The end, or as near as don't make no difference. Thank you for coming along on this little adventure. I've had fun. Edited.

11

Ross Island, Antarctica, in very trying times-

Scott Tracy struck the Hood high, like a defensive tackle smashing a running back. His brother, beside him, hit even harder. The Hood wasn't playing, and so they couldn't, either. The pain in their heads, the… diediediediediediedie… was horrendous. Sick-making. Should have had them on the flooded ground in a tight fetal curl. Only, someone, somehow, was blocking a part of it.

John got the struggling monster into an upright full nelson hold, letting Scott do his best to beat him unconscious. Only, the field commander's perceptions weren't normal, this close to the Hood, and some of those blistering punches landed squarely on John, instead. The brain-frying pain in his skull had risen to such levels that Scott wasn't thinking, anymore. Just trying… to… make it… stop.

With a roar like an erupting volcano, something sprang upright, behind him. Weirdly, saw it all through the Hood's eyes, and John's, and everyone else's in that tangled d*mn psionic muddle. The Mechanic's huge, armoured hand shot past Scott, bashing him aside like a cardboard cutout. Seized the Hood's bloody shirt front and shook John off, too, like a wet dog shedding water.

Then, with a wordless roar, the Mechanic ignited his jetpack, sending himself and his bald, screaming burden rocketing into the sky, trailing blood. The hornet drones followed, all of them lifting at once.

Didn't help, at first. If anything, his agony grew worse; increasing to the point that Scott would have bashed his own head in with a rock, had he been able to see straight and find one. Then… nothing. Over. Gone.

Scott found himself on his knees in swirling, icy grey water, both hands clamped to his head, panting like a bellows. John… was not far away, sitting curled over with his head between his knees and both arms locked tight over that. Scott flailed a bit, managed a swaying stand, then splashed over and hauled his brother upright. John looked like he'd been ejected from hell… but then, so did he. Could tell, because there was still a bit of that mental reverb going on. For just a little while, he was feeling and seeing through John, and everyone else. Made it real hard to walk.

"You… okay?" he panted.

John, looking sunburnt, freckled with cuts and abrasions, managed a pretty good lie. Dad would have been proud of him.

"Yeah," the astronaut grunted. "Aces."

The others, not so good. Straightaway, Scott started thinking of Penny, who he could somehow feel, over there working with Grandma and Kayo, trying to save their two youngest brothers. Wasn't going too well.

That kid with the stupid-big gun was back on his feet. Swaying with pain and stifled panic, he'd squared off against Parker and Lee. The cyborgs were hauling injured folk out of the water, some of them. The rest had begun collecting around their still, watchful leader. Scott glanced her way. Shuddering, he looked quickly aside, again; unsettled by that ghastly union of woman and bot. More roughly than intended, he shoved John in her direction, rasping,

"All yours, Little Brother. Hold them off, whatever it takes. I'll deal with this lot."

Not very bold, maybe, but he'd had better days. And, besides, John seemed to actually like the disturbing machine-woman. They parted with a brief, rough shoulder clasp. Bottom line, before the rest had come along, they'd had each other. Scott had climbed into his brother's play-pen to sing off-key number songs and offer him chocolate biscuits, leaving both of them covered in crumbling brown goo. Didn't have to explain things to John. Especially now.

The tall, red-haired astronaut had more or less gotten his head together, by that point. Only, his suit was plain, circuit-shot blue, now, and there was no wandering red spot on his wrist comm, anymore. Kept checking, reflexively. Was getting continual squeeze-code updates from Eos, at least, who was up there making small, subtle changes to… Ship? Just, 'Ship'?

Whatever. He knew exactly what was in Scott's mind, right now; pack up the wounded, get the h*ll out of Dodge, then try to fix that chaotic nightmare the Hood had stirred up all over the rest of the planet.

So, John sloshed his way over through freezing seawater, to meet with a beautiful cyborg. Her body guard parted, letting him through. They were shorter than she was; looking sort of the same, but not. Like they'd all been cast rather badly, from the same ancient mold. She spoke first, saying,

"I would have your name, Tracy. Presuming you've earned one."

"Yeah," he replied. "It's John. John Matthew Tracy, former lieutenant, GDF Space Corps, inactive reserve." Voice caught a bit, on the rank part, because… yeah. Shook it off, adding, "International Rescue prime operative, based on Thunderbird 5. And you are…?"

The body guard stiffened. As for their leader, her target lock flickered, in a sort of amused, hair-mussing way.

"Gail," she told him. "I am Gail Kane. The Kane. As one of you is the Tracy. And these are from me, all of them."

John looked around at all of those narrow-eyed, similar faces, thinking: 'Sh*t, that's a lot of Christmas and birthday cards.' Didn't say it out loud, though. She'd continued speaking.

"You have performed efficiently, John Matthew Tracy. I shall adhere to our initial accord, and see to the surviving Kyranos. In the meanwhile, as you have taken damage,"

She reached over to tap the side of his face with one cold metal hand. Something stung, briefly, then seemed to expand and shoot inwards like an injection of liquified frost.

"Nanites," she informed him. "You shall be repaired, and then they will pass from your body in twelve further cycles." And, more quietly. "Immortality is no gift, John Matthew Tracy."

He blinked, grappling with the thought of great age and exhaustion. Said only,

"Thank you," adding (because it couldn't hurt to try), "Don't guess you could do anything for my brothers?"

In Scott's mind, for just a second, he'd seen Dad, with a rifle, under the Hood's awful grip. Seen what he'd done. The cyborg didn't have many expressions, but she gave him a small, regal nod. Then from somewhere produced three shiny chrome patches. Circular, like tiny metallic bandages.

"These, too, your service has earned. Decide wisely how you intend to employ them, Tracy. I have my own injured to tend, along with the Kyranos. And… I would be elsewhere, before he returns."

John got it in one. Did not have to ask who she was talking about. Simply nodded his thanks, taking the silvery nanite patches from her smooth hand. Then, impulsively, leaned forward to kiss her chrome cheek. It clouded with breath-fog, just for a moment, causing all of those clone-guards to clatter and stare.

Pivoted, afterward, and raced back over to where Grandma, Penny and Kayo were frantically working on his two youngest brothers. Just a couple of kids who'd wanted to help make a difference, barely clinging to life. Reached Gordon, first, where he was drawn up onto Grandma's lap. Jammed one of the patches onto the swimmer's bloodied and cauterized chest, figuring: 'The closer, the better.'

Next, almost falling over with ungainly haste, John reached past Gordon to smack another patch onto Alan's partly crushed throat, which Penny had been trying to work open using the contents of Tanusha's med-kit. And, yeah… his sister was there. No, he didn't speak, or make eye-contact. Just left her with Alan.

Got himself upright; unfolding soggy and colt-like. Had a decision to make. Could hear Scott and Lee trying to reason with Trigger-boy, but didn't much listen, nor try to butt in. Had one more nanite patch left, and two injured crew. Brains, and Dad.

In the complex mathematics of duty and blood, Dad counted higher… but the poor, broken-limbed engineer was more seriously hurt. Blood bubbled out of his mouth and nose with each breath, and he uttered a thin, continuous moan.

…and this was why he preferred to stay up there in space. This sh*t, exactly. Muttering filthy curses, John leaned across Virgil, who was holding Brains up out of the flood water, and set a patch on the little man's forehead. Sucked, having to make that sort of decision, when there was no way to just split a dose. Not this time.

Looked over at Dad again, who was now sitting up, clutching his head. But the sight got all tangled with images of his father's face, seen across a long rifle barrel, laser-dot glittering red as fresh blood. Didn't know what to think. How to feel.

Then, thank God in heaven, something else happened. More accurately, someone arrived. The Mechanic thundered back down out of the now-cloudy sky, along with a crap-ton of drones. Dropped to a splashing half-crouch, then rose to full height.

To Scott Tracy, he seemed… disoriented. Confused. Still hella dangerous, though, in the way that a lion, just wakened from tranquilizers, would still gladly tear you to rough, bloody chunks.

Scott glanced over at John, who nodded once, then came to join him and Lee. Virgil began to get up, but Scott shook his head vehemently. Not just no, but h*ll no; too much hijack-able machinery in that big, humming exo-suit.

The three of them spread out a little, Taylor thumbing the safety catch off his space-issue laser, and chewing on gum; eyes flinty and cold. John was expressionless. Knew exactly what the Mechanic could do to his own suit and circuitry, but came forward anyhow, because they had to defend the others; buy time for those patches to work.

The cyborgs began backing away, except for their leader, who was all at once quite alone. Almost seemed as if she was expected to fight the Mechanic, herself. Then that kid came splashing and flailing up to stand between the Mechanic and his grim reception committee. Swinging the rifle up into business position, he shrilled,

"Get back! Get away! I'll shoot you! I mean it!"

A few of the bug-mechs had landed on the boy's skinny shoulders, their presence seeming to lend him courage and strength. In a steadier, slightly deeper voice, he said,

"One more step, and one of you dies."

Shifting the wad of spearmint gum in his mouth, Captain Taylor said softly,

"Now, no use getting' het up like that, Son. Nobody's tryin' ta…"

"I'm not your d*mn son!" snapped the silver-blond boy, no longer shaking. "And you're not getting past me, vermin!"

Might have had to rush him, but then someone else showed up, borne in by a small escort of noisy hornet-mechs, and trailing a grav-stretcher. Little cyborg girl… two, maybe three years old. Cute as a button, if she hadn't have looked so intent and un-childlike. She dropped from the grip of those drones and right to the mechanic, who sort of sluggishly lifted his arms up to catch her. Putting a tiny hand to his masked face, she whispered,

"Go, now."

Then the little blonde wrapped both arms around that blood-spattered predator's neck and buried her face, adding,

"Gotsa go home!"

A tense, silent moment followed, stretching as taut as drawn bow strings; as fragile as crystal. Then, the Mechanic nodded. Reached forward with one massive hand to grab the boy's shoulder. Gave it a shake, then drew him in, too.

The jet-pack ignited again with a low, coughing roar, and the Mechanic blasted away from the gathered Tracys, taking two children along for the ride. Arced like a meteor, headed back to the hive ship and followed by a dense cloud of clattering drones.

"Shouldn't we stop him?" Scott fretted.

Taylor snorted through his big, greyish-brown mustache.

"How?" he demanded. "Spence, I nailed that sumbitch right in the eye. Had him dead ta rights. Ain't even scratched his d*mn glasses. On 'a whole, mebbe we're Goddam lucky them kids 'a his has some influence. Cause, otherwise… Well, it might've got rough."

After a second, Scott let go of his pre-fight tension. He'd have done it. He'd have waded right in there with John and Uncle Lee… but maybe it was better to let the Mechanic retreat. After all, they weren't law enforcement. Had no power at all to arrest or detain.

Moot point a few minutes later, for the hive ship roared off and away. Vanished to a point of glittering light, and then nothing at all. Behind him, Scott heard Gordon mumble and cough. Heard Alan groan aloud like a kid who wanted just five minutes longer in bed. For an instant, tears sprang to his eyes, but Scott fiercely blinked them away.

Had himself well under control by the time he turned to face John and Lee. Jerking a thumb over one shoulder at the hissing ocean and submerged laser weapon, he barked,

"Take Parker, get some explosive ordnance out of Thunderbird 2, and blow that f*cker to kingdom come. No chunks larger than a quarter. Understood?"

Taylor grinned at him, slinging old Bessie back into safe-carry.

"H*ll, Spence… if there's one thing me 'n Jason excels at, it's blowin' stuff up. Find anythin' bigger 'n a sand grain, we owe ya a night on th' town." Then, turning to John, "C'mon, Jase… let's go make trouble."

Always.