Hi, you guys. =) Sorry so late. Quite busy day, today, in a mostly good way. Many thanks for your kind reviews. Will respond, directly, now that I've carved out some breathing space.

51

Just beyond Pancake Rocks, New Zealand, in a submerged, stolen aircraft-

The new Hive Ship was progressing well. As Evan Kane… the Mechanic… strode through its shuddering cabins and lengthening passages, he made note of the changes. Ship was growing; evolving from humble cargo plane to self-aware, living machine. To accomplish this, the expanding core required his presence, together with a great many captured small vessels. Drones and robotic undersea miners, mostly, though a few careless tour boats had come into his reach, as well; crew and passengers released to float home or sink, as they pleased. Made no difference whatever to Kane.

Horatio's five grams of nanites had been put to work, too, and were branching throughout the stolen airplane, filling whatever role was needed. The Mechanic hadn't closed that wormhole in payment, but somebody had, so Kane considered his end of the matter settled. Customer satisfied, end of story.

As he passed through those flexing and vibrating passages, the muscular cyborg paused from time to time. Here, soothing a tormented bulkhead. There, carving a broader opening in deck, hull or overhead. Hornet and scorpion mechs streamed past him in their hundreds, each bearing bits of scavenged metal and wire with which to feed and enlarge the Ship.

Meanwhile, the faint rumble and pounding of surf was communicated to him through hull, boot-soles and air. A good sound, reminding him of the wilder coasts of Scotland, where lay the Kane stronghold. He might no longer belong there, but still… the machine-man remembered. At this point, he was old and strong enough to go back and mount a challenge. Surely, the Mother of Cyborgs expected him to. Just… the time wasn't right. There were preparations to be made. A swarm to gather.

Those two half-vermin children… Ilya and Katrin… were off in the capacious bowels of his Hive Ship. Ilya practicing with a powerful new rifle, Katrin learning to walk with the aid of a patient Mantis-bot.

Perhaps he'd made a mistake in fetching them out of their slum. They were more than just minions by now, and attachment of any sort equaled weakness. Vulnerability. But, they had been… would be… important, Kane felt. They were quick, clever and devoted, and the girl had taken well to implantation. If he could manage a…

The Mechanic stopped walking, abruptly; amber eyes narrowing tensely behind his cyber-link goggles. Turned his attention away from the Hive Ship, briefly, to focus on something else. Something outside. He was being discussed, the cyborg sensed. Not on the global world net, by mere Vermin. On crystal-link, by his own kind. A Kyrano, it was, speaking with Lord Hiro. Perhaps they thought themselves private, not realizing that Kane had long since mined even their comm system with eavesdropping subroutines.

An important precaution, for one who'd gone utterly rogue. He only tuned in at the mention of himself, because it was wise to know what others intended. The bit he caught seemed important enough to make the cyborg go back and replay, seeking context.

"…had time to study Tanusha, and… through her… the Tracys. They will fall into line, Lord Hiro, or be destroyed. It matters not which. Next, I intend to bring down their ally, the "Mechanic". This is step one. Send the girl…" And, so forth. It seemed that Virgil Tracy's suspicion had been justified.

Kane stood in mid-passage, like a massive cybernetic boulder in a river of skittering drones. That Lord Kyrano was hatching another scheme came as no shock, whatsoever. After all, psions lived and breathed duplicity. Shape-shifters, too. Completely unstable once they'd mastered four or five morphs, the lot of them. Separately, he might swat Kyrano and Hiro like bothersome gnats. Allied, though… As allies, they might be a problem. Kyrano had mentioned the Tracys. Tanusha, by name, and one other. These had apparently been captured and replicated. Were perhaps already dug into that laughable fly-speck island the mongrel pack clung to.

No doubt, Kyrano had even bigger plans; maybe intending to steal the Thunderbird fleet, itself. Right… the Mechanic stood there in thought for a while, as his mechs brushed past him, or landed atop and leapt off, always seeking to touch him; the giver of life. What was his best course of action? How could he toss the biggest d*mn spanner into their plot?

Provide warning? To who, that he knew for a fact hadn't been already taken? With a low growl, the big cyborg called up his (very short) list of contacts. Was considering which to select, when the girl, Katrin, came wobbling into that expanding, slow-breathing passage.

With a clicking, buzzing Mantis hovering close behind, the small blonde walked very determinedly upright. She glistened with sweat and circuitry; eyes glowing faintly, in the manner of all newly-implanted young ones. His own eyes had done the same, twenty years prior.

Katrin smiled when she saw him, doing her level best to walk naturally on one enhanced meat leg, and one very powerful cyborg prosthetic. A fighter, that one. Strong, inside of her fragile shell. Ilya was much the same.

Katrin couldn't run, yet, but she could hurry, and this the child did; reaching up with both arms and placing a picture in his mind: himself, leaning down to pick up and carry her. Psions were a dangerous breed, and Kane knew it… but her tug, the warmth of her pleasure at seeing him, were tough to resist.

Should have swatted her into a bulkhead to instill proper fear and respect, but he didn't. Instead, the Mechanic reached carelessly down with one big hand, then scooped her up and around, draping Katrin like a flopping sack over one broad, tattooed shoulder.

She'd known all along that he'd come back. Perhaps, he'd had no other choice. As thin arms wrapped tight around his neck, and a wet, popping mouth-smack landed on one ear, he shifted her into a better position. Then, bidding the child keep silent, Kane went back to his contact list. Warn Horatio, possibly? Or Virgil Tracy? Maybe the other? Difficult decision to make, as it was not just a question of who would listen, but of who was still themselves. Still untaken. More than that, though… why should he bother?

Very slowly, Kane resumed prowling his Hive Ship, gnawing at the question with fretful intensity. Perhaps alliances did create weakness, but they covered it, too, by providing someone else to keep watch. Someone "trusted". He wasn't entirely sure what that meant, yet, except through the children. Ilya and Katrin would turn their backs, fall asleep in his presence and accept what he gave them to eat. They seemed to feel that he would not seek advantage through harming them. Trust.

The Tracys behaved the same way. Meaning, Kane guessed, that they could be trusted, as well. The Mechanic shook his head, ignoring the little girl tracing his tattoos with her grubby small fingers. Not safe to just call, he decided. He'd have to go there, himself. Then,

"Sir! Sir! Kane!" shouted Ilya, pelting up the corridor, dodging (and sometimes vaulting) those swarming mechs. The slung laser rifle bounced at his back, almost bigger than the light-haired, excited young boy. "I hit every time, Sir! Didn't miss, even once!"

This was true, for Ship's enhanced sensors kept him abreast of the boy's developing marksmanship.

"Good," he rumbled, reaching up to sling Katrin at her proud, smiling brother. "But it's easy to hit a target that doesn't shoot back. Next time, set the practice chamber to level two. You'll have to aim while dodging return fire."

Not very dangerous. At level two, the targets shifted about, delivering no more than a sharp, stinging zap when missed. Good training, though. He'd been through it himself.

Ilya nodded, quieting his laughing small sister with a brief, tight arm-wrap.

"Yes, Sir, Kane," he responded. "I can do it, even if it's up to level three."

"Two," the cyborg grunted, adding, "and see that you don't put any holes in the hull, or you'll be out there with a work crew, patching them all." Then, "We leave for the Tracy stronghold in five hours' time. Rest and prepare yourselves. There will be hunting, and the Tracys may misunderstand."

Worse yet, they might all have been already caught and replicated. Even Horatio, or the Tracys' Virgil and John. Sh*t. Total stealth and silence, the Mechanic decided. Until he could see and scan them, himself, best to assume that no one was what they seemed. Not until he'd tracked down and slaughtered every last shape-slipping Kanni.