Hey, you guys! I'm in opposite-time, over here. Not jet-lagged. just lost a day. Anyhow, if this one's a bit rough still, it's because I wrote it on the way over. Hugs, Me. :)

41

At home, just maybe-

A jumble of impressions called for Scott's attention, all of them safe and familiar. The windows were wide open and curtained in billowing, blue-checkered cloth. The wooden table and chairs were much lived-in, but sturdy. Comfortable. More of Grandma's colorful cross-stitch livened up those fruit-patterned walls. Coffee had been set to brew, filling the house with its rich, warm scent. He could even hear John pacing around upstairs; from bedroom to bath, and back again.

On top of everything else, though, his mother had entered the room. Beautiful and smiling; dressed in jeans, boots and a paint-spattered tee-shirt. Coppery hair streaked with gold was caught back at the nape of her neck, leaving soft little tendrils framing her face. A little older than he remembered her… Lucy Tracy had died when Scott was just eleven… but still Mom. Here, alive, and coming right for him. Bouncing along in her wake was a button-cute girl of ten or eleven; dark-haired, green eyed and laughing. Kayo?

"Hey, Boo," his mother greeted the pilot, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. "Done studying?"

Scott's jaw dropped, but he managed to nod.

"Yes, Ma'am," he whispered, shaking a little. His mother's delicate brows drew together over concerned grey-green eyes. Worried, she reached across to feel Scott's forehead, searching for fever.

"Hmm… Temperature's normal. Are you okay, Boo? You seem a mite tired."

"Um… yeah. Yes, Ma'am, that is." (The quick-correct, because Granddad had looked up from his sandwich, just then. Disrespect was not tolerated in the Tracy household. Ever.). "I'm fine. It's, uh… it's always good to see you."

Kay snorted and rolled her eyes expressively; so much more animated than he recalled.

"He wants money, or he's trying to get out of his chores, Mom," she teased, putting her tongue out at Scott.

"Which you ain't done, neither, little miss," Granddad reminded her. "Got a whole mess a' chickens out there that need feedin',"

Kay inhaled sharply, as though about to protest, or shift blame. But a brief look from Granddad put an end to all that.

"Yes, Sir," she pouted. "Right as soon as I've put my things away."

"See that it don't take any longer," Granddad instructed. "Them animals depends on us, and it ain't right t' keep 'em waitin'."

Kayo nodded, maybe thinking of her pony, Charlotte.

"Yes, Granddad," she repeated, then dashed off upstairs to stow her backpack and school books. Mom busied herself in the kitchen, meanwhile, humming a tune as she worked.

Okay... in real life, Mom had been long dead when he'd finished his senior year early; cramming hard for acceptance to the GDF Flight Academy. John had followed his lead; somehow managing to juggle sport, school and acceptance exams, all at once. Only John's very few friendships had suffered, as Scott recalled. Virgil, Gordon and Alan would still be in Junior high school, he figured. Or, no… Virge in junior high, the others in primary grades, still, and taking their time about coming home. Most likely, Gordon had talked his little brother into skiving off chores to go swimming in the creek. Except, this wasn't real. It couldn't be.

"Better eat that sandwich," urged Granddad, interrupting Scott's meandering thoughts. "We don't waste food, around here."

"Yessir," Scott replied, applying himself to that massive everything-burger, as Rusty waited under the table for scraps. He was that close to demanding an explanation; miserable, confused, happy and hopeful, all at the same time. Only…he didn't want to pop the bubble. Did not want to wake from this dream, if that's what was happening. Figured that John could answer his questions later, after lunch 'd been cleared up, and they had some time to talk.

For now, Scott ate mechanically, not really tasting his food. Kept his eyes on Mom as she worked in the kitchen and hummed, talking sometimes with him, sometimes with Granddad; always happy, always doing.

The cat sauntered in next, leaping onto the windowsill beside Grandma's herb garden. With a delicate flirt of its tail, the grey-and-black tom turned its head and licked at the fur on one shoulder. From time to time the cat glanced at Scott with searching green eyes. The now seventeen-year-old pilot had been passing most of his scraps under the table to Rusty. Decided to reserve a few for Fish-breath, as well. Everyone pretended not to notice, except for young Kayo, who sing-songed,

"Mom, Granddad, he's feeding the dog, again!" As she exploded back out through the kitchen door to see to those chickens.

Guilty as charged, and caught in the act, with a sliver of cheese. Granddad just snorted and shook his head, saying,

"Could use some help out in th' hay barn, Scott, if y'r done studyin'. John Matthew c'n help y'r ma, 'fore he heads out t' tend t' th' horses."

"Yessir," Scott replied, starting to smile. God, how he'd hated farm work, back in the day! All he'd wanted was wings… And now, the prospect of a couple of hours pitching hay with Granddad, up in a stuffy, hot loft, had him busting like Christmas. "I'll let him know."

Grant Tracy looked a little surprised at his grandson's enthusiasm, but then nodded back.

"I'll be waitin' on ya, round back. Clean up this mess, first. Lu ain't nobody's maid."

Mom chuckled at that.

"A farmer works from sun to sun, but Lucy's work is never done," she joked, swatting at Scott with the end of a blue-and-white dishtowel. "One of these days, I'll finish that mural!"

She'd been painting the side of the barn for as long as they'd been there; producing a beautiful, vivid, complex stream-of-consciousness masterpiece that burst with her own joy in living.

Scott caught the end of that snapping dishtowel, yanking Mom in for a hug; letting her snuffle his neck and kiss his forehead. Just like… like nothing had ever gone wrong, and they'd grown up like a regular family. Voice gruff with tears that he wouldn't let fall, he said,

"Love you, Mom. Guess I haven't said that, enough."

Lucinda Tracy brushed a strand of sun-fire hair out of her face, giving Scott a quizzical smile.

"I love you, too, Booster. And you'll never got too old for me to tell you so, either."

"Yes, Ma'am," he responded. Then, because why the h*ll not? He asked, "Can we have pot roast for supper?"

Granddad had already risen to wash up and head back out. A full head taller than most men, solid as a slab of rock, he rumbled,

"You'll eat what's set before ya… but I wouldn't toss pot roast t' th' hogs, myself, Lu."

Mom beamed that dimpled, lovely, Miss Texas smile at both of them, saying,

"Looks like we got us a menu. Give me an hour or so, and show up ready to eat."

That's…. what she'd always said before cooking supper, and Scott had to close his eyes for a moment; squeezing hard against sudden tears of confusion and longing.

"I'll go get John," he offered, meaning to find his closest brother, and get some d*mn answers.

XXXXXXXXXX

Nijo Palace, Kyoto, Japan-

Having fallen straight through a trapdoor and into an echoing, musty-damp cell, Tanusha Kyrano Tracy soon picked up a very familiar and comforting scent.

"Scott?" She repeated, stalking cautiously forward. "Can you hear me? Are you conscious?"

If not, well, she wasn't Gordon or anything, but Kay could certainly handle basic first aid and victim care. "Scott?"

She heard a rustling noise, detected movement in the shadows. There was another sound, as well, as if someone had started to speak, but left off. No welcome, no sense of familiarity in voice or in mind.

An icy bone finger slid down Kayo's spine, as she threw aside caution and hurried forward. Found… emptiness. The physical shell of her tall, handsome brother, huddled on bare concrete, in some sort of orange coverall.

No identity, no memories, no self. Only pain and disorientation, salved by the Unity Commission's trademark "happy reflection". They'd left him Rusty, begging for scraps at the kitchen table, and Granddaddy, singing off-key. Only that was left, of his twenty-eight years on the planet; his courage and leadership

An anguished cry tore from Kayo, as she dropped to her knees beside the empty young man who had been her brother. "Noooo," Kayo mourned, reaching for someone who'd already gone.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Manhattan Quarantine Zone, in perilous straits-

As his actions had unquestionably exacerbated an already grave situation, the Survivor moved to resolve his errors. Not being familiar with Third World's restricted zones, he'd removed the exploring life-mates to a place that intrigued them… this "Manhattan". In retrospect, a mistake.

The portal had then opened, sweeping up further biologicals, each of them following that first misrouted pair. Now the Carbon-based space-farer had lost mass, partly devoured by plants rapacious for flesh as well as wavelengths. The life-mates were also threatened.

So, as the Survivor could not take shelter in a host that was being consumed, he braved the risk of absorption, and acted. Swift as light, he converted the three wounded organics to data, then jumped that comm signal and flashed away from the flooded building. The two closest vessels received an explorer, each. His temporary host, he retained, for in no other way could an energy being traverse that savagely dangerous wormhole. What occurred next was quick and alarming.

In Thunderbird 4, Gordon Tracy slapped the comm to accept John's message. Only, there was this flash of green light, and then Ellie Pendergast materialised in his cockpit, wild-eyed and gasping for breath. Not sure who was more surprised, but the beautiful blonde looked around, did not see Buddy or John, and had to be restrained from leaving the sub.

Up in Thunderbird 3, meanwhile, Alan had whooped aloud, shouting,

"Boo-yah! It's John or Gordon, bet me! They've found Buddy and Ellie, and they're ready for pickup!"

Al and Piper both dived for that comm button. Instead of getting coordinates, or a message, they got Buddy Pendergast, who seemed to just coallesce out of eerie green light.

The red-capped explorer had been caught and transported in the act of waving something around like a dang wand. Almost fell over from shock and momentum, before a wide-eyed Piper managed to steady him.

"Ellie? Bluey! Wot's 'appened?" he growled, turning to face Alan. "Where are they? We've got t' go back, y' hear me? We've got t' go back f'r 'em!"

While elsewhere, sheltered by a partly dispersed organic host, the Survivor launched himself into that roaring wormhole; riding straight up a torrent of water, and into black nothingness.