I swear, the next story (if there is one) will have a title that starts with "AAA" just so it's easy to find in my document list. *Grumbles*. Anyhow... thanks for reading. It is what it is, and nearly over, I promise. :)

39

Thunderbird 7, in a high and spiraling orbit-

They'd crossed the terminator dozens of times, turning the blue-white globe beneath them from lacy turquoise, to gold-spangled velvet black, over and over again. A beautiful sight, and not one that Gordon was especially used to.

Captain Taylor had his own way of leaving a planet. Where Alan preferred to just punch straight on up the gravity well, Uncle Lee liked to slingshot around a few times, working up serious speed and momentum. It was fascinating, how the stars winked in and then vanished completely, depending on whether or not the Sun was in view.

Speed was everything, and Lee had dangled the hint that they might be able to get to Mars faster, but he seemed to be taking things gradually, now. Gordon chafed, but he waited. Impatience could get a guy killed, in this business, and he had too much to get back to… brothers to save… at home.

Earth was just a blue disk the size of his clenched fist, and the grey-brown Moon rushing up close, when Captain Taylor relaxed enough to lean back in his seat and glance over.

"Got us a good wind-up," he remarked, as though referring to one of John's special pitches. "Now comes our 'ace', thanks ta Doc."

Gordon had been quietly checking his own bio-monitors. He didn't want to burden them all with a desperately sick guy, or endanger Dad, either. The swimmer planned to seal himself into an airlock alone, if he started to show any symptoms. Nothing yet, though.

Looking over at Lee, the sandy-haired aquanaut smiled a little. He wasn't a handsome guy, by anyone's measure, but the expression did something to his wide, angular face that made it all work, somehow.

"What's the secret shortcut, Sir?"

Taylor grinned at him.

"See, this Bird's got four o' the most powerful engines ever come up with, Godfrey. Oughta be able ta push 'er clear up ta quarter-light speed… if'n it weren't f'r th' d*mn mass/ fuel problem."

Gordon's forehead creased, as he thought back to his online physics and spaceflight classes.

"You mean, the faster we go, the heavier we get, so the more fuel we spend?" he worked out aloud.

"Exackly," Taylor nodded. "Ends up ta where pushin' yer engines… no matter whut kinda power they got… don't add up ta much extra speed, an' just burns up yer fuel. Right annoyin'... and th' real reason it takes s' dang long ta reach Mars. But there's a workaround, if y' can shift that extra relativity mass somewheres else. Well, Doc's found a way ta do that. Calls it 'is Higgs Boson Transfer Entanglement Field."

Gordon's amber eyes narrowed in thought.

"Wouldn't want to transfer your relativistic mass to the satellite fleet," he mused, rubbing at his own scruffy jaw. (The beard would be back… oh, yes, it would.)

"No, nor slap it at any passin' ships, or Global-1, neither. Ain't neighbourly. But, wunst we gets high enough outa the Earth-Moon system, where all that's around us is gas molecules an' rocks…"

"We can punch it," Gordon finished. And then, after a swift calculation. "At quarter-light, we can reach Mars in an hour and twenty-five minutes!"

"You betcha. That's why Doc stays on th' payroll, Son. Don't never underestimate them little neckbeards with th' glasses. We couldn't do crap, without 'em."

As Thunderbird 7 sliced like a silvery blade past the Moon, Captain Taylor hit his comm switch. Grandma's image appeared, blinking a little, and dabbing at her face, as though working to hide recent tears.

'They're asleep,' Gordon reminded himself. 'They're just sleeping, is all.' Because Al and the rest had to be safe. They had to be.

"Island Base, from Thunderbird 7. Evenin', Ma'am. We've cleared th' system, an' we're headed f'r Mars. Gonna try out Doc's, uh… modifications, now. You-all stay safe, down there. Back before ya know we've left."

Sally managed a smile for Captain Taylor.

"Get back in one piece, an' bring 'em home safe, Lee. I'll have supper waitin'," she told him. Then, blue eyes shifting anxiously off to the copilot's seat, Grandma said, "Tell y'r dad not ta come home, yet, Tadpole. He needs ta stay clear, (an' you, too) till Brains gets this thing figgered out. Just… take care o' yerselves… both o' ya. Good luck."

There was more in her eyes than her voice; things she'd never been quite able to say to her family. Well, people could change, couldn't they? Gordon had started to unstrap himself from his seat, meaning to float on back and help out. Now, he said

"Thanks, Grandma. Love you, too. It's gonna work out, all of it. I got it on the highest authority."

She looked surprised, then teared up some and smiled at him.

"Well… love don't get th' chores done, nor th' bills paid, but it's nice ta hear, anyways. You two look out f'r each other, an' come home safe, real soon." And then, somewhat shyly, she blew them a kiss.

A few minutes later, an elated Captain Taylor had engaged the Higgs Boson Transfer field, and opened her up to quarter-light. They'd reach Mars in less than two hours.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Mars, fleeing pursuit-

Like her injured (stupid ox) brother, Havok had another name. One she refused to admit to. Their parents were dead (and good riddance) but she wasn't ready to lose Fuse, as well. They'd come here, hidden on the hull of the Colonel's transport, for a spot of easy murder and sabotage. Good pay, soft target, funded by General Steele himself.

Only, nothing on this bloody d*mn planet had gone right, since her first few explosions. The thin atmosphere took all of the punch right out of her bombs, while that weak-ass gravity c*cked up her leaps and throws. Made running more awkward than it should have been, too. But the girl kept at it, learning with each wild stumble and painfully cracked shin.

There were few structures, and no vegetation to seek cover behind, so she had to stay cloaked and be d*mn quick in her movements. Worse than that, there weren't many ways to get back underground. Her marks might try to cover them all, using her trapped, injured brother to lure Havok in for capture. Well, she'd kill every d*mn one of them, then rescue Fuse and give him merciless hell for being so low in the corpse count. On the bright side, her marks couldn't communicate over long distances. Not with all of that radiation mucking things up. Bonus.

Her boots thudded and crunched on dust and thin snow, which was already evaporating as she ran for the greenhouse dome. Some weird sh*t in there, so maybe they'd concentrate most of their people on easier openings. No sense wasting ammo; not with the Chaos Cruiser hidden away behind the east hills.

The boulder-strewn landscape around her was cut through with deep gullies and sudden black pits, but Havok stayed with the road, stupidly marked "Interstate 1", as though there were others, or anyplace worth getting to, on this bloody great rock.

Day came on very suddenly. One moment, she was hidden by darkness, with a fast little moon slicing the star-pocked sky overhead. Next, that weak midget sun popped over the horizon, bringing a wash of pale blue twilight, then full, pink Martian day. She hated pink.

The dim LED road lights flickered off as the Sun's glow reached their sensors. Just behind that, a field of huge, mechanized solar panels began turning their shiny black faces up and around like robot sunflowers. Soon, her marks would have power, again. Unless…

With a smirk, Havok vaulted the road's metal guard rail and loped over to the solar station control box; a waist-high, green metal cube with local web and comm access. Splendid.

Took her all of three seconds to pop the first lock, bypass voice and retinal scanning, and bust on into their net.

"Lights out, Lunchmeat," Havok purred, as she uploaded one of her favourite viruses, then chucked a bomb at the nearest solar panel, just for the pure, mean h*ll of it. The f*ck with secrecy. General Steele… or the Hood… whoever he bloody well was, couldn't stop her from lighting the place up in true Chaos Crew fashion. Not anymore.

The girl set off running again, as an explosion (insultingly quiet and weak) shattered one solar panel and damaged the next. The rest of them, caught by the virus, simply shut themselves down; ending whatever brief light and life support might have raised her prey's hopes. Well, tough. Suck it. She'd been locked in a dark, musty closet for days on end, herself, with only her brother's hand to hold on to. Difference was, she'd survived. They wouldn't.

As she sped for the Biodome access hatch, her cloaked purple armour looking like wavery smoke, Havok laughed.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Tracy Island-

Captain Emma Kraft should have grabbed some sleep, or something to eat. She was horribly jet-lagged; feeling guilty and heart-broken. That girl, back on the GDF tower plaza… that Goddam murderous bitch. Somehow, she'd done this. Turned Emma and Ridley into guided missiles, using them to strike down the men that they loved. And then, their innocent brothers, as well.

Emma didn't cry. Didn't let herself. She'd just left Hackenbacker, who seemed to be hammering out more equations than medical tests, and wouldn't talk to her. Exiting the lab, Kraft strode down a long, grey hallway, until she reached the cryogenics room. Wanted a few minutes alone with Virgil. Wanted to talk to him, even if he was frozen near death, and couldn't hear what she said. Because, truth was, this was her fault. She'd come running to the island like a love-sick, stupid idiot… and delivered the virus that had almost killed him. Maybe still would.

She would gladly have traded places with him. After all, the world didn't need Emma d*mn Kraft. It needed Virgil Tracy. Taz. And now, thanks to her asinine blunder, he was gone. Frozen away, with a hastily-folded paper heart on his chest, inside of that tube.

Captain Kraft stepped into the warm, buzzing cryonics lab to find others already present. Ridley was there, and Max, plus the British girl, Lady Penelope. Close to young Alan's tube huddled a tall, awkward teenager with odd purple hair. One of the "New Crew".

Emma hesitated. She'd wanted alone time, not a crowd scene… but Ree was hurting, too. They all were. So, Kraft went in, and took charge.

"Max," she said to the robot. "Brew up some coffee, would you? And get your buddies to rig up some cots. We may be here, awhile."

Seeming relieved for something Earth-side to do, the white, cart-sized robot beeped at her. Rising up and down on his tank treads a few times, he switched modes, soon filling the air with the rich scent of think-juice and tack.

Ridley came over, looking exhausted, but under control. Very briefly, they hugged; both of them crippled with guilt.

"You okay, Ree?" Kraft asked her friend.

The grey-eyed space captain nodded once, then broke free.

"I'm fine," she lied. O'Bannon, too, had given up pints of blood, hoping that something in her own system would have adapted to the virus; would give Hackenbacker some kind of clue how to fight this thing.

The other two… Piper and Lady Penelope… just sat by the coffin-like tubes containing what mattered most to them. Off in the shadows, meanwhile, holding a sleeping small dog, stood a grim older man in jeans and a dark leather jacket. Right. This involved more than just her and O'Bannon. And, a good leader took care of her people. All of her people.

"Okay," she said. "We can all sit here at the same time, till we drop from exhaustion and have to get stretchered to sickbay, or we can break, in shifts. I'm okay to stand watch for a while, if two of you want to visit the head, and hit your rack for an hour or two."

Faced with three pairs of wide, tragic eyes and silence, Emma fumbled to find the right words. No barking orders, with this bunch. Wouldn't work.

"Look," she said. "Know how you're feeling, right now? How much you love him? Like you'd trade your own Goddam life for his, in a second?"

They nodded. Even, after a moment, Penelope.

"Well, that's all of us, Sister. And whoever's here on watch wouldn't let anything happen to your Tracy, anymore than you'd let it happen to hers. We all need rest. We all need to be here. We'll rotate, and they'll never be left alone. I promise. So… Ree, Piper, why don't you two go first? I'll stay here with Lady Ward and, um…"

"Parker," the blonde young woman supplied, in a hoarse voice almost too quiet to hear.

"Right. Me, you, Parker and Max. We're in here. We've got this. You guys go get some rest, so you can take over for us, later."

O'Bannon nodded, hesitated briefly, then went over and extended a hand to young Piper, who seemed to be almost in shock.

"Come on," she said to the purple-haired girl. "I'll go with you. We'll have some coffee, clean up and talk. Sound like a plan?"

Piper looked up at her, then back at Alan's faintly humming grey cryo-tube, clearly torn.

"It's just like my folks," she whispered. "They're frozen, too. I… I… I lost someone, again. Please… not again!"

Max pinged. Coffee was ready. Emma took a chance, had him make up a cup with lots of sugar, chocolate flavour and whipped cream. All the same things she'd liked as a kid. Then, she brought the steaming mug to Ridley, who handed it on to the rocking, silently weeping young girl.

Penny, too, had come over; thawing slightly. She had tremendous skill in battle and espionage, but was very much weaker when faced with emotional crises. Nevertheless… one did as one must. One fought the good fight.

Accepting a cup of vilely strong coffee… dreadful stuff… she said,

"Go on, Dear. A bit of a walk and refreshment will do you good. If you wish to unburden yourself further, I am quite certain that Captain O'Bannon will listen attentively."

A trifle stiff, perhaps, but she was new at relating to fellow "girlfriends". Soon, they all had coffee. (Including Parker, who traded Bertie for a "bit 'o sumthin' 'ot.") Penelope stayed by her driver and yawning, squirming pug. At a time like this, one needed one's friends.

Shy, gangly Piper left the room with Ridley, looking back often and trying not to cry. Emma waited until they were gone, then sighed, dragged a chair over to Virgil's cryotube, and sat down. Leaning against the smooth metal case, feeling its buzzing warmth, she said,

"You're going to get better, Taz. That's an order, Mister."

Then, very quietly, she started to cry.