Well, this one is either really late, or terribly early, depending on your perspective. Tomorrow's going to be busy, is all, so I figured I'd do it all, now. Thanks, Bow Echo, Tikatu, Whirl Girl and Creative Girl. It's great to get feedback. =)

18

London, former U.K., that same awful evening-

Ridley O'Bannon blinked, then shook her head, hard; almost dislodging that pinned auburn hair. Something fell to the ground at her booted feet, just as a heavy weight dropped from her mind and her heart. She… she'd been summoned to London for… for testimony. To… speak on behalf of John's family, her fumbling recall suggested. Only, someone had set fire to the general's office, triggering sudden evacuation of the entire GDF tower, Ridley included. Felt like the end of a nightmare, somehow; like waking up shaken, and glad to be free.

Looking around at chaotic, blue-and-red splintered darkness, Captain O'Bannon spotted Kraft, who seemed about equally stunned. Glad to see a familiar face, Ridley started forward, unconsciously kicking aside her lost shackles. Didn't notice them. Wasn't permitted to.

"Em," she called out. "Captain Kraft, over here!"

The other woman turned to face Ridley, then smiled, and lifted a hand.

"Hey, Ree. Fancy meeting you here! Given your witness, yet?" (Officially, they weren't supposed to talk, or compare notes, which was why they'd been sequestered down at HQ.)

A hurrying military policeman bumped Captain O'Bannon, then did a double take, saluted and barked,

"Excuse me, Ma'am! Sorry, Ma'am! Hope everything comes out all right, for your… for the Thunderbirds, Ma'am. He's a hero, and everyone knows that, Cap'n. They all are."

Ridley started to rebuke the young man's forward conduct, then stopped herself. Yes, Tracy was a hero. Yes, he was her "boyfriend" (whatever that meant), and public sympathy mattered a lot. So, Captain O'Bannon returned the salute, giving the dark-haired patrolman a brief nod.

"Thank you, Corporal," she responded. "I'll pass that along."

By this time, Emma had made her way over, slipping past security crews and huddled, blank-eyed prisoners to reach Ridley's side.

"Something's happened to the general," Kraft murmured, after the young corporal had greeted her, as well, then rushed off. "Only, they're not letting anyone through. The Chancellor's there, with a couple of higher-ups. Something weird's going on, Ree. This just doesn't feel right."

Ridley grunted at her taller, green-eyed friend. Both were in uniform, both far away from their commands, on a very strange pretext, indeed.

"Yeah. I know what you mean. But… we're here to testify. That's all… right? I mean, Steele wanted to hold some kind of tribunal, or something. That's… I think that's what I remember."

Emma Kraft cocked her head. Not an Amazon, by anyone's figuring, she still overtopped Ridley. The other woman had more time in rank, though, so that made them even, as far as influence was concerned.

"Maybe there's something we can do to help, while nosing around for some answers," Kraft suggested. "When in doubt…"

"…report for duty," Ridley finished, nodding briskly. "Let's find the nearest top brass, or take charge of this mess, ourselves. C'mon, Em. We've got a job to do."

Because there was more than one way of being a hero.

XXXXXXXXX

The North Pacific, in rapidly worsening conditions-

John brought his sister to Thunderbird 2; gliding up, and then reorienting to drop through the round upper hatch like a coin in a slot. Had to fold the exopod's wings, first, while matching speeds with the massive, rumbling green Bird. It unfolded beneath them like a mountain rising through clouds, huge and hollow, where the missing pod should have been.

Had a lighting strike to contend with, then, just as they swooped across from roiling cloud bank to massive green hull. Noise and searing glare were both off the scale, but an environment suit and flight gear rated for service on Jupiter could handle all that. Better yet, he did not drop his sister, despite ringing ears and bright-spot-dancing vision.

She was pressed up against him in body and mind. A weird sensation, like having a crowded head with wide-open doors. He'd felt it before, and thought he was having a migraine. Eos wasn't happy. He could feel that, all the way through his fiercely tight suit. Eos wanted Kay gone, right the h*ll now.

Thunderbird 2 was still sparking and popping, when John and his sister dropped through the upper hatch and hit her wet deck. Letting the girl go, he stepped away. Couldn't think what to say that she didn't already know, or that hadn't been fully expressed by her rescue. Instead, John retracted his faceplate to lean down and brush her pale cheek. Kayo's response was to kiss her gloved fingertips, then touch them lightly against her tall brother's forehead. Forgiven. Forgotten. Move on.

"About Kat," Kayo started to tell him, nervously clearing her throat. "I sort of promised her that you'd, um…" she never got to finish that statement, though, because Penny arrived, laden with coffee, snack food and towels.

John gratefully accepted Penelope's hug and hot coffee, wolfing down a chocolate power bar in two rapid bites. No time to towel off, though. Just bolted his drink, said,

"Take care, you two," then climbed back through the hatch, and took off, again. Scott hadn't been kidding about the fuel situation, for anyone. His exopod needed help, too. It had been operating nearly non-stop since breaking orbit, that morning. Now he was nudging red; not a good place to be, in the midst of a foul-weather rescue. Well, as Captain Taylor liked to put it, he hadn't planned on living forever.

The wind took him, almost as soon as John surged from 2's open hatch. He was caught and thrown sideways, just missing the Bird's hurtling tail assembly and vast, rumbling engines. Like airborne skyscrapers, they sliced past him an arm's length away. He tumbled a few times in their wake, then got the exopod's wings extended, and fired her ion propulsion system.

As the cargo-lifter disappeared through the clouds, drawing lightning and turbulence, John got himself oriented. Just for a moment… a brief second… his wrist comm sparked red. The astronaut's breath caught, ready with greetings and welcome. Only, then that tiny red light flickered out, again. Wishful thinking, most likely, or a reflection from Thunderbird 2.

"John," Eos nagged him, over wind, rain and chaos, "unless refueled within the next five-point-two-three-six minutes, your exopod will fail. I advise you to seek shelter in Thunderbird 1, with alacrity."

"Yeah," he responded, keeping acid disappointment out of his voice with real trouble. "I'll keep that in mind, Sweetie. Tell you what: I'll drive, you navigate. What's the best route?"

She gave him coordinates, and a warm, all-over hug; urging speed with subtle back-pressure. On the bright side, Thunderbird 1 was easy to find, having been circling through clouds for the last fifteen minutes. On the other hand, he was going up against a female reporter with suspected ulterior motives. Right. Stuffing all of those mixed reactions into safe, hidden boxes, John flitted upward, commanding Thunderbird 1 to deploy her cockpit.

The rocket plane shifted down to a wobbling hover, then obediently extended her pilot's seat. As he rose up to meet it, John murmured,

"Eos, hack all non-standard recording devices. Change any pictures to… to adverts for Penny's dumb soiree thing. Maybe some free publicity 'll get me off the hook for that d*mn party of hers."

"Done, John," the AI responded, boosting his suit's strength, and his own weary systems. "But I think that your presence is more of a "draw" than any news show would be."

"Why?!" John snapped, taking hold of the pilot seat's rain-slickened arms, and folding his exopod's wings. "All I ever do is stand around, wishing like h*ll I was anyplace else."

Grunted and swore for a second, maneuvering into that bouncing seat, through shrieking wind and fierce rain gusts.

"The food sucks," he went on, "and I hate polite conversation! Who cares what Bitsy did in Cannes, or how "Dear Herbert's" investments are coming?"

"Shall I prepare and upload a script of witty comments?" Eos suggested brightly, as John at last settled his awkward, mechanized bulk and triggered 'cockpit close'. "I am able to scan every urbane, dryly comic exchange ever posted, John, thus providing you with delightful, high-society banter for any formal occasion."

"God, no!" John objected, seizing the wounded Bird's controls. "Send it to Scott, he's stuck with her… and if Lady Penelope doesn't like the way I act in crowds, she can d*mn well find somebody else to drag to her stupid, f…"

"Oh, thank heaven!" a small, frightened voice cut him off, from somewhere back in the rear. "I was so worried, up here, all alone!"

The reporter. He'd almost forgotten. John couldn't turn very well in his seat, owing to the exopod, but there was an overhead-mounted mirror through which he could see his "affectionate guest". It was, indeed, Kat Cavanaugh, looking very much as she had on that day at Gran Roca; helpless, wide-eyed and deeply relieved.

"I don't know how to fly a big, fancy plane like this one, and I was so afraid, when poor Scott fell out, like that! Please tell me he's all right… John." The reporter had wriggled halfway out of her seat straps, to reach for him.

Yeah. Something about the way she said his name made the astronaut's hackles rise like a stiff-legged dog, sensing fight. Possibly, she sounded too much like the nattering females at one of Penny's events. Or maybe his own horse-sense and BS-meter were on high alert, that night. Whatever. The come-on, if that's what it was, failed completely.

"Not buying it, Cavanaugh," he snapped. "You don't get as far as you have, being timid and weak. Let's try this again. Scott's fine, I've deleted your images, and we're low on fuel. Now, sit back, shut up, and leave me alone, before I eject you."

Pure crap, of course. Thunderbird 1 had a pilot escape system, but he'd never use it like that. Probably. In the mirror, Kat's face changed, growing slyly amused.

"Real piece of work, aren't you, Pookums?" she teased. "Just a drop of sparkling sunshine, bringing joy to all that you meet. How about I leave you alone, you don't crash the plane or eject me, and I get a few of my images back? The ones you approve, naturally."

By this time, John had gotten control of Thunderbird 1, and turned her around toward Saipan. Steering system took some getting used to, as it was worked by a pair of d*mn levers, and one of the wings had dropped off. Force field would have helped, but 1 was running on fumes, already. He'd just have to fly like his ass was on fire, and hope for the best. To the reporter, he said,

"I'll make up my mind when we get where we're going. In the meantime, keep still, and enjoy the scenery."

"Oh, I will," she assured him, looking straight at the mirror, and smiling.

Pretending to flick a switch on the overhead, John "accidentally" bumped that mirror out of line. Now, she couldn't look at him, anymore. Might've been risky, but with Eos along, he wasn't too worried. A hundred and ten miles. That's all he had to cross, to be rid of Kat Cavanaugh for hopefully life. Could do that standing on his head, John told himself, as he banked out over the ocean.

XXXXXXXXXX

Thunderbird 2, flying low and slow over turbulent water-

Virgil Tracy took a page from Snow White, and whistled while he worked. With Kayo safe aboard, and Scott located, all was pretty d*mn well with the Tracys. Just had to… get himself… situated.

The aria he'd been whistling died away, as the big pilot brought his girl to a hover, over pod 4. Well over pod 4, as those waves were extremely rough, towering a hundred feet in the air, and moving fast. The pod rode them like a spinning leaf, its "notice me" beacon barely visible with all the lightning and rain.

Okay, so… Plan A: drop down into a thundering trough, grab the pod, and then run like h*ll, upward. Plan B: wait till the pod reached a wave crest, get low, line up, and fire his magnetic cables. He'd have to be quick, because the pod never spent more than a few seconds on top. (He'd timed it.) Plan C: do the smart thing, and wait for conditions to clear. Only, that was his brother down there, and Thunderbird 2 didn't have much fuel left. D*mned if he'd just leave Scott out on the water to fend for himself, either. Grandma 'd kill him, for sure.

"Right, Plan B, it is," Virgil decided aloud, choosing medium risk, because he was carrying passengers. Hitting the comm, Virgil said, "Kayo, Penny, get those folks strapped in and settled, back there. I'm going down after Scott."

"Carry on, Virgil," Penny responded coolly. "We have matters well under control, at this end."

The big, dark-haired pilot cocked an eyebrow. He was no judge of female emotion, but that didn't sound like an, "Oh, God, be careful, I love him," comment to Virgil. More like, "Oh, really? How very distressing. Do be careful, dear boy."

Well… maybe they'd had another fight, and were fixing to make it all up, again? Who could say? Good thing Emma was easy to get along with, Virgil mused. Other than pulling a gun on him, once, and throwing a few punches, she was all self-control. Great sense of humor, too. And cute. And…

Sh*t. Distracted, he'd forgotten to keep an eye on pod 4's position. Now the big, whirling thing was about to crest another wave, and he wasn't there to catch it.

Throwing caution to that howling-mad gale, Virgil Tracy throttled forward, gunning his Bird's engines, and racing to place himself low over the oncoming pod. Crosswind was frickin' ferocious. He needed full VTOLs and steering rockets just to maintain his position. Warning his brother,

"I'm sealing the pod door, Scott," Virgil remotely triggered ramp-closure. Received a warning light and error message: Thunderbird 4 not yet retrieved. Proceed? Y/N.

Yes, Virgil selected, because time was short, and Thunderbird 4 someplace else.

"Understood, Virge," his brother replied. "Don't take any risks for my sake, though. If it's too dangerous…"

"Hey, know what I can do?" the pilot cut in, as he nudged Thunderbird 2 forward and slightly to port, matching the pod's majestic spin. "I can fly my own Bird, like a big boy. Tie my own shoes, and dress myself, too. This growing up crap? It's great."

He was almost directly over the pod, now, finger on the cable-launch trigger, holding his breath. Had to wait until just the right moment, or the wind would mess up his aim.

"Okay, point taken, Virge. Just…"

"I know, Scott. Be careful, look both ways when crossing the street, and don't talk to strangers." Then, "Hang on to your butt, Big Brother. This is it!"

Pod 4 crested the top of that massive, wind-frenzied wave like a broaching green whale. Slid a bit sideways before nosing over, but Virgil dropped even lower and fired, anyhow.

The launch cannons boomed, shaking Thunderbird 2. Giant reels whined, and cables hissed outward. Three of the magnetic lines locked on, with deep thumps. One missed, entirely, blown off course by a random wind gust. D*mn, but he missed that GDF cloud-carrier!

Could've let the pod go, for another try, but his fuel meter read critically short, and Virgil had innocent people on board. That's why he made the decision to reel in that swaying, sluicing, unstable pod.