Hi, guys! =) Me, again. I'm going to discipline myself from now on, not to run off at the keyboard and pencil, so much. Thank you, Creative Girl, Bow Echo, Tikatu, Guest and Whirl Girl, for sticking around. Your feedback matters.

33

Lost in time, and in place-

They had cut their way through a well-disguised door in the maze of tunnels beneath Tracy Island. Yes, they'd been made comfortable enough; supplied with water, food packs, carbonized chocolate-chip hockey pucks, and a functioning chemical toilet. But, d*mned if Lieutenant Commander Reese Sheffield, GDF Navy, was just going to sit there like a good little captive, and wait for the Tracys to notice him.

Sheff was a go-getter; a fast-rising star in an organization that seemed to prize gentle, committee-based thinking over simple aggression. Truthfully, he made his superiors nervous. They did not understand him, which was why he'd been chosen to head the Tracy Island Advance Task Force. When in doubt, throw your problems together, and hope they solve each other, right?

He had a girlfriend he'd been waiting five years to marry, and hoped that winning the rank of commander would improve his chances of scoring a license. Needed to make an impression, here; bring International Rescue to heel for their high-handed behaviour, just like General Steele wanted him to. Only, pretty much from square one, the whole d*mn thing had blown up in his face. Reviewing the situation didn't make it any easier… but that's what they wanted, so:

First, Sheff had been forced to land on a strip of black sand beach, with a powerful storm coming on. He, and a mixed bag of nineteen expendables, had arrived in four lightly-armed security transports. The aircraft had quickly been seized by a hostile virus and taken over, plunking them down between cliff face and storm surge.

Then, the cliff had opened up, and a woman's holographic image had told them to drop their weapons and come on inside. Like they'd had a choice? So, yeah… he'd told his squad to leave their sidearms and rifles… but he'd kept a few explosives and cutting tools, because you never knew what was waiting on the other side.

He'd expected to meet one of the Tracys; maybe that Scott fellow, who'd beat down both the Hood and Francois Le Maire. Instead, they'd been trapped in a labyrinth of stone. Until Sheff had had enough, that is. Tapping and scanning, he'd found a hidden doorway, then another. The third that they'd cut and blasted through, had opened into some kind of lab.

Inside… well, he'd seen a beautiful, shimmering gem, held in some sort of force-shielded vise. The Lieutenant Commander took a few pictures, but he was far too smart to touch the d*mn thing, which looked like pure, crystallized trouble.

"Stay clear," he'd ordered his squad. "Touch nothing."

Conyers, though… every squad had a Conyers. The guy who meant well, but just couldn't help f*cking things up, by the numbers. Conyers had bumped the lab table, by accident. Next, had come a glow, like the light of creation, and a sound that he couldn't describe, except that it went right through you. Made… gonna sound stupid, but… made you almost cry, for being so beautiful, and so far away. Whatever, that's when everything went utterly, f*cking nuts.

Felt turned inside-out, like they were being accelerated in some awful new spiraling way. The universe seemed to smear; to hold its breath. Then, they'd stopped moving, and were violently sick, all eighteen of them (Ensign Wolford and Lieutenant Oteiza hadn't been seized by the gem, for some reason… but the lab bench and gemstone were there, along with a wall, and most of the floor.)

Weak as a kitten and puking his guts out. Not the ideal way to greet strange new worlds, but that didn't seem to phase them. When Sheffield looked up from his miserable heaving, he first saw a big, green banner with the words 'Wilcum Travailers' printed on. There was a long banquet table, too, loaded with food, and the strangest people he'd ever seen, gathered before it. (Surroundings…? Not Tracy Island, that's for sure. Not underground, for one thing. More like a deep cut, or ravine, in worn, crumbling lava. Transparent dome overhead, holding back what looked like a blizzard, and strange, greyish-pale light.)

The people there were tall and spindly, with big green eyes and long fingers. Their skin was a uniform, light golden-tan, their hair, buttery yellow… but the effect flickered, oddly. Like they were holding onto that look with an effort.

The Lieutenant Commander straightened up to his full five-ten height, and was still a solid foot shorter than any of those weirdos. He'd hesitated, not knowing quite where he was, or what to do next, and his people waited behind him; mostly too spooked to move. (Cut 'em some slack. You don't get torn from your world every day, and none of this had been covered at the Goddam briefing.)

One of the weirdings, a female, came smilingly forward, stepping from her own setting of rock-walled gulley, and onto the kidnapped lab.

"Greetings, Lost Squadron! I am Sharl, Who Waits." Still smiling, she gestured around with her elegant hands, pointing out the banner and food. "We have here hotburgers and donats, the traditional meal of your era. Be welcome among us, who have watched for so long."

Her accent was odd, like she'd had to practice that speech, and still didn't quite grasp the sounds. Strange music started to play. Then the others began to move forward, as well.

"We have so many questions, Honored Sheefold! So much that is not known to us."

'Sharl' honestly looked like she wanted to cry. Like Sheff and his out-of-time squadron were the answer to some very frightening need.

XXXXXXXXXXX

London, heart of the former United Kingdom-

General Steele's body had been stolen right out from under the GDF's nose. How, nobody knew, except that two doctors, an orderly and a nurse had been attacked from behind and half-killed, never once spotting their stealthy assailant.

Nearly the same thing had recently taken place with the Hood, who'd been freed from his prison, only to die in the air over Antarctica. This made WorldGov quite tense. Was the Mechanic behind this incident, too? Or a new, even more powerful threat?

To limit the perpetrator's access to equipment, personnel and sensitive documents, everyone remotely connected with the situation was placed on immediate leave. That was why Captains O'Bannon and Kraft found themselves with sudden free time, and no place special to go.

"Stay in touch?" Ridley mused, examining her just-altered orders. "That's all?"

Beside her, Emma shrugged.

"Same here. I guess it doesn't matter where we are, so long as the brass can whistle us up, at need."

They were standing in the crowded transport station lobby, just below one of those big, floating news screens. The kidnap was all over it, and their device feeds, too.

The two young officers had been about to part ways; O'Bannon to Global-1, Kraft to Union Jack. Now, though, they'd been told to remain on leave, and ready to answer a summons.

Ridley set down her just-bought, space-rated rucksack, looking distressed. Over the noise of announcements and launches, she fretted,

"I don't know what we can tell them that they haven't already heard, Em. I don't have the general stuffed in my personals bag, if that's what they're thinking."

Like Emma Kraft, she was in uniform; wearing a relatively form-fitting grey and blue coverall. Kraft wore her traveling whites, looking a little more formal, and much less sleek. (Was a lot more vexed than she seemed, too. For a number of reasons.)

Putting a hand to her blondish-brown hair to make sure that her up-do still held, Emma said,

"Well… if we can do anything at all but leave Earth or return to duty… why not head for the Island, Ree? That storm's gotta pass, sooner or later, and we can commandeer a light transport to get there, when it does. I mean… two captains 've gotta have some kind of pull, right?"

…'and I really need to be close to my ship, and see Taz,' she didn't mention out loud. See, something… felt different. Felt restless. She hadn't told O'Bannon about meeting that crazy girl, or asked whether her friend had encountered one. Too superstitious, maybe. Like, if she talked about the girl's warning, she'd bring something awful right out of "could be", and straight into "gotcha".

Ridley had brightened right up, though; suddenly taut with suppressed eagerness. O'Bannon felt weird herself, lately. Hormonal, or something. Her auburn hair was up, too, but elegantly braided, and she'd put on a touch of makeup and perfume. Go to the Island? Spend some much-needed downtime with Tracy? Oh, h*ll, yeah! Mischief dancing in her grey eyes, O'Bannon grinned at her friend.

"You're on, Em. Let's go pull rank, and get these tickets switched for Australia."

…because, honestly, there were places on Global-1 that still made her shudder. Places that brought her right back to the time she'd been beaten and trapped by the Hood. Still couldn't look at a storage locker without wanting to fight, scream, strangle and shoot. Still couldn't not feel the Hood's fists, and his hands. Tracy… somehow, just being near him chased away ghosts, and made everything better.

Emma had extended a loosely-clenched fist for a "let's do this" bump. Ridley obliged Captain Kraft, as she picked up her new rucksack again.

"Men are a giant pain in the ass, sometimes," she said to Emma, as they turned to head back for the ticket and transport counter. "But…"

"It's tough to imagine living without them," Kraft finished, adding, "and we don't have to. C'mon, Ree, get your skinny Space Corps rear in gear! Places to go, people to see, ships to watch from an innocent distance!"

Because man and vessel together were exactly what Emma most wanted, right now. And sometimes, you just had to go make your own d*mn luck. She and O'Bannon were still in line at the travel counter, when the news broke about possible trouble on Mars.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tracy Island, camped out in launch silo 1-

Scott had spread his old green sleeping bag on the metal access gantry, piling several blankets on top of that. Not the most romantic place he'd ever brought her to, but Penny seemed happy enough to be there, with him.

Scott would have started something, but she was worn out from disasters, rescue and hostessing. Also, Sherbert was fast asleep right beside them; short legs jerking and pedaling as he dreamt of snapping, barking, peeing, and shredding Scott's clothes.

So, he just held Penny curled up against him; sometimes rubbing her slim shoulders, sometimes talking in a low, soothing voice about not much at all; her golden-blonde hair cascading all over his bare chest.

Overhead, he could hear storm-blown water shifting and swirling in the silo's moveable pool. Alongside, he saw Thunderbird 1, alive with beeping, clicking repair mechs. John had done more than just scratch the paint job. He'd lost the rest of that damaged wing, and split a d*mn seam.

Still, his brother had brought the Bird and himself back home safe, and that had to count for something. Anyhow, he'd harass John about it, later; maybe enough to help pay for berthing that worthless wreck of a pirate ship, too. (Since he seemed to be stuck with the thing.)

Inevitably, Scott's thoughts turned to Mars, and Dad. Jeff Tracy was no damsel in distress. Most likely, whatever was happening up there, the colonel and Pete were already on top of… but his father could probably use a hand, what with twenty-six people to save.

They'd have to take the prototype, which meant getting the big new rescue Bird kitted up with pod-construction gear, radiation shielding, food and medical supplies… the works. Also meant picking a crew. With time on his hands, and sleep an impossible dream, Scott went down the list for a Mars mission.

Himself, naturally. (A week to Mars, a week back, a few days on-planet, at most. He could afford to leave Grandma in charge that long.) Captain Taylor, needless to say, and John. (Both of them had experience with the Red Planet, and wouldn't make dumbass, rookie mistakes. Probably.) Then… Alan, maybe? Or Virgil? They'd been out there before, helping pull Lee out of some damfool caving accident. That report had made interesting reading. Yeah… tough decision.

Scott shifted position a little, feeling Penelope sigh and snuggle against him. Females were fragile and often confusing, but good to have around. Without Penny, life would be nothing but rescues, oversight committee meetings, and dealing with his stubborn, mouthy, wild-ass brothers and sister. (Seriously. You try keeping Gordon and Kayo in check. Or John. Go ahead. Dare you.)

Knowing that Parker was bedded down in the hangar lift, not twenty paces away, and that there were cameras literally everywhere, Scott didn't yield to temptation. Kept his hands and… everything else… to himself. He'd been shopping around for a ring, though. Wanted something really special. Pen was a lady, descended from Albert the Lion-hearted, or something like that. She deserved the absolute best.

Question was, who'd stay behind with Grandma, to mind things, back home? On Earth, he was clearly the best choice, followed by Virgil and Gordon. Kayo would need to stick close to Brains, for awhile, both to help with retrieving that GDF strike force, and to plan construction of Shadow, part two. Except that Scott couldn't be two places at once, and he knew that whichever team he wasn't on, would get itself in to immediate, ridiculous trouble. Then,

"Darling…?" Penny murmured softly.

"Hunh?"

"You are squeezing uncomfortably tightly, Dearest. Do restrain yourself, until I shall have had opportunity to bathe and refresh myself, hmm?"

Sherbert opened one bulgy dark pug eye, and yawned, showing his pink tongue, sharp teeth and ribbed palate. Well… the puppy had seemed like a great idea at the time, and maybe he'd have better luck with that ring.

"Sorry, Pen," Scott mumbled, burying his face in her long, golden hair. "I love you."

If someone could smile with their posture and movement, Penny succeeded; sort of nestling back against him and rubbing her face on his muscular chest.

"I know, Dear," she whispered, sliding back into sleep. "I know."