PIECES OF FATE

High Flight Episode #2 written by:
Constance Cochran {eilonwy@earthlink.net} and Batya "The Toon" Levin {batyatoon@hotmail.com}
with contributions from the High Flight crew

Tale Spin and its characters are the property of Buena Vista Television/Disney. All original characters are the property of the above named authors and may not be used without prior permission.

The leaves rustled, and the gaping jaws of a flesh-eating plant flicked out, devouring in one gulp a stray beetle that had wandered onto a nearby stem.

Shere Khan signed the papers on his desk without a flourish, giving the orders to shut down a neck-tie factory in Figmentia that had proved most unprofitable. He gave a dispassionate thought for the families of the unemployed workers, then dismissed it; they would be given severance pay, and after all, the point of business was to make a profit.

The buzzer on his desk sounded, and Khan reached out a claw and depressed the answer switch. "Yes?"

"Mr. Khan," the voice of his secretary came deferentially, if a bit tinny, through the speaker. "The archeologist you requested is here."

"Very well. Send him in."

"Send...um, yes sir." The secretary clicked off. Khan rested his hands on the desk top and eyed the door. He had no doubt what sort this archaeologist would be -- tomb robber, more mercenary than scholar. The tiger would pay what was necessary, but he had no intention of paying one cent _more_.

The secretary opened one of the big double doors, sending a flood of light across the thick rug. She cast her boss a quick, furtive, doubtful look through her spectacles, and opened her mouth to speak, to announce the visitor. Then someone touched her shoulder. The secretary closed her mouth, nodded at the visitor, then at Mr. Khan, and stepped aside. One eyebrow raised ever so slightly, Khan waited, a bit curious to see who he would be negotiating with.

Silhouetted against the light from the outer office, a lithe figure stood in the doorway -- a figure most definitely...femine. She wore khaki shorts, and black boots that came halfway up her well-shaped calves. A white cotton shirt, open at the neck, was visible beneath a brown leather bomber jacket. Coiled at the figure's waist was a bull-whip, and in one hand she held a beige fedora. Her dark eyes regarded him appraisingly, and her black stripes were slender and sharp against her rich orange-yellow fur.

Khan's claws involuntarily protruded and dug into the surface of the desk. He curled his hands into fists, his claws leaving eight gouges, edged with shavings.

"Hello, Shere," the tigress in the doorway said. "It's been a long time." The tigress strolled into the room, looking curiously about her. A toothed pod from the jungle undergrowth snapped at her boot; without even glancing at it, she casually kicked the carnivorous plant aside and sauntered on -- quite possibly the first person who had ever even contemplated sauntering in this room. With a flick of her tail, she seated herself on a corner of the desk, swinging one booted foot. "Love the houseplants, Shere. They're very _you_."

Shere Khan stood up, his hands flat on the desktop. His voice, when he spoke, was a low growl. "Arizona, what are you doing here?"

"Is that any way to talk to an old friend?" She looked down at him, tilting her head to one side and twitching one ear.

"We are _not_ friends."

"Oh, Shere, don't be such a sourpuss." The tigress grinned. Then, with a swift movement, she drew back her arm and aimed a swat towards Khan.

Just as quickly, he blocked the blow, closing his fingers around her wrist. For a moment, they looked at each other across the desk.

"We're a little old for those games now, don't you think?" He said, without emotion.

Arizona remained still, then jerked her wrist out of his grasp. "You've lost your touch, Shere," she said, her voice almost purring. "Was a time when you weren't afraid to take me in a sparring match." When he arched an eyebrow at her disapprovingly, she leaned forward patted the immobile Khan on the cheek. "And don't look so surprised to see me. You asked for the best archaeologist and explorer in the world, didn't you?" She smiled sweetly, and gave him a small sitting bow. "Well, you've got her. Arizona Johnson, explorer extraordinaire, at your service."

Khan abruptly turned away from the desk and paced over to the window, staring down at the city below. His hands clasped themselves behind his broad back, masking any emotion he felt. "Very well," he said. "You're hired."

Arizona looked at him, and stopped swinging her foot. "Just like that," she said, her voice curiously flat.

"Just, as you say, like that." He did not turn from the window. "I assume you've been briefed regarding the job?"

"No, not much." She slipped off the desk, her casual air evaporating, going professional. "All I know is that it's going to be somewhere in Q'ilu. And that it has to be something big, or else _you_ wouldn't be involved, now would you."

"True." He turned now, his face back to its usual impassive mien. "You'll be going to the Robber Barrens."

The tigress's golden eyes widened slightly, and she pursed her lips. "Hmp. Unfriendly region, that."

An understatement. The Robber Barrens in Q'ilu were notorious for being bad territory. The rocky desert terrain, with its treacherous sands and its high wind-carved cliffs, made getting in difficult; the roving bands of desert marauders made getting out near impossible.

Shere Khan reached under the desk and pulled out a small black-leather briefcase. "The details are in here. You'll need to hire a pilot to get you to Q'ilu and back. I leave that in your hands."

"A pilot, huh?" Arizona took the briefcase, snapped it open, and examined the contents. "That won't be easy. Pilots tend to avoid the Robber Barrens like the plague."

"At the bottom of the case," Khan said dryly, "you will find what I suspect will be sufficient inducement. And you may tell them that there will be more where this came from."

Arizona felt about in the bottom of the briefcase, and pulled out a fat stack of bills. Half of her mouth curved in a crooked smile as she ran her thumb down the edge of the stack, counting. "Always the big spender, eh Shere? This much should be 'sufficient inducement,' but only if our boy needs the money bad enough; believe me, pilots do _not_ like that territory." She continued absently riffling the stack of money, musing. "Now where am I going to find a pilot that desperate...and that good?"

Baloo opened the door a crack and said "We're closed."

Or tried to say it, anyway. What actually came out was "Wuh?"

"You're Baloo the pilot?" Standing in the doorway was a woman. A tigress, actually. But a tigress with the figure of a dancer, the muscles of an acrobat, and the eyes of a trained fighter. She wore some kind of hiking gear with a bullwhip coiled at her waist and carried a leather briefcase in one hand. Her tail twitched slightly.

"Uh, yeah, that's me," Baloo said warily. Beautiful women were all very nice to have around, but beautiful women who showed up on your doorstep with briefcases and businesslike stares and outfits that were clearly designed more for the wilderness than the city, well, they had a tendency to mean trouble.

"I've got a job for you." She reached into the briefcase and drew out a thick roll of heavy paper, which uncurled in her hand. It was clearly quite old paper, and it was clearly a map. "My name's Arizona Johnson. I'm an archaeologist and explorer. I need a pilot to get me to Q'ilu--"

Baloo held up both hands in a stop-right-there gesture. "Ohhh, no. No more of that for me, thanks. I swore off treasure hunts over a year ago. Find yourself some other sucker, lady."

She planted one booted foot in the way of the closing door. "I'll make it worth your while, pilot."

"I'm not listening!" Baloo stuck his fingers in his ears and began humming something loud and off-key.

The tigress reached out, and in a single swift motion grabbed one of Baloo's hands, tugged it out of his ear, closed his fingers around something small and flat, and let go. Despite his best resolve, he looked.

In his palm was a neatly folded hundred-dollar bill.

"That's for listening," the tigress said calmly. "You take that and you hear me out. If you decide not to take the job, you keep the hundred." She smiled, a deadly smile. "And your mouth shut."

Baloo realized that said mouth was hanging open, closed it quickly, and gulped. "A hundred dollars? Just to listen?"

"Just to listen," she confirmed. "Aren't you going to ask me inside?"

Hefting a crate of supplies, Baloo started up the ramp of The Sea Duck's cargo hold.

"Why can't I come with you?" Kit demanded, following him.

"Kit, I told you. This is no journey for a kid."

"But I'm not just any kid, Baloo."

Baloo chuckled. "Yeah, I know. But this is different." He set the crate down with a grunt.

"Different how?"

Baloo turned to Kit. "We're going to the Robber Barrens of Q'ilu."

"We've been to worse places together." Kit folded his arms, his lower lip protruding stubbornly.

"Sorry, Little Britches. Not this time."

"But..." Kit trotted after Baloo as he went back for another load. "How will you manage without me? What about a navigator?"

"Arizona knows how to do the readings. And just so you don't have to worry about someone watching my back, I'm going to bring Louie along."

"Oh sure," Kit said coldly. "Bring Louie, but don't bring me." He turned and marched out of the plane and along the dock, shoulders stiff.

"C'mon, Little Britches, don't --" Baloo pulled off his hat and sighed, scratching his head. "Hmph. Well, he'll come around, thank me later. Arizona," he called, "all set up front?"

"Roger," the tigress called from the cockpit.

Baloo closed the hatch doors and went into the cockpit. Arizona was seated in the co-pilot's chair, her feet propped up on the dashboard, ankles crossed. She was studying the map Khan had given her.

"Heard you talking to the kid back there," she said, jerking her head towards the hold. "He okay?"

"Aw, he'll be fine. After we've left, he'll think about it and understand."

Arizona lowered her boots from the dashboard with a thump and fixed her eyes on the map. "Will he?" She said, without looking up.

Frowning, Baloo hit the ignition switches, and the propeller roared into life.

The Higher For Hire supply shed was a jumbled mess of rusted objects, useful equipment missing parts, and stacks of old newspapers. Some of it dated back to the days when Higher For Hire had been Baloo's Air Service. Ms. Cunningham had been after Baloo to organize it for months. Kit hesitated, listening, but didn't hear The Sea Duck's engines yet. Good -- he still had time.

Working quickly, he located a grappling hook, then knotted a length of rope to its base. A sputter and a roar told him The Sea Duck was about to take flight.

Kit turned and ran, the supply shed door flapping open behind him. He raced along the dock as The Sea Duck began to pull away. Her nose turned out to sea, and she began to taxi, picking up speed. Without breaking stride, Kit reached under his sweater and pulled out his airboard. With one expert flick of his wrist, he opened it. He slid the coil of rope from his shoulder and grasped it in his other hand. After a few swings, he released the hook. It hurtled towards the tail of The Sea Duck and latched on with a faint bang.

When he reached the Higher For Hire sign at the end of the dock, Kit leapt. The rope went taut as Kit maneuvered his feet onto the board. The plane took flight, Kit trailing behind it. Wind and spray danced around him; he had to stifle a whoop of sheer delight as The Sea Duck winged its way through the sunshine towards the cliffs.

In the cockpit, Arizona was idly looking out her window when she caught the color and movement to the rear of the plane, to starboard. Kit became visible for a moment, trailing behind the plane with a rope and some kind of board. Then the plane turned and he whipped out of sight again.

Arizona slid a sideways glance at Baloo, who seemed unaware that he had picked up an extra passenger. It was odd -- she knew Baloo's type well, and they weren't the sort to want a kid hanging around. Slumping down in her seat, Arizona propped her feet back up, picked up her fedora, pushed it forward over her eyes, and smiled.

Baloo cut the engines and opened the cockpit door, his movements synchronized to the rhythm of the live music that drifted from Louie's Place. It had a Jazz flavor with more than a dash of Caribbean.

"You go on in," Arizona said. "I want to look over the supplies again."

The bear shrugged. "Okay," he said, walking away along the deck with a wave of his hand. "But don't be too long, or there won't be any of Louie's Triple Special Shakes left."

"Right." Arizona touched her hand to the brim of her fedora. She waited a moment, then rose and opened the door to the hold. "Hello?" She picked her way around crates holding archaeological supplies. Nothing stirred among the cargo in the dim hold. Arizona put her hands on her hips. "It's okay, kid. I know you're back here. Baloo's gone inside."

There was a rustling sound in the corner. A piece of burlap stirred as Kit emerged from beneath, looking a bit sheepish. "Uh, hi," he said.

The tigress perched on a crate, one knee drawn up. "That was some fancy stunt you pulled."

Kit looked alarmed. "You saw me? Did Baloo..."

"Nah." Arizona chuckled.

"Are you...are you gonna turn me in?"

"Kit, he's going to find out you're here sooner or later."

"Yeah, but if it's later it will be too late to send me back to Cape Suzette or park me at Louie's."

~I'd like to see him try,~ Arizona thought, regarding the bear cub. He had unusual confidence for a kid his age--maybe too much confidence, to hide the vulnerablility beneath. ~A bit like myself at that age...~ "I like how you think, kid." She scooted off the crate and turned to go. "Don't worry, _I_ won't tell him."

Kit let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Ms. Johnson."

"Call me Arizona," she said.

"Hey, Ari!" Baloo, perched on a barstool, waved her over as she appeared in the doorway.

The watering hole seemed a gathering place for pilots and musicians. A live band played on the stage. The bamboo walls were decorated with native artifacts that made Arizona's eyebrows rise. Some of them were authentic, and quite valuable.

An orange orangutan wiped down the bar counter with a clean cloth with one hand while he poured Baloo a frothing drink with the other. The ape added a stick that sparkled at one end and slid the glass down the counter to Baloo, who deftly caught it.

"Well, hello." The orangutan looked up, then bounded over the bar and landed in front of Arizona. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips. "Welcome to Louie's Place."

Ari gently disengaged her hand from the ape's grasp. "You must be Louie."

"In the flesh, sweet cakes." He bowed, then hurried back behind the bar and pulled out a tall glass and some bottles of syrup. His fingers swiped at a bin of sliced fruit, and several pieces arched through the air like playing cards and landed in the glass. "May I interest you in a Triple-Syrup-Tutti-Frutti-Louie's-Place-Sundae-Special?" Louie picked up a bottle in each hand and simultaneously added vanilla and lime-flavored syrup.

Arizona had been to many beautiful, remote, and far-flung places. She had seen dives from Sloshinpool to Timbukthree, and tried many flaming, strong, or otherwise decorative, rare, and delectable concoctions. But as she tasted the first frothy, sweet, pungent drops of a Triple-Syrup-Tutti-Frutti-Louie's-Place-Sundae-Special, the most exotic drink she'd ever had suddenly seemed bland by comparison.

She finished the drink, set the glass down on the bar and looked sideways at Baloo. "Your friend here _knows_ how to make a drink."

Louie smiled modestly and tried to grab her hand again. "Only the best for a friend of Baloo's."

Ari settled onto a barstool and spun it around, and Louie only got a handful of damp cloth instead. The orangutan stared down at the cloth held in his hand in bewilderment for a moment, shrugged, then chucked it away over his shoulder.

He leaned his elbows on the counter top. "So, Baloo, maybe now you'll fill me in on this mysterious trip of yours?"

Baloo nodded, then leaned forward conspiratorially. "Treasure," he said, letting the word roll off his tongue.

Louie glanced sideways at Arizona, who sat with legs crossed, one booted foot swinging in time to the music. "Baloo, may I have a word with you?" Louie jerked his head towards the other end of the bar, and Baloo followed him down. Amused, Ari kept one ear cocked to hear what they were saying.

The orangutan grabbed Baloo by the lapels and pulled him forward across the counter. "Are you out of your mind?" Louie whisper-shouted over the swinging rhythm of trumpet and drums in the background. "Do you remember what happened the last time we went looking for treasure with someone with curves like hers?"

Baloo pried Louie's fingers from his shirt and patted his friend soothingly on the shoulder. "Easy, Louie, I got offered pay up front. Not just a share of what we find. Although there's that, too, and I'd give you half of my share. Look, Khan's footing the bill for this venture, it's all on the up-and-up."

"Yeah, up-and-up, and then down-and-down, right into a sandstorm, or a jail, or a pit of snakes." Louie sighed, looked at Baloo, then glanced over at Arizona, who pretended to be absorbed in the details of a native mask hanging over the bar. He sighed. "All right. If only to keep you out of trouble."

"There's one other thing," Baloo said. "We're going to the Robber Barrens."

Louie whistled. "No wonder you didn't want the kid along on this one."

"I wouldn't be askin' you to get into a mess like that either, except I need someone I trust watching my back, someone besides one of Khan's employees."

Arizona began noisily sucking up the remnants of the Triple-Syrup drink through her straw, her eyes glinting angrily as she looked away from the two at the other end of the bar. "Employee my foot," she muttered.

"Okay, cuz," Louie nodded. "If only to pull your fat out of the fire. But that had better be some treasure."

The yellow sea plane winged south, and plunged through the a white cloud, the propellers stirring it into wisps. Sunlight glinted off the wings as the plane emerged from the cloud and streaked across the vibrant blue sky.

"I'm tellin' ya, we should be heading farther north," Louie insisted, peering over Arizona's shoulder at the map.

The tigress frowned. "Listen, I've been to Q'ilu, you haven't. We should be bearing south-east."

"Would you two stop arguing and just tell me which way to turn the plane?" Baloo growled.

Far below them a green sea dotted with small sandy islands glittered in the sun. So far no mainland was in sight.

"We should head north." Louie reached over and grabbed the stick.

"Hey!" Baloo bellowed as the plane banked abruptly. An empty soda pop bottle rolled across the cabin floor with a clinking sound. He levelled the plane and glared at Louie.

"I'm telling you, it's south-east." Arizona folded her arms and put her feet up on the dashboard.

"No, we've got to turn around and head north!" Louie objected.

"Actually, if you want to reach Q'ilu before we run out of gas, you need to turn the plane fifteen degree south-west," a voice said from the cabin door.

Arizona turned in her chair, her feet still on the dashboard, and grinned. Louie and Baloo stopped fighting for the controls and turned in shock.

Kit stood in the cock-pit doorway, leaning nonchalantly against the door frame, a neatly folded map in his hand.

"Kit!" Baloo let go of the stick in his haste and stood up. The plane pitched forward suddenly and Louie grabbed at the controls. "What in the blue blazes are you doing here?"

"Keeping all of you from getting lost," Kit said calmly. He slapped the map down on the dashboard. "Turn the plane, Baloo, or we'll end up over the Southland Ocean."

Grumbling, Baloo edged Louie aside and took his seat. He turned the plane.

"Southland Ocean, huh?" Said Ari. "We could fly over that for days and never spot land."

"Little Britches, I thought I told you to stay at home." Baloo's voice sounded more plaintive than angry.

Kit looked at the cabin floor, contrite. "I know, Papa Bear. But...but we've always done things like this together before. And you have to admit, you _did_ need me along."

"Well, hey, short stuff, it's good to have you aboard," Louie said.

Baloo said nothing, but clenched his fists around the stick and stared hard out the windshield. "It guess it's too late to turn around and take you back now," he said gruffly. "Just try to stay out of trouble, got it?"

Arizona looked at Kit, and winked.

Several hours later, they left behind everything familiar. The Sea Duck soared over bare, dry country that soon gave way to a body of water.

Baloo held the stick with one hand and slid several bottles of cherry flavored pop from the pocket above the cockpit window with the other. He handed bottles to Louie, Ari, and Kit, then opened one for himself with a small device he had recently installed next to the speedometer. The roar of the Sea Duck's engines sounded loudly in the cockpit.

"Hmm...running a bit rough..." Baloo commented to Kit. "I TOLD Wildcat to watch where he held that dripping jelly-and-jalepeno sandwich. Jam in the engine, what else can go wrong?" The soda carbonation fizzed out of the neck of the bottle and over his wrist.

The sky outside the plane windows was a sharp, clear, hot blue without a cloud in sight. Below stretched the cool, green, large body of water, almost a sea. There was little vegetation visible along the shoreline save for some palm trees. Farther inland rose a line of high, sand-colored cliffs, cut by jagged passes whose shadows contrasted with the golden rock. The plane drew closer, revealing the swirls of sand that blew across the narrow, flat top of the cliffs.

"Well," Ari said, leaning her elbow on the back of Kit's chair, her tail twitching behind her. "There it is. Beyond those cliffs -- Q'ilu. Vast, hot, a bit barbaric, and full of old treasures waiting to be discovered."

"My kind of place," Louie said.

The Sea Duck neared the cliffs and climbed. The propellers seemed to stream sand behind them like faery dust.

"Why do I have the feeling I've forgotten something?" Baloo said, his eyes on the cliffs ahead.

"It's your imagination, cuz," Louie said over the hum of the Sea Duck's engines. "I always feel that way when I go on a trip. Like right now, wonder if I remembered to tell someone to water my bonsai tree?" He crouched behind the co-pilot's chair, which was now occupied by Kit. Arizona stood behind it.

Suddenly the port propeller stuttered, slowed, revved again, and made a sound like alligators grinding their teeth.

"What the --" Baloo dropped his soda.

"What wazzat?" Louie turned to the window, as did Kit.

Arizona frowned and leaned forward, tapping her claws on the dashboard. The starboard engine groaned as its propeller stuck, turned, and stopped altogether with a wheeze.

Flying on one engine, Baloo banked the plan and pulled the nose back, trying to keep altitude. "C'mon, baby," he pleaded. "What is it? I give you gas, and Uncle Wildcat takes good care of you -- don't give up on me now!"

Slowly, Arizona straightened and turned away from the window. "Baloo, you didn't put sand screens on those engines before we left, did you." It was a statement, not a question.

"Sand screens?" Baloo's jaw dropped slightly.

"Oh, no." Kit clapped his hand to his face and slumped down in his chair.

"So _that's_ what I forgot..." Baloo said.

"You're the pilot of this rusty yellow tin can," Ariona said. "How could you fly into a desert region without putting sand screens on your engines?"

"You've been to Q'ilu before," Baloo countered, struggling with the controls. "Why didn't you remember? And watch what you call my plane, lady."

The plane cleared the cliffs, barely, and its shadow skimmed over a flat, golden sandy stretch. In the distance stood the white buildings of a small desert city.

"There's Asif, the main city," Ari said shortly. "Land as close to it as you can."

Arms straining, Baloo turned the plane, which was inevitably losing altitude. "Okay, folks. Hold onto your fedoras. We're goin' in whether we like it or not!"

"Three days?" Arizona, Louie, Baloo, and Kit chorused.

The mechanic at the Asif air strip, a skinny, white-feathered bird in oil-stained brown overalls, shrugged and gestured with his wrench towards the horizon.

"Have to send away for engine parts. That take time." He smiled. "You stay in Asif, enjoy the tourist attractions."

Baloo and Louie looked at each other. Then Baloo clapped Louie on the back and chuckled. "Well, looks like we get a vacation! Can't go treasure huntin' until the plane's ready. Say, buddy," Baloo turned to the mechanic. "They got a swimming pool around here?"

The mechanic nodded. "At hotel. Very nice."

"Great. Let's go, Kit. Hope you brought your swimming trunks. Hm, wonder if they have an outdoor grill..."

"Hold it." Arizona hooked her finger into the neck of Baloo's shirt. He jerked to a stop and made a choking noise.

"What's the idea, Ari?" Baloo complained, wriggling his shirt from her grasp.

"Using the plane to go to the Robber Barrens isn't practical, anyway. Even with the screens, we may get grounded again. It's only about a three hour trek to the Barrens. We'll hire camels."

"Camels!" Baloo exclaimed in despair, glancing at Louie.

"You want a share of that treasure, or not?" The tigress put one hand on her hip, tilted her head to one side, and stared at him.

Kit tugged at Baloo's elbow. "C'mon, Papa Bear. We want the treasure!"

Louie and Baloo slumped, letting out simultaneous sighs.

"This had better be _some_ treasure," Baloo muttered.

After a good haggle, during which Arizona did all of the talking, the group gathered on the main street of Asif with four camels laden with supplies.

The inhabitants of the city -- foreign businessmen, native merchants, children with their parents, constables in stiff uniforms unsuited to the desert -- did not seem to find it strange to find camels standing in the middle of their main throughway.

Arizona came down the steps of the two story, white building nearby, looking annoyed. "I couldn't get through to Cape Suzette; storm over the Bearing Crookeds. Radio's out too."

"Well, so long as the sun is shining here," Baloo said cheerfully. "We can check in later."

One of the dromedAris started nibbling on the sleeve of Louie's multi-colored shirt. He swatted it away. "Do you mind?"

"There they are." Perched comfortably on her camel, Arizona pointed towards the low, rocky line of brown hills rising in the hazy distance. "The Robber Barrens."

Baloo shielded his eyes with one hand. "They don't look so bad."

"Piece of cake," said Louie.

Kit took a drink from his canteen and turned in his saddle to the right, where the desert stretched to the horizon. "Hey Arizona," he said slowly.

"Yeah?"

"Do they get sandstorms around here a lot?"

Arizona turned her head sharply, and Kit pointed to a small, beige cloud where the desert met the horizon. The cloud seemed to be increasing in size. From under the brim of her fedora, Arizona watched it intently for a moment. Beneath her, the dromedary shifted and make anxiouis noises.

"Okay, boys. Time to get a move-on. Fast." She kicked her mount, which grunted in surprise and then grudgingly started to move.

"What's the rush, sweet stuff?" Louie urged his own camel forward, bouncing up and down in his saddle as the beast trotted after Arizona's camel.

"That's no sandstorm," she said. Baloo and Kit followed quickly.

The grey bear glanced back over his shoulder. "It's not? It does a real good impression of one."

"So what is it?" Louie demanded. As he rode after Arizona, the ends of the white cloth tied about his head to keep off the sun trailed behind him like ribbons.

"Aqima," Arizona said sharply, without turning around. "And you'd better hope they _don't_ catch up with us."

As fast as they moved, the Aqima, on horseback, were swifter. As the riders drew closer, the camels, as if in planned revolt, rolled their eyes, bellowed, and unceremoniously dumped their four riders onto the sand. Then the dromedAris galloped off, bellowing in alarm, leaving a trail of fallen rolls of supplies in their wake.

Arizona scrambled to her feet and cupped her hands over her mouth. "Hey!" She yelled after the retreating camels. "You plod-footed sand cows, get back here, you cowards!" Then she snatched up a pack, turned, and ran towards the barrens. Baloo, Louie, and Kit helped each other to their feet and ran after her.

"Now I remember why I hate using camels," Baloo panted as they ran. "Give me a Duck any day."

"What do we do now?" Kit yelled, scrambling with the others over a scrubby rise.

"We hold them off," Baloo yelled back, as a cloud of dust and sand began to creep forward around them and the pounding of hooves seemed to roar in their ears.

"We?" Louie said.

The Aqima had been eerily silent during their approach. Suddenly they let loose with high-pitched ululation as they bore down on the four travellers.

"YI-YI-YI-YI-YI!"

Their faces were narrow, intelligent, and reptilian, with vibrant green scales that were striking against the golden sand. Arizona instantly went into an attack crouch, dagger out, as the Aqima surrounded them in a swirl of horses, sand, and flapping white robes. She reached into her bag and tossed a gun to Baloo, who caught it in a reflex action.

Baloo looked down doubtfully at the weapon in his hands. "Uh...Louie, you take it." He tossed it to his friend.

Louie caught it, more to keep it from going off as it hit the ground more than anything else. "I don't want it, cuz. You take it!" He tossed it back to Baloo.

Suddenly a scaled hand shot out and caught the gun neatly in mid-air just before it reached Baloo's outstretched hands.

"Uh-oh," Louie and Baloo chorused.

One Aqima had leaned down, grabbing Kit across the shoulders. Kit reached up, heaved on the reptile's arm, and pulled him from the saddle. Arizona, dagger in one hand, whip in the other, moved in a circle, her eyes following the four Aqima who had surrounded her, cutting her off from the others.

With the wild ululation ringing in his ears, throat and eyes choked with sand, Kit fought his way over to Baloo.

"Kit!" Baloo reached out and yanked Kit out of the way of a plunging horse, then pushed something into his hands.

"Papa Bear, what --"

"Kit, take the map get to Ahalan." Baloo coughed as the sand whirled around them like mist. "We'll meet you there tonight, at the hotel."

"But Baloo!" Kit protested.

"Go!" Baloo bellowed.

For a second, Kit hesitated. He looked down at the map in his hands, then at Baloo, who had turned away and was busy trying to unseat another rider.

Reluctantly, Kit ran.

One of the Aqima levelled his sword at Baloo's chest, pulling his horse to a complete stop.

"I beg your pardon," the Aqima said clearly.

Arizona's whip flicked out and caught an Aqima around the wrist. With a yank, she pulled him from the saddle.

"Er -- Miss Tiger," he said, a bit more loudly. "I beg your pardon, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist you stop that."

Arizona looked over, and saw the sword pointed at Baloo's chest. Slowly, she lowered her whip.

"Thank you, that is much better," said the Aqima. "Terribly sorry to inconvenience you, but we are going to have to take you all prisoner."

"Excuse me," said another, behind Louie. He pulled Louie's wrists together behind his back and bound them.

"Oh, of course, cuz, of course," Louie said sarcastically.

Reluctantly, Arizona dropped her weapons and allowed herself to be bound. "Not too tight, is it?" An Aqima asked, in a concerned fashion.

Arizona sighed.

"Polite, aren't they?" Said Baloo.

"Oh, yeah," said Louie. "So much worse to be surrounded, held at sword point, and tied up by _rude_ marauders."

"Oh, put a sock in it," muttered Baloo.

"Ah, the big one is rather ill-tempered, isn't he?" One said to his companions, and quiet laughter rippled through the band.

In that civilized vein, the Aqima dragged their captives over to their mounts, heaved them each across the back of a saddle, and rode away across the desert.

Kit ran for some time, then slowed to walk. The desert was like a still, golden sea around him. He stopped and pulled out the silver compass Starfinder had given him, then squinted at the angle of the sun. Changing direction by a few degrees, he kept moving.

At last he saw the square, beige buildings of Ahalan in the distance. Taking a swig from his canteen, Kit headed for the small desert village.

On the outskirts, he stopped again, and tucked the map inside his sweater.

The streets were quiet in the hot afternoon. An old woman sat under a blue awning, braiding palm leaves. A scrawny dog sniffed disdainfully at a scrap of food lying on the dusty street, then loped away in search of better fare. In the distance were male voices, carrying out trade or just chatting the afternoon away. A child laughed in one of the buildings.

He turned down a shadowed side route between two flat-roofed houses, searching for the hotel.

Two hands grabbed him roughly by behind. Before Kit could yell out or break free, he felt himself shoved hard against the wall of one of the houses.

Startled, Kit looked into the eyes of the stranger who had grabbed him. He was covered in white desert robes, and white cloth was swathed across the lower half of his face.

"The map," hissed a voice, low, oddly familiar. "Give it to me, Cloudkicker."

Kit's eyes widened in shock. The theatrical flourishes and the colorful idioms were missing, but the voice was unmistakeable. "K-Karnage?" he whispered.

The white cloth fell away from the snout, and Karnage showed his teeth in a savage grin. "Me."

Kit swallowed hard, and licked dry lips. The desert robe had fallen open, and in place of the bright red-and-blue nautical uniform Karnage had once worn, he could see a loose white shirt and khaki trousers tucked into scruffy brown boots.

"What are you doing here?" he managed.

"Surviving." A switchblade glinted in Karnage's other hand, and hovered directly in front of Kit's eyes. "Because of you, Cloudkicker, I have no plane. I have no pirates. I have no sword. And I have no time for posturing." The metal blade touched his throat. "Now, where is the map?"

"What map?"

Karnage said nothing, but the flat knife-blade pressed harder against Kit's throat, forcing his chin higher.

"Oh, th-that map!" Sweat was forming on Kit's brow. This, more than any change of costume or accent, forcibly brought home to him just how much Karnage had changed. The old Don Karnage would have laughed or scowled and said something threatening; this one didn't feel any need to. "Uh, the map, right. Let me think...."

The blade pressed in another fraction. "No stalling."

"Baloo's got it," Kit said desperately.

"And where is Baloo?" The knife didn't move.

"The Aqima have him."

Karnage removed the switchblade from Kit's neck, but didn't let go of his arm. "I don't trust you, Cloudkicker," he snarled. "Too many times you've tricked me. Let's just see...." He put the knife away into some pocket under the robes and began groping about Kit's clothes with both hands, searching systematically for the map.

Kit felt a trickle of sweat run down the side of his neck as Karnage's hand drew closer to his hidden pocket. And then three things happened in quick succession. There was a telltale crinkle of stiff paper. Karnage's eyes snapped wide open as his hand pressed the hidden map. And Kit's foot flew out in a vicious kick and caught the pirate a hard blow to the knee.

"Yeeeagh!" Karnage staggered back, and Kit broke into a run, heading for the mouth of the alley. He reached the street, turned right, bolted towards the market square-- --and heard Karnage's voice shouting from the alley: "Stop, thief!"

Frozen in shock, Kit looked back over his shoulder. "Huh?"

Heads lifted all around him as the merchants and peddlers glared about to see who was being accused of stealing, and saw the desert-robed figure limping from the alleyway, pointing dramatically at the small bear cub.

"Stop that boy!" Karnage shouted again. Kit stared back at the former pirate captain. Their eyes locked for a moment...and Karnage looked directly at him and smiled slowly.

"Thief! Get him!" "Catch him! Knock him down!" "THIEF!"

Kit gulped. ~Oh, man....~ and he was running again.

TO BE CONTINUED...