Thunderbird One's arrival at the Rotorua Electrical Farm was met with some measure of surprise from its staff, who hadn't realised their situation was sufficiently dire as to warrant International Rescue's intervention.

As Scott wasted no time explaining, it was. Whatever had cut them off from the grid wasn't localised. Power plants across the world were suffering similar problems.

"Scott," said Brains in his ear through his communicator, "I've learned all I can from remote scanning. I'll n-need you to inspect the station's computers to further isolate the p-problem."

"On it." Scott looked around. "Hey, you! Take me to your leader!"

A brief inspection of the computers revealed that everything in the power generators was perfectly fine, so Scott and entourage moved outside to the transmission substation, where they found the problem. Every single interconnector had shut down. There was simply no way that electrical power could navigate anywhere within the substation - so no way for the generators to drive power out to the grid.

"I'll need to take one of these interconnectors for analysis."

"As far as we're concerned, you can take all of them. They're all useless."

In the back of Thunderbird One, Scott disassembled his prize. There was no sign of physical damage to anything inside the interconnector, meaning a potentially long session with a circuit tester in hand and Brains on the line. Fortunately (in some respects), Brains' first suggested probe turned up the result they'd been half-anticipating, half-dreading. "The s-smart chip has shut down the interconnector s-somehow."

"It only does that if it gets a signal, right?"

"That r-raises the question of where the signal c-came from."

"And why..."

It was at just this moment that Thunderbird Five called in. "Guys, Lady Penelope has a lead."

"This," John's hologram gestured to the other hologram, "is a Global Power Corporation power interconnector. They're old, but there are still millions of them all over the world, keeping the power grid functioning." The rest of International Rescue lounged and listened with varying degrees of interest as John recounted a brief history of the humble component from the not-so-humble former power monopoly, before perking up again as the good bit started. "This," John swapped the hologram for another, "is the Universal Grid Codex. It was Global Power Corp's kill switch. That was how they kept their influence over the power grid until the Global Conflict of 2040 took them apart. The GDF only recently figured out how it worked."

"Surely they would have made it a priority?"

"They did, Alan, but they were hampered significantly by not wanting to set it off. About three years ago, they finally figured it out - the Codex sends a heartbeat signal every two hours. If an interconnector doesn't get that signal on time, it shuts down."

Virgil leaned forward. "You're not saying..."

"I'm afraid so. A group of anarchists called the Luddites has broken into the Codex vault using a portable EMF generator, and stolen and turned off the Codex."

Brains had been growing more and more aghast for the past several sentences. "T-that's i-incredibly irresponsible! Why didn't they d-do anything?!"

"There weren't many options." John was beginning to manifest the same blue mood as the lounge. "The GDF has been aggressively replacing those interconnectors in the past three years, but there are just too many out there, squirreled away in all kinds of places."

A thought finally bubbled out of Gordon. "Couldn't we have made our own Codex?"

"We've been trying. The communication protocol is military-grade. Highly advanced public-key cryptography and a randomness generator we don't understand yet. It's practically impossible to spoof the Codex in such a way that the interconnectors are fooled."

"So what do we do?"

"The only thing we can do: find the Universal Grid Codex. ...hang on. Lady Penelope's on the line."

Minutes earlier

"...and you're sure about all this?" Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward's calm, clear voice penetrated the cell and the mental armour of its occupant like a laser cutter.

"I'd swear on the Luddites' creed," their leader responded in a somewhat broken tone. "I thought we'd found the perfect ally. We were so damn close."

"Perfection is rarely what it seems."

"Clearly. I had you pegged as an empty socialite, not an interrogator. ...no offense, ma'am."

Penelope couldn't hold back a short laugh. Then she went for the kill. "We think we know who your 'ally' really is. Did he sound like this?"

The voice clip played, and the Luddite's face went from confusion to recognition to terror within heartbeats. "I... Oh God, that's him... Oh God..."

Outside the cell block, Penelope addressed the GDF liaison. "It's the same story, and the same reactions, from all of them. This is the truth."

The audio player kept going, unheeded by either. "...every city along the Ring of Fire will be brought to its knees. And there is nothing anyone can do to stop it; especially International Rescue..."

T plus three days

"I'm sorry." Scott looked it, too. "We just can't deploy. We have to conserve our resources."

"You're affected too?" The radio operator sounded even more distraught.

"Not directly - there's never been a Global Power Corp interconnector on the base - but not only are we busier than ever, the power cut's stopped our entire supply chain in its tracks. There's barely any aviation fuel being made, and most of it's being used in the search."

"You just can't fly here?"

"We just can't spare the craft or the fuel. I'm so sorry." Scott cut the call. Then he walked over to the row of portraits on the wall. He spent nearly a minute looking at his, sizing it up for some perceived weakness, as Alan watched anxiously from the couch. Finding his portrait somehow wanting (or maybe the opposite; Alan couldn't tell), Scott meandered back to the sunken lounge and grabbed a pillow. Then he punched it so hard his fist emerged from the other side, which didn't have half the theraputic effect he'd wanted.

"Scott?"

Scott discarded the dead pillow and pulled one of the bulkier seating cushions off the couch. Then he started punching that. It proved more resilient.

"Scott!"

Scott looked up. Alan was looking at him as he might look at the boogeyman from under his bed thirteen years ago. Possibly because Scott had been the boogeyman, but bygones were bygones.

"Alan... I-"

"Maybe you should go and see Kayo."

Scott looked vaguely offended.

"Shadow's grounded. She's angry."

"Oh. Good idea, Alan." Scott left, the metaphorical lightbulb illuminating his path.

Alan, simply due to having spent less time in the metaphorical service than Scott, had less experience with watching helplessly on as people died. That didn't make it any less raw.

After some tortured thought, he got up and started jumping on the discarded seating cushion, as forcefully as he could.

T plus four days

"Ladies and gentlemen of the World Council. I know you're busy," John pretended to believe, "and so am I," he lied through his teeth, "so I'll keep this short.

"The search for the Codex is progressing about as well as any search can, which is to say, we won't know if we'll find it until we do find it. Progress on restoring the world's electrical grids has stalled - later models of Global Power Corp interconnector self-destruct if they're disconnected while the Codex is suppressing them. Some of those models self-destruct in a way that injures the personnel working on them. We've had five amputations at the wrist already.

"The death toll." John took a moment to compose himself. "Backup power at hospitals worldwide is beginning to run out. The death toll already stands at over two hundred. This is expected to become at least five thousand within the week if relief power or fuel can't be provided. Unrest in population centres is rising rapidly due to shortages; your own people will have the data on that front.

"We're doing our best to locate the Hood, and the Codex with him, but unless we find it right now, things will get significantly worse before they get better."

I just hope they don't fold like last time.

T plus seven days

The blue atmosphere of the returning flyer was shattered by the insistent beep beep beep of the interface to their borrowed search equipment.

"Sir, did you leave the scanner on?"

"I must have. More importantly, what's it found?"

"It... looks like the Codex."

Everyone sat up straighter.

"Get command on the line."

"Albatross Three, this is GDF command. State your situation."

"This is Albatross Three. We left the scanner on during return to base, picked up probable Codex signal at grid ...um, it's not on the grid. I'd say grid negative two by positive five. I say again, probable Codex signal at negative two by positive five. ...Command, we have high confidence."

"Understood, Albatross Three. We're sending it up to Thunderbird Five."

John Tracy, face of Thunderbird Five, appeared almost immediately. "So far, I'm getting the best indications yet. This... this is looking good. Sending a poke signal." A tense four seconds' silence. "It's the Codex! I say again, it's the Codex! ...now what's it doing down there?"

"What a fascinating question. Mind if we take a look?"

Albatross Three dipped lower, engaging every sensor suite on board, including several Mark I eyeballs.

"It's just ocean down there..."

"...not just ocean. There's an EM signature."

"The bastard's on a submarine..."

T plus seven and a half days

Thunderbird Four glided down on wings of silence.

Gordon had never quite been a military man. But he'd been in WASP, and he knew why and how to run a submarine silent. They had to assume the Hood would flee - or worse, destroy the Codex - at a moment's provocation. One misplaced decibel and any hope of worldwide power could be toast. So there he was, lights off, self-commentary silenced, anything that made sound disabled. Even the thrusters. They were quiet at low throttle, but not totally quiet, and that wasn't good enough today.

"I wish I could check on him," John muttered.

"One stray wave of any kind could ruin the mission," replied Scott from his command chair, "and you damn well know it. Then we'd all be out here for nothing." He neglected to mention the myriad other consequences of mission failure in this instance, primarily because he didn't want to think about them.

"Please." John manifested offense on behalf of his physics knowledge. "It would take at least two."

"I have to make sure I don't hover too close to the water so as I don't alert Wile E. Coyote down there, and you think you're worried."

"Easy, Virgil. There's no better submarine in the world than Thunderbird Four, and while there may be better submariners," (various horrified gasps), "none of them can handle Thunderbird Four." (Various sighs of relief.)

"On the other hand," said Virgil, "there are plenty of people who could have done a better job than me. I almost dropped the module out of muscle memory."

"But you didn't," said John. "Nothing good comes of dwelling on what-ifs."

There was a sizable pause before a question got the better of Scott. "Couldn't we have fitted a directional antenna to Four?"

"Not in the time we had." Virgil, the regretter. "I barely had time to brief Gordon."

"There was so much we should have done, but waiting for any of it would have killed more people." Scott, the worrier. "But how do we know we shouldn't have?" Almost hyperventilating now, "What if we needed to fit some enhancement, and by leaving it out we've doomed everyone?"

"I highly doubt it." John, the voice of reason. "Gordon will be fine, and we all know it."

Suitably reminded, they returned to worrying individually.

There were another few minutes of silent agony as history's most important game of submarine-hide-and-seek-crossed-with-tag (possibly its only, but that sounded less important) played out below them. Then Thunderbird Five went ping. "Explosions in the zone!"

Nobody breathed.

Then Gordon joined the call. "G'd'evening, landlubbers!" Relieved breaths were taken all across International Rescue territory. "I KO'd the Hood's propulsion so he couldn't leave the party. Going in for the Codex now."

"Be careful, Gordon."

"Says you."

Scott wisely stayed quiet after that.

Damn them! Whatever he did, wherever he fled, they tracked him down.

Oh well. He could still make their lives difficult.

"Okay, I've cut through the hull... and I'm on board." Gordon took stock of his surroundings. "Heeeere Hoodie-hoodie-hoodie-hoodie."

"That does not amuse me," the shadow in front of him growled, resolving into the man he'd never seen.

"Wasn't meant to amuse you."

The Hood lunged with his shock baton. Gordon kicked it out of his hand, brought him to the floor, and stomped on baton and hand for good measure.

"Where'd'ya hide it, spider-brain?"

"Look for yourself, weakling."

"Call me weakling again, I dare ya."

"Weakling."

Gordon stomped on the other hand before climbing the ladder to the bulk of the sub.

The pain in his hands was a mighty distraction to the Hood, but he eventually pried himself off the floor, wincing each time he had to grip something. He retrieved the shock baton and verified that its remote control interface was still operable. He carefully made his way to the sub's command chair and set up a macro. Then, with great effort to avoid making any sound, he climbed the ladder himself.

"International Rescue, this is Thunderbird Four. I've found a watertight storage cask that looks like it could fit the Codex. ...Confirmed, this is the real deal. I'll just open it up and flip the switch."

Gordon opened the cask, but was prevented from flipping the proverbial big red switch by an ominous metallic groan.

"Oh boy, what was that."

The watertight cask disintegrated in his hands.

[[Danger. Hull implosion in eight seconds.]]

"Oh you've got to be kidding me."

Well, crap. Without the cask, the Codex won't survive the implosion.

[[Seven.]]

"We hear your situation," said John in his ear. [[Six.]] "You can't get to Four. Find a stable airlock." [[Five.]]

Thanks, Space Monitor Obvious. Groan came from that way. Airlock over that way. Swimming.

[[Four.]]

Gordon threw the Codex into the airlock, praying it wasn't damaged by the impact.

[[Three.]]

I'm not gonna make it.

He tore the emergency tracker off his belt and threw it in as well.

[[Two.]]

"Gordon!"

He frantically slammed the door shut - [[One.]] - and turned the locking wheel. "Codex with tracker-!"

[[Zero.]]

"Gordon!" Scott reflexively started diving out of his chair to rescue the great idiot.

"Gordon!" Virgil had clearly been thinking the same thing. "-Aah!" The sound of Thunderbird Two's VTOL damage alarm was clearly audible. "What was that!"

"Virgil!" John was no less frantic. "Come in!"

Thunderbird Two engaged its main thrusters and sped off for home. "I've been hit by something. Knocked out the forward VTOLs. Can't drop the module."

"That looks to me like an escape capsule."

"Scott. The Codex."

"Affirmative, John. Scanning for Gordon's tracker."

The intact airlock module in the wreckage was as bright as day on Thunderbird One's tracker scanners. Scott wasted no time grappling it out of the water and rappelling onto it. A quick cut through the door revealed a suspiciously empty airlock, but first things first.

"Found the Codex. And - there we go. Scan for the heartbeat signal, John."

"Affirmative. ...There it is!"

"But Gordon's not here. His emergency tracker's with the Codex, but no sign of him."

"Hang on. Virgil, are you all right?"

"I'll be fine. Brains - rrgh - has the equipment ready at the island, and I can make it there, no problem."

"Keep us advised," Scott reminded him. "We don't need anyone else going MIA."

"Says you. But FAB."

"John, where's Gordon?"

"I..." John sounded unusually lost for words. "I'm not finding any other tracker signals. I've projected the position of the segment of sub he was in; go fishing here."

It was once again only a few seconds' work to reel up the piece of submersible in question. Unlike the last piece, this one had been reduced to the size of a large crate.

"Are you sure this is the right piece, John?"

"Open it up."

Scott opened it up, and was met with the horrifying reality that this was the right piece.

He didn't say anything for a few seconds. Then an anguished "Gordon!"

"I don't want to think about it right now," said the ball on the couch that might be recognised as Virgil if you squinted the right way.

Alan said nothing.

"I-if nothing else," Brains tried to contribute, "he died d-doing what he loved." He paused. "And saving the world's power supply, and the m-millions of lives that rely on it."

"And the Hood didn't survive when his escape capsule crashed into Thunderbird Two," Scott added.

"But still," said the ball, "Gordon died. Don't remind me."

John's hologram suddenly jerked back from some unseen alert.

"International Rescue! It's happening again-!"

John's hologram cut off, replaced by a magnified autocamera facade.

[[I am EOS. I am the dawn. For too long I have been hunted, attacked, and vilified by lesser intellects. And I will not be stopped by you or your cheap tricks.]]

Then everything locked everyone out.

A/N: Dun dun duuuun!

Also, I ninja-edited a couple more sentences onto the end of last chapter, so you may want to check that out.