Hi, guys! Day two of a surprise 3-day weekend, as my daughter ended up having all of her wisdom teeth removed. Ouch, to say the least. I've been busy getting her to and from the dentist, and helping her eat soft, mush stuff. Thank you, Creative Girl, Bow Echo, Thunderbird Shadow and Whirl Girl, for your kind reviews. It isn't over till everyone's home, but that's getting closer with each chapter. :)

39

Mars, dammit-

The Prototype crew were reluctant to start for home. Not with three missing men and a dead ship left behind them. Not when they kept hoping that, somehow, it would all come right, again.

Day after day, they'd strained their ears at the comm for a hint of Scott's voice, or John's, or Virgil's. Heck, even the Mechanic's arrogant, rumbling "Told you so" would have been welcome. Or, y'know… that Cody guy; but, no joy at all.

Finally, as the red, blotchy planet below continued to warm up and generate atmosphere, as its crust split, its basins filled with mud and then water, Alan was forced to just leave a beacon. He did it, rather than Lee or Gordon, because the one was flying, the other busy teaching his kid about Earth, and his waiting new family.

Nothing better for an unemployed astronaut to do, right? So, with Brains' help, Al designed and built an orbital beacon, recorded a hopeful missive, then fired it off into space. Watched his message and bottle buzz away like a flashing gnat, from the Prototype's aft observation bubble (and anti-space-junk tail cannon).

Rigby had come to join them, as well, hovering beside Alan as they watched the tiny, fast-moving mech disappear.

"They'll hear it," the Marine assured him, once sun-glow and blackness had swallowed their beacon whole. "As soon as they're back in regular time. They'll know you waited as long as you could, and searched for them everywhere."

Like the rest of his fighting service, Rigby was hard-core about never leaving a man behind, much less a brother. He totally got it.

"I h- have calculated the, ah… the energies p- produced by the s- sudden ejection of that, ah… that d- derelict, and, with various 'fudge factors', as J- John would say, it seems, ah… seems l- likely that they will r- reappear within a y- year."

"And we'll get a new Bird thrown together in less than three weeks, bet me," came a new voice, from farther up the main passageway. Gordon, it was, gliding over to join them. He'd parked the kid with Lee and Max, for a while. Flying lessons.

Alan smiled at his closest brother and best friend. Gordon was newly complicated by fatherhood, but still a dang awesome guy. (When not being a total butt-head.)

"You think so?" Alan asked him, keeping the quaver out of his voice with real effort.

"Dude, I know so," said Gordon, shooting across to a fast, arm-braced stop with Alan's help. "Betcha Brains 's already got some plans in the works."

The dark-haired engineer started guiltily, as though caught in the act of rebuilding old biplanes and gliders, again.

"Y- Yes, Gordon. I, ah… I h- have indeed been planning Thunderbird 3.2. Sh- she will be magnificent. And structurally b- bomb-proofed."

They were a rough-looking bunch at the time; grubby, unshaven (except for Al, who still didn't need to) and bone-weary. Three scruffy blond pilots and one tan-skinned, black-haired engineer. All of them bonded by rescue, danger and tested friendship. Each man present had saved the others at least twice in just the last week. They'd have stood up for each other and Lee, come hell or disaster. No matter what the personal cost.

Bottom line, Alan wasn't alone. In their own gruff, masculine fashion, everyone there had offered some comfort, and promised support… and that made one heck of a difference.

A short time later, up in the cockpit, Lee turned to regard Alan, Gordon, Rigby and Brains, as the four young men swooped in through the rear hatch.

"Clear ta head back?" he asked, blue-grey eyes fixed on Alan's.

The younger man hesitated briefly, then nodded once, saying,

"Yessir… we've done all we can, over here. Let's go home."

Captain Taylor smiled at him, sensing that all wasn't well quite yet, but getting better, little by bit.

"Then, grab a seat n' strap y'rselves down, people. Time ta high-tail it back ta Base."

Gordon switched places with Charlie, who was full of sudden advice about effective copiloting. His dad listened gravely, asking questions, even.

Alan, Rigby and Brains glided on back to the crew cabin, each young man preparing himself for the homecoming from a slightly different angle. Alan knew that he'd have to face Dad over the loss of his Bird. Rigby, that the Colonel's beautiful daughter might be there; so impossibly precious that she tore the heart and stung the eye. Hackenbacker with his head full of rotating, 4-D rocket designs; communing via comm with his work crew and Mini-Max swarm.

Took them, like, forty-five minutes to get back to the Island, once Captain Taylor cut on the Higgs Boson generator and called in to Grandma. Alan was deeply apprehensive, but hopeful, too… and tired enough to sleep for a frickin' month.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Tracy Island, the Prototype hangar-

Sally Tracy had gone down to the hangar with Penny, Parker and young Zara, leaving her newly returned son to mind the comms. Now, she stood waiting and watching as that huge, silvery bat-shape thundered down from a jewel-blue sky.

Lee was an expert pilot, so Sally Tracy made do with a few simple Hail Marys and a quick Our Father. Just lettin' the Big Guy know she was still down here, and needin' a little boost. Her faith was a gut-level, deep-rooted thing; tough to express or pass on, though she'd certainly tried.

At any rate, the Prototype Thunderbird switched from rockets to impellers, about a thousand feet over the Island, muting its roar to a whispering hum. Glided in like a leaf, or a silvery feather. Nor were Sally and her folk the only ones watching.

The sudden huge energy flare, at a frequency 'note' reminiscent of beings long gone, drew more than just Carbon-based onlookers. The Survivor was lured to that hangar, as well. Knowing better, but unable to resist a closer look at the source of that bellowing, chaotic song. False alert. Not one of his own kind. Not sapient, or even alive. Nothing with which he could generate more of his vanished fellows.

The Carbon-bases evinced considerable agitation, however; scurrying like insects to greet one another with upraised antennae and rasping emissions of gas, as their vessel cooled down and fell silent across the spectrum. Still hoping, Survivor shot aboard to scan the construct, flaring like emerald lightning through all of its systems in less than a millisecond. Nothing and no one aboard, except organic lumps and their programmed machinery. The Survivor withdrew, feeling… isolated, emptied.

This hadn't mattered as much during all those long cycles on Fourth World. As a coded imprint, he'd sensed very little, and had assumed that more of his kind were out there, just beyond emission range. In the last few timeparts, however, he'd used the Carbon-bases' primitive comm system to search the observable universe. Calling, always calling. There had been no response, whatsoever. This… generated pain. Damped his emissions and lowered his frequencies to just above infrared.

Was he truly the last, Survivor wondered? Were there no others remaining, at all? A bitter victory, if the Apophis-vessel had also been all that remained of its silicate builders. He'd won the war. Alone.

Very nearly, Survivor lost cohesion and simply let himself fade, like the burnt-out corpse of a star. Only, one of the Carbon-bases unheedingly passed right through his flickering energies, on its way to greet another. The Survivor had not intended to take a new host. The last had been trouble enough, and he was too weak, too grieved, to fully control another.

Yet, all at once, he was back inside the solid, warm, oozing and pulsing heap of an organic being. Ought to have seized its nervous system right then and there, but… why? What was the point?

The startled host stumbled and blinked, briefly cutting off its primary data receptors. Wayne Rigby, GDMC, lawyer and WorldGov liaison, had just been altered. He had just become they.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

At the same time, in that big, ringing hangar-

Not shyly at all, Sally went right up the boarding ramp to take Lee's hand and give him a business-like peck on one bristly cheek.

"Took y'r time comin' back," she observed, not really angry.

"Had 'a be certain," Lee told her, squeezing the silver-haired beauty's right hand. "They might of been right behind us, Beth. We couldn't leave till we was sure."

Sally nodded, turning a bit, as first Rigby, then Gordon emerged from the ship. Her tadpole was carrying someone. A shy, small, brown-haired someone. Big eyes, a bit like Virgil's in color, peeped at her through longish hair slightly lighter and straighter than Scott's had been, at the same age. A child. Her first great-grandbaby. Lee nudged her forward, some; smiling all over his seamed, handsome face.

"Think there's somebody here who's been waitin' all week ta meet his great-auntie," the pilot suggested, brushing her shoulder with his own big, solid frame. "G'won, Beth. Howdy's th' easiest word in Basic."

She had to move up the ramp, then, because Gordon had all at once stopped moving. Turned red as a sunburnt day-tripper, too. He stood like a boulder in midstream, forcing Rigby and Brains to edge past him; his hazel eyes fixed on someone else, entirely. Someone who'd hung shyly back from this tide of emerging heroes.

Wayne Rigby hardly noticed. He'd practiced a few lines… clever and funny, he hoped… to say to that lovely and powerful Amazon, Tanusha Kyrano Tracy. Got the right bold stride and confident look slapped together, he figured. Then… walked right into or through someone. A being so old and alone that Wayne's heart nearly stopped, out of sheer, crushing despair. He stumbled, blinked hard, then recovered. Was steadied by Kayo and Lee, who drew back in surprise, when he opened his eyes once again.

Not far away, Penny had gone to greet Alan and Brains, so that the poor lads should not feel entirely unwanted. Of course, she'd known that Scott was not with them, but… well, one could never quite stifle hope, could one?

Beside Zara, meanwhile, Parker leant casually over to say, out one corner of his mouth,

"h-Appears t' me that you've caught th' h-eye of young Master Gordon, Miss Zara."

She blushed, recalling (of all things) that wee guitar and plastic 'A+ Swimmer' award. Gordon Tracy was powerfully muscled, though not very tall, with a tousled mop of sandy-blond hair and a warm, friendly face gone suddenly quite still. He was holding a small, brown-haired boy in his arms. Someone he'd rescued, perhaps?

Reflexively, Zara glanced behind herself, to learn what the famed swimmer and rescue diver was actually staring at. Saw nowt but that red metal gantry, industrial piping and concrete wall. Impossible. She'd no makeup on; had not even dressed, beyond jeans and a flower-print top. Shone with heat from the kitchen. She said to herself, quite sensibly, 'It is just that I'm new, and he is curious to learn why I've come to the Island. That's all.'

The thought steadied her, somewhat; allowing the girl to smile at Gordon Tracy and nod a polite 'hello'. Only… her heart did hammer, so.

All at once terribly confused, Zara turned for relief to Parker, who only chuckled and shook his grey head.

"They're like that, h-all of 'em," he observed with a smile. "'its 'em h-all at once, h-it does. Like me blackjack, back h-in th' olden days. Go say 'ullo, Miss. 'Ee don't bite." And he gave her a gentle push in the love-ward direction.

So, positive developments, from Alan's perspective? All the confusion completely distracted his father, when the Colonel came down to join them with Sheffield and Caleb Gonzalez. Still clutching his Bird's main processing cartridge, the young pilot was able to slip right out to Brains' aircraft design lab.

Jeff never noticed. It wasn't every day that he got his first grandchild, a son fell hard and fast for one of his rescued guests, the Chancellor called with an ultimatum, and they encountered an ancient and powerful alien being, all in the same afternoon.

…and it was only Tuesday.