Hey, there! =) Thanks for reading and reviewing, you guys. Altered timelines mean more than one change, unfolding in ways that surprise me. Tikatu, Whirl Girl, Bow Echo and Creative Girl, your insights and comments inspire.

12

London, former U.K.-

Jeff Tracy left the chancellor's inner sanctum, feeling angry and depressed. Very much, he did not wish to speak with Colonel Casey, or encounter a mob of suspicious reporters. That's why, when Shaw's lovely young intern beckoned him over to the waiting area, he muttered of family business, presented ID at the reception desk, signed out and joined her.

By way of excuse, the slender blonde offered him a cup of coffee, while chirping something about always having wanted a selfie with Earth's greatest hero. Jeff smiled at her and accepted a double cappuccino (which he could actually use, after jet lag, tension and bourbon). Agreed to the selfie, too.

"Zara, isn't it?" he enquired, gamely standing beside her and facing the hoisted phone.

"Yes, Colonel," she said, seeming pleased that he'd remembered. They smiled in unison for three pictures. In between the first two, she whispered, "Be careful, Sir… we're with you… but something's amiss… know of a private way out."

On the third flash, to cover any confusion he might have shown, the girl tiptoed up and kissed his cheek; like a bold summer-hol intern, out for a good time and lots of hits to her webpage.

Jeff kept a genial smile in place, aware that he was probably being watched. Very definitely, something was going on, and Chancellor Shaw was almost certainly behind it all. 'We' was most likely them; the regular people that, day after day, International Rescue risked their own lives to protect and defend.

Finishing his cappuccino, the tall, handsome colonel set the cup down on a marble-topped sideboard. Next, leaning down a bit, he kissed Zara's forehead, saying, "Thank you", aloud, then whispering, "Which way out?"

"Second door, left," she hissed, looking busy with tidying up. "Unmarked. Servant's entry, leads to the kitchens and employee car park. Luck, Colonel."

Wasn't at all hard to break free after that, crossing the outer office and shaking a few hands as he left. Six years, he'd been out of the picture; trapped by the scheming Hood. A great deal had changed while he'd been collared and mindless; obeying the psychotic whims of his captor. The boys had rescued him, finally, and nearly been killed in the process.

Jeff was grateful… but still off-balance, having mentally jumped from that terrible crash, to sudden release. From violent explosion and dark, rushing water, to Scott and John's worried faces. For six years, he'd been one of the Hood's most effective masked henchmen, hidden right there in plain sight.

It was a secret that burned and shamed him; one that only Scott knew, and John. There were crimes on his hands. Maybe deaths. Colonel Tracy couldn't remember the details of that bleak, six-year nightmare. Didn't want to. But still, they called him a hero, and he had to let them. Sometimes he wanted to shoot himself.

Now, though, he strode down that wide, beautifully carpeted hallway, with its tall windows, gilt mirrors and ancient art works. Found the second left doorway… no handle, covered in green baize cloth… and ducked on through. The other side was much less luxurious, he noted, with no windows at all, and only a simple strip of tan carpeting to mute any footfalls.

Jeff felt himself start to relax as he studied the small plastic wall map next to his "secret entrance". Could find his way out easily enough, he saw; avoiding the inevitable mob of reporters and roving security. No doubt there were cameras here, too, but Jeff had his tricks, and a wrist comm.

He'd memorized his route and was turning to go, when a sudden, sharp… not headache, exactly… message took hold. Like someone had reached into his mind and planted a summons. Scotland. Two days' time, 6AM, in the slagheap that used to be Edinburgh. He was… he was to meet there, with folk that had long been nothing but rumor and myth. Night terrors, all of them.

Jeff closed his tired brown eyes, bracing both hands on the wall, until at last the spell passed away. Some trick of the Hood's, was his first thought. But, then… why was he still able to stand there, a free man? The summons had been stamped on his mind, but Jeff sensed that he could show up or ignore it, however he chose. Nothing like that had ever happened to him before, nor had his dad, Grant Tracy, ever talked of a "council". Only the Mechanic, back on Tracy Island... but Jeff hadn't quite known whether or not to believe him.

Pushing away from the white-painted wall, Jeff took a few steps down passage. First, a deadly alien relic, then Casey's blind insistence on contact, Shaw's machinations, and now this. Sometimes, he mused, the crap just wouldn't stop flowing.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Thunderbird 5, in orbit-

John lingered inside the big maintenance airlock, even though there was work to be done; engines to test. He was reluctant to venture into the station, where Captain Taylor and Kayo were heating up dinner and wanting to talk. John would have settled for a quick electrolyte drink and a ten-minute nap at the end of his tether. Just… social stuff, y'know? Didn't much like it, whether formal, with tuxes, or up here, at home.

Needing time to himself, he extended the usual decontamination cycle; making some crap up about organic micro-meteoroids. What-the-h*ll-ever. They didn't know any better (except maybe Lee, who kept it to himself).

Just wanted not to be bothered with chatter and relationship upkeep. Just wanted to drift and not think, for a while. So, naturally, he got another call. From Earth, this time. Would've played deaf, but Eos had marked it on his heads-up display with the flashing red skull that meant "do not ignore". The number was unlisted, but no trouble at all to trace. Helen Klein, Pete's former wife.

"Hey, Aunt Helen," he said, accepting the call. A virtual screen formed inside his helmet, angled to seem about a foot away from John's face. On it, his aunt's image was projected; greying dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, blue eyes suspicious.

"Jay-Em, what's going on?" she demanded. "Don't give me any crap about horses, either. Why do you suddenly need us out to the ranch, Jay?"

Well, he'd tried.

"Um, it's Pete, Ma'am," John told her. "He wants…"

Helen's eyes blazed, almost literally. She was yet another collateral cousin, somehow related to Dad.

"That sonuvabitch isn't trying to get back together, is he? Because I don't do well in a harem, and you can tell him I said so," she snapped. "He can turn his ass right back around, if he's planning some kind of romantic getaway."

"No, Ma'am," John responded, shaking his red-golden head. "Nothing like that. It's, um… he's worried. There's… an object passing Mars right now, and headed for Earth. It could…"

"He's in trouble?" she asked, all at once very quiet and still.

"Uh… hopefully not," John temporized, using his soothing IR voice. "I mean, Thunderbird 3's in the area, ready to assist, and head off any conflict with intruding vessels. Only, he wants you and Steph in a safe location, Aunt Helen. Just in case."

By this time, his cousin Stephanie had come to the screen, hanging over her mom's slim shoulder. About Alan's age, she had wild auburn hair, blue eyes and the disposition of a sleep-deprived wolverine.

"I don't like horses," she announced, upending many years of preteen mane-brushing and dressage practice. "Hey, John. How's dad?"

Tough question to answer without revealing too much, so the astronaut stuck with a friendly wave. Aunt Helen had been watching him narrowly. Now, she said,

"It's bad, isn't it? Don't lie to me, Jay."

Hanging there in the quietly humming airlock, John folded his arms on his chest and shrugged.

"We've got it under control, Ma'am… but I think Admiral McCord wants to make sure that you guys are safe, in case something goes wrong and we strike out. From the Ranch, it's an easy pick up to Lee's place on the Moon, or out to Mars Base."

Stephanie started to say something, but her mother silenced the girl with a scowl and a head shake.

"We'll go," Helen decided, "If it means he's got one less thing on his mind. Let him know that. It's just…" she threw her hands up in the air, and then dropped them again. "Jay, the man's impossible to live with!"

"Mom!" her daughter erupted, half swinging the woman's chair around. "How can you say that?! Dad's…"

"Quiet, Stephanie! Go pack for the ranch. I'm talking." Then, turning back to John, again, "I did my job, Jay. I was the perfect wife. A real Space Corps show piece, all through the toughest parts of his career. I ignored the other women for years. When I couldn't do it any more, I kicked the bastard out… but I don't want him hurt. You've got to understand, Jay… I…"

John nodded. Someone was hammering at the airlock's inner hatch… probably wondering what was taking so long… but he ignored it.

"It's going to be okay, Aunt Helen. My brothers are out there, right now, making sure that the object remains undisturbed, and that Mars Base is safe. Pete's fine. I promise, just like I promised him I'd take care of you and Stephanie."

Helen nodded, blinking back tears of pain, confusion, and maybe still some kind of love.

"D*mn him," she whispered. "D*mn his hide for never quite going away! Keep him safe, Jay, and tell him… tell him I said, 'thank you'."

"Yes, Ma'am, I will," John assured her. His aunt gave him a watery smile, then rang off with, "Love to your grandma and them. I'll talk to you later."

The screen went dark, then disappeared from his helmet, entirely. What did not disappear was a gathering sense of unease. Through the comm, John could hear his sister threatening to space him, if he didn't open that hatch, but…

"Eos."

"Yes, John?" his AI companion chirped up, having been listening in. "I have found 147,852,361 possible engagement rings for you. Would you care to view the selection now, or after your projected altercation with Kayo?"

"Neither. Get Captain O'Bannon over here, with the fastest ship she's got. Then, I'm going to need you to help me hijack the new Mass-Transfer Field generator."

Her very slight pause told John that he'd startled Eos, whose heads-up icon flickered red for a bit, before she said,

"The generator has just been installed in the station's core, John… and Captain O'Bannon cannot simply flit off with Global Defense Force property."

"She won't have to," he told her. "I will. She can always claim that I tied her up and stole it… but I've got to reach Mars, and that Mark IV of hers is the only way to do it in a hurry."

"Relativistic speeds in a Mark IV Starliner are only theoretical, John," Eos protested, sending a fast stream of data to his heads-up display. "As you can clearly see, even with transferred mass, the ship will most likely disintegrate in transit."

"Sweetie," he said, "You worry too much. Call it a hunch or quantum entanglement, but I've got a feeling that Pete and my brothers are going to need help, soon, and I don't have time for red tape. Besides… it means I get to skip small talk at dinner."

"John…"

"No, don't say it, let me guess," the red-haired astronaut interrupted, smiling a little. "Four-hundred-thousand of me tried that stunt, and got killed. I know, Eos… but I'm number four-hundred-thousand-and-one, and I've got you."

Eos chirped something suspiciously close to an electronic snort.

"You also have a sister who is nearly through that hatch, and will prove far harder to charm, John Tracy," she told him, her heads-up icon wavering now between pink and pale lavender.

"No problem," said John, reaching for the hatch-release button. "I'll just tell her the truth. That it's a family emergency, and I've got to get moving. Funny how that works, sometimes."

It would have to, because a promise was a promise, and he'd sworn that nothing was going to go wrong.

XXXXXXXXXXX

The Chaos Cruiser, docked still with Thunderbird 3-

Scott Tracy excelled at getting, and keeping, things moving. At welding his chaotically independent brothers into a functional team. His skills had been hard-pressed here, though, with an angry cyborg, a small, scary kid and Gordon to deal with; not to mention the Hood and his Chaos Crew, all apparently frozen.

"He did this?" Scott asked, glancing back over at Charlie.

"Yeah," Replied Gordon, sounding sort of belligerent. "Wouldn't you?"

"Not going to answer that," Scott grunted, waving a hand in front of the Hood's stiff, snarling face. Nothing. No blinking, no flinches, no breath. "Will they come out of it? Are they alive?"

All big brown eyes in a skinny and battered face, the kid nodded. He was still clinging to the sandy-haired aquanaut, like they already knew each other. Gordon, Scott noticed, was keeping himself between young Charlie and the silent Mechanic.

"They'll stay that way till released," the swimmer clarified. "He had to do it, Scott. They were going to kill him, or make him fast-age those Interceptors."

Scott heaved a short, gusty sigh, and then rubbed at the knots in the back of his neck.

"Well… couldn't have happened to a nicer guy," Scott admitted, watching the Hood slip across perma-glass, pulled by that alien derelict's gravity.

"Kill them all now, less problems later," Kane rumbled, moving forward slightly. Ramrod and Dumbass had told him their names, but not how they'd earned them, so he'd fallen right back on labels. Easier, anyhow.

"Not when you figure in jail time or brain-scraping, Kane," Scott replied tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "I hate the Hood as much as the next guy, but…"

"You've never had him in your head, Ramrod, making you fetch and attack like a dog," growled the Mechanic.

Scott blinked. Floating like that, he was about a foot higher than Kane, whose magnetic skills let him stand on the deck. Slowly, the handsome pilot said,

"I understand that better than you think, Kane, and I empathize… but the law says we bring them all in, and let WorldGov sort it out."

The Mechanic shook his tattooed, partly-shaved head.

"Or, I could just kill you all, redirect that thing so it hits Mars instead of Earth, stranding the nanites, then steal Horatio's reward, and go home. Now, that's a good plan." Waited to see what they'd do, figuring that two Tracys and a juvenile Dos Santos weren't the worst odds he'd ever been up against.

Then, they heard a noise from one of the under-deck smuggling lockers. Something moving. Kane would have just scanned, but they were trying to limit EM usage, and anyhow, he was two paces from that rustling deck panel. In the mood to hurt something, too.

Figuring that it wasn't another time-bender, the Mechanic lunged over, sank his metal fingers into the steel deck plate, and ripped it loose. Bolts popped, metal shrieked and tore, as Kane flung the panel over one shoulder. Inside the compartment…

"Your family friend likes his weapons," the cyborg remarked, hauling a bound and collared prisoner out of that cramped, tiny cell. "A Dos Santos and a Beech. I'm impressed. Suppose you'll want to keep this one, too?"

All he had to do was touch that collar, and it came alive like a jointed drone serpent, slithering off the pale-haired captive and onto Kane's muscular arm. Seemed like a shame to waste a potential resource.

He backed away as the Tracys flocked to assist the recovering chaos-adept. Not getting it. Not wanting to, either. Frustrated. Fighting his own instincts, the Mechanic looked back at the "still life with dead-meat" by the windows, then past them, at…

"Ramrod," he growled, turning again, "I think your Virgil is about to be killed."