Would have added some more, but Dang... long enough, already. Thank you for reading!
35
Mars, swooping down over the Hebrus Valley canyon system-
Twenty people or so, packed in, and onto, three ranch crawlers, with a wall of thundering, boulder-clawed mud right behind them, maybe a hundred feet tall. Narrow canyon walls, screaming winds, and a ticking, see-sawing clock.
"Ain't gonna get there in time," Lee announced calmly, followed by, "Doc, force shield. Make 'em a bubble, so's they c'n ride it out."
Brains glanced over at the pilot, his brown eyes huge behind their spectacles.
"The p- people within will be, ah… be b-battered to pulp, unless…" Hackenbacker trailed off in a mumble. Like his friend, John, the engineer thought best on the fly, and calculated the same way that other men breathe. "Of c- course," he muttered, hammering keys on the instrument panel. "…limited inertial dampers and…"
Seconds later, a pale blue sphere had formed around those fleeing people, who were now packed round with inertia-stealing fermions, like bubble-wrapped china. That towering, grey-brown mud wall reached them an instant later, smashing into the shimmering globe with the force of a crashing mountain. The shining blue globe disappeared for several heartbeats, while Taylor, Brains and Max waited tensely. Then it broke surface once more, rushing past beneath Thunderbird Prototype's silvery bat-shape, riding a torrent of roaring mud.
Captain Taylor would have whooped and exulted, except that A: he was still worried for Thunderbird 3, and B: the gale that accompanied that rampaging mud slide came d*mn near to flipping them over. Only fast work with the stick and rockets kept them level. Fighting his controls, the astronaut grunted,
"We need ta pull up outta this sh*t, Doc. Can ya reel 'em on in?"
Brains blinked at him owlishly.
"Add f- further terms to an already f- fourth level equation?" The engineer took a deep breath, muttered an invocation to Krishna, Ganesh, and whomever else might be slumming on Mars, then plunged back into his figures. "As J- John would, ah… would s- say, 'on it', C- Captain." Never mind that quintics were demonstrably without solution in this universe.
Max warbled something mournful, drawing a wink from Lee.
"Ain't nobody, nowheres, smarter 'n Doc, Mike. Thinkin's whut we brung him for." Then, switching the comm for Rigby, "Make some elbow room back there, Wyatt… got another load comin' in hot."
"Yessir," the young Marine called back, because he'd been given an order, not asked for opinions. "We'll be ready."
Meanwhile, Taylor had banked them around to follow that mud-flecked and tumbling bubble. Brains chewed his lip and worked the problem, finally reaching for extra dimensions to make a quintic equation actually work.
"I h- have it!" he yelped at last, with tears and joy in his voice. "J- J- John will be utterly s- speechless!"
Barely felt Taylor's backslap, as he hunched forward in his seat straps to program like mad. Then, a few dozen keystrokes later, the muddy globe began to rise; lifted above that spuming, roaring flood by an impulse shoehorned in from another dimension. It rose smoothly toward them, on a pedestal of short-cutting energy. Lee hit the comm again, shouting,
"Y'all hang tight, back there!"
…and opened the main cargo bay doors. Brains was intensely focused, directing the prototype's lifting thrust through a ninety-degree dimensional bypass, while retaining its orientation and field strength. That captured globe ascended, containing twenty-five rescued people and their idling vehicles.
Inside the hold, everyone was strapped down or tethered, and back in their surface survival gear. The big cargo bay doors slid apart with a grinding, sand-eating shriek, letting in first a crack of pink light, then keening wind in great, freezing blasts.
Rigby, Masters and one of his ranch hands stood side by side, ready to deal with their up-rushing load. Red Mars shot by, underneath; writhing and stretching like an about-to-burst chrysalis. Rigby stared at the globe of blue force, maybe sixty feet in diameter, that bobbed up into their hold like an ice cube in whisky. Streaked with mud and rust, it appeared to contain a great many floating people and several crawlers.
"Incoming!" he shouted, because: Marine.
Roy Masters grinned and tapped his own helmet comm.
"We can all hear you, Son," he chuckled, as the bubble of rescued neighbors drifted all the way in. "I'll be d*mned," he added, "if that's not the quietest ol' Bette's ever been. Oughta leave her that way!"
The doors ground closed once again, getting jammed a few times on gritty sand and spattering mud. Alarms blatted and shrilled, adding still more noise to the mix. Rigby, Masters and Levy (his foreman) had to rappel down between the great doors with crowbars and picks to loosen that jamming grit, as the erupting landscape flashed by underneath.
Later, over beers with the Tracys and Taylor, Wayne tried to describe it all; the booming sounds of stressed hull, the frustrated snarl of jammed machinery, that shrieking gale making him bob and swing on his tether, while people above called out encouragement. He'd never been closer to death, or fonder of life. Never more bursting with purpose.
Working with Masters and Levy, he got the mechanism going again. Willing hands drew them up and out of harm's way, as people who should have stayed strapped down safe, rushed to help the three men back inside.
See, there were all kinds of rescuers. Some wore a uniform and had special equipment and skills. Others just jumped in where needed; risking much more, because they had less.
The doors closed at last, quieting most of that awful noise, and strangling silent the wailing alarms. The force globe winked out, at Rigby's all-clear, freeing the rescued colonists. The Marine was back-slapped, shoved and embraced by a hold full of elated survivors, who had a story to tell for the rest of their salvaged lives. And he thought: I could get used to this.
XXXXXXXXXXXXX
Somewhat earlier, near Mars Base-
A blast of loud noise and smashing force had made Charlie react by stopping it all, right now. Everything froze but him. Even… even Gordon.
His best good teamwork friend was all bent, with fire on his pay suit. If… if Charlie let him go, maybe his pay suit wouldn't work, anymore? Maybe he'd die? The rocks were still up, and the big red ship had a hole, now, with more fire and pieces all out, frozen where he'd grabbed them. Only… only… he didn't know what to do! There was… was people in the air from the ramp, and he couldn't ask Gordon!
Scared out of his wits, helpless and terribly powerful, Charlie started to cry; sobbing with all the heartbroken force of a terrified, abandoned small boy. Hugged what he could reach of Gordon, begging,
"Please, please be okay, Gordon. Please? I'll be good! I'll be good, forever! Don't go! Please, I c- c- can't…!"
He heard something. Got scared more, got bigger, and tried to hide behind Gordon, his whole world.
"Hey, Pal," somebody said to him, from outside Charlie's reach. A guy, waving. "Hey, it's okay. Don't be scared. I'm pretty nervous, too… only don't tell anyone, 'cause I'm supposed to be in charge, around here."
(In charge meant 'yells a lot', like the brown-hair brother.)
"Can I come in and help, Pal?"
Charlie considered a minute, glancing a few times at Gordon, who was locked up safe from dying. Then, sniffling, the little boy nodded.
"You could come in," he whispered. "You could help."
The man started walking, watched the whole way by a frightened young time-bender. When he got closer, he squatted down to look at Charlie and smile.
"Hey, there. I'm Pete. We met at the Base, remember?"
Charlie nodded, a little uncertainly. There were lots of people at the Base, and his head was already full up with brothers.
"I 'member," he kinda-sorta lied.
"Awesome. Okay, so you're doing all this? Keeping the blast locked up, like that?"
After a second, Charlie nodded. Pete-guy seemed nice, so…
"Yes, Sir. I did it… but I'll be good, I promise!"
Pete smiled again. His teeth were apart in the front. That was funny, so Charlie smiled back. The man patted his shoulder, saying,
"You're aces with me, Pal. Now, I got a few friends, believe it or not… Captain Hesse and Sergeant Declaire… and if they can come in, too, we can get these folks out of the blast zone. What d'you say, Chip? Sound good to you?"
That was a lot of words, but the gist… more people to help Gordon and all them… got through.
"Yes, Sir. They could come, too. Help Gordon first, okay? You gotta help Gordon, first! Promise?" he just about danced from foot to foot with worry and need, but Pete nodded, not smiling no more.
"I promise, Pal. Squid gets out, first."
'Pal' and 'Squid' must be something good, Charlie figured, like 'Buddy', 'Big guy' or 'Kiddo'. Another new word to save up inside, 'cause someday, he'd help a kid who didn't know what to do. Someday, he'd be like Gordon and Pete.
The Base Commander patted the boy's shoulder, then got to his feet with a grunt. Turning, McCord waved back at his waiting people, signaling Hesse and Declaire to come forward. They'd been reluctant to let the admiral go in alone, and he'd had to pull rank, threatening lifelong KP and permanently cancelled leave, at status E-0. Not a threat. A Goddam promise.
"Need an emergency hab with full life support," he told them, as the scared kid tried to duck out of sight. "Some of these people are going to need medical help. Their suits are ruptured."
Captain Hesse nodded, then gave him a sharp salute.
"Aye, Sir. Sergeant, get back out past the time-lock effect, and get started inflating a hab. You'll be triage and medic. Understood?"
Declaire saluted, in turn.
"Yes, Ma'am," he said to the tall, blonde captain. "Right away."
And with that, he loped off, taking long, Mars-type strides. Hesse turned back to the boss and Charlie, whom she'd helped get adopted.
"Good thing we've got a God-dan Tracy here," she remarked, smiling down at the scared little fellow. "It might be tough to pull this off, otherwise. Good thing he's just like his dad."
Charlie smiled back, because he was a Tracy, and Tracys didn't get scared, and they didn't never, ever, start crying. They just got to work.
One by one, starting with Gordon Tracy, the time-locked people were moved from Thunderbird 3 to that newly erected hab, where Sergeant Declaire got them sorted. Thing was, (he found out the hard way) their momentum remained, and kicked back in, once they got released from the time-bender's hold. Meant that Gordon went sailing, with his burst air-tank afire, almost breeching the hab's inflatable wall. Declaire was better prepared for the next guy, who'd been falling.
As for Gordon, he'd gone from burst of comm static, huge noise, flame gout and giant concussion… to swaying med tent. Was disoriented for, like, five minutes, then wanted to jump back out there because, Charlie and Alan.
Literally forced the med guy to loan him a Mars suit and check him off as fit for duty, then hurried back out. Felt like Master Chief in that clunky green Mars armour, but it wasn't the gear that mattered. Like Grandma was always telling them, it was the Tracy, inside.
He fairly flew out of that air-filled emergency med-tent, and back to Thunderbird 3; sore frickin' everywhere… even his teeth hurt… but willing. Found Charlie, first (Thank God, thank God, thank God) then took a long second to just scoop the kid up and hug him close.
"Gordon, you's squishing me!"
"Sorry," the aquanaut laughed. "You okay, Big guy? Nothing's broken?"
Charlie nodded.
"I'm okay. I'm helping. You's okay, too, Gordon? You's fine?"
"Never better," said his dad. ('Cause, that's what he was. Captain Hesse said so. There was papers, and everything.) "You done good, Charlie. Be flying your own Bird, in no time flat!"
Which was about when the prototype showed back up, searching for somewhere to land. No guff between McCord and Taylor, this time. (Or at least, not much. A bit of name-calling and ancestry questioning, was all.)
Gordon had no time to listen. He was after his brother. Just like Charlie, his responsibility. Alan R. Tracy had been placed in his arms as a red-faced, squashed-looking and sort of ugly baby.
"He's your little brother," Mom had told him, golden-red hair swinging forward as she bent to kiss his upturned face. "You have to take care of him, Gordon. You're a big brother, now."
…and a father. Well, he would have left Charlie safe with the others, but the kid wouldn't stay. Had to take him along, plus Pete, who was every bit as stubborn about it.
They got back into the rocket by climbing up to the forward boarding hatch, passing burst seams that glowed with time-locked flame and concussive force. A cloud of blasting rivets hung in midair like those boulders. Perfectly still relative to Charlie, Gordon and Pete, they still packed tremendous energy, and had got to be avoided, making for some pretty intense gymnastics.
"Would… urf… kill for a jet pack, right now," Gordon grunted, easing his way past an evil, hornet-like swarm of rivets and hull shards. "Where are Scott and John, when you need 'em?"
"Shut up and climb," snapped McCord. "I'm paying by the hour, here."
"Wait… I'm getting paid?" whooped Gordon, nearly loosing his grip on the next hull brace. "Hot da… uh, that's awesome." Because, you know… brothers to save, mouths to feed. That crap cost money.
Together, they made it at last to the forward hatch, which Charlie released enough for his dad to key open. Then, they climbed on inside, and up to the cockpit, where Alan was sprawled against the instrument panel; seeming battered, but alive.
"No way we're going to climb down with a frozen Tracy," said Pete. "Got any line onboard?"
Gordon shot him a 'Hello! International Rescue!' look.
"Only a couple thousand yards," he boasted. "Space-rated and battle-tested, like me."
"An' me," Charlie piped up.
"Dude, naturally," said his dad. "We're a team. Goes without saying. Now, let Sleeping Beauty, here, go and we'll tell him how he'd of been toast, if you hadn't pulled that slick move when the blast went off."
Charlie giggled, impulsively hugging Gordon.
"He's not toast! You eat toast! He's other brother."
"Yeah? Well, I'll eat you!" Gordon laughed, making pretend chewing noises and bouncing his kid in the air a few times. Little guy was definitely smaller, by the time they'd done playing; McCord stifling his impatience with saintly effort.
Alan was sort of disoriented, when Charlie let him go. The blast had been channeled upward, its shockwave just about bursting his eardrums, but he recovered quickly enough to rappel down the rocket without much help. Had to blink back tears at the bottom, though, as he saw what had happened to Thunderbird 3.
Charlie reached up shyly to take Alan's gloved hand, then, whispering,
"I was crying, too, Pal. Pete said to don't worry. He'd help. Maybe he could help you Bird, too?"
Alan Tracy took a deep breath and tore his stinging eyes away from the ruptured and flaring rocket. Gordon's hand was tight to his right shoulder, while Charlie's was thrust into his own; both, in their own way, offering comfort.
"I…" he began, then thought of something. "Havok and Fuse," he blurted, whirling to face his brother. "Did anyone check the aft storage lockers? They could still be inside!"