Written at night, posted in haste; experiencing whirlwind good time with my best friend and daughter. =)

43

Moving, very fast-

He was neither quite conscious, nor -un; in those split few seconds of light-speed transit, no longer the host, but a passenger. That moment of transfer through the wormhole was stretched out this time, and he didn't lose awareness. Instead, John felt himself fly up that column of falling water with his alien visitor, then reach and pass through the crackling portal.

Here, two points in space had been linked together by clever mathematics and a huge, sudden power surge. That frankenstein connection would have persisted, maybe forever, if someone hadn't been able to absorb most of its energy by going back through, and then cutting the hole's thin, straining middle. Perfect timing was required, because if you slashed the portal's throat in the wrong spot, you'd just get two free, whipping ends that could open back up anywhere, any when, at all.

On the plus side, the Survivor was micro-precise, with skills further boosted by John Tracy's mind, plus a set emergency plans newly posted by Tycho Reeves (still working, blinded and deafened, or not). For power, the alien had a falling Pacific Ocean, the Earth's whirling core and the hole, itself. Just a matter of dropping in, cloning Reeves' razor-sharp algorithm, and then slicing right through.

No Carbon-based traveler could have done it, alone. They could not channel power enough, nor slow time during the "fall through". No energy being would have retained cohesion, amid all of those shifting and rippling fields. The job required a partnership, for about ten compressed seconds of streaming, mish-mashed light and flaring equations.

The Survivor wielded Reeves' maths, violently severing two points in spacetime, and sending their ends flaring off. Came to a swift decision, in the process. Here, after all, was the power to cross great reaches of space. Vast gulfs of time. So, he impressed a message on the Carbon Space Farer's brain matter, stole some sheltering circuitry, and then jumped, just before those two severed ends whipped forever apart. Took John awhile to sense it, though. At the time, he…

…just reappeared; in cold and darkness, surrounded by creaking wet metal. Stumbled a little, using his right hand to feel around for his truncated left arm, which was there. Whole and attached. With fingers, cuff link and pressed, laundered shirt, even.

Yeah, he was kind of punchy. Took him a few minutes to ramp down all of that stress and adrenaline. You didn't just eye-blink from fighting for your life and your friends, then traversing and sealing a d*mn wormhole, to possible safety or, y'know… underwater tomb. Not without a few major side effects.

The alien traveler was out of his head, and the place was entirely dark, but he still had his wrist comm, which he could use to create a pale glow. Figured he'd been dropped back off in Pacifica City, judging by some of the signs and lettering on those bowed, flexing bulkheads. Then, like streamers of lightning, lines of red flame came blazing across the deck and overhead to surround him in hair-lifting energy.

"Hallo, Jaeger," he greeted the flaring AI. "Good to see you." That was one friend accounted for. Couldn't find Buddy and Ellie, Eos or Penny, though. Well, no reason to stay off the grid, here, so John hit his wrist comm. Tuned in on a total sh*t-storm of: "Buddy's with us, who's got Ellie?" "She's here in Thunderbird 4. Where's John?" "Anyone seen Scott, or Penny?" "Kay, are you listening? What's your status?"

…stuff like that. A nearby hatch opened up, groaningly slow and backed by whispered voices. Company. Feeling about ten million pounds roll off of his heart, John gave his wrist comm a swift, coded tap. The Pendergasts were alive. Surely Scott, too, would…

"John, Dear…? John, is that you?"

Somebody sped through the yawning hatch, using the dim beam of their multi tool as a faltering lamp. Thing'd been on for some time, apparently, and was low on power. Penny.

"Yeah. I'm here," he said, as the damp and bedraggled young woman raced over to hug him. She was still wearing his white tuxedo jacket, John noticed. For a moment, he thought she was crying, but then she pulled her head away from his chest, sniffed a bit and said,

"How madly pleasant to see you again, John. Are you quite all right?"

Well…

"I'm fine. Just…"

Battling panic and confusion. Still reeling from attack, dismemberment and the shock of sudden healing.

"…a little tired, is all." John hugged her right back, deciding (yet again) that he was never going to another one of Pen's effing soirées. Ever.

Her fingers knit themselves tightly through his, as Lady Penelope began tugging him back in the direction of the opened hatch, which was now birthing multitudes. People. Great.

"Your Majesty," she half-laughed, half-sobbed. "It seems that you have won our wager. For here, returned alive and well, is our dear, stubborn John!"

A great many backslaps and handshakes followed, there in the noisy, wet half-dark, because: add one Tracy, improve everyone's odds of survival. Only the Colonel would have been better. Meanwhile, the ocean pressed down and his bothers struggled and battled outside, arranging their rescue.

John played the part that Penny needed him to. Acting like a date, not just a friend and near brother-in-law. Once again, he was the IR mystery man and dashing, last-minute hero. Perfectly calm on the outside; torn up and smudged deep within, where no one could see it.

He was expected to join Penny in taking charge of their group, so he did that: using Jaeger to trace out the best path to safety, and his laser cuff link to burn a few homemade doors. Found additional folks on the way, including the station's hypothermic bridge crew. Score, huh? All they had to do now was reach an exterior airlock and survive long enough to be rescued.

Could have done without that sudden earthquake, though.