Hi, guys! Been working on this chapter as time, work, the on-going document battle and a bad cold would let me. Gotta love escaping into the Tracy-verse. ;) Edited!

32

Thunderbird Shadow, flying over the American Territories, headed far westward-

Even on Earth, those distortions were causing rampant confusion, altering the setting on Kayo's fuel gauge, and the position of the sun, in rolling waves. Played havoc with her comm, too, as she got a few answers before she'd sent any messages. For awhile, there, cause and effect were no more than loosely connected, and Tanusha didn't much care for all the resulting chaos.

Her father, Jeff Tracy, sat behind her in the rear seat, trying to contact a few trusted GDF associates. He was quite busy. Kayo kept her mouth shut and flew; taking comfort in guiding her sleek, dark Bird from sea to shining sea. Had to use landmarks, rather than her glitchy nav system, which relied too much on those weirdly distorted GPS signals.

The land streaming below was a scarred and barren no-go zone, but there were pockets of habitability, like Quebec, Wyoming, Colorado, Texas and New Cali. Once, the whole landmass had teemed with residents… or, so she'd been told. Tough to imagine, as most old news clips and videos had been long since tracked down and destroyed. For everyone's good, they'd been assured; like population control and their enforced mono-culture.

Tanusha crossed a blistered continent, staying cloaked and flying low. The familiar engine noise and vibration, her own constant visual instrument scans, helped to make up for a dancing Sun and sudden, wild clock changes.

Part of her mind was elsewhere, though; probing, then recoiling from, all that she'd learnt back in Edinburgh. She'd known all along that she was adopted. That something awful had happened to her father and mother, whom she barely remembered. Their last act had been to hide her from robot assassins, until Jeff Tracy and Lee Taylor had arrived to lift her out of that scan-shielded hole. She'd been too traumatised to respond to questions, or speak at all. Her last memory had been her mother's frantic mental command: Hush, Tanusha! Not a sound, not a move!

…and then the noise, loss and feel of her whole world being violently torn apart and extinguished. That warmth and presence which was Momma and Papa just… gone.

Colonel Tracy had brought home a silent, stunned little shell, to a family still reeling from the loss of his wife and their mother. Perhaps, they'd healed each other. John had especially taken to the little girl, because his suddenly angry and rebellious older brother had rejected him and everyone else. With Dad often away and Grandma taken up caring for Alan, Gordon and Virgil, John had found solace in tending someone as deeply, silently hurt as he was. Her nine-year-old brother, in his patient and logical fashion, had brought her back to life.

The sight of red-golden hair in sunshine, the flavour of a shared peanut butter sandwich, the noise of spinning bicycle wheels, and a particular "John" scent, were locked in there, forever. Still made her smile. He and Dad were the first things she'd learnt to love after having her parents brutally torn from contact. Killed, in her mental "sight".

They were a close and loving bunch, the Tracys. Even whilst trying to recover from their own private tragedy, they'd accepted Tanusha Kyrano, and raised her as one of their own. They were her family, and none of Nikorr's disgust and contempt could shake her deep sense of belonging.

And yet, there was something darkly attractive about the handsome young man. He was not at all like Rigby or John… but he drew her. Since encountering him, some of her own blocked power had begun to return.

She did not have to reach back to feel her father, silently cursing the balky government comm system. More, a sort of thin, wordless thread now connected her mind with Nikorr Kyrano's; as alluring and hazardous as open flame. He was there, now. Maybe forever. Deeply stunning, to think that there were others like her. Not just the vile Hood, or Momma and Papa, who'd been killed at her uncle's instigation.

There was… a spot, like a bruise in her mind, now vacated. Had the Hood been there, all along, watching? Had he looked through her eyes at Scott's careful plans? At Brains' freshest tech? If so, she'd been his well-planted spy, deliberately left in place among the Tracys.

Kayo felt her gloved hands clench on Shadow's controls at the thought. Her heart pounded, hard. All at once, the girl very much needed John, or Rigby… or Nikorr Kyrano. Only, the first was missing (not dead, just dislocated, but still causing echoes) while the last was dangerous. So, Wayne Rigby… adorably awkward and formal… tall, blond and halfway-handsome… was her only refuge from stabbing thoughts of her own unwilling treachery.

Biting her lip, Tanusha Kyrano flew westward; every mile bringing her closer to home, and a young Marine captain who was about to get more than he'd bargained for.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tracy Island, at the ring-

Sally had taken Gordon's call first, of course, shunting the other one off to a hold line. A good thing, too, because her Tadpole had some (fingers crossed and say a Hail Mary) good news.

"They're not dead, Grandma… just pushed forward in time. The distortions are even worse over here…" (As she could tell, because some of the swimmer's words were stretched like taffy, while others bunched up mosquito-whine quick.) "… and when that ship disappeared, they caught a tidal wave, sort of. They'll be back. Charlie says so."

"Charlie?" Grandma echoed, squinting past Gordon's glowing blue holo at a thin pair of neck-wrapped arms and half an anxiously peeking face.

"That's Gramma?" she heard someone whisper, while Alan snapped commands in the background.

"Yeah, Buddy," Gordon responded, ruffling somebody's floating brown hair. "That's Grandma. She's awesome. You'll like her a lot." Then, once more addressing Sally, "Charlie's mine, Grandma. My kid. Charles Anthony Godwin Tracy… only, sometimes, he can't pronounce 'Godwin' very well. I signed all the papers, on Mars."

Sally's blue eyes widened. A child? A great-grandchild? Coming to Tracy Island? Just when they most needed a blessing? She smiled, tearing up a bit, before once more regaining control. And then, just as she had fifteen years earlier, Grandma Tracy grunted,

"Well, I guess we got us another mouth ta feed. Hope he plans ta pull his weight, around here. I ain't runnin' no dang resort hotel."

Somehow, Gordon kept the grin off his face (and mostly out of his voice) saying,

"Understood, Grandma. Charlie 'n me 'll handle the dishes for a whole week, I promise."

"Hunh!" she snorted. "Believe that when I see it! Just get them folks rescued off'n Mars, and come back safe with my great-grandson. We ain't been properly introduced, yet."

Meanwhile, that call-waiting signal was flashing, still, from the desk. On the Island's coded private line, from somewhere out in New Cali, it had to be urgent.

"Gordon, I gotta go," she said to her sandy-blond, smiling grandson. "Keep us posted regular, and don't do nothin' I wouldn't do, y' hear?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he responded, as a sliver more of that curious, sweet, brown-eyed face peeked around at her. "Will do. Love you. Thunderbird 3, out."

Awash in a whirlpool of swirling and jumbled emotions, Sally stalked out of the ring to catch that beeping, flashing desk line. The prototype had already launched, or soon would, depending on where they were, in those spreading distortions. The Sun (best ignored) kept slipping back and forth in that jewel-blue sky; making progress in odd, bird-like darts. Drive a body clear around the bend, if you spent too much time looking at it, so she didn't.

"Island Base, Sally Tracy speaking," she said, taking the call Vox-only. No sense letting anyone know that she was mostly alone in the house. "What's your emergency?"

A quite young, partway familiar voice came on the line, raised a bit over crowd noise, theme music and calming announcements.

"Mrs. Tracy? It's Caleb Gonzalez, Ma'am. I'm not sure if you can still remember me, but I'm part of the International Rescue New Crew. The GDF got us together when… because…" His voice, too, was time-rippled, but also strained with tense emotion. "Well, I'm not sure anymore, why they did it… but we were there when the crystal jumped to the future, second time, and I went along for the trip."

Another call lit up her queue, this one from a WorldGov launch facility in Queensland, Australia. It, too, was privately coded. Lieutenant Commander Sheffield? Like Caleb Gonzalez, the name stirred faint mental echoes.

"What I'm trying to say is, Ma'am, do you need any help, over there? I'm fully trained in swimming, flying, CPR and first aid, and… and I'm a frickin' amazing cook."

In her mind's eye, Sally could almost see a freckled, friendly, dark-haired young man, standing with… well, someone who wouldn't quite come into focus. Someone missing in time, like her three oldest boys.

To Caleb, she quite sensibly said,

"I ain't got time f'r no guessin' games, Boy. If y'r supposed ta be here, get y'r tail on the next plane ta New Zealand, then catch a drone-flight on over. I'll give my say-so, and arrange tickets. Bring y'r cookbook. Got another call waiting. Island Base, out."

She cut him off in the midst of his,

"Yes, Ma'am, thank…"

And then picked up the other line, busy as a barmaid on Free-beer-and-kisses Night.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile-

The state-controlled media were doing their best to control spiraling rumours. As news flooded in from Mars and the asteroid colonies, people began to whisper that, had Apophis reached Earth, only a select few would have been saved. That the impactor had not been a rogue asteroid, at all, but a targeted death-ship, and that only the swift and sacrificial actions of International Rescue had saved their world from destruction.

It was a public relations nightmare for the World Government, although Chancellor Shaw himself somehow emerged as a hero; especially when he produced plans to shift the populace underground, to the old network of bomb shelter caverns. Repeatedly emphasizing his connections to IR and their beloved Colonel Tracy, the Chancellor succeeded in shifting suspicion away from himself and onto the World Council. A true survivor, Sebastian Shaw actually strengthened his own position by harnessing public outrage.

Elsewhere, the Hood's time-locked body had slipped down through a crevasse in the south pole of Mars, plunging at last into a sea of lightless and densely briny water. There, he would have died, for the young Dos Santos' grip had been a panicked, rushed affair, and eventually faded. Only, something found him, first. A sort of drifting wisp. A pale, greenish remnant of beings once mighty and numerous. Almost a phantom, it was, with one particular and very frightening power; it could completely restore and repair whatever it touched or inhabited, turning its host indestructible.

Sinking down through that frigid, toxic slush, the Hood opened eyes suddenly much greener than they had been, and smiled.