Hi, guys. At home and relaxing, with a three-day weekend ahead. It was quite a week; I've been learning to play the ukulele and speak German. Good times! =) Thank you for reading and reviewing, Creative Girl, Bow Echo, Tikatu, Thunderbird Shadow and Whirl Girl. I will respond with blinding speed, then edit, afterward.

34

Mars, at the steaming and melting South Pole-

It's 'name' would have been meaningless to primitive, carbon-based organisms; just a patterned ripple in the amplitude of its shimmering waveform, constantly broadcast. When not in a host, it communicated by altering the frequency of its pulses, a thing detectable by others of its ancient kind, or by radio and comm sets.

It was the survivor, like Apophis, of a very ancient conflict. When the universe had been thirty percent smaller, and far younger, those first intelligent beings had warred for the right to exist, and nearly destroyed themselves in the process. An earlier age, with larger, more violently powerful stars, had provided energies of such destructive force as to douse entire galactic cores, and reduce planets to drifting rubble. Even on Earth, there were legends.

It was 'male', in the sense that its pattern of propagation was electric-dominant, rather than magnetic-dominant. He was thus an energy being, requiring no food, as such, but vulnerable to loss of signal strength, and to electronic noise. He'd been there on the fourth world for a very long time; had watched it shrivel, freeze and dry… then awaken, once more.

First, a scatter of Carbon-bases had arrived to peck and scratch at the surface, sending their machine probes to drill through the ice, above him. Now, they'd somehow generated force enough to re-start the world's core.

The Survivor had been resting; having imprinted himself as a pattern of lines and dots on the side of a drowned, ancient building. Then, a frozen organic had drifted past him, borne on the icy currents of this deep, toxic sea. He had reanimated himself upon the instant, flashing from printed code to green energy pattern, and thence to his new host, this 'Hood'.

Like most Carbon-bases, the Hood was not very sturdy, and died repeatedly as its host directed it upward. No matter. The Survivor simply repaired its new vessel, which might have suffered some distress as a consequence. The Organics had a ridiculous radio-phrase: Drive it like you stole it. This had never made sense, until now.

Up through that dense, briny darkness they flailed, to where the water grew slightly paler; lit from above by frequent lightning. He could sense the energies of quake and eruption shifting the pack-ice overhead. The Hood's continually frozen/ thawed eyes could see, after a fashion, but their sensitivity was so limited! Blind as a cyst, he was; but shielded and mobile, at least.

The ice was rippled and bumpy, above them; glowing soft pink, compared to the lightless depths they'd left behind. Survivor found a crevasse, healed up his panicking host, then forced it to clamber out of the water and into a crack barely large enough to accommodate all of that sodden, fragile, bone-stiffened mush. Why the being was here, without the survival equipment required by its kind, was a puzzle. Had the Survivor not claimed it, the creature would surely have perished.

They reached the surface after a time, where toxins, low pressure and cold instantly killed the frail host. The Survivor healed it at once, again and again, untroubled by that cascade of hideous deaths. The Hood was no more than a 'stolen car', after all, and marked for destruction in any case. Why else would its fellows have placed it here?

Still… there was no sense causing needless torment. Those aeons at low power, as printed code on a crumbling submarine wall, had made the Survivor into something of a philosopher. The urge to war, to cleanse the cosmos, had faded within him to infrared ash. All he now wanted was more of his own kind, and escape from the barren fourth world of this small, isolated star system.

Taking a moment to scan his surroundings, he detected artificial signals, ambient light, and extreme crustal stress. The closest source of communication was a mechanized polar lander, perhaps twelve haads off to galactic northwest, as the corpse crawls. An escape route, at last.

Survivor set off, forcing his rigid, freezing host to creep across a buckling ice field, avoiding cracks and sudden wild geysers of dense, poisoned brine from below. These burst like the beams from an ion-cannon, roaring hundreds of haads into the air before raining back down as ice shards and foul-smelling spray. The sky above was streaked dusky with curling ash plumes, a thing he interpreted using his host's feeble senses and memory. Wind whistled around them, carrying bits of ice and grit. The air was thin, and sour as vomited water. Death arrived every few seconds, making their progress over the ice spotty. Disjointed.

Every staggering rush ended in deep-frozen collapse. Each gasping breath resulted in burst lungs and mushy edema, followed by death, instant repair, and the command to keep moving. Finally, they reached his goal; the dusty probe that had first landed atop the ice, all those long cycles ago. It was still signaling 'home', the system's teeming third planet.

Survivor considered. His host was vile and murderous… but his own patterns and waves were not free of taint. An entire galactic arm had been cleansed of enemy lifeforms, at his command. In more Carbon-based terms, so might a wet-handed serial killer regard the cat who'd brought a dead bird to the house.

Shrugging hard-frozen shoulders till the skin splintered and cracked, he decided that most beings are capable of change, given time to reflect on their deeds. For that reason, Survivor did not simply abandon his used-up host to perish out there on the booming and splintering ice cap. Instead, he forced the whimpering creature up to that squat metal probe, then disassociated its atoms for a quick signal-ride 'home'. Earth was about to meet its first alien.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Farther north, in Thunderbird 3-

Alan Tracy was still in the cockpit, needing twelve eyes and fifty hands to keep track of all that rumbling chaos. His Bird shuddered and swayed with each ground-spasm, and he had to keep firing his steering rockets to correct. That, or fall over.

Time-locked boulders hung slow-drifting downward, humming like hornets with pent force. But, hardly moving or not, if they hit, they'd do massive damage. Alan had to key up his shields, trying for more of an umbrella effect than, like, an overturned bowl. People had to get in, y'know?

Out on the hull, meanwhile, Megamax had unfolded his pincer-tipped arms, ready to swat away any rocks that came close. Gordon and Charlie were still down below; the swimmer having scooped his tired kid back up into a one-armed hip-carry, while waving people up ramp and aboard.

Alan might have been wrong, but part of his fractured attention insisted that the sun's vague, ash-filtered glow was behaving oddly; tracking northward, or something. Dude… the planet was rolling? They hadn't covered that one in training. Blue eyes gone wider, Alan hit his wrist comm.

"Uh, hey… Gordon?"

"Kinda busy here, Al… What's up?" His brother called back, over screaming wind, shouting people, and far-off eruptions.

Staring at that smudgy-pale sunspot (which was definitely sliding northward, as well as skittering back and forth like a nervous bug), Alan cleared his throat and asked,

"Have you, um… noticed anything strange?"

There was a two-beat pause. Then his brother… out there in mid Marsquake, beneath sluggish boulders and lava bombs, on a suddenly wide-awake planet… exploded with laughter.

"Naw, Bro, it's great. We're having a blast, out here. All beer and skittles. Why do you ask? (This way, Sir… watch your step, please… keep to the centre… it's a long drop.)"

"Oh, nothing," Alan replied, feeling kind of foolish. "Just…"

And that's when the bomb went off.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Twenty miles south, over a braided and twining canyon system-

They'd got Roy Masters' folks and dog loaded up, then taken back off again. According to the worried colonist, his neighbors from Dry Fells were just a short ways behind, so Captain Taylor went hunting, just like the old days. One thing he'd learned about rescues in his years with the Tracys: you might not get there in time to stop disaster, but you never quit trying to help. Not until every dang one 'a them people was safe.

Brains kept his eyes on the scanner, looking for life signs, while Taylor flew, and Rigby got people strapped in and settled, below. For a scientist and government liaison, those two made a pair of d*mn fine rescue jocks. Not that he had much time to slap backs, or nuthin'.

Crosswind over the canyon was a bitch, but he'd flown through… well, not worse, but different.

"Place was a lot quieter back when me, McCord an' Tracy was runnin' things," he remarked. Then, two things happened at once: They picked up alarms from Thunderbird 3, and spotted those fleeing colonists; about twenty people, just ahead of a massive, crashing and spuming mudslide.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tracy Island, a bit earlier, on approach-

Having been in constant contact with Grandma, FAB-1 now banked around from the east, reaching Base just before sunset. Parker eased the purring pink aircar down to the tarmac just as that juddering, dancing sun touched the horizon.

"'Ome, Milady," he announced, switching the limo to ground mode. Felt the springs bounce a little as they came down… not his best landing… then shifted gears and started to drive.

"Thank you, Parker. Well done. Bring us round to the front, if you please," responded Penelope, touching up hair and maquillage. "I should like to stretch my legs a bit, before going within."

"Yes, Milady."

Zara, meanwhile, was pressed to the window glass, her face reflecting delight and surprise. Only just, she restrained herself from bouncing in place and crying out: We're here! We've reached Tracy Island!

Even Sherbert was calmer, merely cracking an eye and wagging his short, curly tail. The girl's blue eyes were wide with amazement and wonder. Penelope smiled somewhat sadly, having long ago lost the capacity for such innocent joy.

"Rather impressive, isn't it?" she ventured, as Parker drove from airstrip to that beautiful mountainside house.

"It's incredible," breathed Zara, staring as if she could eat it all up at a gulp. "One sees pictures and vid, of course, but…"

"The reality is far grander," Penny finished, trying to recall her own first impressions, on arriving at Jeff Tracy's summons. Had she been that excited? Or jaded and calm, even then? Penny remembered her reactions upon first seeing Scott Tracy, at least. Fresh from officer candidate school, tall, strong and so very handsome he'd been. Was, she rebuked herself. Her fiancé was still alive. She knew it.

"Shall… I be meeting the family, Milady?" Zara turned from the window to ask. Makeup-free, blonde hair drawn back in a charmingly messy topknot, she looked like a schoolgirl. "Or, is there a guest house for visiting workers?"

Penelope shook her head, smiling kindly.

"No, Dear. The Tracys are Americans, with all that entails. Despite my best efforts at civilisation, they are entirely unconscious of status; treating Parker, Brains and yourself, probably, as one of their family. Quite amusing, actually."

By this time, FAB-1 had crunched its way up the short drive to the lava-rock cliff, where a staircase led to the house. Parker might have driven directly into a hangar, letting them out at the lifts, but Penny preferred to stroll a bit. She'd been sitting for hours.

"That sounds splendid to me, Milady," beamed Zara. "I am quite sure that we shall get on like a house on fire." Then, "Might there be a loo near to hand? Only, I've been holding…"

Penelope forgot herself enough to actually laugh.

"Yes, Dear. Although the Tracys generally refer to them as 'heads' or 'latrines'. I am somewhat in need of freshening up, as well, and Bertie would no doubt enjoy a sniff and stroll of his own. We shall all pop into the W.C. at stairs' end, I promise."

Parker stopped the car at cliffside, turned off the engine, then got out to open doors. First, Lady Penelope's, then… once her ladyship and Bertie were out… Zara's. They stepped forth into warm, fragrant tropical twilight, with booming surf to one side, and wind-rustled jungle to the other. Overhead rose the Tracys' extinct volcano, with the house placed like a jewel in its side. The building gleamed golden-red in the fading sunshine, giving no hint of the giant machines that lay hid underneath. Rather a sight, at that.

Whence, and exactly how Kayo managed to sneak up, Penny had no clear idea. The minx did have rather the cheeky trick of surprising one.

"Kayo, darling!" Penny greeted her friend, giving the dark-haired girl an affectionate peck. Then Bertie had got to be handed over, for sloppy kisses and snuggles. "How delightful to see you! Allow me to introduce Zara Herringford-Smith, an associate of your dear father's."

Tanusha looked, then looked again. Of course, she'd caught a glimpse of Zara the night dad had swung down into Thunderbird Shadow, and again, at the Reservation, but not very closely, or long.

"You have a sister?" she blurted, because… wow, they were similar.

"No, Dear," Penny corrected her, somewhat frostily. "As I remarked, Zara is an associate."

Blushing, the other girl reached for Sherbert, mumbling,

"I'm a student, Miss Tracy. I attend university, and work… worked, rather… as a Chancellery intern. Her Ladyship and I are not related."

Kayo… Tanusha Tracy… shrugged and smiled, seeming taller than she looked in her pictures.

"That's fine. This is an 'earn your keep' sort of place. Stick around for too long, and Brains 'll put you to work fixing engines. Don't suppose you can cook?" she next added, hopefully.

Zara giggled.

"I'm a dab hand at sandwiches, hors d'oeuvres, and serving drinks," she said brightly. By this point, Parker had got their luggage out of the car's boot, coming forward to say,

"Milady, Miss Zara, Miss Kayo, h-Oi'll just be h-off to get these satchels h-upstairs, h-if y'll not be wanting me further?"

Penelope inclined her sleek, golden-blonde head.

"Thank you, Parker. That will be all. You may go."

"Yes, Milady," responded her grizzled old driver, shouldering all of their bags, at once. "Thank you."

Fit as a cat-burglar, he next turned and sprinted upstairs, whistling something merry and tuneless.

"Bet you two need the head," Kayo guessed, sparking a laugh from Zara, who seemed quite happy to be there, despite the circumstances.

Penelope affected not to hear the question, taking a sudden interest in the buckles and straps on her vintage handbag. But Zara said, feelingly,

"You've no idea, Miss Tracy. I'm fair busting for the loo!"

Kayo grinned at her.

"I fly a weaponless stealth fighter, Zara. Believe me, I know. Virgil, John and Alan are the only ones around here with onboard potties… and it's 'Kayo'. No Miss required. Now, c'mon. Follow me."

…Which was how one, very lucky, young lady arrived precisely where and when she needed to be.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Down in the lab complex, meantime-

Head on down and fetch a new wrist comm. Seriously, how hard could it be? Jeff was no genius… he had Brains for all that… but he wasn't an idiot, either. Only, the lab had got quite a bit bigger and more threatening in the time he'd been trapped and held by the Hood. More rooms, more specimens, more sparking fields and buzzing equipment. Not to mention the training area, which was strictly off-limits, due to a long running sim, and some kind of bet between Brains and John.

Well, he had a couple of looping, humming Minimaxes to guide him 'twixt Scylla and Charybdis, so everything should have been ace. Only, halfway through Brains' main workspace, Jeff spotted a bench holding something gripped between rubber-tipped claspers. About the right size and configuration, with a platinum sheen and small, blinking lights, it looked like a Mark II wrist comm to Jeff. Bingo.

Smiling at how easily and quickly he'd accomplished his errand, Colonel Tracy swerved away from his swooping nursemaids, strode right over to that bench, and took hold of the glittering prize. It buzzed in his grip, seeming almost alive with power. Extra battery life, Jeff figured, strapping it on. There was a small screen and holo-projector, of course, with a scatter of blinking green studs.

"How d'you start this thing up?" he wondered aloud, pressing what looked like the power switch. Then…

…the world turned inside out. Light blurred, splashed and froze in one direction, while making figure-of-eights in the other. He stumbled and cried out, hearing his own voice echoed back at him in mocking waves; sometimes varied in pitch, or backward.

Turning was a problem. Facing one way, he was squashed like a stickman on paper. Another way, he felt himself coming apart. Only a specific direction and stance kept him wrapped in the right number of dimensions. Thinking: What the h*ll? his next question was, "How do you turn this thing off?!"