Hi there. :) Time to admit that I don't own these guys. I just have fun visiting. Hope you will, too. Thanks, Creative Girl, Akimakel and Tikatu, for reviewing.

42

Down in the depths, between Pacifica City and the hovering Prototype-

There was risky… and there was "Why the h*ll not? Nothing else appears to be working." Those portal-stirred currents were too strong for the struggling diving bell, which was whipping around too much to dock with the city's emergency access hatch. Times like these, you wanted Thunderbird 4, not an overturned cup on a string.

That's why they tried it; the whole dumb, we're-gonna-die-Been-nice-knowin'-ya, scheme. Mike… Max, that is… didn't like it, but then, robots could never figure brashness and plain, stupid luck into their logic and physics. That sort of thing was entirely human.

At any rate, close by a crumbling trench, near an undersea station supported by floats and riddled with eerie red fire, Virgil and Lee put the plan into action. Up at their left spun the portal, drifting along like a madman's nightmarish sunrise, its glow flicking on and off as it turned.

Very reluctantly, Max hauled in the juddering diving bell. His Morse code beeps and trills were quite eloquent and completely dismissed by the two men within. Yeah, it was stupid… but at this point, they hadn't much choice. Not if they wanted to save any lives. Virgil Tracy was not in his element, here, but he trusted Lee's judgment and stuck to the plan, as their craft made its unsteady way toward Thunderbird P.

Watching that slow-moving, lightning-edged wormhole, Virgil said,

"At the rate that thing's vacuuming seawater, there must be one h*ll of a lake forming on the other side."

Lee looked up from his figures. He was a numbers guy, and always performed reams worth of suicide-plan calculations, before plunging in.

"I expect so," he agreed, smoothing his mustache with the fingers and thumb of one hand. "Wouldn't much care ta stand underneath it, or… if it's spinnin' on that end, too… alongside. Sucker 'd blast ya halfway ta h*ll 'n back."

Then, as their vessel stopped rising, and they heard/ felt its cable lock down, Captain Taylor moved on, saying,

"B'lieve I got these sums worked out pretty near accurate, Vic. We'll need ta come in at a real shallow angle… make her twenty-two degrees off horizontal… whilst Mike brings P down ta fifty feet above the airlock, an' mates shields. With P boostin' Pacifica's shieldin', we oughta be pertected enough f'r a quick an' dirty lock-on. After that, hafta scoot on inside n' play it by ear, I guess. Grab who we can, an' lift 'em on outta there."

Virgil nodded.

"Ready when you are, Sir."

Certainly, it was going to get interesting, the younger man figured. The airlock in question lay at the very top of the dome, where six long, curving spars met. This access point was meant to be reached from below by an elevator, which was most likely not working… but Virgil and Lee had a trick for that.

At Taylor's signal, the Prototype began its descent. Virgil monitored the bell's position the whole time, using light, swift maneuvers to keep them at optimum angle and distance from Thunderbird P. Eyeballed it, mostly, because unlike Scott, he wasn't so much of an instrument flier.

Lee handled side to side steering, keeping a weather eye on that crackling portal. As their descent continued (Virgil swore he could feel the Prototype's massive, rumbling bulk, just overhead) Max scanned the frequency of Pacifica City's overstressed force field, and doubled the strength of their own. Hard on fuel, but again: no choice.

Repeated hails to the city below went unanswered. Comms must've been down inside the dome; their power diverted to shields. That, or no one was left alive. Virgil preferred to think they were silenced, but waiting for help. That he and Taylor wouldn't get in to find nothing but half-frozen corpses, huddled by hatches that just wouldn't budge. He and Gordon had been on one of those, and sometimes he still got nightmares. Beer helped. Music, too.

"Take us a mite lower, Mike," Taylor was saying. "Bring 'er down another five feet, an' see if ya cain't roll left about three degrees. Current's shifted, again. Need some cover."

Max chirped a response, and performed like the artist he was. Below them, a ghostly rainbow bubble contorted itself upward, straining to meet the attractive force of the Prototype's boosted shielding. The two weren't quite close enough to merge, though; not with Pacifica's generators now running on nothing but prayer and fumes.

"Sh*t," Lee grunted. Then, "Mike, gimme five more feet, an' open th' bell's launch bay, just in case."

If they were lined up just right, their small craft might escape being ground to paste, by slamming back into her hold. Gave their survival chances an extra few percentage points, anyhow, and Taylor would gratefully accept whatever the fates were handing out free.

Max beeped a response. Above them, the bay doors ground obediently open; their vibration communicated quite clearly through dense, freezing brine. The Prototype shifted position slightly, as well; forcing Virgil to take in some cable.

Dark eyes narrowed in concentration, he focused on keeping them right between Pacifica City on one hand, and the now-open hold on the other. Then, just when the Prototype was all but perched on that wounded and faltering station, the two shields touched, flowed together and mated. Sent a brief, crackling surge flaring upward, but didn't exactly hurt.

All business, Captain Taylor wasted no time in celebration. Grunted,

"Got us a shield lock, Mike. Use whatever reserves ya got, but keep th' city pertected, an' hold off that d*mn current. Initiatin' dockin' maneuvers… now."

Between them, working in about as much space as it took to park a bus, Lee and Virgil brought the diving bell down over Pacifica City's topside emergency airlock. Rough sledding, even for two natural pilots and the smartest robot Brains had ever developed. That enhanced, mated force shield helped somewhat… but the current, fiercely channeled between dome and Bird, still roared and attacked like a dragon.

Still and all, progress was made. Yard by foot by scraped-for inch, they fought their way downward; working in perfect synch. The cable's hum rose in pitch at it shortened, going from thrumming bass to mosquito whine. Finally, they clanked against Pacifica City's hatch. Too far to the right… smacked the side rather than locking on… but they'd come close.

Virgil nudged them back upward. Three, maybe four feet. Metal ground and shrieked against metal, no doubt sounding like a chorus of banshees, inside. Then a sudden shift in the portal's suction whirled them around, snagging one of the bell's docking clamps on the hatch rim.

Taylor cursed, retracted the clamps, and tried again. Told the Universe, just conversationally,

"See, th' thing is… we ain't givin' up. There's people down there waitin' f'r rescue, an' that's exactly whut they're gonna git. Now, a mite more cooperation would be real welcome but… unh… one way… or another… me, Victor an' Mike… we're makin' this happen. Just so's ya know."

Then, just for an instant, that spinning portal turned edge-on, and the current slackened. The effect lasted only a few seconds, but that was all that they needed. The bell spun, swung, hit just right, and locked on; clamps snapping down into the airlock's open receptors with a deep, booming CLANG.

Now, Taylor grinned, looking like he'd just caught the world's biggest sport fish, using nothing but twine and a crumpled-up tinfoil ball.

"Capture," he announced, clapping a hand to Virgil's broad shoulder. Next added, over the comm,

"Mike, guess it'd be redundant ta say you got nerves a' steel… but you, me an' Vic make one h*lluva rescue team."

The robot chirped a modest response, making ready to hold Thunderbird Prototype just overhead. Virgil was already out of his seat and halfway to the docking hatch, med-kit in hand. Captain Taylor waited long enough to shut down the bell's engine, then leapt up to follow him.

That was when fifty more feet of crumbling trench gave way with a sudden, apocalyptic roar; sending an avalanche of rock and mud thundering into the gaping darkness below.