Woo-hoo! Puerto Rico came through with my birth certificate, and I got my drivers license! I'm legal! *Does cartwheels, says grateful prayers!* Okay, deep breath, calm again... Thank you for reading and reviewing, guys. Sorry that I've been so crappy and slow at responding; only a few more hurdles to leap. :') Éditéd, thanks!

29

In a chaotically settling timeline, with everything changing inside and around them-

Maybe there was a more helpless feeling than hurtling wildly through space… with rusty Mars, then the distant, pale sun chasing past him in rapid succession… but if so, Scott Tracy wasn't aware of it. Held together by a flickering network of laser-red lines and steel tethers, his team tumbled like dice in a black, giant cup. Weird waves of fading distortion passed through them occasionally; stretching and shrinking whatever they touched. Weird sensation, that, and Scott could hear somebody miserably heavering because of it. Beech, sounded like. Well, at least they appeared to be all still alive, while that alien death-ship had vanished completely; leaving behind it a queasy ripple in space. Like a mid-river standing wave, or something. Like its passing had somehow dented reality.

Sudden release of tension... sort of a Who-the-h*ll-cares-about-survival? We-did-it! …made him grin like a kid with his first new aircar. The scans turned up no dust, at all. Earth, and organic life throughout the universe, was safe. Then, just as he'd sobered up and was about to take a swift headcount, Scott heard Alan's voice over the helmet-comm system; weird, and a little distorted, but definitely Sprout. He was saying,

"Scott, guys, if you're there… if you can hear me… follow this beacon. When you reach the transmitter, press the call button. Mars 'll launch a rescue ship, and I'll get out there myself, before it has time to pick you guys up and turn around. You did it, Bro… just, come back, okay? Be safe." Message repeats. Stand by: "Scott, guys, if you're there…" And, so on.

"That's not good," he heard John mutter, as Kane… not space-suited, but coated with plastic, or something… growled,

"When are we? Guessing your pet A.I. tossed us through time and space both, trying to clear the singularity."

Said Virgil, hauling himself along their tether, so that he could see and read actual faces,

"Al sounds pretty worried, and my wrist comm timer's gone nuts. A couple of days, maybe?"

"Over a month," John corrected, after checking with Jaeger and Eos. "They just called off the search." Double-plus un-good, in every conceivable way.

Yep, figured Scott, Penny was going to be furious, once she got over her shock… unless some smooth-talker had already pushed his way in to comfort the grieving near-widow. He could see it already, and him barely cold!

"Let's, uh… find that beacon and call in, People," ordered the pilot, all at once worried.

"Way ahead of you, Scott," his astronaut brother replied. "I've contacted Pete." (After first sending a message to Grandma and Captain O'Bannon.) "He's on his way, but my exopod's got some force left, and so does your jetpack. Kane, is yours…?"

"I have thrust, and would rather meet rescue halfway than get snatched up like cargo. You can guarantee immunity from arrest? If not, leave me on Deimos, and I'll make my own way back."

Scott spoke for them all when he said,

"Evan Kane, at his point, anyone who wanted to bust your ass would have to go through me to do it."

"And that ain't happening," finished Virgil, swinging around on his tether.

"We're not friends," cautioned the Mechanic, after a moment.

"Granted," said John, looking away from his busy wrist comm to frown at Kane, hovering sideways some ten feet away. "But we sure as h*ll aren't enemies."

"Not after all that," agreed Cody Beech, who'd finally got back control of his stomach. There were running lights approaching them, flashing faint red and green against blackness. "I think Typicals call it a 'bonding experience'," finished the chaos-adept.

Scott snorted, watching as the Admiral's personal shuttle grew ever closer; glinting like red and green gems set in burnished silver.

"I call it 'we owe you one'… and we don't choose to quit this alliance."

The cyborg didn't agree, but he also didn't say no. Instead, working together, Scott, John and Kane used their jetpacks to reduce the spin of their tethered crew; a real challenge, with that many men drifting and bobbing in so many varied directions. Beech, especially, looped and swayed like a kite, being stuck out there on the end.

Nor was it quiet, any longer. Scott's helmet comm was just about overwhelmed with incoming messages from Pete, Alan, Gordon, Dad, Grandma, Penny, Colonel Casey, and all twenty-five licensed reporters. Everyone wanted to talk, but Scott settled for answering someone who should have heard from him before all this madness went down.

"Hey, Hon," he said, picking up Penelope's call. "It's me."

"Scott," she began, then paused, as though struggling for calm and control. "Are you quite alright, Dear?"

"Well, uh… about eighty-five percent, I'd say. All in one piece, but punchy and tired, with one h*ll of a story to tell. Listen, Pen… I'm sorry I didn't send a message before going in there. No excuses, I'm an ass… but I love you, I'm coming home, and I want to marry you. I'll even go talk to your dad, if you'll let me."

Lady Penelope paused for effect, as poised and elegant in her silences as she was in her movements or speech. Then,

"I should be most pleased to accept your proposal of marriage, Mr. Tracy. My father maintains office hours at his London residence, and I am persuaded that he shall be delighted to receive you there."

He was still soaring through space with his brothers, the Mechanic and Beech, like a string of tossed beads; halfway watching McCord try to match their speed and orientation.

"First stop, after the Island, Penny. I promise you."

"I am very glad that all is well, and that you and your brothers are safe, Scott… although all of those planned memorials shall have to be placed on hold, now."

"Memorials?" he blurted, half-laughing. The shuttle's boarding hatch had cycled open, revealing a waiting green airlock.

"Yes, Darling; quite. Your statue, in particular, was to have been most touchingly rendered. You appeared terribly heroic, Dearest."

Scott had the stupid urge to laugh, then, but he quashed it.

"Guess you'll just have to make do with the real thing, Hon," he told her, feeling pretty d*mn good.

"For King and country, needs must," Penny lightly joked back, a small, tender catch in her silken voice.

By this time, the Admiral's shuttle had drawn alongside, moving in such a way that when the five young men hit, it wasn't too hard. Nor did they carrom back off into space, thanks to those well-placed hull grips. Scott caught hold of one and whipped himself 'round so that his boot soles struck metal; the vibration a solid and comfortable thing, after all of that floating around.

Meanwhile, John had been juggling three conversations at once; talking with Pete, O'Bannon and Eos, just about simultaneously. Jaeger simply flared away from his suit and onto the Admiral's Mark IV Starliner; checking it out for possible trouble, or something. In his own mind, and John's, the A.I. had passed two critical tests. Faced with first the Mechanic, then a powerful alien intelligence, he'd remained loyal to the concepts of friendship and trust. He was very much more than a war-machine, now… and maybe not quite so loathsome to Eos.

As Scott flipped himself into the airlock, John maneuvered thrust on his exopod, to follow. The shuttle wasn't huge. He knew that, but it still seemed as solid and big as a planet to him; curving silver and sleek in the twin light of Mars-shine and sun. Had to fold the exopod's wings to get inside.

"You still owe me dinner, Tracy," O'Bannon was saying, now that she'd gotten most of her superior officer crap out of the way.

"It's on the agenda," John told her, making way for Kane. The airlock was a tight fit for three men, much less five, but nobody wanted to wait outside. "I've got to get home, first, and wash up."

Her voice had a soft smile in it as she teased,

"What, a shave and fresh uniform? I won't recognize you, Lieutenant."

"I'll wear a nametag," he promised, adding, "I'll be the one with red hair. Tough to miss."

"Just get here," she answered huskily. "I'll be happy with champagne and caviar, or bean-dip and crackers, as long as you're the one I'm sharing it with. I feel… like I can breathe, again. Like there's more than just work to get up for."

It was weird to think that somebody else besides Eos felt that strongly about him. Odd, and sort of nice. He was used to being needed from a distance; called to, like a stone idol. Cheered for his pitching, by faceless crowds. This was more than that, John realized. It was physical, hormonal, and together. O'Bannon had suffered without him, and that was a startling thought.

"I promise not to pull any more dumb-ass stunts for a while," John Tracy said to the woman who loved him. "At least, until the next mega-threat comes along."

"I'll just have to catch you between red-hot emergencies," O'Bannon replied, as Virgil and Cody soared into the crowded compartment. "We'll make a contented homebody out of you, yet, Tracy."

John smiled.

"You're on, Captain," he replied, hitching over almost onto Scott's lap, to make room. "And I'll pick you up for dinner as soon as we've cleared Earth customs and quarantine."

"It's a date," she agreed. "Just give me some time to prepare my crew before you show up. You, um… make quite an impression, Tracy."

Emma Kraft had called Virgil's comm three times, in the meanwhile, and had each time rung off; too angry and torn with relief to speak to him. Nor would she pick up when he called her. Just paced the deck of her quarters, alternately cursing and grabbing the phone to stab out his number, again.

Emma had work, and a ship, and her crew; men and women who'd known to give her plenty of space and quiet condolence. Now, a giant, bleeding hole in her heart had just been refilled. She wanted to rage, to cry, to kiss him and shoot him, all at one and the same time.

Her desk, awards, coins and pictures wavered and blurred through a film of tears. She snarled something vile, then jabbed out that number again, and this time managed to grate,

"Shut up. I love you," then slam her phone off, again, breaking its screen. Her nose and green eyes stung, but Emma Kraft, captain of the GDS Union Jack, d*mn well refused to break down.

…and, yes, the rest of their timeline had shifted, in some ways subtly, in other ways not. Scott, John and Virgil Tracy were heroes, coming back to a world not quite the same as they'd left it.