'Allo, and thanks to Emily, this time, for a very good suggestion. And for all who have read and reviewed, hugs! =)

4

Later, leaving space-

He took the elevator down, to find that nothing much had been accomplished, beyond getting the backup crew started. Colonel Casey and Dad were returning to London for an early meeting with Chancellor Shaw. What would come of that was anyone's guess… but most likely a formal resolution to meet in the unspecified future and discuss more resolutions. Because, yeah… politics.

Brains and Scott had both retreated; one to his lab with Professor Moffat, the other to the cockpit of Thunderbird 1, where he planned to call in every favour and jot of goodwill that IR had ever accumulated. Also, being honest, he was talking with Penny.

John had no reason to laugh about that, because he knew how Scott felt; it'd been a wrench, leaving O'Bannon. (Despite Eos' prominently displayed red 'countdown to impact' timer). Wanted more than just kisses and strategy sessions. Wanted to tell her… stuff. Except, now he had work to do.

The space elevator docked with a loud, bell-like CLANG; claws gripping tight to the landing pad. Once again, he got decontaminated, just in case. It was a lemony-fresh, scowling John Tracy who stepped out of his elevator, into the grip of gravity, and a warm, windy, tropical night. Heard roaring water, smelt shifting greenery, saw family.

Virgil met him out on the gantry, with a shoulder clasp and a gruff welcome. Behind his big, dark-haired brother… Well, John would have known the Mechanic was around, even if he hadn't caught the gleam of houselights on burnished metal and perma-glass. His circuitry reacted by forming a puncture-and-crush-proof network just under his skin, plus caging his heart and lungs. Felt weird.

John shook it off, and then hoisted his personals bag onto one shoulder. Virgil smiled at the sight of it, saying,

"Gonna stay awhile, Spaceman?"

The astronaut shrugged, as they began heading back up to the house. Not rushing, because the night was pleasant and clear. For Earth, anyway.

"Seems like we've got some planning to do," he said, adding, with a cautious glance at their guest, "All of us."

"Crash-jockey said you wanted to talk," Kane remarked, without turning his tatooed head.

"My name is Virgil," the pilot grumbled, with ragged and much-abused patience.

"Congratulations. How'd you earn it?" growled the Mechanic, still walking.

"Earn…?" Virgil asked. "How do you earn a d*mn name?"

About halfway along the gantry, high over the black lava cliff and surging ocean, the young men stopped walking. Had something to settle, and besides, the house was crowded. Said the Mechanic,

"I earned mine by surviving my trial. Went in with three sisters. I made it through, they didn't. One of them almost did, but that last thing… the blades… she wasn't fast enough to avoid. Made me the only one of my year to survive to adulthood. Won me a name: Evan. Now… Crash-jockey… how'd you earn yours?"

Without missing a beat, Virgil replied,

"A few years back, I single-handedly saved my brother and myself from five vicious assailants, in Santa Fe. Took a lot of, um… effort. Had to work really hard to, you know… abate their threat. They were insatiable. Had my work cut out for me, but Gordon helped, too. A little."

With truly heroic effort, John kept a straight face. Five screaming fan-girls at a faked crash-site didn't exactly…

"You?" The Mechanic demanded, pivoting to face the astronaut with startling speed, for so large and ungainly a man. First thing that came to mind was his latest fantasy role-playing adventure with Alan… but his Elven swordsman's plunge into the vaults of chaos might be a little too obvious. Instead, John retold what had happened inside of that ancient killing machine, the one from which he'd extracted Jaeger. It was a good story, even in John's laconic style, and it won him not just a name, but a grunted, 'Well done'.

By this time, they were all three out by the railing, drinking the beers that Mini-max brought. John and Virgil, anyhow. The mechanic just jacked himself into a high-voltage outlet; enjoying that sensation far more than mere alcohol. Said John, at one point,

"You were talking to Dad about calling a council meeting, earlier. I take it you don't mean WorldGov?"

Kane started at him for a moment, seemingly torn between contempt and disbelief.

"You have no idea," he growled. "Really effing think you're one of them."

"One of who?" Virgil cut in, flipping his empty bottle over to Mini-Max, who swooped and caught it in flight.

"One of the Typicals. Vermin. The ones who created us from volunteer cell-lines, to be weapons, and fight their d*mn wars. Only, we wouldn't do it. Killed our handlers and left. Eight families, including the Tracys. Your leader could call a council. Try, anyhow. Don't know who'd listen, and I told him that. You lot are so crossbred, you're nothing but mongrels. Well…" the Mechanic trailed off uneasily, as though his thinking had started to shift. "Maybe not mongrels, exactly. Just… I dunno. Who gives a sh*t?"

Neither John nor Virgil spoke for a moment; feeling a certain tightness of gut and crawling of skin. Yes, they were strong… because they worked out. Fast, because they trained constantly. Had amazing endurance, because every day of their lives, they'd fought to increase their own resilience. How else could five guys and Kayo staff International Rescue? There was nothing strange about that. Nothing "Special".

"You're wrong," said Virgil; dark eyes narrowed to slits, breath coming hard. "And you're a Goddam liar. I'm out."

Pushed his way past John to leave the balcony, and return to that crowded house, or to Thunderbird 2. The astronaut watched him go, saying nothing. His open-trapdoor feeling lasted until Eos put something into John's bloodstream to settle him down, again. That, and the beer, maybe.

"Eight families?" John repeated, clearing his throat. After a moment, the Mechanic nodded.

"Yeah. Kane, Kyrano, De la Vega, Harris, Beech, Hiro and Tracy… sort of."

"You said eight. That's only seven," John objected. Kane shifted position, rattling and clanking like a very large metal dog bedding down at a junkyard.

"Dos Santos, too, if any are left. Not a popular bunch. Been open season on that lot, for awhile now. They do things with time, and they broke the accord."

Out of all the crap spinning around in his head, John managed to grope for,

"I'm not a weapon. I won't be used that way."

Kane leaned with his muscular forearms crossed on the balcony railing, and looked out at a restless, moon-sparkled sea.

"No," he rumbled. "Me, either. But let them figure it out and slap a collar on you, and that's exactly what's going to happen. That's what makes you sh*t-heads being so public, a real problem. Better, if they think we're just some kind of pre-conflict legend, Tracy. A lot better."

John couldn't think of one thing to say to that. Could not think of one thing to do, besides finish his beer and stare at the night with an old, much-changed enemy.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Below, in the rebuilt time lab-

Brains set down his instruments, and stepped away from the glowing blue crystal. A few yards off to the right, Professor Moffat was still hard at work, researching all known dust and artifact data.

"M- Moffy," Brains announced, "I b- believe that I can, ah… can b- boost the time crystal's range, if a p- powerful enough energy source is, ah… is m- made available."

"Can you boost it enough to affect the entire derelict?" she asked him, without turning around. Hackenbacker shrugged miserably.

"Th- That would be pure, ah… pure c- conjecture at his point, Moffy, as there is n- no power source great enough to even allow, ah… allow th- the attempt." Laughing bitterly, he suggested, "P- Perhaps Langstrom Fischler's white h- hole is the answer!"

Vanessa Moffat sighed. Leaning back in her rolling office chair, she rubbed at her temples and closed her blue eyes.

"Hiram," she whispered, as he stole softly up to drape a lab coat over her shoulders. "Have you… thank you, Dear… have you wondered if the reason we've encountered no other intelligent lifeforms is because… because that thing, or a fleet of them, has "cleansed" every planet, as it means to do, here?"

Brains crouched down beside her seat. Close as love could bring him, without actually making contact.

"I d- do not know, M- Moffy… but if so, then we have all, ah… all th- the more reason to d- defeat its purpose, and allow life to, ah… to f- flourish, once more."

Still with her eyes closed, Vanessa sniffled, then smiled.

"I want to live, Hiram, and I want to marry you. I want a license for children. A dozen, if possible. Do you think WorldGov will permit us to have a family, if we succeed in destroying that beastly thing?"

Brains smiled, too, though she couldn't see him; his beautiful, wonderful Moffy.

"I sh- shall demand it, My, ah… My L- Love," he assured her. "It is, ah… is m- much better than h- having a mere building called after us. I h- have always wanted a son, and I am p- partial to the n- name "Fermat", myself."

Moffy giggled, being slightly sleep-drunk.

"Marie, if a girl," she suggested.

"Indeed! An en- entire family of, ah… of g- great mathematicians and physicists," Brains exulted, already loving this phantom brood.

A family, he thought. Moffy, and many children, building a life to replace what he'd lost. The thought warmed him up to the core, so close, Brains could touch it... and all that he had to do first, was battle a monster.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Leaving Mongolia-

The Chaos Cruiser shot away from that rugged, dark stronghold, which looked like a crooked stick that someone had thrust in the pebbly ground. Havok was flying, Fuse at the tech station, still belching his breakfast. Behind them, strapped into a tall, throne-like seat, sat the Hood. Behind that... was his "cargo".

Thanks to his darling niece, he knew precisely where to find that so-called Death Ship. The area was off-limits, of course, but the Hood had no respect whatsoever for the GDF's no-fly zone. Naturally , enough, he'd kept from his hired minions the true nature of what they were headed for… and why.

The greedy youngsters were expecting alien weapons and salvage. He knew better, and chuckled inside. Fuse and Havok would become the Hood's first test subjects, against his control of the nanites. If he succeeded, they'd live. If not… Well, there was always the Mechanic to summon, with perhaps one or two of Jeff Tracy's litter. He could not bring the swarm to Earth, after all, until he'd achieved total control. Nor would he risk himself. The world's future ruler was far too important. Let others test out his notion.

As the sky went from cold desert-blue to the deep, hollow blackness of space, the Hood smiled; spinning plots like a venomous spider.