A/N: You know how I said this chapter would be long-form? Change of plan. I wasn't going to do Space Race here, having already covered it in another fic (:P), but then I realised I was skipping so many fascinating failure scenarios. Crosscut will be long-form, I promise.
"Scanners aren't picking anything up. Are you sure it isn't dirt on your portal? Again?"
Alan knew 'it' was outside Thunderbird Three, but took a moment to clear the supposed speck of dirt anyway. "Nope! It's out there, all right. And that means I get to go for a wander."
"Any excuse," John muttered to himself in Thunderbird Five.
It was the work of a few seconds for Alan to check his suit, grab his surfboard, and open the hatch to go EVA. Within half a minute he was edging carefully around the ...whatever the heck it was. "Are you getting this, Thunderbird Five?"
"Affirmative. Running a trace, Thunderbird Three."
He advanced on what looked like a control panel at the front of the thing, with a creeping feeling that it looked pretty menacing for space junk. Ooh, there's a display. Better take a look at that. Wiping off the dust that had accumulated on it revealed a "no signal" indicator. Which swiftly changed to a "proximity alert" indicator.
"Uh, John? This thing is on."
"Alan, you need to get out of there now!"
Alan started to back away, but far too late. The mine went off, obliterating him and his spacecraft.
As alarms blared on Thunderbird Five, John could only watch the expanding debris cloud - and track the effects of the EMP. "Computer, call Colonel Casey, maximum priority."
"I'm detecting a cluster of spacecraft heading toward the debris field. If one of them strays too close, it could target them, and boom."
As if on cue, the stealth mine started pulling on its grapple line.
"So I'm going to have to keep it busy until you find the kill code."
"Looks that way. You'll have to get it locked on to Thunderbird Three, instead of something else."
"How about I drag this baby out into deep space and detonate it there?"
"Good plan," John signed off. "Just be careful."
Alan disconnected the grapple line. "Right. I'll carefully fly towards the floating bomb. Firing main thrusters in three, two, one-"
...
"It's locked on to you, Thunderbird Three," Brains advised from the ground.
Alan shifted his focus to staying just out of the mine's reach. The Earth was soon receding behind him. "Moving out of orbit."
"Alan, w-wait! It's equipped with a-"
The mine went off, obliterating him and his spacecraft.
"-gravitational trigger," Brains completed his sentence to a diminished audience.
As alarms blared on Thunderbird Five, John could only watch the expanding debris cloud - and track the effects of the EMP. "Computer, call Colonel Casey, maximum priority."
"Okay, I'm in to the digital archives," said Thunderbird Five, "but I'm going to need the mine's unique ID number to access the kill code."
"But the mine can't be scanned." Brains seemed to have a negative answer to everything today. "The only way to view its ID number is to find its tag on the fuselage."
Alan, being Alan, immediately formulated a plan. "I'm on it. Killing main thrusters..."
Thunderbird Three's inertia and RCS thrusters carried it in a miniature orbit around the mine. Squinting through the windscreen, Alan could just about make out the characters on the tag.
Unfortunately, he was now too close to it, and the mine went off, obliterating him and his spacecraft.
As alarms blared on Thunderbird Five, John could only watch the expanding debris cloud - and track the effects of the EMP. "Computer, call Colonel Casey, maximum priority."
As Thunderbird Three entered a well-used orbit, its pursuer stopped. Alan couldn't quite believe it. "Hey, did it just die? ...Brains, any ideas?"
"It's hard to determine without reliable data."
Suffice to say he was the only one with such an idealistic hypothesis, and the universe was quick to shoot it down - the mine shot off after another vessel.
"Aah! Brains?"
"That ship is c-closer to the mine than Thunderbird Three!"
"Oh no, no! Brains, how do I get it back on my tail?"
"Get very close to the mine, and it will retarget you!"
"Oh, great."
Suffice to say that playing chicken with a stealth mine over a civilian cargo ship was an experience like no other.
"Did that work?"
"Negative, Thunderbird Three. It's still targeting the other ship."
With no other option, Alan pushed his luck and his Thunderbird further.
"Careful, Alan," warned Thunderbird Five, to the exasperation of everyone else on the channel.
This exasperation was very short-lived, as Thunderbird Three was retargeted, to an oddly triumphant "You did it! It's retargeted you" from Brains. Unfortunately, while it had acquired the mine's attention, it now had no hope of avoiding a collision with the civilian ship. Moments before impact, the mine went off, obliterating both spacecraft and their crews.
As alarms blared on Thunderbird Five, John could only watch the expanding debris cloud - and track the effects of the EMP. "Computer, call Colonel Casey, maximum priority."
"Thunderbird Three, this is Thunderbird One. I hear things are rough up there, Alan."
The surprise of this appallingly timed communication caused Alan to fumble the curving maneuver around a civilian cargo ship, forcing him to cut it too close. The mine went off, obliterating both spacecraft and their crews.
As alarms blared on Thunderbird Five, John could only watch the expanding debris cloud - and track the effects of the EMP. "Computer, call Colonel Casey, maximum priority."
"The Grey Ninja 'ere. I've made it to the main h'archives."
"FAB, uh, Grey Ninja." John hadn't heard that callsign before.
"Just like old times," Parker mused to himself.
"Head to your left until you hit a junction."
Parker did. And stopped short at the sight of the junction. "Cor, blimey..." The place went on forever!
"You're going to have to get to the very end of the facility."
Parker dived beneath the walkway to evade the notice of two inconveniently timed staff.
"If you run along the duct below you, you should be able to get there undetected."
Parker dropped onto the duct.
-landed inconveniently, lost his balance, fell over the side, and failed to grab on to the side of the duct on his way down. It would be a while before anyone found that particular mangled body.
John's heart sank.
Parker dived beneath the walkway to evade the notice of two inconveniently timed staff.
"If you run along the duct below you, you should be able to get there undetected."
Parker dropped onto the duct and started running.
Several very long minutes of directed exploration later, he shuffled awkwardly across to a bin marked XZ15 and pulled out a file marked XZ157. "That wasn't so 'ard."
Then he fumbled the file, and could only watch as it dropped into the chasm below.
"...Grey Ninja 'ere, I've ...dropped the file."
John's heart sank.
"I really think we should hand 'em over to the GDF, sir."
"This is Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward we've got here - that'll cause a heck of a scene."
"So?" said the head of the Consolidated File Archive, London branch. "There are procedures to be followed."
Penelope's compact beeped as she was being led away. Well, it won't make this any worse. "John, we've been apprehended."
"Into GDF custody?"
"I think so."
"They'll side with me. When do they get there?"
"Not within three minutes."
John's heart sank.