Dang. Forgot that I meant to title this one "AAA" or something, so it'd be easy to find in my document list. Anyhow, hi! =) Thank you for reading this story. Pretty obviously, I don't own these guys, but I do have fun spending time in their world. It's pretty AU, but you're welcome to join me, if you like. ;)

Timescape

1

Tracy Island, a sunny late morning, down at the ring-

Scott Tracy watched closely as Dr. Hackenbacker… Brains… did his level best to explain a very strange, very dangerous situation. Only half-listening to the engineer's halting words, Scott paid attention to faces. Noticed expressions, posture… and smells. Big as it was, the room was thick with people, with doubt and the sharp scent of stress. Over their heads was a big, darkly glowing image, slowly rotating as it showed all sides of a deadly, oncoming impactor. Not natural. Some kind of derelict alien ship.

Colonel Casey was one of those present, along with her two companions. As Director in command of the Global Defense Force, Linda Casey had tremendous clout. The other colonel, his father, had flown in from London with Casey. Both were in uniform; nodding and leaning forward in their seats, like two people trying hard to fathom a black-and-white art film. Their self-appointed bodyguard Scott completely ignored, not being in the market for an "on-site WorldGov liaison".

The dignitaries might have been utterly lost... might have doubted Brains' astonishing claim, except that he'd brought proof, in the form of three very hard-to-ignore visitors. (There was a fourth, but Dr. Hackenbacker hadn't wanted to tip his hand early, or give Colonel Casey a heart attack.)

Despite their best efforts, Casey and Dad kept staring at Sharl, star witness for the prosecution. In her own time and place, Sharl-Who-waits-no-longer had the same basic rank as Linda Casey. Here, she was simply another rescued citizen, from seven hundred years in the future.

Being very tall, twig-thin and prone to shape-shifting, Sharl was quite eye-catching. Scott had got used to her, but she did sort of startle at first glance, with her burnished gold skin, green eyes and mane of wild yellow hair. Also present were Lieutenant Commander Reese Sheffield and Caleb Gonzalez, which was tough to explain, as they already existed in this muddled timeline, somewhere else. Down in the ring, under a holographic projection of doom, Brains struggled to keep their attention.

"T- To put in concisely, C- Colonel, there were t- two very clear and p- present dangers. One of them, a t- terrible illness, has been d- dealt with, but the other… this drifting alien ar- ar- artifact, has m- most emphatically not. Sharl and her p- people were rescued by us, from a f- future where, ah… where m- most life on Earth and all of her, ah… her c- colonies had been eliminated by alien n- nanites, programmed to seek out and d- destroy organic life. If that ship reaches Earth, C- Colonel, we are doomed to end in seven hundred years. If we manage to s- stop it, somehow, then we will experience another, unguessable f- future. At the m-moment, these, ah… these t- two possibilities exist in a s- superposition of states."

White-faced and drained, Hackenbacker ceased pacing the ring's centre to take a drink from his water glass. Then, visibly shaken, he thumped himself down on the couch. Just like Sheff and Caleb, there was more than one version of Brains in this time bubble, but his were much more closely spaced, making it tougher to think.

Colonel Casey had been visualizing the possibilities. Now, as Dr. Hackenbacker wrapped up his presentation, her dark eyes flicked from Sharl to the holographic image of a slowly tumbling, lumpy black obelisk. The so-called death ship. A single line of digits flashed beside it in red: ETA 23.47 days.

"Looks pretty harmless to me, Doctor," she said, indicating the alien vessel. "I get what you're trying to say... but think of the boost to technology, the scientific bonanza we'd gain by studying that thing, even from a distance. We don't have to send people. Global-1 has plenty of drones, and so does Jove Station. We could…"

"N- NO!" Brains exploded, seeming as frustrated, as upset, as Scott had ever seen him. "Why d- d- do you not understand me?! I h- have been there, Colonel! I have seen, with, ah… with m- my own eyes the r- r- result of such misplaced c- curiosity and outright greed!"

Said Sharl, reaching a spindly hand forth to calm him,

"Speaker, I am to trying, now." Having spent time with Brains, worked in the lab with him, Sharl had lost a bit of her awe, but none of her fondness or respect. Turning to face Colonel Casey, her face literally changed; green eyes becoming narrower, cheekbones more angular. You got used to it, after a while.

"Kornel, the Speaker of Words is truthing to you. My people are being here, without a dome, under the Sky and surrounding by Sea-which-never-stops-roaring, because the Speaker is giving us Words, fulfilling by Honored Sheef. They are to saving us, who would have being dead from blight and the grey dust which consumed Leele. Please, you must to not open the alien spacecraft. There is lack of understand. Why are the Speaker's words not heeding, in this place?"

Sheffield seized her thin, bony shoulder in a friendly and comforting grip. Gave her a little shake.

"Let me try," he suggested, standing up. He, too, was in uniform. GDF Navy. Not a tall man, but sturdily built, with reddish-brown hair and dark eyes. Now, he said, "Colonel, respectfully, I was there, too. I helped fix the comm system. Tried calling for help from anyone, anywhere at all. Ma'am… do you have any idea what it's like to get no answer? Nothing but static and silence? Everyone else on Earth, Mars and all of the colony worlds… was gone. Dead. And, that's what you're opening the door to, if we don't find a way to get rid of that nightmare. Take it from a guy who's seen the end of the world, Ma'am. You don't want to do this." (Maintaining his focus was tough, because Sheffield could feel himself at a Unit barbeque with Clara, his girlfriend. Seriously, had a beer in his hand and one arm around Clara's slim waist, right now.) Shaking his head, Sheff pulled himself back together. Taking a seat again, he urged, "Don't visit that thing, don't open it up. Just get it the h*ll out of here."

At that point, Jeff Tracy broke in. Leaning forward, hands on his knees, the handsome, grey-haired colonel said,

"My turn. Okay… assuming that you're correct about the nature and hazards of this artifact, Brains, how do we deal with it? You say that it's unpowered? Dormant, maybe?"

Brains remained slumped in his seat, but at least took his tousled head from his hands and looked up, again.

"Y- Yes, Mr. Tracy. It appears to be in, ah… in s- some form of sleep mode. John?"

"Right here, Brains." And he was; the astronaut's translucent, slightly float-y looking holo appearing in mid-ring beside the now shrunken and side-swiped death ship. "How can I help?"

Scott smiled at his brother, who was back upstairs in Thunderbird 5. Keeping track of things, supposedly, but really just dodging a houseful of noisy, adoring guests.

"C- Could you provide us with dimensions, speed and, ah… and t- trajectory, please, my f- friend?"

"Sure thing," John nodded, adding, "And if there was ever a time to say, International Rescue, we have a situation, this would be it. I've been tracking it visually, on the off chance that any deeper scans would wake something up, in there."

"Yeah, no," cut in Scott, who'd seen those things, too. "Avoid, at all costs."

Scott Tracy had a lot of brothers. He was friendliest with Virgil (currently baby-sitting), closest somehow, with John. Never had to explain a thing to the redhead, except for jokes. John nodded his head, then did something on his end that caused a virtual data screen to appear, down there in the ring. He said,

"It's travelling at one-tenth light, on a trajectory that puts it on a collision course with Earth, in less than a month's time. It's roughly the size of Manhattan Island, but a lot more massive, by a factor of three. Some of that shielding has to be neutronium, or some other exotic, dense matter. No way to be sure, without running invasive scans, or taking a sample."

John's head tilted slightly left, and his expression grew somewhat vague. Listening to Eos, probably. After a moment, he nodded again, saying,

"Yeah. Exactly. How it's managed to avoid detection, all this time, is sort of a mystery, unless it was deliberately set on this path, and just now de-cloaked. That, uh… that could mean that it's waking up on its own... which, um... would be bad."

"Most likely correct," rumbled a new voice, from the lab-access door. Two men walked into the room, then. One was Virgil Tracy. The other…

Colonel Casey's dark eyes widened. Reaching for her comm unit, the officer halfway rose from her seat, breath hissing out like someone had punched her. Behind the director, that new "on-site liaison", Captain Rigby, pulled a loaded sidearm. Moving swiftly, he vaulted into the ring to place himself between Casey and the oncoming Mechanic.

"Sit, Vermin," growled the cyborg. "Your weapon won't even come off safety, unless I allow it. You can listen, or you can be dead. You get a choice." (Which represented some kind of evolution on Kane's part. Might have had something to do with his glowering watchdogs, Virgil and Kay.)

Breathing hard, eyes darting from the Mechanic, to Jeff, to her stiff, wary guard, Casey said,

"Stand down, Captain Rigby. We'll hear what he has to say."

"Oh, will you?" Kane mocked, as the young Marine ground his teeth, but stepped very slightly aside. "I'm honored."

"Listen," said Scott, pinching the bridge of his nose to forestall a sudden, fresh migraine. "It would help if you weren't such a bastard, Kane. Would it actually kill you to be polite?"

The Mechanic shrugged, rattling like a four-slice toaster rolling downhill.

"No. I just don't want to. 'Polite' is reserved for some of my own kind… which does not include you, Ramrod. Maybe Crash-Jockey, here, once I've had the chance to kick his ass. Doesn't include Typicals, ever." Stepping away from Virgil, he added, "I'm here to give my opinion, not make nice with insects. Keep running your mouth, I take that reward Horatio offered, and leave you to solve your own d*mn problems. Your choice."

Again, growth; but Brains' head was back in his hands. In a muffled voice, the engineer pled,

"Just t- tell them, please, Kane."

The Mechanic jet-packed over to join them, burning yet another dark scar on Grandma's nice parquet floor. Virgil sighed audibly, tromping after his "client". Meanwhile, Scott's migraine blossomed and spread. Brains didn't even look up.

Challengingly, deliberately, the cyborg landed with a clanking thump, then rose from his slight crouch just a few feet before Captain Rigby.

"Boo," he said, reaching forward to stab at the tense young Marine with a big, armoured forefinger. Reflexively, Captain Rigby tried to block by making a powerful forearm sweep. No dice. He struck the Mechanic's arm, but couldn't quite move it.

Then, someone else slipped in through the lab-access doorway; a slim, pony-tailed shadow in tight-fitting green. Kane glanced her way, and then looked over at Virgil. Snorting like it all didn't hella much matter, he backed off. Rigby spotted her, too; did a rapid double-take, then kept on looking. Kayo, all flutterguts, stared back. Like Virge, she was on "keep the Mechanic out of trouble" duty. Except now, all she could see was that Goddam distracted liaison. Scott's migraine moved in and brought friends.

As for Colonel Casey, her gimlet brown eyes were right where they had been; staring death and destruction at Kane. Now she snapped,

"I assume there's a point to your presence, here?!"

The cyborg's cold amber eyes flicked her way briefly, contemptuously. Then, he shifted his gaze back to Scott.

"I was able to control some of that sh*t for a while, Ramrod. A whole ship full? You're going to need more than just me. Not my place to say it… but somebody needs to call a full council." Looking at Jeff for the first time, the Mechanic said, "He could do it, maybe. If they'd listen."

Scott, John and Virgil were mystified. Dad, surprisingly, was not.