'Allo! Late night effort, as I was out there pulling apart the tangled strands of real life, all day. Graceful bows offered to Bow Echo, Creative Girl, Tikatu and Whirl Girl, and to all those who read this odd little story, and are too shy to review. Know just how you feel, as I am almost too nervous to read reviews! =)

23

Thunderbird 1, leaving beautiful Saipan, in the punctured light of a stormy dawn-

Mostly she'd behaved herself; only falling into him once. Clinging for a moment, she'd cried out, "Oops, I'm sorry! Weak ankles," and held on tight, so that he got an armful of squirming reporter, before managing to detach. Other than that… Yeah. He'd got away with a refueled Bird, and his pride intact; ditching one problem, and flying straight into another.

It was a jouncing and noisy flight, thanks to that missing wing. About as smooth as rolling downhill in a plastic barrel (which he'd tried once, on a really stupid childhood dare). The sort of thing it'd be great to talk about, later, over a few beers (but right now, kind of sucked).

Still, John was getting the hang of Thunderbird 1, even without all her parts, and caught in a furious headwind. Just had to lean more heavily on the left control lever, and do some fancier pedal work.

Rain bands hissed and spat at him, their sudden, wild updrafts bouncing the rocket-plane all over an angry sky. Had to keep plenty of altitude to avoid slamming right into the ocean, as Kayo had somehow done. Not like her to be so careless. Then again, she'd had Cavanaugh riding along, and might just have been trying to shut up the d*mn reporter. John didn't have that excuse, any longer. All he had was exhaustion, bad weather, and a battered aircraft.

But flying a crippled Bird was only part of his problem. The rest was logistics, WorldGov, and Dad. As he raced southeast over turbulent water, the astronaut broke his shopping list down into chunks.

First, he needed to get everyone back to the island safely, including those displaced new kids. That meant getting them all into shelter, before the storm broke. Second, Chancellor Shaw had stopped replying to his (Eos') updates, meaning… what? He was through negotiating? That they'd all be arrested on sight?

Eos wasn't sure, but was monitoring the situation, along with Kat Cavanaugh's "Live, on the spot" broadcast. She had more patience than John did, right then. All he'd said about the news report was,

"Bleep out any actual lies or technology, and keep me posted."

…Because IR's reputation wasn't at the top of his list, at the moment. That honor belonged to Dad, who'd gotten himself into some kind of trouble on Mars. Exactly what brand of crap his father and Pete had landed in, John didn't know. Grandma hadn't been very forthcoming over the comm, saying only,

"Everything's under control down here, Johnny. Just you get back safe with y'r sister and them, 'cause it's all quiet on the western front, Mars-way."

His hands tightened reflexively on Thunderbird 1's control levers, causing the unbalanced plane to roll sharply left. John cursed, got her under control again, and nosed upward a little, searching for calmer air. All quiet on the western front had always been private family code for total disaster.

Obviously, she hadn't wanted to say anything out loud that might be picked up by the wrong set of ears. So, John hadn't asked. Just let his grandmother know that, yeah, he got it, and was making best speed; rickety-tired, or not.

All sorts of scenarios ran through the astronaut's head as he blasted southward. All kinds of backdoor methods for reaching Mars in a d*mn quick hurry, and keeping Dad alive in the meantime. After all, the Prototype and Thunderbird 3 were fast, but signals could reach the Red Planet in under twenty minutes. Even better, there was plenty of gear just lying around over there, ready for a guy with decent coding skills and elastic morals to hijack… for a good cause.

Flying with one spread hand and only part of his mind, John pulled up a virtual screen. As it flickered to bluish-pale life in the rumbling, bouncing cockpit, he began a full scan of the Freedom Colony's autonomous drone fleet. Rock crushers… mining drills… terraforming rigs… gliders… orbital shuttle craft… repair mechs… everything but a d*mn chess-playing machine. Given time, and a chance to jack into their system… he might just succeed in keeping 27 people safe until help could arrive. Next step, figure out what had gone wrong out there, and why.

It did occur to John that the GDF might have a problem with all this, but he shrugged it off, figuring that he could always explain himself, later.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Thunderbird 3, nearly two-hundred miles further south-

"I'd like to," he'd said, heart doing that sort of flip-floppy, up in his mouth thing. Alan really did want to find out all there was to know about Piper Austin. Better start small, though.

"Okay, so… easy one, first: what's your middle name?"

Piper grimaced. The two rockets danced southward through gathering clouds, so close that their shields were mated.

"We couldn't do favourite food and music, first?" she suggested, sounding hopeful. But Alan snorted

"Duh! Pizza and skate-punk. Bet your favourite band's either Krimsyn Kaos, or Starflies."

The pretty girl's jaw dropped. Taking one gloved hand from the controls for a minute, she touched her own forehead, then pointed at his, and back again.

"Dude," she gasped, "it's like…"

"…We're on the same wavelength. I know. Crazy, right?"

"Willow," she blurted, turning a little pink, and pretending to fuss with her instruments.

"What?"

"My middle name is Willow. Don't laugh. What's yours?"

Alan hunkered down in his seat. Only love, the real thing, could have made him admit,

"Raymond. Double don't laugh at me, or I'll move to the woods in Vermont, and turn myself into a hermit. Like, with a long, wise beard, and everything."

Piper grinned at him.

"Willow and Raymond 'll be our guilty secrets forever, A-T… although I think you'd look awesome with a long, wise beard."

Alan posed for her, gazing heroically upward and stroking imaginary whiskers. The sight made Piper chuckle. Made her sound like someone you could pick up and swing around in a hug that would last your whole life.

"Okay, your turn," he said, deliberately throttling back a little to save her Bird some fuel and air-strain, and to make the ride longer. "Ask me something."

Blowing a strand of purple hair out of her eyes, Piper thought it over. Then, she said,

"How 'bout… y'know… why you got into this? I mean, doing rescues, all the time. It's, like, super risky and stuff. Why?"

Alan's sky-blue eyes widened. She'd asked him why he was part of International Rescue, like he'd made his own decision. Like he was Alan Tracy, astronaut, instead of just Son Number Five, with no other options in life. She was taking him seriously… and she deserved a real answer.

"Um… I guess… partly because my brothers made it look cool, and I wanted to be just like them. Wanted to be a hero. Partly… I mean… when my dad went missing… we just all had to jump in and get right to work. Scott took over the rescue stuff, John came back from Mars, and Virgil dropped out of college. Gordon mostly stopped competing as a swimmer… So, y'know, it wasn't like I had the most to give up, or anything. Just did what I had to. Seems like it's been my whole life, in a way… but I can't imagine doing anything else, except maybe surfing, or working on cars."

Piper's dark blue eyes were warm, and focused right on him, like Alan R. Tracy was the only guy in the world. Like she was thinking, 'Brothers? What brothers?'

So, the young astronaut got brave and asked her,

"What about you, Pip? Why'd you answer the New Crew talent search? Always wanted to go to space, or something?"

Piper scrunched down a little in her seat straps, once more a tall girl trying to fold herself up small and invisible.

"There was a press release," she whispered, eyes on her instrument panel.

Alan nodded.

"Yeah, but they always lie in those things. Like, mine says that I love broccoli, and watching the stars at night. For reals, I live on microwave popcorn with ketchup, and I'm up playing videogames until John remotely shuts down the system… he thinks. I found a workaround, but don't tell him I said so. Anywho… that's me. You don't have to tell, if you don't want to, Pip. I understand."

She bit her lip, making it flush with sudden color. Still flying her orange, rain-streaked rocket, Piper looked at him sideways through hair like a violet-silk veil. Then,

"You did it… so can I. Only, all this wasn't because I was brave, Alan. I'm not really… not being a hero. See, about four years ago, my folks decided to emigrate. They got passage on a long-haul robot colony barge, the Far Dreamer, for, um… themselves, my big brother… and me. Only, I didn't want to go. I had friends and a life, and I like Earth. I was all, like, "I'm not jetting off to nowhere, just so you can wear religious stuff, and say prayers in public!"

"Oh," said Alan. "They were, um… 'objectors'?"

Piper sort of shrugged, mumbling,

"Something like that. Thanks for not saying 'fanatics'… but, yeah. They're neo-Druids, and they just wanted out of under WorldGov. I didn't. So, I emancipated myself, and let them go without me. Only… it's been almost four years, Alan… and I'll never see them again, even if they get where they're going, which is 'a likely world orbiting a G-type star, near the constellation Virgo'. It'll take them 3,000 years in cryo-sleep to reach New Canberra, because no one's gonna waste warp technology on a boatload of frickin' religious nuts. I'll be dead and gone by then. And… and… anything could happen to their ship, on the way. No one keeps track, Alan! They just send them out and wish them luck! So, when I heard that the GDF was looking for someone to fly space-rescue missions, I thought that if I won, and they picked me, I could sort of keep an eye on my folks and Sam, y'know? Be there, in case Far Dreamer runs into trouble. If that even makes any sense…"

Piper's shoulders were hunched, and she'd started blinking a lot, like she was trying really hard not to cry. They were about ten minutes out from Tracy Island, now, and he'd have to talk her through landing her Bird in his silo. But first, Alan said,

"Pip, I get that. I totally do. And… I'm really glad you're here, not frozen on a colony barge, headed for who-knows-where. If my brothers or Grandma were out there, I'd do the same thing as you. I'd want to watch over them, too."

"Even if they never found out?" she whispered, "and spent their whole life thinking you bailed on them, and never changed your mind about it?"

"I'd leave them a message. Record it some kind of way that would last 3,000 years, for them to find and read when they woke up. Lots of messages, telling all about my life, and stuff. I'd say that I was just a dumb kid, once, but I loved them and tried to protect them, when I grew up and got smarter."

"You think there's a way to do that?"

Alan nodded, making faint hope a rock-solid fact.

"I know there is. We'll make it happen, Pip. I promise you."

Piper had been clinging to the lifeline offered by rocket flight. Seriously, you couldn't fall apart emotionally, and stay in the air. Flying made everything better, for both of them. Now, she said,

"I miss them, Alan. Mom and Dad… even Sam, the butt-munch annoying brother of the universe. I miss them so much."

Alan thought about Gordon, then gave a reluctant nod.

"Yeah," he said. "I guess I'd start to miss Gordito… but it might take more than four years."

Piper gave him a bright and watery half-grin. Would have said something, too, except that the island's nav-beacon cut suddenly on. Home, sweet home.

"C'mon, Piper," he told her. "Let's get you and Frank-point-two inside, and then we'll figure things out. Whatever you need, for as long as you want it. I'm here, and I always will be."