Hi, again! There's an epilogue, somewhere, I promise! :/ Hugs, you guys, and thanks for reviewing and reading.
41
Tracy Island, earlier-
Up in the main Control Centre once more, they'd sat Captain Rigby down on one of the ring's TB3 boarding armchairs. Max brewed up some hot coffee, while Jeff tried sorting things out, his way. The Marine looked different, he noticed; more powerful, somehow, with eyes that had gone sort of distant and green.
"Where are you from?" he asked the crowded young man. Rigby (or his guest) looked at the Colonel, then shook his head.
"Farther in space and time than you can conceive, Carbon-Base," he replied, in a deep, weary voice not quite his own.
'Y- You are, ah… are n- not organic in nature?" cut in Brains, accepting a steaming chai latte from Max.
"No," said the entity, still speaking through Rigby. "And I would not have believed that organic sapience was possible, until recent events proved it so."
"You speak our language very well," probed Jeff, cautiously. The room was packed with family and friends. He had a duty to keep them safe.
"I know all that this host-body knows," it explained, as if none of this mattered.
"Is Wayne alright?" demanded Tanusha, pouncing into the ring like a sleek hunting cat. "Have you hurt him?!" For some reason… perhaps the being's odd energies… she could not read past it to Rigby.
The captain's posture and expression shifted, suddenly, as he came back to the fore of his own rented body.
"I'm fine, I think," he told them, looking only at her. "The Survivor doesn't want to cause any trouble. He's… doesn't want to talk about it."
Alone and sad, he'd nearly admitted, and maybe reluctant to depart the busy, damp warmth of an organic host. Maybe afraid of what happened to drifting, over-expanded energy gone red, dead and cold.
The female organic passed him a container of scalding beverage, which Rigby knew how to imbibe. The thermal shock was welcome, as was the chemical power of sugar and caffeine. Imagine, he thought, actually speaking with Carbon-Bases, one being to another, as equals. His Spectrum would have wavered with horror.
"How can we help you?" asked Jeff, sensing a problem that might be beyond the scope of International Rescue. Once again, the Marine's guest shook their head.
"You offer what you cannot accomplish, Carbon-authority. My need is unresolvable."
"Why?" Brains asked him. "Are y- you lost in t- time as well as s- space? I am in p- possession of a t- time crystal, which…"
"Does not translocate," said the Survivor. "Such shards of Creation are extremely powerful, but limited. They cross when, not where, and the energies required to trigger a jump of the magnitude I seek, would drain your galactic core to cinders."
Nice.
"So…" Gordon cut in for the very first time, coming back from the kitchen with Charlie. "When you said 'far', you meant, like… really far. Start of the universe, or something."
The Survivor regarded him through Rigby's changed eyes, then said,
"You are more intelligent than you chose to reflect, Carbon-diver. This is a waste of potential. Yes, in terms that would work for you, the universe was close to half of its current size, when last I encountered my Spectrum."
Lieutenant Commander Sheffield, Grandma and young Caleb were present, as well. (Only Alan was missing, for reasons best known to himself.) Sheff set his coffee mug down, placed both hands on his knees, and leaned forward.
"Those are your people?" he asked. "The 'Spectrum'?" Was relieved to hear that there weren't others nearby, with designs on Earth. It was Rigby who answered him, saying,
"They're all gone, I think. There was some kind of conflict, like ours, only worse. It was a very long time ago, Sir."
Sheffield considered, sitting back to run a hand through his cropped brown hair. Alone among those present, he still felt his sworn duty to WorldGov, along with a persistent friendship with Brains and young, scrappy Gonzalez.
"One more question. Looking for an honest answer, here… You didn't come down to scout us out, did you?"
"No," said the Survivor. "I came to this quadrant, this star system, before life on Third World was more than mere slime upon rock. There would have been no secrets to scout, beyond that of photosynthesis." (an interesting conversion of radiant energy to chemical storage, for organic lifeforms. In his hosted form, he was sheltered from that sort of thing. In his natural, free state, plants were hungry monstrosities; renders of wavelength and frequency.)
"You've been here on Earth all this time?" asked Jeff, taking the reins back from Sheffield.
"Again, no. Until very recent events awoke Fourth World, and delivered a host, I was there… the place you call 'Mars'." After conquest and war, he now understood. "I constructed a base of operations upon its south magnetic pole, at a time when that place still had usable energies."
"You must be so lonely," mourned Zara, biting her full lower lip. She'd brought a plate of tea sandwiches… egg and cress… to make things a bit more cozy than bitter, barbarous coffee could manage. The Marine captain turned his head to regard her, looking with more than one sort of gaze.
"You have power," he said to the girl, nearly making her drop all those sandwiches. "It is subtle, but present. The time will soon come to strengthen your amplitude, New-Spark."
All at once the centre of unwanted attention, Zara forced a quite artificial laugh, ducked behind her blonde hair, and then went back to serving up sandwiches. Her Ladyship and Parker first, of course. Then the Colonel and Mrs. Tracy. Got round to wee Charlie, next, blushing hot at her nearness to Gordon, who was looking everywhere but at her. Their hands brushed and lingered, when she gave the swimmer that delicate sandwich, sending a thrill straight up her arm. Said Charlie, winningly,
"That was good! I could have more, please?" He was being very well schooled in manners, obviously. Said Zara, falling into fond 'Mum speak',
"Of course, you may! How else is a wee, bold adventurer to grow stronger?"
He smiled at her, something happened, and when next she looked, five more egg and cress sandwiches had vanished from the tray. Gordon stifled an oath, excused himself, and took the poor lad firmly outside. Meanwhile, Kayo had questions of her own. Taking another step closer, she asked the alien,
"What are your plans? Are you going to stay here, with Wayne?" (The second time she'd used his first name in public. Rigby felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with alien energy creatures.) Said the Survivor,
"Truly, I do not know what remains to me, Desired-of-this-host. I am at a loss."
Kayo reddened nearly as much as Zara had, and for similar reasons. Wayne actually liked her? She didn't… she wasn't too scary for him? Jeff cleared his throat like a cannon shot.
"I can't speak for our WorldGov liaison," he said. "Don't know how he feels about you setting up camp in his body, like this… but you're welcome to stay on the Island, while we figure out how to help you get home."
"Mebbe not back to Mars, though," said Lee, from his seat beside Sally. "Pete's sorta particular 'bout who he lets onto his turf. Moon's wide open. Nice 'n private, too."
The Survivor looked from face to face as Rigby turned his sensory cluster. He was learning to interpret wet, organic photoreceptors, and the shape of fuel intake vents, as a way to gauge organic mood and frequency. The beings meant well, he sensed. Many leaked power in an aura visible to him beyond their dull biological shells. Others were simply damp carbon clay with a few energy-transfer tricks woven in. All were… concerned. For him, as well as their just-rescued world.
Many long aeons before, his hosts had been nerve-burnt to shambling docility. He'd been many times over much more than a killer. Now…? He was tired. This host was young and strong, still in love with being alive. Wishing to impress and breed with the Carbon-authority's scintillant daughter, as well. It did not reject his presence, despite not being controlled.
"Your offer of refuge is accepted, Third World Authority. I am not free of taint, and you are all very new… but I vow restraint. Perhaps I can even be useful."
It was a start.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Over a month later, leaving Mars-
There had been shoulder pounding, affectionate cuffs and lots of good-natured joking, when Scott, John and Virgil finally crossed over from Pete's ship, to the flashy new Thunderbird 3. Alan had expertly lined up their vessels to link hatches, allowing his brothers to shoot through like bullets, followed by Cody and Kane, who'd lingered a while in the airlock. (Might've touched the Mark IV's bulkhead here and there with intent; giving a very fine ship its own future.)
"Hey, Guys!" Alan greeted them all, sort of half laughing and sobbing, together. "Welcome aboard! We knew you'd make it! We knew you'd be back!"
Gordon was more controlled, but just as happy to see them.
"Took you long enough!" he teased, slapping a few heads. This started a micro-G shoving match that both puzzled and fascinated their two allies.
Tracys bounced in every direction, until Scott got them back under control with a barked command. Well, he started to, until Al cleared his throat and faced his stern older brother, saying,
"Hang on, Scott… You're here, and I'm glad… but this is my Bird. My rules, my responsibility. I'll be glad to get your advice, but in here, I'm in charge. Okay?" Sorta ruined things with that final, voice-cracking plea. Surprisingly, though, Scott simply nodded. McCord's wall-to-wall counseling session had left a deep mark.
"Understood, Al. She's all yours and, in here, I'm a passenger. Still your boss, though."
The slim blond astronaut grinned at him, then surprised Scott with a sudden tight hug that sent them both crashing into a bulkhead. Scott got himself disentangled, pretending not to notice Al's lapse of control.
"Right," he said, turning to Gordon, whose grin still threatened to split his sandy-blond head. "How's everything back home? Everyone okay? Did you manage the rescues alright, without us?"
Gordon rolled wide hazel eyes, expressively.
"Dude, you have no idea. Hard to decide where to start. Everyone's fine. Rigby's possessed, but he likes it. Nothing can hurt him for long… only you can never be sure who's talking; him or…"
Alan shoved his brother, as they all started forward.
"Bro! You can so! Rigby sounds stiff, like Dad sometimes does. Survivor sounds like my online professor. Duh!"
"What d'you mean 'possessed'?" cut in Virgil, who'd been talking to Kane, explaining the concept of 'scuffle' as opposed to 'fight'. "He opened the tomb of Nebucha-never-was, or something?"
Gordon and Al exchanged glances.
"Um… no," said the swimmer, making a face. "He picked up an alien from Mars, only not really. He's older than that. Way older."
"Maybe the last of his kind, too," added Alan. They'd reached the cockpit, by now. Wasn't room in there for six guys and a big, scowling cyborg, but Al had an important warning to deliver, so he'd waved them all in.
"Okay, listen, Guys… it's like this: there's maybe supposed to be a surprise party going on, for you."
"We're supposed to fake engine trouble," said Gordon, while strapping into the co-pilot's seat, "so that everyone has a chance to get there, and hide. Grandma's idea, not ours."
Alan nodded.
"So, we talked about it on the way over, and decided, if it was us…"
"We'd want to know what was going on," finished Gordon, busily keying up scanning and comm.
"A party?" Scott groaned. "Seriously?! All I want to do is go home and face-plant. Eat some more, maybe."
"Share it, Brother. Wait… will Emma be there?" Virgil broke in, trying to smooth his rooster-like crown of black hair. John, too, was looking himself over, with an eye toward seeing O'Bannon.
"Everybody," predicted Al, in his deepest voice. "We've got, like, new people, too. GDF trainees in to help with the rescues. Can't hear yourself think in there, anymore." Only, he didn't seem as upset as all that, for some reason.
Scott snorted.
"Does she really think I wouldn't recognize a faked engine glitch?" he demanded. "H*ll, John helped re-design half this crap!"
"Eos wouldn't fall for it," agreed their quietest brother. "Neither would Jaeger. On the other hand, I'd be glad to bump into Captain O'Bannon. I owe her dinner." They'd have to sneak off, though.
Scott was pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. Never a good sign.
"Okay, here's the plan," he announced. "Al, fly the scenic route. Take it nice and slow. I'm going back to the crew cabin for some rest. Suggest you four do the same. We can get cleaned up, in orbit."
"Okay, but… act surprised," fretted Alan. "Don't let on that we told you."
Virgil started to chuckle, though it converted in mid-laugh to a jaw-cracking yawn and wide stretch. Sleepily, he said,
"Somebody always has, since you guys pulled that dumb stunt on my birthday, that time, and everyone ate all the food, waiting for me to get there."
"I hate parties," John mumbled, to no one but Eos and Jaeger (who was out exploring the ship and environs.)
"We'll smile and act surprised," Scott promised, fighting back a huge yawn of his own. "C'mon, Beech, Kane… it'll be a new experience. Ever had chocolate cake?"
He did not say a few other things, like the fact that he and John had been reactivated for full military honors, before receiving their 'posthumous' medals… and that their asses now belonged to the GDF… or that Chancellor Shaw wanted body cams installed on everyone's uniforms, all according to Pete. No sense spoiling the mood, right? They'd find out soon enough, and he was… honestly… too tired… to…