Me, again. =) Thanks, Bow Echo, Tikatu and Whirl Girl, for reading and reviewing, and hi there, Sulkym1ss77!
4
The North Pacific, early evening, on an ancient, deteriorating oil rig-
Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward stood upon a newly erected observation platform with Parker, and a small crowd of government and reporter types. Bertie perched snug in her arms, the only one not wearing a hard-hat. The little pug yawned and wriggled, clearly wishing to be let down, but Penny did not trust her dear pet to stay out of trouble at sea, and so up in her arms he remained.
She was present on the Cutwater Destiny oil platform in her official capacity as an EarthGov observer. The GDF had been boasting of their newly-formed rescue team's mission readiness, and this was to be its first public test.
A sharp, gusting wind battered those huddled auditors, who'd been invited to watch the New Crew, erm… "swing into action". Inhaling deeply, Penny smelt salt, rust and the varied perfumes of her fellow observers… along with unfortunate whiffs of dog-breath, whenever Bertie pushed upward to lick her damp face.
The sky above them was laddered with passing waves of low cloud, while a sliver of reddening sun was just visible between cloud bank and vast blue horizon. It was quite cold, despite the observation deck's environment field, but Penny would do nothing so crass as to shiver. The entire rig hummed and swayed beneath her, hammered by each green, roaring ocean swell. Their shuttle transport sat parked on the deck, down below, its pilots among all the happily waiting "victims".
Penelope stood a little apart from the others, not wishing to converse, or be interviewed. From time to time, she shammed speaking into her official comm badge, as though reporting significant events. She wore her 'steely eyed government operative' expression, expressly to discourage unwanted overtures.
Wished fleetingly that she might have brought John Tracy, whose social distress would have distracted her, as well. The poor dear despised public outings, and the 'monkey suit' that he was required to don for them… yet she nearly always succeeded in persuading him to come along.
He would have been invaluable, here, and not just for his gloomy, nervous companionship. Attempting to interest and impress the handsome young man, people would often say and do the most revealing things. All whilst Penelope looked serenely on, and made notes. Had she and John been, erm… 'involved', she might have been jealous of the unending tide of lovelorn females (and the occasional male) who set their caps for him. But, though she liked John extremely, and valued his IT assistance, he'd never have done as a permanent partner. Too… difficult. Not that his brother was scoring very high marks, in that regard, lately.
Feeling sudden tears sting at her vivid blue eyes, Penelope dropped her head to kiss Bertie. As usual, the toy pug sensed his Mummy's distress; whimpered and nuzzled her. Scott… was terribly distracted at the moment, as Penny quite understood. So much so, that she doubted he'd even noticed her sudden departure, or read the hasty excuse she'd left on his bedside table.
"There now, Bertie," she whispered. "You mustn't take on, so, Lovey. Da's quite busy, and has not forgotten you, at all. He simply has pressing matters to attend to."
Sniffled a bit, then murmured a quiet,
"Thank you," when her stone-faced driver produced a fresh handkerchief from the pocket of his bright yellow mackintosh. Lady Penelope, descended from Alfred the Great, himself, did not weep over trifles. Very delicately, she dabbed at her slim, reddened nose and large eyes. D*mn him, anyhow, for reducing her to a puddle, at a time like this! Very well, then. She'd give no outward sign that she'd so much as noticed his chilly withdrawal. In fact, she'd make him pursue her, with the outcome not at all evident!
The pug's curly tail wagged, and he gave forth a bright, cheerful bark, as though sensing the shift in her mood. Penny kissed him, again. Bit of a mind-reader, her Bertie… and that thought brought up a sudden, shuddering chill, quite apart from the icy-cold wind. What Kayo had done to them all, back at the Ranch and Ross Island, was deeply confusing and painful. One moment, she'd been enjoying a port-manteaux birthday-cum-engagement soiree. The next, she'd been squashed deep down into her own mind, watching in helpless horror as her body performed another's harsh bidding.
Kayo had been one of her best and most trusted friends, and yet the girl had used her… used all of them, her own family included… as mere digging tools. How? And, more importantly, why? Why had affection and common decency not prevented Kayo from abusing their trust, in this awful manner?
Scott would not speak of it, changing the subject each time Penny attempted to broach it. Well, His Distracted Majesty was not the only touchstone for a damsel in pain and distress. Stepping further away from the crowd, she murmured, "cover me," to Parker, who returned a brisk nod and a,
"Yes, Milady," by way of reply. Only sighed when she handed him Bertie, who promptly widdled all over his rubbers.
With everyone else chatting and milling about near the platform's forward rail, with waiters gliding through with covered trays of champagne punch and canapes, Penny dared risk a brief call upstairs.
The so-called "New Crew" wasn't due to arrive for another ten minutes or so, giving her just enough time. Turning her back to the others, she drew a special gold compact from the depths of her vintage Hermes bag, and clicked it open. Looked just like a mirrored powder and sponge, unless one was aware of its secret, and knew precisely which jeweled studs to press, in what order.
Penelope's fingers did a swift, light dance across the jeweled rim. A few minutes later, the compact displayed its true nature, producing a holographic image of John.
"Hey, Penny," he said. The greeting, lukewarm as it was, made her smile, since it sounded like Ha'penny, a gentle play on her nickname. "I'm not supposed to be…"
"Speaking over the comm. I am aware of this, John, and I shall be brief."
His image, seemingly balanced there in the palm of her hand, seemed to sigh. Then, he said.
"Okay. Eos is covering for us. What's up?"
Penelope hesitated, then drew a deep breath and replied, saying,
"I should like your opinion on the matter of Kayo… why she behaved as she did, earlier, and whether you deem her safe and reliable, now. Wait!"
For he had begun to shut down, his expression freezing into that chilly refusal to cooperate that she knew so well, and had constantly to overcome, on their "work dates".
"This is extraordinarily vital, not just to me, but to International Rescue, as a whole!" Softening her tone, a bit, Penny went on to whisper, "You know her best, John… and, as we are friends… it is to you I must turn. Do not freeze me out, please. I require your 'input'."
His image would not quite regard her directly. Just then, he resembled nothing so much as a beautifully-carved marble statue. Then, reluctantly, he started to speak.
"Penny… I haven't spoken to Kayo since the party. Not sure what's going on with her…. Except that there are other Kyranos besides her and the Hood… and they used some kind of influence on her. She, um… she might have been their tool, the same way she used us."
Penelope made a slight, pretty moue. He was not being entirely forthcoming. She knew this, from long experience at cajoling him through their fancy dress-up investigations.
"There is more…?" she enquired, in her politest, most sensitive tones. Some things, he'd discuss with no one but her. After a moment, the image shrugged.
"Just… not really. I mean, sort of. A friend of mine has gone missing, and… Don't know if this is going to make any sense, Penelope, but I got wiped and replaced with a save file. So… you'd have to tell me, if I still seem like the same guy, or not."
His image reacted to something off camera, then, saying,
"Yeah, I know. Thanks." Eos, most likely.
Utterly floored, Penelope struggled to frame a coherent response, at last coming up with,
"Dear Boy, you are precisely as balky, obstructionist and cross as ever. There are, erm… 'Mississippi mules' with whom I would have an easier, more collegial relationship. I have noticed no changes, whatsoever."
He smiled a little, but it didn't seem as if he wanted to. More that he wished not to distress her, unduly.
"Nice of you to say so. And, um, as far as Kayo's trustworthiness goes… she's going to have to prove herself, Penny."
"To you, especially?" the young noblewoman probed gently. Once again, John's tiny blue image shrugged; inarticulate, hurt and withdrawn. Had he been present, in costume, she would have straightened his tie (perpetually awry) brushed his lapels (forever attracting lint) or just tiptoed upward to kiss his cheek. All of which led to a notion, good for both goose and for gander.
"John," she announced, "my conservation society is holding a gala in two weeks' time, at the Dinosaur Island ball room. There shall be chamber music and dancing, and dinner will be served. Seven courses, with cocktails to follow. I shall…"
"Oh, God. Not again," he seethed, jarred entirely out of his previous depression. "Don't you people ever get tired of eating tiny food in weird places, where something always goes wrong?!"
Penny bit her lip to forestall laughter. John very much hated being laughed at. Somehow, she managed to say, in a clear, level voice,
"John, I require you. The park's board of trustees has something to hide. I am sure of it. Together, we shall find them out, and put a smart, sudden end to their antics."
As always, he could say no… but he didn't. Merely shook his head, grumbling,
"Don't know why the h*ll (sorry, Penny) I let myself be dragged into these things. They're never any fun, and they never serve beer. Plus, we might all be in prison, three days from now."
"In which case," Penelope cut in, triumphantly, "I shall be organizing the prison cotillion, and shall require your most obedient attendance and humble service, therein."
…at which point she was treated to a rich and profane discourse on precisely what he thought of cotillions, galas, soirees and suchlike social events. Highly satisfactory, and much more like John, down to the inevitable strong-language apology.
"It is quite alright, Dear," Penelope smiled. "My father holds much the same opinion. I shall send Parker round to pick you up, on the eve of the gala, as we shall have rather a trek to reach the Island. Do be prompt, and remember to have Brains look over your evening wear, Dear Boy."
At that instant, she heard the crowd behind her murmur and shift, indicating that one of the trainees had arrived in their mock Thunderbird. Someone below set off a vivid orange smoke bomb and flare, to create the "situation". Penny half-turned, and began to sign off, then thought better of it.
"As you are here, in a manner of speaking, John…" she whispered.
"Yeah," he replied. "I'd like to see this. Keep the link open, Penny."
She nodded, feeling the first thrill of pre-mission excitement. Had never wished to be a mere ornament, after all.
"Of course, Dear."
Fussing a bit with her golden-blonde hair to explain the half-open compact, Penelope drifted forward and went to the railing. Stood a little apart from the others, with Parker beside her to "run interference", as Scott would have put it.
Cameras clicked and whirred, news drones hovered, all of them focused north-eastward, all on a three-minute delay. The GDF keenly wished for a major success, here, and were willing to edit the newsfeed to ensure their desire, if necessary.
Rather than a bright yellow mackintosh, she wore her mother's old Burberry trench coat, which was far more chic for inclement outings. Anyhow, yellow simply wasn't her colour, and had never suited her. For this reason, Penelope's hardhat was pink. Casually, she mimed reapplying her favourite lip balm while murmuring,
"They've arrived, John," and tilting the compact to seaward.
The first to show up was a long, silver-blue rocket plane, reminiscent of Thunderbird 1, and yet somehow queasily wrong. The plane's cockpit was in the wrong location, for one thing, and its wings were set too far forward.
Early reports and publicity shots had not shown the entire aircraft, so Penny was seeing it for the first time. Sleek as an arrow, it flashed overhead, followed a few seconds later by its own booming roar. She watched as the faux Bird looped around, dipping those half-folded wings in salute.
"Hmmph," sniffed Penelope. "Our Scott is a far better pilot."
"Yes, Milady," Parker agreed stoutly, still struggling to control Bertie, who wanted back into her arms. "Only, ee's got more h-experience, 'asn't ee? Just a wee slip of a lass, that one is, in no proper Bird, h-at all."
"Of course, Parker. And quite right to say so." Then, to the blue-slitted compact, "Are you seeing this, John?"
Whatever he might have said in reply, Lady Penelope did not hear, as just then the overloaded, rusted-out oil rig gave a mighty lurch, and began to tip over. Squealing, snapping and vibrating like a felled tree, Cutwater Destiny both swayed and tilted far downward. People shrieked and clung to the railing, as their feet pedaled uselessly upon wet, sloping metal, and they began to slide.
"John, Dear," Penny whispered, over the noise of destruction and panic, "I believe that we have what you might term a situation."
XXXXXXXXXXX
Overhead, in Thunderbird 1.2-
She'd arrived way ahead of the others; in style, even. Had looped around the mock danger-zone and dipped her wings, exactly bisecting that long plume of bright-orange flare smoke.
All that she had to do was land and set up an onsite control centre, while Josh took on "victims" in Thunderbird 2.2, and Caleb went down below to affect "repairs" (really just slapping radio-beacons on each of the rig's giant legs). Easy-peasy, no? Just a big show for the nice people in fancy suits, followed by some genuine shake-down flight time. Only, then the big, badly corroded oil rig began shaking. Seconds later, Cutwater Destiny had developed a sharp list.
Jan's dark, almond eyes widened. Staring out through her perma-glass canopy, she fumbled around for the comm switch, hit it, and said,
"Uh… guys… Cody… is this supposed to be happening?"
"No," replied Beech, sounding tense. "It isn't. Jan, something's gone wrong. Pull out, and let me get in touch with…"
"Stand by, Thunderbird 5.2," she muttered, shaking her head. "I'm going to try stabilizing that thing with the magnetic grapples. Bet this is some kind of test, and they want to see us in action."
"Jan… Commander Ming, listen to me," Cody insisted, a bit of emotion leaking into his words. "Your aircraft isn't large or powerful enough to…"
With another slap to the comm switch, Jan cut him off.
"I can do this," she told herself, scowling ferociously. "All I've got to do is hold that rig up, till Josh gets here in Thunderbird 2.2."
Taking a deep, steadying breath, she worked the controls, bringing 1.2 around in a tight bank. Wobbled a bit, but then got the plane straightened out again. Keyed up her sights, which featured twin dancing red triangles. Had to get around to the high-side, though, because pulling from anywhere else would just make matters worse, and hasten Cutwater Destiny's end.
The wind had picked up, making it hard for Janice to keep her Bird steady, much less hover and aim for a large enough, un-corroded target. Beneath her, she saw the rig slowly crumple, heaving out great clouds of petrified oil and rust flakes. Dozens of tiny pink ovals were tilted her way, as trapped people clung to the railing and cried out for help.
"I can do this," Janice repeated. Then, those blasted red triangles came together, turned green, and the young pilot fired.
XXXXXXXXXXX
Tracy Island, later that day, on the main balcony-
Scott surged upright, frustrations forgotten. Coffee shot out of his mouth, and he nearly choked. To John's grim, projected image, he shouted,
"Wait! She's what? Where?! Oh, sh*t… okay. John, scramble the Birds, and find Kayo. We'll meet in midair with whatever we've got that can fly." Then, in terribly urgent tones, "Listen, Buddy, I need you down there, right the h*ll now. Shift Thunderbird 5, use the d*mn space elevator, but go and get Penny!"