Late again, I'm afraid. Interesting times, you know? Thanks, Bow Echo and Creative Girl 29! =)

12

Overhead, but listing far down, in a riddled and leaking GDF Cloud-Carrier-

The big, flat, weather control ship was almost a total loss. Panels blown out and sparking, small electrical fires spitting and hissing, view screens nothing but snowy static. She'd been struck repeatedly, and holed like a cheese. A few service drones were still operational, and these were doing their clattering best to slap a band-aid on hell.

Cody Beech had been pinned to the deck by a section of fallen overhead plating and something else… chunk of twisted, burning machinery, looked like. One of the drones put out the small blaze, and then used its many arms to shift the stuff off him. Couldn't do a thing about all of that in-blasting rain, though. Too many gaps in the hull.

"Thank you," he said, unnecessarily. Who in their right mind spoke to machines? The Kanes? The small drone next tried applying first aid, but Cody shoved it aside, and stood up. There was no time to waste on a few bruises and scrapes.

The carrier was now listing badly to seaward, and would hit the water in less than twenty minutes, he reckoned. Except, it had never been more than just camouflage. He was the one managing weather, that night. Like all of his family, Cody could alter and reassign entropy; taking chaos from here, and spreading it there. Or vice versa, if he wanted a nice, big explosion, say, or a cave-in, somewhere. Easiest to do so with the four basic elements; fire, water, earth and air, but there was always a consequence.

The young adept could remove entropy from a huge, violent weather system, only to have it rechanneled in a hundred, a thousand, wild, unpredictable ways. Sometimes, yes, he could focus it all in one place. General Steele's office, let's say, just for laughs. But the universe hated such meddling, and would push right back at him, hard.

Still, couldn't have happened to a nicer guy than Robert d*mn Steele, and Cody needed to shift some serious chaos; away from Caleb's rescue mission and Jan's broken escape pod. The stuff of havoc was slippery and dank. Always twining, always spreading in his mental "grasp". Did not wish to be channeled, nor contained, but the white-blond young man would not let it go. Like wrestling Proteus, he adapted to beat every form, every potential disaster it sparked.

"Escape pod,' he willed, gritting teeth that were perfect, because for someone else, they'd grown crooked. 'In one piece… up to the surface.' Had to let loose of the weather, first. Felt that strand snap, to go whipping off like a dropped, blasting firehose.

(In Steele's office, meanwhile, a fire broke out in the deskside rubbish bin, and all of the sprinklers cut on. Closer to home, Thunderbird 1's left wing worked itself suddenly loose, with a firecracker string of snapped rivets.)

He did not expect to be rescued. At least, not in so fast and forceful a manner. Was trying hard to concentrate, clinging fast to the back of a shattered cloud-seeding console, in two inches of icy rainwater. Then, something struck the flimsy hull overhead with a sharp THUD. Next, Cody saw a plasma torch slice through one of those debris holes, tearing it wider with a noise like ringing and squealing squashed cars.

Then, somebody cut off their jetpack, and dropped inside, along with a whole lot of unwelcome weather. One of the Tracys.

"Good. You're alive," said the tense, dark-haired man. "This is a rescue. Let's go." And he reached out to seize Cody, who tried backing away.

"No!" cried the younger man, feeling those strands of chaos beginning to shudder and lash in his weakening grip. "You don't understand, I have to…"

"You have to shut up and evacuate this vehicle. I've got a missing sister, and a crippled Bird upstairs, running on fumes. Move!" Then, to somebody else, "Got him, John. What about Kayo?"

"Mr. Tracy…"

"…is on Mars, and if I have to, I'll knock you the h*ll out of that hole to go say hello. Now, let's go!"

There was no use fighting the larger man, who packed a Tracy's strength and endurance, and wasn't listening, besides. Nor could Cody explain. Not without placing his entire family in peril. So, he just went along, allowing Tracy to seize him under the armpits and yank him out of that slow-crashing carrier. One strand, alone, he'd managed to keep: Jan's. 'Escape pod,' he kept thinking, over and over. 'In one piece, and headed for the surface.'

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Tracy Island, at about the same time-

Sally Tracy was alone, but far from helpless. Once the boys had broken house arrest, the GDF had geared up to come calling. Only, they hadn't figured on Grandma. John's virus acted differently here, responding to local conditions. Rather than dumping those security crews in the sea, or sending them on home, it gave Sal remote control of their aircraft, all six of them.

She was down in the brand new "war room", well protected from anything short of an asteroid strike or a nuclear blast. Sally wasn't much concerned for herself, though. Instead, she worried for Kayo, her boys, and those poor, confused flight crews.

She'd set the invasion force down on the island's dry, rocky leeward side. There they were trapped, with a tall, dark cliff at their backs, and a savage current ahead, on a hundred-foot section of black sand beach. Engines shut off, and power out. Nothing to do but wait there in darkness, feeling the first probing winds of an on-coming cyclone.

Most likely, those poor boys were scared, Sally thought. Probably, they had mammas who stayed up at night worrying, and sweethearts who wondered when they'd come home. Sitting there in the war room, surrounded by canned food, water and toilet paper, Sal commenced to feel guilty.

What if that storm caught them out on the beach, away from shelter and help? Was some other woman standing at a window, right now, with a small child on her hip, just waiting, praying and hoping? Nope, she decided. No way. No how. Sally Tracy stood up all at once, brushing her lap for creases.

"Can't do it," she whispered. "Grant, y'll just hafta call in some favors, Big Man… 'Cause I can't leave them service boys out there in danger, like that. I gotta go get 'em."

The island was a warren of natural lava tubes and smoothly machined access tunnels. It was one of the latter that Sally Tracy followed that night, out to Leeward Head. About wide enough for the woman to spread her arms and stand tiptoe, the passage contained overhead light-strips, a metal power rail for maintenance bots, and the occasional comm switch.

Thinking that "her" grounded flight crews might be hungry and thirsty, she'd brought along bottles of water and, of course, a big batch of freshly-baked cookies. A small maintenance drone trundled along behind her with most of the food, emitting cheerful beeps as it rolled.

"Shake a wheel, Chips," she urged the small mech. "It's a four-mile hike, and y'r lettin' an old lady make you look slow. Y' low on charge, or somethin'?"

Outraged, the little bot beeped at her, then zoomed up and over the polished stone walls and onto the tunnel roof, where it raced on ahead like a mechanized gecko, with cookies.

"Show off!" grumped Sally, good-naturedly. "You c'n go to th' cliff and let 'em in, Chips. But make sure they leave all their weapons outside on th' beach. Not that them cap-gun's 'd ruffle a flea, but rules is rules, or we're back in th' jungle: no dirty boots or firearms in th' house. And, tell all y'r buddies ta get th' place lookin' spruce an' make up some beds, while y'r at it, Chips. We got company."

XXXXXXXXX

Cutwater Destiny, much farther north-

Alan Tracy had left his Bird through the aft hatch, using magnet-soled boots and his rocket board to reach the drilling rig's wide, slanted deck. He was in uniform, of course, wearing a helmet, but the only dude out there surfing the storm winds to reach Pi… those endangered civilians.

They'd taken shelter in the old crew quarters, and now, with that big, unpainted Bird (like, for reals, what was he supposed to call it? Thunderbird Blank?) pulled up alongside, they began rushing out.

"This way, folks!" Alan called out, swooping and darting over their heads. "If you got a free hand, help someone else! That's it, keep moving… plenty of room inside!"

He kept one eye on the twisted metal of the rig and tower above them. Some of it looked more… dunno… buckle-y than it had just a few minutes ago. Hard to tell in wind, rain and shifting flood lights, with the combined roaring of five Birds shredding the air, but his Alan-senses were tingling. And not in a cool, 'this is gonna be great' way, either.

Saw a couple of guys in GDF pilot uniforms (they were the ones with the flashlights), and lots of folks with what looked like bloodstains and deep bruising. He and Piper (!) converged on one of these; Alan shooting down from above, the Phase-Two pilot skidding along the deck like a shredding skater-girl.

"You okay?!" they both asked the seemingly injured woman (and maybe each other). "Need any help?"

But the lady, who looked like a government type, right down to her glasses and tight, greying bun, shook her head.

"Just fine," she insisted, teeth chattering a bit from the cold. "I w- was one of the mock victims, is all. Th- Thank you for helping us!" Seemed like a nice lady, apart from all that fake blood and impalement damage. Sort of mechanically, Alan said,

"No prob. Any time, Ma'am," but his eyes were on Piper, who first ducked her face, then looked up at him, shyly. There was glare on her helmet glass, but her dark-blue eyes sent a shock right through him that was pure, liquid fire.

"Uh…" Alan extended a hand. "Hi. Wanna ride with me? I mean…" he needed a reason, besides: I want to hug you so badly, right now. "…You can see better, up here, plus get around quicker."

"Okay, yeah… that sounds good," she said, smiling a little. Was kind of awkward, then, because his board wasn't designed to be mounted in Earth gravity, but Alan figured it out, and got her up top. She was taller than him. Frickin' Wonder Woman! Sort of hunched over, like she was ashamed of her height.

"Just unfold, now… Like that, nice and straight," he encouraged her, trying not to shake. "It's, um… easier to stay on, if you sort of put your arms around me."

Alan 'd had very few perfect moments in his life, but this was one of them. When the tall, slightly clumsy/ funny girl with the purple hair joined him on his rocket-board, snugged up tight, and shifting along with his every move, he could have ended the story, right there. Wind blew, lightning flashed, and people scurried for shelter in Thunderbird Question-mark, but Alan was almost too happy to notice. Anyways, Brains was out there, too, waving people aboard the big, hollow Bird.

The crowd looked like a mob of zombies, they'd been painted with so many grisly wounds for that failed demo. Alan and Piper had to bite their lips to keep from laughing at the officer with two "broken legs" who out-sprinted his fellows getting up the ramp into Thunderbird What's-her-Name.

"We should, like, totally do this again," the boy suggested.

"Yeah… except maybe without all the storm and disaster stuff, next time," Piper agreed, doing that nose-scrunching smiley thing.

Was… was that, like, a date? An actual invite?

"Um… you like pizza?" he almost squeaked.

"And gaming?" countered Piper.

"With movies?" Alan again, leaning into a curve, and his goddess.

"And skateboarding, later?" she was shivering a little, making him want to hug her, forever. Win giant stuffed bears for her. Top the high score, and input Piper's initials, instead of his own. She could… she could have the last slice of pizza, for always. For real.

XXXXXXXXXX

Thunderbird 4, down below-

Gordon Tracy's heart was torn. According to John, Kayo was not answering comm. According to his own stinging eyes, there were pieces of Thunderbird Shadow drifting down through the dark, frigid water. But the victims came first. No matter that they were another rescue squad, unprepared and untrained. He had to stay on the mission, and find those two kids. Had to cut comm for a bit, to hide a partial meltdown. Wasn't going to let anyone see him losing his crap. But, oh, God… doing the right thing hurt.

Great big ocean, tiny rescue sub, and two probably crushed-up escape pods. The odds stunk, and he knew it. Thunderbird 4 had anomaly sensors, but the water was filled with debris and shifting electrical fields. Bottom line, he couldn't see sh*t.

Then, very faintly, his comm picked up something it shouldn't have even noticed, so weak was that signal:

"Josh, you there? I got her, but I think she's unconscious, and my hatch is stuck. Can't blow the tanks to surface, either. Josh… can you hear me? Please?"

"Rescue sub, this is Thunderbird 4. Keep talking. I'll find you." Because sometimes, the universe listened. (Simultaneously, all of the power went out, over in London, and Lady Penelope broke her manicured nails.)

"Um… Gordon Tracy, right?" said the new team's rescue diver, fighting to not sound relieved. "International Rescue?"

"Yeah. That's me. Which pilot have you got, there?" (Maybe, just maybe…?)

"Janice Ming, our commander… and the situation's under control. I was just getting ready to surface."

Like h*ll. Anger and worry made Gordon's reply a bit sharper than he'd meant it to be.

"Dude. What color is the sky, in your world?! Your busted-ass sub is barely afloat, your hatches are locked, you can't blow the tanks, and that pod's too heavy to lift. Stop being so Goddam competitive, and let me help!"

"Yeah… I guess saving Jan's more important than being a hero." That last was almost a whisper.

Following the kid's comm signals, Gordon planed eastward and down through a suspended blizzard of shredded metal and plastic; the bits glowing like stars in his headlights.

"Now, you sound like a Thunderbird," Gordon told him, as he came within sight of the small orange sub. It was floating nose-downward, engines straining to keep the pod and wreck above crush-depth. One grappling arm had extended to hold the torn aircraft. The other arm had apparently frozen shut in the act of unfolding. Piece of d*mn Fischler crap, for sure. The kid could have surfaced, maybe, if he'd let go of the plane… but he wouldn't do it, any more than Gordon would have. Kid had balls. Gotta give him that.

"Hang tight," said Gordon, adding, "Um, I must've heard your name in all the press coverage, but, uh…"

"Caleb Gonzalez," the other pilot replied, once again, almost whispering. "But, after all this, I don't think it'll matter much."

Gordon shrugged, scooting his yellow Bird around for a better look at the wreck. Someone inside there, all right… and not moving. Blunt trauma?

"You'd be surprised," he said. "Sometimes what looks like your greatest screw-up, turns out to make everyone love you more. 'Cause, y'know, you tried real hard, never gave up, and called for help when you needed it."

Caleb was silent a moment. Then, as Gordon selected his target, a relatively undamaged bit of hull, the kid ventured,

"You needed help before, too?"

Gordon extended the SeaBird's grappling arms; delicate enough to thread a needle, but fearsomely strong.

"You could say that, yeah. That's the whole point of brothers, or teammates, Dude. Something goes wrong, they got you." He locked on with one arm, then used the other to affix an emergency float. Bright, searing yellow, the sudden flotation device would release flares and signal smoke, the instant it broke the surface.

"Okay, Caleb. I'm about to deploy an emergency float. Hang on tight, because you're in for the ride of your life. Vomit bags not included. You ready?"

"Uh…"

"Cool. See you topside, Dude."

And then, Gordon reached through his Bird's haptic arm control, and pressed the float's big, red button. Mashed "emergency blow", too, which made for one h*ll of a sleigh ride.

XXXXXXXXXXX

High overhead-

Because he had a commission, John Tracy dropped back down to the observation deck. Most of the GDF observers and wait staff had clambered aboard Thunderbird 2, already. Only Penny and Virgil were still out there, assisting a stout, grey-haired major in uniform. Thunderbird 2.2 was off at sea, playing its lights on those monstrous swells. John meant to get out there, himself, soon, but first…

He touched down before Lady Penelope, and folded the exopod's wings. Paused to greet his younger brother, whose dark hair had flattened into his face from all the wet.

"Anything?" Virgil asked him, fighting not to seem anxious.

John shook his red head, adding,

"I'm working on it. We'll find her. Rescues are what we do, Virgil."

"Right," the pilot nodded, turning back to his charge, as the man exclaimed,

"Find whom, young man? A woman? Is somebody missing? Lady Pilkington-Smythe was just here, I believe, together with Sir Plimpert's young intern, Miss Something-or-Other… confound the girl, never can recall her blasted name. Searching for one of them, what?"

"No, Sir," Virgil assured the loud older man. "It's, um… somebody else. One of our team. Let's get you inside, Sir. It's cold, out here." And that platform was starting to shimmy, despite being braced by Thunderbird 2.

John watched his brother escort the old major aboard. Then, placing a gloved hand on each of Penelope's shoulders, he retracted his faceplate again and leaned in to kiss her forehead, telling her startled Ladyship,

"Gordon says 'hi'."

She looked up at him, managing to appear pretty and imperious, even with wet hair and streaming makeup. Must've seen something behind him, then, because her expression tightened and her blue eyes shifted focus, briefly. Then, Penny laid a finger to her lips and tapped it onto the bridge of his nose.

"Tell the darling boy to deliver his own messages in future, John, dearest. I do not suffer cowards, nor fools. And you, I shall expect at my next soiree, dressed for a night of adventure."

Uh… right. John would have said something, except that there wasn't a good translation for "white-hot, petrified blank". Instead, he fired his exopod, once more, and got the h*ll out of Dodge. Better the open sea, than that.

"Eos," he demanded, breaking away from other people's messy disasters. "Locate Tanusha. If she's down there, I want the coordinates. We're going after my sister."