure material, it could change shape on command… if, y'know, you could program alterations on the fly. Not his specialty, but what a guy didn't know, he could learn, Virgil figured. Seriously, how hard could it be?

Took a tour of inspection, looking for anything at all that might fail in the clutch. Important, because it was hardly ever the big stuff that got you. Usually just some dumb, nit-noy screw, or bent fan blade. One of the Maxes had laser-printed 'IR' on the bell's sides and airlock clamps, he noticed.

Smiling, Virgil pulled up a virtual screen and began a deep diagnostic, still looking for trouble. Then, he picked up the laser inscription tool, and stood there a moment, thinking. Each of his brothers had an old Looney Toons character stamped on his Bird. Yosemite Sam for Scott, Marvin the Martian for John, Pepe Le Pew for Gordon, and Tweety Bird (though he hated it) for Al. Virgil's, of course, was the Tasmanian Devil. Kayo, he'd stuck with Bugs Bunny in wig and makeup. But Lee? What would best suit Captain Taylor?

After a second or two, he got a sly notion, and set right to work, using different angles and depths of burn to create the right colours. Finished up just as the comm crackled to life and Lee announced,

"We're in position, Vic. Get 'er warmed up whilst I transfer control t' Mike, over here. Be along in a bit."

"Yessir," Virgil assented, nodding at the nearest bulkhead cam. "Will do."

Then, having had his fun, the big, dark-haired pilot started collecting supplies for their trip. Med-gear, blankets and water. You know… the usual. Tried to visualize triage and pickup, but the best of plans got changed in mid-rescue, every d*mn time. Generally (unlike, say, Scott or John) he made things up as he went along. Besides, there were GDF subs coming. The Prototype wouldn't have to evacuate everyone. Right?

Captain Taylor arrived about five minutes later, wearing one environment suit and toting another. Handed the second to Virgil, saw that laser-printed emblem, and did a fast double-take. Stood there in blue IR pressure suit, helmet under one arm, smoothing his moustache with a free hand. Then, shook his head, gave Virgil a lone sidelong glance, and kept moving. Muttered something that sounded like, "Goddam cartoon chicken on a rescue ship", as he climbed on inside. Otherwise, the rugged, space-tanned astronaut had no objection to Foghorn Leghorn adorning his ride.

A team of Maxes united to make them a staircase. A nice touch, since the Prototype didn't have any boarding ramps. Once the pilots were strapped in and settled, the maintenance bay's loading crane lifted the bell, taking it down to vehicle-airlock 3, the one rated for high-pressure environments.

Suited up and ready to go, Virgil sat in the stripped-down cockpit, which was downright luxurious, compared to the rest of the prototype sea lift. There were seats, life support systems and plenty of grab-hold webbing, but not much else. Even the instrument panel was basic; including little more than a joy stick, throttle, buoyancy controls and monitor screen.

Three very brave Maxes would ride along on the cable and hull, ready to deal with fouled lines or drifting impactors. Virgil's pulse quickened as the bell THUNKed into place, and water roared through the giant vents. He could hear it come thundering in. Heard the stuff whooshing high up the sides of their life raft, squeezing tight as it gurgled and climbed. Sensing his tension, Lee winked at the younger man.

"This ain't nuthin', Vic. H*ll, I've pissed more water n' this. A man c'n only do whut's put before him, Son. Ain't no use dwellin' on might-be."

Virgil nodded.

"Yessir," he responded stoutly, not jumping out of his skin when the outer hatch ground open; the noise like an avalanche through all of that freezing-cold water. Unlike John and Scott, he'd had no other job before this one. Unlike Gordon, he'd not done much competitive traveling. A little football, was all. Maybe he didn't have as much perspective to draw on, because of those things… but Lee's colorful monologue helped him stay focused.

"You handle throttle, Vic. I'll work th' steerin' jets," Taylor commanded, as the clamps very loudly retracted, and their fragile bell slipped from its womb like a whale-calf. Didn't head to the surface for air, though. Started down.

"Let's shed a little light on th' subject," remarked Lee, cutting on the bell's warm golden floodlights. Pacifica City crouched red and sullen beneath them, supported by a wavering forest of bright-orange floats. Looked like the buoyancy bubbles on kelp, Virgil thought.

"Got us a fairly intense current goin' on down here," Taylor grunted, fighting to keep their craft aligned with the city's emergency access hatch. Thunderbird 4 could've come in from below. Descending like a spider on hundreds of feet of strong cable, the diving bell could not.

The trench was visible, too; ugly and deep as a knife-wound, just beyond Pacifica City. Also visible was a shifting and spinning hole of some sort, edged in blistering light. Had to be swallowing water by the fricking metric ton, Virgil figured.

"Think that's what happened to Gordon?" the pilot asked, tearing his eyes away from that portal, with a nearly audible rip.

"Could be," Taylor responded, giving the bell's steering motor everything she had in the way of power. "Won't know till he calls in an' says so."

"What if the other side isn't here? On Earth, I mean. How will we get them… him back?"

Taylor shrugged.

"We'll figger sumthin' out. We allus do. An' I ain't countin' Godfrey out jus' yet, anymore 'n I would Spencer, Jason or you. If'n he's out Proxima way, he'll come back with one h*lluva story ta tell. How much futher, Vic?"

Virgil glanced at the distance-to-target screen, then said,

"Twenty-three feet, Sir. Opening the airlock grapples… now. Watch your drift."

"Tryin'… that d*mn winder keeps shiftin' position. Current's all over th' place. Hard ta… stay… aligned. Dammit! Back up, Vic. We're gonna hafta try again."

Instead of connecting with that waiting hatch, their bell swung wildly, spun by a sudden shift in the current. She brushed against Pacifica City's weakening force shield, raising a long, arcing rooster-tail of glittering motes. Sounded like shrill and wavering static.

Virgil triggered cable retract, torn between prayer and cussing. As he reeled them back up for another try, Taylor said,

"Vic, I got an idear. Feel like takin' a risk?"