Hey, there. =) Late one, and sort of short. My hugs and profoundest thanks for your comments and reviews. Will respond, post haste!

16

The hijacked space pod, rushing up at a bulbous purple ship-

Virgil's pulse was racing, his breath beginning to roughen. His course, near as he could tell, would not take him to the giant alien derelict. Neither would it bring him to Thunderbird 3. Instead, the buzzing and juddering space pod was arrowing straight for that uncloaked "pirate ship", which turned out to belong to the Chaos Crew.

Lots of things went through his mind as he recognized the distinctive Cruiser, most of them bad. Havok and Fuse were dangerous criminals, but they weren't thinkers. Muscle for hire, generally, and their very best customer was the Hood.

He felt his muscles tense, as he considered his very few options. Couldn't control the pod, couldn't eject, didn't want to risk waking that death-ship by hitting his comm... and now he was headed for probable kidnap. Used as a hostage, maybe. Weapons? He had his shoulder-mounted laser, of course, but that was for cutting through metal and stone. Sort of final, as solutions went, and highly dangerous, inside of a spaceship. No exo-suit, either. Well, Virgil figured, there was always the pilot-eject system.

Eyeball estimate gave him fifteen minutes till he reached the Cruiser. Plenty of time to tear the ejection-seat's rocket free of its housing, and cook up something persuasive. Humming to himself, Virgil set right to work, unstrapping to press against the perma-glass canopy, looking 'down' at his seat and rebellious controls. This being space, he had no real sense of direction; did not feel upside-down.

His big green utility sash contained a powerful multi-tool, contact explosives, battery packs, extensible pry-bar, wire and chewing gum. All that he needed for a little Tracy-style arts and crafts session.

The pod was entirely modular, put together from parts. Meant it could be disassembled again, quite easily; if you were strong enough, and knew exactly what you were doing. Fortunately, that mysterious, hijacking force did not interfere, seeming interested only in getting him into the hands of the Chaos Crew. Well… he had a trick for that.

Virgil unsnapped and hauled out the seat, square-dancing with the bulky d*mn thing, till he got it turned over. His work space was limited, but he could reach the ejection rocket, which… fun fact… was live, and extremely sensitive. Busy not blowing himself to pieces, the pilot barely noticed when his malfunctioning space pod reached its goal and then rotated, forming a hatch that could dock with the waiting cruiser.

It was tough to miss when the two ships came together, though. That sharp, jarring clang and hiss of mating hatches would have woken a brick or a bowling ball. Virgil came out of his design frenzy, and twisted around. He was done with his wicked new toy by that point, so the pilot swung it up into "welcome honored guests" position, and made ready to be a good host. Didn't waste time wondering how he'd developed a hatch.

It irised open before him, in the exact same spot where his seat had been. He swallowed hard and hung there waiting; canopy facing outward at space, gutted seat drifting and bumping behind his back. Then a second, cruiser-side hatch hissed open, revealing… the Mechanic.

Kane reacted to Virgil's laser-guided, rocket powered slug-thrower by reflexively bringing his own massive rifle to bear. They braced there in micro-G for a few moments; Virgil painted in specular red, Kane with a glowing green dot on his armoured chest. Then, almost conversationally, the pilot said,

"Hey. How's it going?"

The muscular cyborg appeared to consider, arriving at,

"Well enough. Your brother's a fool."

"Which one?" Virgil asked, cautiously peering around the laser sight.

"All of them," the Mechanic informed him, dropping his target lock.

"Take it the Chaos Crew's out of commission?" Virgil probed, letting his weapon's muzzle drift slowly away from Kane's chest.

"Yes. The Hood, as well. Time-locked, until someone releases them." Then, squinting at Virgil's homebrew weapon. "What have you built?"

The pilot grinned broadly. He was never prouder than when boasting about his latest construction, and this was a beauty.

"I know, right? Pretty awesome," Virgil told him, handing the firearm over for inspection. "See, I took the ejection rocket and catapult rails, made a quick firing pin and trigger system, incorporated my laser and wrist comm for guidance, and… presto, one homemade, shoulder-mounted shrapnel cannon."

"Impressive," the Mechanic admitted, turning the weapon over in big metal hands. "What are you using for ammo?"

"What've you got?" Virgil joked, cocking an eyebrow. "Right now, it's explosive ejection-seat bolts, screws and wire… but you could use whatever 'll fit down the barrel. This baby's completely adaptable."

"Nicely done," Kane grunted. Then, as the weapon flowed and stretched in the cybermancer's grip, "This is better. More efficient."

Virgil took it back, huffing in mock resentment.

"Well, yeah… if you want to go that route. I mean, fire power's only half the story, Kane. You gotta think reload time, aiming, ease of assembly…"

They started back into the cruiser, Virgil gliding, Kane walking along the deck beside him. Discussed the finer points of weaponry, as the space pod simply melted into the outer hull, noisily forming a sudden gun turret. Virgil glanced the way they'd come, then back to his (maybe, almost) friend.

"Okay, yeah… now, you're just showing off."

"Talent," said Kane, with unconcealed pride. He was a prince among his own kind for more than one reason, here to assist the Tracys… and soon, he'd be left all alone with his one-time captor, the Hood.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

London, former U.K., roaring through the air in FAB-1:

Flying northwestward, away from the city, Parker kept a weather eye on their rescued passenger. She remained unconscious, but was breathing unaided. Too easy. Troubled, the driver glanced into the rearview mirror, cleared his throat, and said,

"Beggin' yer pardon, Milady…"

Penelope's head turned gracefully forward, big blue eyes showing mild curiosity.

"Yes, Parker?" she enquired, as the colonel, too, looked his way.

"Been chasin' the h-odd thought 'round my noggin, Milady."

"Have you, indeed?" her ladyship prompted, as the misty-green countryside rolled past, below, and hundreds of air-cars sped by. "And where has your pondering led you, Parker?"

"Well…" he began, frowning somewhat. "H-It seems to me that we found the lass rather simply, and 'er tossed in the drink like a dead cat... but not so quick as to drown before we could get there. H-All seems a bit staged, if you take my meanin', Milady… Colonel Tracy. H-I'd feel better if one of you was to scan 'er for trackin' devices."

Lady Penelope's eyes narrowed fiercely. Glancing at Jeff, she nodded. Almost reflexively, the Colonel's hand had gone to his wrist comm… which was now with Chancellor Shaw. Being reverse-engineered, no doubt. He'd have to get Brains to come up with a better version, fast.

"Never mind, Colonel Tracy," she consoled him, reaching into her quilted, black leather bag for a certain gold compact. "A Creighton-Ward is always equal to the exigencies of the moment."

Unstrapping from her seat, the young noblewoman leaned far forward, open compact in hand. A touch to one of its jeweled studs converted the mirror into a small screen. A further swift tap turned its scanning app on.

Jeff was only half watching. Outside, just far enough away to seem coincidental, a sleek, robotic drone paced their car. It flew in the empty "official business" skyway lane, between thundering streams of traffic. Not news media… those were all labeled by reporter, or channel. Not law enforcement or medical, either. Just an odd-looking white drone, with a single long stabilizer fin, and a narrow, horizontal green "eye".

The thing never came too close, but never strayed; even when Parker changed lanes and altitude. About as coincidental, Jeff figured, as those two skulking thugs at the "accident site". He looked away from the window when Penelope murmured,

"There it is! Just as you surmised, Parker. The poor dear's been implanted with a transmitter, just beneath the hairline, at the back of her neck."

"We're also being followed," Jeff informed them, voice raspy-tight from his plunge in the creek.

"Yes, sir, Mister Tracy. H-I've noticed," said the driver. "Been doin' me best to shake the blighter, but h-it seems able to find us h-again, no matter what trick's bein' pulled, and I knows 'em h-all. That's what put me to mind of a transmitter."

Penelope, meanwhile, had pressed a seatback switch, causing a set of virtual steering controls to appear before her. Bertie yipped anxiously, but she shushed him, murmuring fondly,

"Courage, Bertie… there's a stout lad. Mummy's working, still." And, "Parker, if you would be so good as to transfer control, you shall find yourself at liberty to locate and remove the offending transmission device. I suggest that you do so swiftly, and then heave the wretched thing from the window."

"Yes, Milady. H-At once."

Jeff watched with interest as the lovely young operative took control of their vehicle, leaving Sherbert to him. That drone continued to pace them, close enough that he could read its ID code. Had he still had his wrist comm, he might have tried wresting control of the thing… but he was a passenger, down to his wits and an eager, small pug.

FAB-1 dipped and swooped a bit. Penny wasn't a bad driver, precisely… just not very skilled in three full dimensions of flight. Did better on the ground, he hoped. Then again, her awkward lane changes and fluttering swoops seemed to confuse the h*ll out of that drone, especially when Parker got the transmitter out of Zara, and chucked it out the window. There was a brief, tingling blast of cold air, high pressure and wind noise. Then the window sealed itself shut, again.

"There," announced their driver, with evident satisfaction. "That's done it. The bug weren't put in very deep, or very well. Rush job, looks like... Not that H-I knows from experience."

He'd stripped off a pair of plastic gloves and dabbed at Zara's neck with a sterile wipe, before cleaning his own hands.

"H-If you don't mind my sayin' so, Milady… a small change of itinerary might be h-in order."

Lady Penelope nodded.

"Right you are, Parker," she agreed briskly, transferring control of the big, purring car to her driver. "The hunting lodge, I should think… once we've lost our metallic companion, that is."

Parker smiled and cracked his big, swollen knuckles. Taking the wheel again, he said,

"H-It'll be a right pleasure, Milady. There 'asn't a drone been constructed yet, what can keep up with Aloysius Parker. 'Old on to Sherbert, Milady. This might get a bit rough."