Mark awoke to a sensation of disorientation. The bed was wrong. The light from the window was in the wrong place. And yet...it was familiar.

He froze. He'd done this almost every morning for the past forever, it seemed. His self-image was G-1, the Eagle, commander of G-Force, the world at his feet. The months when the reality sweeping in as he woke up fully was 'not any more' had been beyond grim.

The past week had been good disorientation. He was back in his old quarters in black section, and right after the sinking feeling of no longer being in command came 'but soon I will be'. He could feel himself smiling, even before he'd opened his eyes. Even as he winced at the stiffness in his legs. The muscles were stiff because he was using them. Yesterday, for the first time in months, he'd put on a gi and gone to train with Sensei Jones, who spent most of his time training the new implantees to apply implant speed and strength to their martial arts skills. It had been interesting. Without the implant he struggled to do more than walk, and a not very fast walk at that. But lean hard on it and he could perform even quite difficult moves, provided it was something quick. In and out, with an explosion of energy rather than a slow, controlled release. He'd enjoyed it. He'd probably done more than was advisable.

Moving at all, even just swinging his legs out to sit on the side of the bed, still hurt. He glanced at the clock. Seven-thirty. In two and a half hours, he'd be demonstrating his ability to do whirlwind pyramid with G-Force. Given his current physical abilities, it was time to start warming up. Slowly, smoothly, and extremely gently.

Since the surgery, he felt better every time he woke up. The implant was set to repair his muscles back to where they had been before everything had gone wrong. That meant fifteen hours of sleep a day. He didn't care. Having the implant actively help even when he wasn't exercising had been an advantage beyond his wildest dreams. He'd expected to be doing all the work himself. He'd tried not to think that he was about due some luck - recently, any such expectation had been the cue for a letdown of monumental proportions.

So he'd kept his disbelieving delight under control. He'd not pushed too hard physically - well, not until yesterday afternoon, anyway. He'd concentrated on the things which didn't put too much strain on his recovering leg muscles, splitting much of his time between various flight simulators. To his disappointment, he couldn't get anywhere near the G-1 yet - it had footbrakes. The Phoenix, though, was all hand controls. The only limit on his ability to fly it was his reflexes, tuned to things which didn't fly like a brick with an engine on the back. He'd always struggled with flying the big ship. Nothing had changed except necessity. It was difficult and annoying and he had to be able to do it because, for the first time, he was going to be the one left behind. He'd put in a substantial amount of effort and refused to allow himself to wish that it flew more like a fast jet, because it didn't. He thought he was probably flying it as well as he ever had.

The jump-console had been less urgent, since that was one job he wouldn't be getting back unless there was a disaster. Jason's records on the simulator were startlingly fast. He'd settled for a perfect success rate of safe, competent jumps. That was what was needed from a backup, and absolute proof that his interface with the implant was working properly every time.

Tape...well, he'd genuinely tried to watch it, despite how uneasy it made him to watch the unprofessionalism and sheer unhappiness on display in the Phoenix's cockpit. There were ten boxes in a pile in front of the screen on his desk right now. He'd gone to sleep in front of it at least three times, and hadn't made it through a single one of them yet. It was going to be a while before he was up to speed on current Spectran tactics.

And then there were the physical requirements. Whirlwind pyramid in gravity as a minimum, Grant had said. He rather thought it was the last outstanding requirement, assuming they weren't going to insist on him being able to fly the G-1. He was secretly and guiltily glad that passing a standard flight medical wasn't something they could reasonably ask for, not when Jason couldn't and never would be able to. He wasn't sure whether he would ever be able to, either. Migraines were on the standard veto list. Cerebonic implant failure wasn't.

He considered the stick, and then took it for the stairs even though he could manage without. He wasn't going to push his luck. His supply of energy was limited. He'd save it for whirlwind pyramid.

.

He hadn't expected Tiny to be in the big gym half an hour before the start of the session. Nor had he expected for its airspace to be half full. Whirlwind pyramid, they'd said. Instead, the massive space was clear to the ceiling for only about half its floor area. The rest had the bars out, criss-crossing from wall to wall right up to the roof four stories above.

"What's this?" he asked.

Tiny slipped down from the bar he'd been locking into place twelve feet from the ground. "We're talking whirlwind pyramid as an emergency escape option, right? Then no need to build it from the floor. We thought it would be easier for you to set up from a height."

"And Grant?"

"We're not doing whirlwind pyramid with Grant. We're doing it with you. If you don't agree, say so."

He met Tiny's eyes, glanced sideways to his broad shoulders. That was where he had to get up to, the best part of six feet off the ground. He was pretty sure that, no matter how hard he leant on the implant, he couldn't jump more than two. Leaping in from a height, though, as if he was coming down off the Phoenix's wing? That would require more complicated timing, more accuracy, less speed and strength. He nodded.

"We'll build it from above, because that's what I can do right now. Do you really think Grant will think it's good enough? I don't."

"If it comes to that, I can throw you up there." Tiny mimed cupped hands at knee height. "Won't be pretty, but it would work. So, you want twenty minutes practice time before Grant shows up?"

Mark nodded slowly, considering the bars. "Before anyone shows up. It's been a long time since I did this."

Tiny gestured to the bars. "Be my guest."

He crossed to the far corner of the gym, opened the bag he must have left there earlier, pulled out a sheaf of printed papers and started to read, leaning casually against the wall. Very well prepared, he was. Almost as if he'd figured out that Mark would be down here well before the start time and would prefer some practice which, to be honest, he really shouldn't be doing without someone to call Medical if he screwed it up horribly. Tiny really was a lot smarter than he looked.

Well, as long as it was only his team-mates who could predict his actions, that was probably okay. For now.

Tiny was ignoring him, and besides, this was functionality that he'd been able to practice over and over until it was back the way it should be because his physical fitness didn't affect it. Mark transmuted and began to consider the bars. He and Jason had raced to the top using arms only, transferring momentum with the minimum number of intermediate swings. He didn't need to put on that sort of display now. Conversely, swinging was a whole lot neater than climbing and didn't need leg strength.

The fast route they'd used once looked entirely suicidal to him now. Over nearer the door, though, the bars were closer together, with intermediate staggered ones so that he could swing sideways and gain height instead of having to go straight upwards. He picked his route carefully, chose a bar to start on which was barely eight feet off the floor, leaned on the implant and jumped for it. No problem. Swinging was easy. The long-unpracticed flick to let go and land on the next one up, less so. He nearly overshot, and wavered badly on his feet before snapping the wings out gave him the stability he needed.

Don't panic, he told himself. If you fall, you just glide back down and start again.

But he didn't want to fall and have to start again. He wanted to be able to do this. More than that, he wanted it to be fun again instead of some rehab exercise to be passed before he could move on. He'd never worried about falling before. He wasn't going to worry about it now.

Forget five feet to the nearest bar, slightly higher. Mark eyed one some fifteen feet away and lower, and simply let his instincts take over. A shallow, fast dive for it, let momentum carry him over the bar as he caught it, whip round building as much speed as he could, and fire straight up into the air. He knew where the bars were, muscle memory so deep nothing could destroy it.

Of course, his timing was shot to hell and he didn't have enough momentum to reach it and his muscles remembered being in far better shape than they currently were, but the direction was right, and there were plenty of other bars for him to catch and hang from, swinging gently while he eyed up his next landing point. Maybe not as straight up this time. See if he could keep the momentum going. In an emergency situation, that would be what mattered - not being a target, while the others dealt with the threat.

Next time he paused, almost at the ceiling, there were four sets of eyes watching him. Don't hesitate, he told himself. Just glide down. Catch the bottom bar. You can drop from there. That was all the thinking he allowed himself. Wings out, best flight position he could manage, a shallow spiral so he didn't build up too much speed, and a single loop over the bottom bar leaving himself with a vertical drop of a little over a foot.

They'd practiced jumping and falling while out of birdstyle a few times. Not many - Anderson had always said that it was something you couldn't get better at once you knew how to do it, and all you could add was strain and wear on the joints. This felt like one of the higher drops they'd done then. Ten feet or so, leaving you with no choice but to let everything buckle. He'd have hit the ground ignominiously if a strong arm hadn't caught him from each side.

"Looking good," Jason said. "Think you can land it on a pyramid?"

He winced. "Probably not."

"I didn't think so. You get your feet in the right place. We'll worry about the rest."

This is just for emergencies. You are not practicing this for use in combat. Mark stamped hard on the part of himself which wanted to run and hide, and waited for further instructions. He didn't get any. Around him, the four members of G-Force headed for the roof at combat speed. Emergency evac. They wouldn't have time to tell him what to do. He'd need to wait and be ready. That bar there looked like his best option. Fairly close, not too high, enough space to get his wings out and kill his momentum, assuming they formed up on the old worn spot on the floor. That was, of course, why it was worn. How many thousands of pyramid rotations had started out there? Countless.

He didn't worry about whatever it was G-Force was doing up in the roof, simply working his way quietly up to the bar ten feet from the floor, and swinging until he could stand on it, leaning against the wall with one hand on the bar above taking most of his weight. The four figures above him were a blur, performing some complex pattern he'd never learned. The setup for pyramid, though, was unmistakable. For a start, Jason and Tiny had to be on the floor.

He still nearly missed it. Both came down in a feet first full speed drop to an inch-perfect landing, and the moment Tiny glanced round Mark went for it. Good grief, but he was slow compared to them. Slow, and awkward. Princess had landed on Jason's shoulders and was stable before he'd even arrived from five feet away, wobbling on his foothold and giving Tiny a good kick in the helmet while he tried to find his balance. She had an iron, implant-enhanced grip on his shoulder, and belatedly he remembered that Keyop would be arriving any second. He twisted his arm round to lock hers into position, snapped the wings out, and held straight with everything he could as the Swallow landed, feather-light, on his shoulder and the whole thing began to spin.

It took everything he had not to buckle under the strain of gravity, rotation, and extra weight on his shoulders. Everything and then some, and then remembering that with this new implant he had to access it deliberately. He still forgot, sometimes. This new one was like reaching out and flicking a switch, and only then the strength was there for him to call on.

"Abort!" Jason snapped, and instinct took over. He went left, Princess would go right and Keyop straight up. The two on the base would slam to a halt in-situ as best they could, since they were still on the ground and going down wasn't an option. Keyop and Princess would flip neatly over and land perfectly. He'd do his best.

It wasn't bad. He did end up on his feet, wobbly and unsteady, and looked round in confusion.

"Problem? Why did you abort?"

Jason snorted, tossing his chin towards the bars. "You think I'm going to throw a pyramid up into that lot? Tiny, lose the metalwork."

No, but I thought we'd practice the setup more than once, and get airborne by just a couple of feet a few more times after that. Mark shifted his weight, starting to feel the effects of what he was asking his body to do. Maybe Jason was being more realistic about this than he was.

Tiny went over to the control panel by the door and started pressing buttons, and the bars retracted smoothly into the walls, with just a faint whine of motors audible. And Jason turned his back ostentatiously on the observation windows - one-way glass, but they all knew just how many people would be up there watching - and spoke softly.

"We need to do this from ground level, or Grant won't buy it. Can you step up to knee level?"

Mark considered it for a whole half-second. "Not without a handhold."

"Tiny's shoulders good enough? If not, I can give you a boost. But then you'll be up there before Princess, with nothing to steady yourself on."

He permitted himself a smile. "I've been hauling myself round arms-only for months. That'll be fine."

Tiny was back alongside Jason, the bars were gone, Princess and Keyop were waiting, back far enough to get the runup and jump they'd need, and it was time to see if he really could do this. He couldn't make any attempt at a runup, and didn't try. He just stepped in front of Tiny, put his hands on the other's shoulders, and lifted his left, stronger, foot into Tiny's cupped hands.

"Go," said Tiny, and he put as much effort as he could into gaining height.

He hadn't anticipated hitting the wall, twenty feet away and ten feet from the floor. The silence was complete, and horrified...and, as he sat up, far more embarrassed than hurt, was broken by Jason's laughter.

"I thought you couldn't get six feet off the ground."

"I guess that implant's got more juice in it than I thought." He stood up carefully, one hand on the wall. "Let's try that again."

The next two attempts failed dismally, as he demonstrated that without leaning hard on the implant, no, he couldn't get six feet off the ground. The fourth time was almost right. He only overshot by a few inches, and managed to get his wings out just in time to break his fall. Even so, he sat down hard and inelegantly.

"Sorry," he said to Keyop, who was leaning casually against the wall. As the man on top, he wouldn't get to do anything until Mark got his act together and actually managed to complete the second row for him to stand on.

"No need. Take your time." He didn't sound annoyed or frustrated. More professionally reassuring. Even the Swallow had to grow up sometime, Mark supposed.

He returned to his starting point, mentally rehearsing what he needed to do. Height, but very little forward momentum. If he could get that right, it wouldn't matter if he went too high. He'd still land on the Owl's shoulders. If he got the twist wrong and ended up facing backwards, he could sort that out later.

"Ready?" asked Tiny, and Mark nodded, setting up again. This time...

This time it worked. This time he ended up on Tiny's shoulders, Princess's steadying grip tight enough to bruise, though he'd never have told her that. This time he locked everything out and stood straight and rigid as Keyop landed, knowing that posture was all-important at any speed at all.

This time, the pyramid spun, and picked up speed, and rose. And the balancing movements needed were easy, and natural. He could have stood in there forever. Except that they were practicing indoors, and while a full speed five-man doubtless could have gone through the roof, it wouldn't have made them popular with anyone.

"Break!" called Keyop, and Mark waited the required heartbeat after he felt the Swallow jump. It wasn't until he was circling down that he realised he'd instinctively taken up position at the head of the formation, first in the sequence of winged figures circling to the ground.

He landed, and managed not to fall flat this time. Jason landed a heartbeat after, followed by the rest of them, Tiny alongside him making up the circle.

"Um..." said Jason.

"I guess I shouldn't be landing in front, if this is supposed to be an emergency escape?" He kept it light.

"Third might be better," said Tiny, not looking anywhere near him.

"Most protected?" He saw them all flinch, and carried on anyway. "We should never need it. I'm not even trying to get ready for hand-to-hand yet, remember? I just spent five months in a wheelchair. I'm not embarrassed by being told when to step back." Just by how easily I forget that I need to.

"Try it again?" Jason asked. "Walk through getting you into third place in the circle on the ground first?"

"I think I can do it in the air." He'd be going up instead of down, following Princess round instead of heading in front of and below her.

"Then -" Jason stopped and swallowed a curse, bringing his bracelet up. Everyone else's was flashing the same coloured pattern. At least, except Mark's. Not part of the team. Not going to be contacted by a scramble. Not going anywhere.

Jason's arm fell to his side again, as the relaxation drained away and the shoulders tensed. And suddenly everyone was looking at Mark.

"I'm not active," he said simply, showing them the dead metal face on his wrist.

"Five seconds to fix," said Keyop.

"Activating my bracelet doesn't make me ready..." His voice trailed off, premonition singing down adrenaline-enhanced nerves. You have to go. Jason's not going to cope. He'd decided he'd flown his last mission as G-1. He's let go. He's not thinking like a commander and he'll never be able to snap back into that mode. It's going to be a disaster.

But I still can't waltz in and take his command away.

"What's Rick's status?" he asked.

"Has a big red '2' on his belt as of yesterday," Tiny said.

"He's flown his last mission with G-Force," said Jason. "Better for all of us that way. You're coming, right?"

Mark looked around his team - no, Jason's team, he reminded himself. No dissent. No objections. Nobody suggesting that they should take Rick instead. He looked for something to contradict it inside himself. He wasn't ready. He couldn't do whirlwind pyramid properly. He hadn't flown a single training flight in the Phoenix for real yet, and simulators were never quite the same. Logic said he should stay behind.

You have to go, his instinct insisted.

"I'll come to the briefing," he said.

.

He'd planned to sit somewhere neutral, half way down the table in a chair no team member ever used. It hadn't occurred to him that Jason would stride ahead the moment they entered the room and sit down emphatically in the seat always taken by the second-in-command, and that the rest of the team would align themselves accordingly and then look expectantly at him. With the speed he walked, he was barely to the end of the table by then. Anderson's expression was far from amused.

"It wasn't my idea, Chief," Mark said, pulling out the nearest chair.

Anderson sighed. "No, I don't suppose it was. Come and sit here, since Jason has so kindly left you a space. We have enough time for a discussion of this, provided it's quick."

"No need for a discussion," Jason said the moment he sat down. "He can do everything you asked. He's in command now."

"Everything?" Anderson's eyes were on him.

"What's the mission?" Mark asked. "If this is a raid on Spectra, then no, I'm not ready. If it's splat the incoming mecha here on Earth, I'm better than an empty seat. Do the briefing and I'll give you an honest answer."

This is the perfect easy first mission back, he thought as the report came up on the screen. Then, no, don't get arrogant. Arrogance kills. They're all dangerous. But it was indeed a basic splat the incoming mecha mission. It wasn't the major assault they were waiting for. It wouldn't matter that his implant wasn't jump-tuned yet. It shouldn't involve anyone leaving the Phoenix, let alone him. Just get up there and put a stop to the flying horror which was taking out oil rigs in the Gulf of Mexico.

There wasn't much of a report. A few shaky videos of the initial three attacks. Some gun camera footage from ISO forces, who were doing their best at distraction. The thing was shaped like a giant crow which spat some sort of fiery plasma and left the rigs a mass of flaming twisted metal. Missiles didn't appear to be having much of an effect on it. Might be a fiery Phoenix job, or possibly just a question of getting Jason in range to pick a weak point and pull off one of his miracle shots. The footage wasn't clear enough to identify detail. That would be a decision to be made in the field.

He took a deep breath, refusing to let it shake. "Yeah, I can do that."

Anderson looked round the table. Four heads nodded, and he picked up the phone and dialled. "Anderson here. Add the Eagle's bracelet to the G-Force group. Immediately, please."

Ten seconds later, there was an entirely anticlimactic beep and brief flash of the faceplate of Mark's bracelet. And Anderson turned to him. "Eagle, you have a go. Take care."

"Yes, Chief." This time his voice did shake, and he jumped to his feet in an attempt to hide it. No need to transmute - they already were.

"Go," he said to Jason. "Get the preflights started. I'll catch up."

The rest of G-Force left the briefing room at a sprint. Mark followed them at the fastest walk he could comfortably manage. He'd be at least a couple of minutes behind them, and it wouldn't matter. Whether he or Tiny did the co-pilot's checks was entirely irrelevant.

He leant against the wall in the elevator as it descended, saving his energy, and making sure he was thinking clearly. Command of a mission, now, today, in five minutes. He'd not even considered it as a possibility this morning, and he needed to be sure he was up to speed. This wasn't a simulation. This was for real, and if he made mistakes people would die. Was he ready?

Yes, he decided, he really was. It felt right, as if he'd always done this, and the past ten months had been nothing more than a bad dream. His only regret was not having found time for that dinner with Princess. He'd be her commanding officer again now. It would be inappropriate.

But he was pretty sure that now she knew exactly how he felt. It would have to be enough. It was all he could give her.

"Report," he said as he walked onto the flight deck. As expected, Jason and Keyop were leaning back, boards full of green lights visible in front of them. Tiny was just getting out of the right hand seat and heading for his own. Princess was sitting forward, still working.

"They're evacuating the rigs," she said, half turning to face him. "So far the mecha's not attacked the lifeboats. They've decided not to use helicopters."

"Good. Keep monitoring." He headed for his console to find all the checks done. It was his own old seat, too, or one exactly like it, set up the way it always had been. That was reassuring. They might not have expected him to come back this early, but they'd already decided that this was his seat again.

Updates on his screen - a confirmation that all the installations in the area had been evacuated. That was one less thing to worry about. Civilian casualties due to so-called 'friendly fire' made him sick to his stomach. Always had done. Even when he'd had no choice, firing on their own people was the hardest thing he'd ever had to order. He'd have to be careful of the lifeboats, should they need to submerge, but knowing that he could fire missiles near a rig without worrying how many civilians were standing on it expecting to be saved rather than shot at was a huge relief.

And there was an extra message, surely not sent through any authorised channel. 'Good luck. Kite.' Rumour spread fast, apparently. It was decent of Rick to do that. The Kite should make a good commander, in time.

He glanced to his left. Tiny was near enough done. "Sound off," he said.

"G-2," Jason said casually from behind him.

That he couldn't let go. "No, Jase. Codenames. This hasn't been confirmed. Start throwing around new numbers and old numbers and someone's going to make a mistake. Probably me."

"Condor, then. But you're in command."

Princess added "Swan" before he could have considered responding. Keyop and Tiny continued equally quickly. They were ready, and they were waiting for him.

Mark stood up, just as he always had done, as the screen over his head fizzed to life. Anderson was in the controller's chair, and he felt himself smile. It was exactly as he'd dreamed it would be, almost every night for the past ten months. It was energy he could have saved, but it was worth it to be on his feet for this moment.

"G-Force ready for launch," he said.

Anderson nodded. "Latest data being transmitted now. Go do your job, Commander."

The giant sea doors began to inch open, water frothing in and up around the Phoenix. Mark sat down and fastened his straps tight, and relaxed back into his chair as the Phoenix's engines fired. Green lights across the boards. Green lights all through his soul. Green lights on the stress sensors in the chairs? He didn't know and didn't care. The moment they got back, he'd see to it they were removed. Nobody deserved to be spied on like that.

Doors fully open, water to the cavern ceiling. The Phoenix moved forward, building speed, accelerating towards the surface. It shot into the air and soared upwards. To his left, Tiny manipulated controls and brought them round in a long looping arc, heading for the Gulf of Mexico. Behind him, Princess was checking with air traffic control that their path was clear. Keyop was humming. Jason was silent, but implant-enhanced hearing told Mark his breathing was calm and relaxed. G-Force was back together again, and they were entirely happy about it.

There should have been a sunset. Instead, it was mid-morning, and they flew through dark, heavy clouds, the screens blurry with raindrops. It didn't matter. He had his life back.

And...that's it. Many thanks for the reviews and PMs, and just for reading. When you're writing in a fandom as quiet as this one, it means a lot just to see that little bar on the bar chart, day after day.

At least, that's almost it. This story has an epilogue, but it's so different from the story itself that I'll post it separately. You'll understand when you see it :)