Me, again. =) Thanks Bow Echo and Tikatu, for your kind encouragement. Would tell you how close to the end I am, except that right now, I'm not certain.
8
The North Pacific, Close to nightfall-
Over the shouting others, Cody snapped,
"Hang on, Jan, I can…"
And then power went out on her comm system, too. No time to respond, anyhow. Almost, she'd struck the rig itself. Fighting Thunderbird 1.2 away from Cutwater Destiny felt hard, as though the rocket had somehow been programmed to strike that listing drill platform. The winds had shifted to another quarter, though; still blowing strongly, but catching her Bird and shoving it out of the way.
Jan's heart was pounding. No time to declare emergency, or to watch as the rig's massive, rust-pocked frame and risers shot off her main view-screen. The sky disappeared, too; replaced with rough, grey-green water in house-high waves.
Remembered to dump fuel and trigger 'cockpit survival pod', before the most powerful impact… the loudest sound she'd ever experienced… smashed Janice Ming unconscious, and she knew no more.
XXXXXXXXXXX
In space, over the troubled Pacific-
From this perspective, Earth was almost all water and cloud. Two brothers, one strapped to a crash-couch inside the elevator, hands clenched tight to the armrests, eyes on his view screen… the other riding on top, gripping a cable as he remote-guided the claw's descent… hurtled downward.
Scott Tracy had taken the lift once or twice, before. Needing to reach the danger zone, he wanted to hurry. Concerned about John, he did his best to stay quiet and patient. No easy task for someone with his alpha-male personality.
So, Scott distracted himself with breathing exercises, and the making of plans. Penny first, he decided, still kicking himself for not having known where she'd gone. Next, he, John and Parker would help get endangered civilians off of that rig onto Thunderbird 2, as 1, 3 and 5 held the thing steady, and 4 shored it up from below. Great strategy. All he had to do now was get down there, without bursting a blood vessel, or ten.
Outside, John Tracy had ceased worrying about the weather, or Eos' progress with Chancellor Shaw. Thunderbird 5 could use quantum potential to generate as much carbon nano-structure cable as needed. All he had to do was guide their descent. Tougher than it sounded, because a finger's-width drift from this height would equal miles off-target, down there. He literally could not shift his focus, relying on Eos to handle the station, his rampaging virus, and WorldGov.
The ride was quite smooth, at first; picking up speed as they slid deeper into Earth's gravity well. Force shield was already up, protecting the elevator, its passengers, and all of that thrumming cable. The ionosphere washed them in gleaming colour, sending electrical sprites and St. Elmo's fire dancing all over the vessel, the line, and John's exopod. Dangerous, because he couldn't really see, and temporarily lost the remote guidance uplink. (And, dammit, he hated screwing around under IFR conditions!)
Falling faster, now, they began to encounter turbulence and friction. An envelope of hot, glowing plasma enclosed them, too bright to look at without max helmet shielding.
These descents always felt longer than they really were. Especially out here, beyond contact with Base. The elevator began to judder and shimmy. Only the exopod's strength, combined with his powerful suit gloves, allowed John to hang onto that cable. Boot soles retained their grip… Brains would be pleased to hear that.
Those things in your life that are just too beautiful, strange and harrowing to put into words, or share with anyone else; those things you take out and remember, right before sleep comes tiptoeing near? The ride down was one of those. All he could do was to hang on, and stare.
Then, at the right time, John began braking, slowly reducing the speed of their drop by controlling cable production. The glow faded, except at the shield's bottom… and he saw that they'd gone very slightly off course. But, the nice thing about force shields was, you could control their shape to alter your aerodynamics. John did this now, giving their plummeting vessel a gently re-orienting nudge.
Seconds later, they were back on track, and he had some major deceleration to perform. Heard Scott trying to talk to him through the earpiece, checking to see that he'd made it. Eos responded, sounding just like a harried and out-of-breath John. Little over-dramatic, maybe. It wasn't all that bad, out here. Soon became too busy guiding descent to listen, attempt conversation, or do much of anything else.
The Earth was no longer a globe. It was now big, swirling cloud banks and wide ocean, rushing upward to meet them. Updrafts were becoming extremely fierce, meaning that he had to alter their force-shield configuration repeatedly. Things were still worse, further down.
At one point, lightning arced across a vast chasm between two massive, roiling grey cloud-cliffs. That snaking bolt cut the sky maybe a half-mile away, making the entire elevator ring like a bell, and blasting a sun-like glare. Scott spoke again… guy really hated not having a job. Eos responded with something more cocky than he would have said. Also, longer.
Finally, Cutwater Destiny came into view, red in the last fading sun-glow. First a speck, then a spot, then a fast-swelling square of concrete and steel. Hard to make out three dimensions, from this angle, but John compared what he saw to the diagram in his heads-up display, and got them properly oriented. Opened the claw, braked some more, and then dropped their shielding.
The best, most solid target looked to be that hundred-foot steel observation deck, growing larger and more tilted by the second. More brakes. Couldn't hit hard, or he'd risk smashing straight through the rig like a cannonball. Also, couldn't afford to waste time.
There were a couple of ersatz rescue craft in the area, plus a GDF cloud carrier, but if they knew what was good for them, they'd stay the h*ll out of his way. Storm was holding off, at least. John brought them lower; close enough to see magnetic grapples and a couple of snapped cables hanging from that swaying observation platform, and people, staring upward or waving. Data points had a way of turning real, down here.
He ignored them, and all the Scott-Eos chatter in his helmet, to bring the claw gently downward. At this point, John let go of the elevator cable and fired up his exopod. Had to clear space for a clean lock-on, and get those people away from the sides, which meant that he needed Scott.
The elevator's boarding hatch cycled open just then, as his brother jet-packed out into gusting wind and wild seas. It was getting dark, but they'd both cut on their "high-beams", and the claw itself had a powerful flood-light.
Scott swooped over to clasp John's shoulder, briefly.
"Good work, Buddy," he said to his almost-expressionless brother. "And, thanks for the play-by-play. Would have gone nuts, in there, without updates."
"Um… sure," John responded, seeming a little distracted. Weird guy, sometimes. Switched moods like TV channels. "Anytime. Work crowd control on the platform, Scott, and I'll fasten the claw."
"I'm on it," said the pilot, wondering whether they could trust the new kids to handle pick-up, till Virgil arrived. Then, looking for Penelope, he shot across to that squealing, crumpling observation tower, and trouble.
XXXXXXXXXXX
High in the air, heading west, over Asia-
Virgil Tracy went first, refusing to let Gordon board Thunderbird 2 before he did. Giving his younger brother a jaunty thumbs-up, the big pilot stepped off the end of the cargo ramp, and let the wind take him like a human kite. Eos was remote-piloting 2, while Taylor handled the prototype. Both watched his progress and adjusted their motion to match.
Virgil played out his tether expertly. Wind was roaring around him, making his loose blue uniform rattle and snap. Bright sunlight made him squint, until his eyes adjusted. Then, dropping and playing out line, feeling himself bounce and swing like a crazed, midair water-skier, Virgil lowered himself at the circular hatch, below.
Eos adjusted minutely. She could fly with him, anytime. Wild turbulence had built up between the two giant rescue craft, and Virgil appreciated her help. Bit by bit, Thunderbird 2 grew larger, the hatch closer, while the prototype shrank, up above. It occurred to Virgil that he was having a pretty good time, but he pushed the thought away, and got back to not becoming a grisly smear on 2's broad, curving nose. (But, y'know, buy him a drink, later on, and he'd tell you all about it.)
Was almost there, when a big-ass wind gust slammed him suddenly upward. Some serious theme-park ride crap, that was, like going over the top of a rollercoaster. Like being in space all over, again.
"Whoa!" Virgil cried out, batted around like a dangling cat toy the wind had picked up. Then, the silver-grey prototype shifted position, blocking that gale just a little, and Virgil began dropping again.
Eos had nudged Thunderbird 2 up and over; helpfully shifting the goal posts his way. Humming to himself, Virgil reeled in his tether, some. The hatch grew beneath him, once more. Close, closer… almost there… until THUNK, his boot soles locked onto the Bird's green hull, and Virgil Tracy was ninety-percent home.
Cautiously, still very much tethered, Virgil battled a howling wind to creep six feet across to the hatchway. Would have to drop in fast, because the difference in air resistance between hull and interior could easily snap a man's spine. His gecko gloves and magnetic soles got him safely over the rumbling hull. Then he got his hands on the hatch rim, and hauled himself inside; heart pounding, but laughing with sheer "Ha, not dead!' joy and relief.
"Everything okay, Virgil?" he heard Gordon demand, over the helmet comm. The pilot had dropped to the deck of his giant cargo-lifter. First in a rolling crouch, then upright, holding tight to a nearby bulkhead brace. Shifted his tether from harness to grab-hold, before he could get plucked right out of the Bird, again. Then, clearing his dry throat, the pilot said,
"A-Okay over here, Kiddo. Tether's fastened, on this end. Hang onto that, and you'll get here faster than I did."
"Gotcha, Bro," Gordon responded, a big, relieved smile all over his voice. "Sit tight, I'm coming on down."
XXXXXXXXXX
Thunderbird Shadow, high in the air over Asia, on a slightly different course-
By this time, Kayo had given up trying to make her passenger sick. Far from having a delicate stomach, the reporter took all she could throw at her like a pro… and, anyhow, Kayo was busy. She'd cut upward into the stratosphere, found a wind that was headed her way, and stayed utterly focused on reaching the danger zone.
Behind her, Kat was typing away at a specially modified tablet, muttering occasional curses as she scrolled through her stolen data.
"No use going after Casey," the reporter mused aloud. "If she'd been behind all this, her ass wouldn't be headed for the boonies, right now. Shaw's a possibility. Rich as Midas' accountant… or Jeff Tracy… but with only the usual white-washed dirt in his past. That leaves Steele. Where'd he come from? What's his story? Enquiring minds want to know."
Kayo tuned in and out of the woman's grumbling monologue, keeping most of her mind on their flight. Truthfully, Shadow could just about fly itself, given the right input, but the weather below was starting to roughen, and… well, she needed to stay off her brothers' view screens, just then. Didn't want to hear: "No thanks, we don't need you."
Part of the reason she'd brought Kat along was for someone to talk to; a human shield against not being trusted, back home. That's why Cavanaugh's noise didn't bother her much. It made up for the silence where John should have been. Or Virgil.
"Huh," Kat grunted suddenly. "That's interesting."
"What is?" asked Kayo, tearing her eyes away from a really weird, humid downdraft developing just ahead and a little below. Looked like… well, half a storm, or something. Purple-dark clouds just appeared in midair, and then went streaming downwards.
"Steele's career. He was nobody, just a dead-in-the-water supply officer, until a year and a half ago. Then, he just burst into prominence, after a few people died or got court-martialed, suddenly."
Troubled, Kayo risked a glance backward.
"Would you say that someone was helping him climb up the corporate ladder?" she probed, not wanting to mention her uncle. "Maybe influencing people, off-stage?"
"Don't know how else he could do it," Kat told her, looking up from the screen with a cynical smile. "Nobody goes from major to general in less than two years, unless they know who to sleep with, or they've got some serious blackmail material."
…or they had the Hood to orchestrate silent coups for them. Sitting there in the noisy cockpit of Thunderbird Shadow, Tanusha shuddered. He was dead. He had to be… but some of his toys were still running, and one of those still-ticking time bombs was General Steele. Question was, how much should she tell Cavanaugh, and what could they do about it?
XXXXXXXXXXX
Thunderbird 3, making tip-top atmosphere speed-
He could have gone faster, in space, but would have lost time going up and back down again. Plus, the rocket was low on power, and he wasn't sure how long he'd have to be in the air, at the danger zone. John had left him coordinates to follow, and Alan was able to pick up the rest from occasional news feeds.
That code-red alert was out in the North Pacific, where an old deep-sea drilling rig was in serious trouble. Apparently, this team of new rescue guys had been supposed to debut over there. Instead, they were screwing it up by the numbers. One of their fake Birds had gone down, after nearly hitting the platform. Dude. On camera, and everything.
Well, Alan had too many nightmares about his own performance to sneer at a group of well-meaning newbies. If he could help them out, he would. Just had to get there, first. To speed things up, he was flying at very high altitude, where the wind was no problem, at all.
For a while, he and Thunderbird 1 had been neck and neck, but then Scott's bird began to fall back. Not out of fuel, or anything… maybe his oldest brother was busy, leaving the autopilot in charge? Wouldn't find out till he got there and asked, Alan supposed. Anyways, he figured that they didn't have most of the Birds over there. Not yet. That meant they needed him, like, now.
He'd passed something funny on the way out. Looked like a Thunderbird, only, y'know, not finished, yet. No paint, no ID, no nothing. But, Al knew a Hackenbacker special design when he saw one, and did an exuberant barrel roll on his way past. No one else was talking much, so he didn't, either. Just flew, and caught all the news that he could.
He arrived at the chaotic danger zone just after nightfall, cutting airspeed and signaling Scott for directions.
"I'm here, guys!" said the boy, willing his voice not to crack. "Where do you want me?"
…because the skies were getting pretty crowded near Cutwater Destiny.
XXXXXXXXXX
London, the GDF Tower, at about the same time-
Chancellor Shaw had called, leaving Steele no choice but to split his view screen, and pick up. Now, the developing situation at sea occupied just the left half of his wall, while Shaw's tense, square-jawed face took up most of the other.
"Good afternoon, Chancellor," he greeted the man, who was dark-haired and very abrupt.
"General Steele, this demonstration has become a public fiasco," growled Shaw. He was a big man, wealthy and powerful… but far closer than he realized to destruction. "In light of the recruits' failure, I am rescinding the ban on International Rescue, pro tem. They may carry out whatever operations are required to save those people, with an inquest to be held, afterward. Am I clear?"
Steele leaned forward in his chair, assuming his best concerned and cooperative expression. Shaw was a fool, and expendable, but a fool that had to be humored, for now.
"I agree completely, Chancellor," he soothed. "Quite obviously, the recruits are unready. Tragically so. We must therefore make use of the tools at hand, no matter how dangerous or unreliable. My people are checking into the rumor that International Rescue's hacker somehow damaged the second-gen rescue craft. Believe me, Chancellor, their lawless behavior will soon be curtailed."
Shaw's dark-grey eyes narrowed.
"I hadn't heard that the new craft were…"
Steele shook his head in pained disbelief.
"Come, Sebastian," he chided gently. "You and I are men of the world. An organization is made up of people… and people feel concern, fear and jealousy. No doubt, International Rescue wanted their rivals to stumble and fail in public. They've already grounded most of our fleet, and blocked use of our weapons. Obviously, these dangerous scofflaws have the power and will to take matters further."
Chancellor Shaw grunted, not quite convinced. Were the Hood still involved, the man would have been turned in a heartbeat… but times had changed.
"You may raise the matter at inquest, Steele, with evidence, rather than rumor. I've informed their spokesman that International Rescue is free to operate for the next four hours, with your aid and supervision. Less interested in motives, right now, than results, General Steele… and I expect a full report on my desk, by tomorrow morning."
Steele smiled slightly, and lowered his head.
"Of course, Chancellor Shaw. All will be resolved to the council's satisfaction by 0700, tomorrow."
"See that it is, General," Shaw replied coldly. Then, he signed off.
Robert Steele kept the smile on his face. But, in his private heart, he said:
"They are nothing but tools, all of them. Weapons of war that escaped, and think themselves free. The Tracys, Kyranos, Kanes, Beeches… all of them. All will be brought to heel, or destroyed."