Epilogue

The GDF removed Global-1's crew for treatment at the nearest base hospital, including two crewmen who'd failed to revive from stasis. There were a few revival techniques which might yet be tried… but not much hope was held out. Only Captain O'Bannon remained in Thunderbird 3 when the family returned to Tracy Island, because Jeff requested the favor, and World Gov owed them a few. Lee Taylor went with them, as well, since they were his ride back up to Shadow Alpha base.

"See you back at the ranch, boys," Jeff had told them all.

Then, they took off; all three Birds in the air, together. Virgil resumed piloting Thunderbird 2, with Lee Taylor and Gordon along for company. Alan, of course, flew Thunderbird 3, ferrying John and O'Bannon down in medical. Jeff rode home in Thunderbird 1 with Scott (who actually offered to let him fly, so great was his joy and relief at getting his father back). That stiff, swollen leg made piloting difficult, but Scott managed, reaching the island second, because Alan had looped up into space, where he was faster.

On the flight over, Scott had filled his dad in on six years of family gossip; stuff that Uncle Lee didn't know about. Mentioned Penelope once or twice, just sort of feeling the old man out, in case work relationships were frowned upon, now. Not that he would have given her up, you understand… not without a fight… just that he would have had to work really hard to bring dad around to his side. But Jeff didn't say much. Just listened, mostly; grunting from time to time, or saying, "uh-huh" and "oh, really", where appropriate.

Scott ended up maybe talking too much, just because he wasn't accustomed to having a conversation with his father. Cross-examination, yes; actual talk, without a ball or a fishing pole in hand, no.

They made it home in less than an hour, having left Mongolia at sunset, and reaching a Tracy Island well advanced in darkness. Brains ordered them all to the leeward side for their landings, saying that he'd made a breakthrough with the house and launch bays, and needed a bit more time till the areas were ready for action. Another time, they might have been curious, but everyone was simply too exhausted to bite, that evening. You can only take so much before you drop in your tracks or fall asleep standing up, after all.

In any case, they made it back, then followed the seaside path on home. Once the engine roar faded away, it was a quiet night, filled with rustling branches and chirruping tree frogs. Grandma Tracy rushed out to meet them all with Max; first greeting her grandsons, then facing her own newly-returned boy.

"Well, Jeffrey," she began, brushing at his hair and face with light, moth-like touches. "Well, then…"

He pulled her into a tight, long hug, murmuring,

"Good to see you, Ma. Good to be home."

She held her son tightly, swaying back and forth a bit, as though rocking an infant. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Kraft had raced over from a different direction entirely, having been placing Marines at their remote sentry posts. Virgil looked up at the sound of her voice, saw her, flung his arms wide, and then lifted the hurtling woman completely off her feet, swinging her around in a wide, laughing circle. Overjoyed, she punched him, once back on her own feet, again. At least, until she caught sight of Colonel Tracy. At that point, Kraft went completely rigid, leaping away from Virgil as though she'd been scalded.

Had Lieutenant Kraft been hauled before the World Council, she could not have looked more uptight… except that she was out of uniform, still; wearing Virgil's big plaid shirt, high top sneakers, and a pair of cuffed jeans.

"Sir!" she barked, standing at full attention.

Jeff hastened to put her at ease, despite the fact that she tried to salute him. Thrusting his hand out for a shake, he said,

"Lieutenant Kraft? Scott's told me how much you and Union Jack have done to cover defense, during our crisis. I want you to know how grateful I am, Lieutenant… and how good it is to see Virgil so happy. Be at ease, young lady. We're not a very formal bunch, around here."

Scott coughed, to cover a sudden chorus of bewildered noises and blank stares. For twenty years, Jeff Tracy had striven to raise the perfect military show-family. "Formal" was putting it mildly. Virgil alone didn't react. Instead, he draped a muscular arm across Emma's shoulders and drew her in close. She reached up and took his hand, leaning her blondish-brown head against Virgil's chest.

By this time, John had reached the infirmary with Captain O'Bannon in his arms. Couldn't find a handy grav-cart, but she was too blurry and ill to complain about being carried, so, no matter. Brains met him inside, coming to the bed on which John had placed Ridley. The engineer began firing up his machinery, scanning the captain's battered body from top to toe. They could hear Scott being herded along by Kayo to another partitioned bed, but John's mind was elsewhere.

He watched as Hackenbacker got the patient hooked up through various ports in her orange spacesuit liner… all that she'd been wearing in the cramped locker where Captain Taylor had found her. The infirmary's med scanners presented the same harsh picture of Ridley's condition that 3's had; multiple fractures, lacerations and contusions, exhaustion, exposure and dehydration. But again, nothing worse. Having gotten her to the best help he knew of, John could do nothing more but watch and wait.

"Sh- She would, ah… would doubtless recover, with t- time," said the engineer; half to himself, half to John.

Suppressing another coughing fit, the astronaut looked closely at Brains.

"I hear a 'but'," he said. "What's at the end of that sentence, Brains?"

Hackenbacker made a small, harried gesture, lifting a hand to his temple as though calming a sudden headache.

"B- But I have the, ah… the means t- to speed matters, considerably. The s- same as we used upon you."

Hackenbacker's tired brown eyes flicked from his friend's face to a nearby instrument tray, upon which lay a hypodermic needle filled with seething, metallic-grey fluid. John followed his gaze, and worked out what the engineer was trying to say.

"One dose left?" he asked, his voice pitched low enough not to carry beyond the two of them. Brains shrugged helplessly.

"P- Perhaps. The technology is, ah… is v- very new, and my nanobots are designed for fine engine repair, not m- microsurgery. I c- cannot be certain wh- what constitutes proper dosage, John."

The astronaut's gaze shifted back to O'Bannon, twitching with fever and pain in her sleep. Then he cocked his head to listen as Scott bit back curses in the next room, getting that hideous leg-wound attended to. Brains merely waited, saying nothing.

After a moment or two, John whispered,

"Split it. It'll work on both, or it won't. This isn't a decision I can make any other way, Brains."

Hackenbacker nodded, started to reach for the needle, then paused. Peering at John, he said,

"And y- yourself? You are, ah… are not at all w- well, either, my friend. P- Perhaps a third to each?"

But John shook his head, no.

"Can't risk it, Brains. I'll be all right. Just need to sit down. Take care of O'Bannon and Scott, then, I'll… um… wear an oxygen mask, or something."

Hackenbacker's expression grew firm. He seized a nearby chair, hauled it around to O'Bannon's bedside, squealing its legs across the concrete floor. Then, he pointed at it, gazing squarely at John.

"Th- Then you will rest, now."

The astronaut obeyed, nearly collapsing into the offered seat. Then, nodding, Brains picked up that needle, selected one of the captain's suit delivery ports, and injected half of the nanobot load. She jerked awake, saying,

"Tracy… wha's at?"

"Tetanus shot," John lied. "You can't be too careful, with all of that weaponized crap floating around. Relax, O'Bannon. Go back to sleep. Everything's under control."

Her questing hand patted around as though seeking his, so John reached over and took it. In the meantime, Brains had given him another significant nod. Now, carefully withdrawing the needle, the engineer ejected its tip into a sharps bin, slotted in another and strode off to deal with Scott (who did not seem to be enjoying Kayo's attentions). A grunt and muttered curse from the next room indicated that someone had gotten their half-load of nanobots… but John couldn't have sworn as to who.

At some point, that night, somebody brought him a blanket and oxygen mask, but the mask wasn't very comfortable, so he didn't wear it for long. Also in the night, a tiny, blinking red light opened up like an eye on his wrist comm. Evidently, he'd made a friend.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Outside, a few hours later-

Colonel Tracy couldn't sleep. From his perspective, it had been less than twenty-four hours since he'd lost control of his plane and crashed into the side of a glaciered mountain. Not quite a day since the taunting Hood had found him struggling to escape from his shattered, burning cockpit, and placed him in stasis. For Jeff Tracy, no time at all had passed between losing consciousness in the wreckage, and coming to in Thunderbird 3. He'd closed his eyes in one situation, opened them in another, and in the meantime, the world had changed. Six years had flown by, his project had flowered, and his kids had grown up without him. No… Jeff couldn't sleep. Instead, he wandered back down to the landing site.

The Island's leeward side was dry and rocky, with no real beach to speak of; just a cliff of black lava, and turbulent water. Jeff stood at the land's ending, wind at his back, listening to the booming crash, the sucking roar of the ocean, below. For something to do, he picked out familiar stars and planets, but even that couldn't distract him for long. In jeans and a tee shirt, now, shaven and washed, he was almost cold.

There was a bonfire at his back. Lee was still over there, entertaining Gordon, Alan and Tanusha with wild stories of Mars, in the "good old days". Jeff had begged off to answer a call of nature, but he mostly just needed to be alone with loss and regret.

Then Scott appeared, limping a bit on his injured leg, but walking without a crutch. Jeff nodded approvingly. Fresh sea air and clean island living did the trick, every time, he told himself; it was why he'd brought his family out here, away from the poisoned States, in the first place. Naturally, Scott was feeling better.

As soon as the young man was near enough, Jeff called to him, saying,

"Morning, Son."

"Morning, Sir. Couldn't sleep?"

Jeff shook his head, though it was barely light out.

"No rest in me, tonight… but I needed to talk to you, anyhow, Scott. Need to tell you a few things, and now's as good a time as any."

His oldest son was mostly a silhouette in the pale pre-dawn light; a low voice and a worried presence.

"I'm listening, Sir."

Jeff nodded again, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and started walking along the cliff's edge, pacing his words to the music of water, wind and footfall. Scott fell into step beside him.

"Right…" Jeff said. "Might as well start from the beginning. You know that before the conflicts, there was a lot of weapons research being done on both sides… some of it biological."

"Yes, Sir," Scott replied. "Weaponized flu and genomic pathogens… plus some illegal cyborg development."

"Exactly. Well… some of the local government research programs were aimed at producing a tougher, stronger breed of soldier. Not intended to mix with the general populace, at all… just to defend their nation's interests in war. This is need-to-know information, Son, not the sort of thing that World Gov wants to spread around. Up till now, you've had no need to hear these things, but… just bear with me. There's a point. Bottom line: some of those meta-soldiers didn't like the hand they'd been dealt, and so they took it upon themselves to rebel and break free."

Scott uttered a low, awed whistle.

"Pheew… must've been rough, corralling them all."

"Exactly the point, Son. They couldn't all be recaptured. Some got away in the chaos of what happened next, and established their own enclaves and families, which persist to this day; just as angry, violent and bitter as ever."

Scott turned a few things over in his mind, and then said,

"The Hood?"

Jeff nodded, more visible now, in the rising light of dawn.

"And the Mechanic, if what I've heard of him is true. Cybernetics cause trouble, no matter who they're in, Scott; they mess with the limbic system, causing wild, sudden outbursts of rage."

Scott thought of John, then, but said nothing. Not to dad, at least. Jeff went on, pausing in his walk as he groped for difficult words and hard concepts.

"There's more. Kyrano was my friend. We met on the Moon, because he wanted to travel; to find out if the rest of the world was really as bad as he'd always been taught. Well… he spent some time up there with Lee and myself… helped out, even, on a few of our early missions."

Jeff stopped talking, balling his hands into fists in his jeans pockets, looking blindly out to sea. Then,

"Everything seemed so simple, back then. The plan was, I'd soften the World Council up about the existence of these meta-soldiers, and Kyrano would bring his family out of hiding, introduce them to the world at large. We'd bring peace. Only…"

"It didn't work out like that?" Scott guessed, briefly touching his father's arm. Jeff sighed. Shook his head, no.

"No, Son. It didn't work out. The Council got scared, and ordered a purge. Kyrano's people decided that he'd betrayed them. They ordered him killed, along with his wife and child. He… called me for help. Lee and I got there as fast as we could, Son… but my friend and his wife were dead…torn to shreds by cyborg assassins. We were in time to save the little girl, though. We did accomplish that much."

"Kayo," whispered Scott. "Dad, I… I'm sorry."

Jeff shook his head; brown eyes turned bleak and inward.

"Not your fault, Son. Not anyone's fault but his. The Hood. Don't know what the h*ll his real name is… nobody does. He's not in the gene files. Only knew Kyrano by that one title, either. He'd mentioned his wife, Angeline, and little Tanusha, in passing. That's the only reason I knew what to call her. So… so I brought her home. Thing is, Son… maybe you've noticed she's a lot stronger than average, for a female."

Scott winced and rubbed at his jaw, recalling past sparring matches.

"Yes, Sir. She can go toe-to-toe with Virgil. John can pin her down, if he's wearing that suit of his, but she's faster than he is, lately… so maybe not anymore."

Jeff turned from looking inward, to searching his son's handsome face.

"Thing you should keep in mind, Scott, is that she's not… well, her genetic heritage is aggressive, rebellious and predatory. Kyrano and Angeline worked hard to soften that… and I like to think that we've had an effect, too… but you should never assume that Tin-Tin will do the right thing, just because it's the right thing to do. She has… different instincts."

Scott nodded, gilded now by rising sunlight.

"I'll keep that in mind, Sir. It explains a lot… but Kayo has never given us a reason to doubt her loyalty. Wherever she came from… whatever her background… she's as much a Tracy as I am."

Jeff smiled, a little sideways. The expression made him look an awful lot like John.

"There's more, Scott, and again… this is need-to- know. Only to be passed on if you think it's truly vital. We have that blood, too. Just, more mingled with what their kind would call 'homo-typicals'. So, if you've ever wondered: no, you're not 'normal'. None of us are. We're what our ancestor was designed to be, all those decades ago. Your great-granddad escaped Minot Air Force Base, and was picked up at the side of the road by a pretty girl in a big red truck. Her name was Jess, and she didn't mind harboring fugitives. Our bloodline is his, just watered down. Adulterated."

Scott hugged himself; all at once terribly cold.

"Then… that's why he hates us so much? Because we're not pure?"

Jeff puffed out a long, gusty sigh, rubbing at the back of his neck with one big, weathered hand. Kicked a few rocks over the cliff, and said,

"That's his excuse, Son. The truth is, I think that the Hood hates like that, because he enjoys it. Just like he gets a big kick out of chaos and death. I don't imagine that the rest of the clan will let him sit there in prison for long… or else they'll replace him with someone even worse. Your guess is as good as mine. But you've got to understand, Scott, that it's never going to be over between us. He won't let it end, until one side or the other's been completely exterminated."

Scott blinked, feeling like he'd swallowed an entire melon at one sitting; rather a lot to digest.

"If you don't mind my asking, Sir… why tell me, now?"

"Fair question." Jeff started walking once more, jerking his head to indicate that his eldest should follow. "It's because I've recently discovered how fragile things are. How easily people can die. I didn't want you left in the dark, facing a battle you couldn't quit, and didn't understand. Lee knows… and your Grandma, of course… but they're it. Be very wise in who you share this with, and who you attach yourself to. Our bloodline can be very hard on regular females."

Scott grew very pale, then, as the implication of his father's words sank in and hit home. In the barest whisper, he said,

"We killed her, all of us. We killed mom."

"No, Son. It… you… it's more complicated than that. Hearts go where they want, and bodies follow. You know that your mother became very sick, after John?"

"Yeah. Grandma practically raised him, for the first two years. We weren't allowed to make noise, or bother mom."

"Right. Well, she recovered after a while, but she always felt like she'd missed out on being a real mother, so we tried again, and along came Virgil and Gordon."

"And she was really done in, then," said Scott, in a quiet voice. "But, once she was well, you guys had Alan, and everything seemed okay… so… so what happened? Why did she…?"

Jeff cleared his throat; heart and mind once again elsewhere.

"Your unborn sister. It would have been a little girl, Scott. We'd have called her Chloe. They… they both died. Your grandmother lost one, too, a long time ago. My brother John Robert is buried with your mother and baby sister, back in the States. That's it. That's all I have to tell you, for now."

And that was more than enough. Something happened in Scott's heart and his head, then; having to do with love and desire and self-control. He thought of Penelope. Visualized her crying over a lost child, or, worse yet, dead herself. Feeling suddenly bleak and alone, Scott hugged himself tighter.

His father just stood there; hands in his pockets, staring past the ocean and off into years long gone. There are things a man can do, and things a man can't do, and Jeff Tracy could not break down, or seek comfort from others. Had Scott touched him, just then, he would have been shrugged aside, or snapped at. So, instead, he said,

"Sir, if it's all right with you, I think I'll head back to the infirmary, and see how Brains is making out with John and Captain O'Bannon."

Jeff nodded once, saying absently,

"Sounds good, Son. I'll be back myself, in a little while. Tell your grandmother not to hold breakfast."

"Yes, Sir." Then, "Dad, I…"

"See you in a few minutes, Son."

Scott Tracy ruthlessly suppressed all the stuff that was breaking and howling inside him. Being a man… being a Tracy… he squared his shoulders, said,

"Yes, Sir," and headed back home.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Inside the infirmary, early morning-

She awoke feeling… not just healed, but exceptional; better than she had since her years as a high school athlete. Like everything that had happened the day before was a fast-fading nightmare.

Filled with wonder, she looked around herself quietly, not immediately sure where she was. Then O'Bannon spotted Tracy, sitting in a chair by her sick bed, with his arms folded upon the edge of her mattress, and head resting face-down on his arms. An oxygen mask dangled from the chair, while a blue-striped blanket lay puddled on the floor just behind it. He was in civvies, for once; jeans and a black IR tee shirt. Very softly, she reached over to touch his red-golden hair.

"Not asleep," he said, sounding like a man who'd been up all night. Clearing his throat, John pushed off the mattress and sat up. He looked tired, and somewhat battered, but unbelievably precious to her. Amazed at her own condition, O'Bannon blurted,

"Tracy, it's incredible! Look at me, I'm better than new. Nothing's broken, nothing hurts. I feel ready to get out there and break records in the 100-yard dash!"

"Track and field?" he guessed, covering something that was half cough, half yawn.

"Yup. Everyone needs a sport, if they want to be an astronaut. Makes them seem…"

"Well-rounded," he finished along with O'Bannon, smiling a little. "I know. They loved the baseball thing… and my connection to dad."

Experimentally, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

"Ick. I'm still wearing this thing?" she said, of the stained and ripped orange suit liner.

"Well, Kayo was busy, and we didn't want to…"

"Undress me? You're a funny guy, John Tracy. I mean… it's not like you haven't covered most of the territory, already."

He stood up, stretching.

"Yeah… but that was different. We were alone, and you were awake."

O'Bannon hopped out of bed and immediately discovered that she was quite a bit shorter than Tracy, which wasn't an issue in space. Here, she found herself gazing squarely at the gold "5" on the left shoulder of his black tee shirt.

"You're too tall," she informed him, grumpily.

"Sorry," Tracy replied, bending down a bit so she could kiss his cheek.

"That's okay. Point me at the showers and a change of clothes, and we're square. And, um… thanks, Tracy… for whatever it is you did to fix what happened. For turning yourself in (dumbass), for sending your brothers to save my people and me… and for sitting here, all night."

He looked at her very seriously; his blue-green eyes as intent as she'd ever seen them.

"Yeah, well… you told me to process what you said back on my station."

"And…?" O'Bannon was irritated to find herself holding her breath, so she let it all out in a fast, nervous chuckle.

"And, I've decided you're right. You love me."

This time, she really did laugh, shaking her head.

"Tracy, don't ever change. Thanks for the update. Any further announcements, Mister Smooth?"

"Yeah. Showers are this way… and I like you feeling like that about me."

He'd crooked an arm for her to slip her own through, which was terribly sweet and old-fashioned of him. She'd have said something about it, but he was speaking again, saying,

"Your crew's been airlifted to Incirlik Air Base, in Turkey. Brains thinks he can use those self-replicating micro-structures of his to rebuild your station, and our launch complex… so we could both be back in business before you know it… and keep visiting each other. Kayo's shower is that way," he pointed left, at a short, tiled passageway. "Use the other, and you're likely to run into Gordon."

O'Bannon noticed that the walk had taken a lot out of him. His breathing sounded ragged and harsh, like someone in the early stages of super-flu.

"Tracy, maybe you should lie down and let that Brains guy have a look at you. You're sounding kind of rough, there, Beautiful."

John pulled her close for a moment, then let go and stepped back. He had never been taught how to speak about love; only to act on it.

"I will, now that you're better. You'll find some of Kayo's gear in the locker beside the shower. Might not fit all that well, but should cover all the strategic territory. If not, I can loan you a shirt."

O'Bannon winked at him.

"Let's go with the shirt. She might get mad, if I take her stuff. Women can be seriously territorial. Besides, that way, I get to wear my boyfriend's tee shirt. You okay with being called a 'boyfriend', Tracy?"

He surprised her by smiling.

"Yeah," he said. "That'll work." And he pulled her close again, briefly; holding her against his heart, and kissing the top of her head. It felt just right, for both of them.