Thanks, you guys, for reading and reviewing. Going to be busy for a couple of days, but will respond as quickly as possible. Promise. In the meantime, Bow Echo, Tikatu, Creative Girl, Susan, Akimakel, Thunderbird Shadow and Whirl Girl (x7), thank you for all your encouragement. It means a lot to me. Next one from Japan! =)

40

Not far away, as the sky falls-

John didn't need those detox meds, anymore. His 'guest' had seen to all that. So, after dosing Buddy, he tucked the bottle and capped hypodermic away in a "bag of holding" suit pocket. Thinking, y'know, that somebody else might get sick. Not Gordon, who'd be safe from that mutated pathogen, as long as he stayed in his Bird. Bystanders, if there were any.

Anyhow, John accepted the laser cufflink back from Buddy with a grunted, "Thanks". Both explorers were woozy; both very much needed rest. Only, there just wasn't time.

Their temporary shelter was coming apart all around them, unable to handle the twin strains of rising water and massive air-pressure change. Outside, that hole in the sky continued to vomit a titanic column of seawater. They could hear and feel its deep, non-stop roar. Time to be anywhere other than here. Stepping forward, John jerked his head at a rust-spotted fire door and said,

"We need to get out, now. I've got a friend who can restore equipment, if we can find some kind of…"

So, yeah, there was no glass in those big, scenic windows, beyond a few dagger-like shards. Nothing to block the lashing, snapping vine that struck like a cobra, aiming for animate hot spots. Ellie was right in its path, until Buddy and John shoved her clear. But the big, saw-toothed pod-thing was not balked for long. It whipped around and tore Buddy's rucksack right off his back, shredding the strap and… yeah, John's upraised left arm, past the elbow. Twisted and wrenched it right off.

Didn't feel pain, at first. Did want to throw up. Had f*ck-all for weapons, now. Just a d*mn office chair, which he swept from the ground, and threw. Aim was off, but whatever. (Never could pitch well, right-handed.) Hit it, anyhow; straight in that venom-stained maw, where part of his arm was still dangling, fingers twitching spasmodically. That… okay… made him mad.

Fear, pain and shock work differently, depending on person and circumstance. John's response was to curse like Pete, and fight harder. He might go down, but he'd do it swinging, taking the other guy right the h*ll with him. Heard,

"Bluey, no!" as he launched himself forward, straight at their creeping attacker. No choice. Their only weapon was still attached to his bloodied left sleeve, and John meant to wrench it back.

His lost arm dropped to the floor, as the savage plant dealt with that tough plastic chair. John wanted to scoop the limb up, field it like a grounder, only he was off balance and skidding on glass. So, he kicked it to Buddy instead, shouting,

"Laser!"

Was losing a crap-ton of blood, until a sudden green energy-flare seemed to bandage the ragged end of his bitten arm. Still left him out in the open, trying to cover the scrambling Pendergasts with nothing remaining to throw. Spotted a wicked-long sliver of glass on a broken desk. Better than nothing. Dodging another vine-lash, John seized the glass, sword-wise.

With language that would have burnt holes through solar flare heat-shielding, the astronaut slashed at that needle-fanged pod. Chopped most of its lower jaw loose, but more of the bastards were snaking in, now; some through the windows, some up the stairway. Far too many to deal with. He might have lost that fight, had Buddy not shouted,

"Down, Bluey!"

Made him sound like somebody's dog, but John listened, and dropped like a rock, thumping hard on that trash-and-blood-littered floor. One half-heartbeat later, the laser beam sizzled past in an arc, slicing right through a writhing tangle of beast-plants.

John managed to roll, keeping hold of that jagged sliver (and cutting himself pretty badly). Those severed pods were still dangerous, see; still snapping their jaws at warm-blooded targets.

Someone… Ellie… dashed in like a shrieking madwoman, seized John with an under-arm rescue grab, and started to drag him away. He helped with both legs; kicking at pods and shoving himself hurriedly backward, using the glass shard to stab those hungrily-lashing vines.

The laser stayed busy, slicing up acid-plant salad. Only, the things had now gotten in through the back, too; were growing in faster than Buddy could put them away. That's when Survivor said, clear as a chime in his head,

'Emit a new signal.'

Right.

"Sure. Love to," John grunted. "One arm, remember?" He did have his wrist comm. Just couldn't press it… alone.

"Ellie, hit the watch face, now!" he snapped, hoping that his ride-along guest meant to do something drastic.

The very brave woman didn't ask questions, just stopped dragging his sorry ass, to reach across and slap at John's wrist comm. A signal flared outward, and then they all…

XXXXXXXXXXX

The diving bell, just over Pacifica City-

"What'd you have in mind, Sir?" grunted Virgil, keeping his eyes on the distance-to-target scope. That savage current continued to smack them around like a cat-toy, making hook-up all but impossible. Their descent cable thrummed and moaned like a badly-played cello, setting the entire bell to vibrating.

Said Taylor, cussing under his breath as he forced miracles out of that weak little engine,

"Gotta bring New-B down close enough ta mate shields with th' city. Think we c'n do it without crushin' th' bell, but we'll hafta work quick, and set 'er shieldin' ta max. Oughta give us pertection enough ta link with that hatch. Be a mite risky, though. Not gonna lie t' ya."

The big, dark-haired pilot chuckled and shrugged.

"I didn't take this job for the awesome retirement benefits, Sir. Let's do it."

Lee nodded approvingly. Maybe he wasn't them boys' physical daddy… but he'd had a big hand in raising 'em, and that tended to show up, times like these. Calling upstairs, he said,

"Mike, we got us another plan. Hang onta y'r chips, 'cause it's gonna take big, shiny, cast-iron circuits. What I want ya ta do is haul in th' line, drop down real close, an' then mate shields with th' city. If we ain't crushed flat, we'll hook right up."

Simple, right? And that was only Plan C.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Japan, in the tumbling, chaotic meantime-

Kayo plummeted ten, maybe twelve feet. Didn't land very hard, because she'd been taught how to tuck, bend her knees, and roll through all that unwanted momentum. Cursed herself for failing to notice a basic trap, then shook her head. Later, in sim, she'd run all this backward, forward and sideways. For now, it was time to return to the business of finding Scott, and not getting killed.

Fetching up at a wall with a soft, grunted, "Oof!" Kay rose to a hard-breathing, pounce-ready crouch. The trapdoor had swung shut overhead, plunging her into musty semi-gloom. Smelt like a toolshed, but felt roomier than that; large and shadowed, rather than crowded with junk. Floor appeared to be concrete or stone. Didn't mean it was safe to walk across, though.

Taking a few deep breaths, Tanusha calmed herself, then turned her focus to testing those whispering air currents. Minerals… a hint of pine and earth, from outside…chemicals… and something else. Someone familiar. Straightening slightly, Kayo whisper-called,

"Scott?"