Hi! Me, being early for Monday, or late for Sunday, depending on where you are. ;) Thank you, as always, for reading and making my day with reviews.

7

Thunderbird 5, in the big, central sphere-

He hit "unlock", triggering a blinding cyclone of blood-coloured light. Between one startled heartbeat and the next, lashing whips of crimson energy shot from that opened AI trap to Thunderbird 5's main computer, its bulkheads and systems, even his spacesuit. Everything flickered in branching and streaming red light.

Eos screeched like a sped-up audio file and then fell silent. His suit contracted hard, crushing landslide-tight as, everywhere at once, rivets and bolts began spinning loose. John's helmet hung perfectly still in midair, just a foot or so out of reach. All around him, he could hear the screaming, rending sounds of Thunderbird 5 being taken apart at the seams.

Then, a glowing red line appeared in the venting air right before him. Vertical, like a strand of pure, molten wrath. Jaeger. The sensation of crushing increased, bending his ribs, and preventing all but the shallowest breaths. Alarms shrilled, rising in pitch as the station's atmosphere thinned. From the comm system, just for a moment, he heard Scott's voice, shouting,

"John! What th…?!" Then, it cut off, as that red line opened up like the fiery, slit-pupiled eye of a dragon. Black on the inside, edged round with flame. Gut-punch scary… and almost painfully beautiful.

Fading to black, last breath python-crushed from his body, John reached a hand out. Then, the station's destruction simply froze; seams open, stars visible through hundreds of crimson-edged cracks. And he heard/ felt/ thought,

-Was ist dein Ziel? -

Archaic German. The Hunter was speaking German. Thinking was fuzzy, hypoxic, but meant… Meant "What is your purpose?"

Despite it all, John managed almost to laugh, gasping out,

"Ich bin einen Freund zu befreien." By which he wanted to say, "I am freeing a friend."

-Wir sind Freunde gewesen? - Jaeger boomed back, meaning, "We have been friends?" Almost more of a wondering statement than question.

"Ja, Jaeger. Wir sind Freunde." Because yes, they had been friends, once upon an otherwhere… and maybe they'd be so, again. After a long quantum moment, the AI admitted,

-Ich erinnere mich…- "I remember…"

John hadn't entirely blacked out, when the pressure eased up at last, letting him breathe again. Slowly, that shooting red lightning retreated from Thunderbird 5's hull and systems; bled itself out of his suit. The station seemed to restructure itself; healing back up as alarms cut off, one by one.

John was gasping, sore-ribbed, but exhilarated, having once more played chicken with death, and won out.

"Need a favor, Buddy," he said, as Eos winked back to life and joined Scott in hammering questions. "…if you feel like kicking some ass."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Space, in the Chaos Cruiser-

They were very close, Mars grown to the size of a grape in the viewscreen. That swarm of darting Interceptors had lifted from the planet's surface like a cloud of mosquitoes. They were about as effective, too, thanks to one of the Hood's secret weapons.

The defenders were flying blind, for the Chaos Cruiser was in stealth mode, and had taken evasive action. The Hood could have left his assailants to blunder around, but…

"Slow down, Havok," he told her. "Allow one of the GDF fighters to draw within thirty feet. I have a small test in mind."

Concerned now (for her own precious hide was at risk, as well as her brother's) the girl said,

"That's awfully close, y'r Hoodness. If we're detected, we'll not be able to dodge fire, nor avoid a collision."

The Hood was up and out of his seat, already; rubbing his pallid hands together like a housefly with aspirations.

"Idiot child!" the man snapped "You are paid to obey orders, not flaunt your abysmal ignorance! Be silent, and follow instructions!"

"Right," she muttered, wondering whether it'd make more sense to just space the blighter, then retrieve the frozen body and go through his pockets for loose change and credit. Might've done it, too, except that the first wave of Interceptors had arrived, and were setting up to weave a d*mn force-net.

Havok glanced over at Fuse, who was still puzzling away at his tech station scanner.

"That one," he announced, stabbing a sausage-thick, armoured finger into his 3D display. "It's comin' in at just the right speed n' angle to pull up alongside with, if you shaves a few klicks off y'r speed, 'Avok."

His sister nodded, saying,

"Aces. But have the gun ready, too, in case His Nibs' plan is as good as his bloody people skills."

Fuse took a moment to work that one out. Bloody great lummox needed an extra brain in his arse, like a stegosaur.

"Be ready to shoot," Havok clarified, speaking distinctly. "…if it get's closer than ten feet. Got it?"

Fuse nodded, massaging those tight, itchy white cornrows of his.

"Got it, 'Avok. Closer 'n ten feet, I blasts it!"

The Interceptor was a small, one-man fighter craft with a limited range, intended to deal with pirates and smugglers. Besides a decently powerful laser weapon, the pint-sized craft could link up with others of its sort to weave an entrapping force web. Vital trick, when you could not see your target.

That's what this one… Harrier 17… was trying to do with its expanding cloud of fellows. Only, the Hood had other plans. Reaching down into a cargo locker, he yanked one of his 'weapons' out of the narrow, cramped space. Couldn't have been comfortable, there, but life was tough all over, if you weren't strong enough to fight back.

Havok's focus was all on her flying, now. She'd cut her engines to kill their exhaust, which meant that they had f*ck-all maneuverability. The Interceptor was close enough that she could read its designation, and the pilot's bold-painted name: Lt. Gin Reeves. If the Interceptor so much as twitched, they'd be cabin mates, the girl figured.

"Ten feet, ten feet…" Fuse kept muttering; face screwed up like a prune, leaning close to his scanner, right finger curled on the gun trigger.

The fighter's lights winked red and green against its silvery hull and the velvet darkness of space. She could see the pilot inside, flipping switches and talking to one of her mates. Female, wearing a helmet and goggles, and some sort of spidery facial tattoo.

Behind them, the "boss" was wrestling someone quite small and clumsy… sleepwalker-y… up to the portside bulkhead. Havok's neck hairs prickled. She got that danger sensation, all down her spine and her arms.

"Now!" the Hood snarled, just about slamming his captive into the hard metal bulkhead. "Strike now!" Power flared out, channeled by one of them bloody GDF 'Asset Control' collars.

Wasn't sure what made her do it. Maybe light on the Interceptor's hull, a plucky tattoo, or disgust with the Hood, but all at once, Havok made up her mind to cause trouble. She triggered the Cruiser's engines, blasting far away from the Hood's chosen prey. Not before the fighter craft's tail fins and nav-cluster corroded away, leaving the ship and its pilot stranded. Helpless. Not before a crying child was slammed into the bulkhead twice more, as the Hood cursed and raged at them all. There'd be h*ll to pay later, thought Havok, but sometimes, the chaos was worth it.