Tail Winds Episode #1 of Tale Spin: High Flight written by Constance "Eilonwy" Cochran with contributions from the High Flight crew Send comments to eilonwy@earthlink.net Illustrations by Lar DeSouza, available at http://www.geocities.com/~highflight/series/tshf.html Tale Spin and its characters are the property of Buena Vista Television/Disney, and is borrowed with the utmost affection and respect. Any new characters are the property of the fan fiction series "Tale Spin: High Flight" and the author and may not be used without permission. This story originally released on the DAFT Hatchlings mailing list in a slightly different form. ---------------------------------------------------------------- PART III He has made his choices, both right and wrong All from this single source Vagabond and corsair he has been before Each he might be again.... His long journey is just started Final port is not in sight But he continues his journey without ever a doubt That his dream will one day be reality. --from "To Dare To Dream" copyright 1992 by Steve Martindale used with the author's permission ---------------------------------------------------------------- The second night, Kit slept on a cot in the kitchen's supply room, which smelled pleasantly enough of flour and spice. Through the small window, Kit could see the tops of a stand of palm trees and the stars glittering in the ebony sky. He lay with his arms folded behind his head, watching the starlight in the shadowy darkness. He knew Baloo must be frantic. Kit winced, then turned over to face the wall. Although he felt exhausted, he couldn't sleep. The stars changed their position. A wind began to toss the palm fronds. Even after he had joined up with Karnage, still no one had offered to teach him how to fly. Kit picked up what he could by pestering the pirates and climbing all over the planes in the Iron Vulture's hangar. He had waited. Waited for someone to let go of the stick, turn to him, and say "go ahead." But no one ever did. Until his first ride in The Sea Duck. Baloo had sat back in that easy way of his, folded his arms behind his head, and said "Knock yourself out, kid." And for a few, glorious moments, Kit had flown a plane. And not just some dinky single engine, a big classic, with Superfly 100's. Lying in the darkness of the supply room, Kit reached out his paws, pretending to close them over the stick of The Sea Duck. He could still feel the tug of the plane against his arm muscles, the sense of the plane's power and sensitivity, every nerve of his body and, it seemed, the plane itself, straining upward under his touch. Kit rolled over again, and his paw touched his air board, which was lying propped against the cot. He had built that one himself, after Don Karnage had destroyed his first one. Strangely, he had needed no manuals on aerodynamics, no guidance, to construct it; he seemed to build it from instinct, knowing exactly where the pieces of light weight metal fit. The original board had had more weight to it, scuffed and worn and solid. Kit didn't know where it had come from; he'd had it at the orphanage and hadn't figured out what it was for until he'd struck out on his own. At last he felt his eye lids growing heavy. Kit yawned. He wasn't sure if the images he saw, the voices he heard, were dreams or memories.... --------------------------------------------------------------------------- The hanger was bright with sunlight and a breeze gusted in through the open doors. Beneath the freshness was the faint smell of oil and metal -- airplane smells. There was a bear with a handsome face, wearing a bomber jacket, standing before a workbench. "Katie," the bear turned, and Kit realized it was the bear in the photograph. His father. "Katie, bring him over here, I want to show Kit how to build an air board." Katie was holding Kit's hand. She seemed to tower above him, beautiful, framed against the sunlight. Her brown hair was pulled back with a blue ribbon. She wore gray coveralls, smudged with grease and white and blue paint. "Jack!" his mother laughed. "He's only two years old." "Nonsense! It's never too early to start learning." His mother sighed, sent her son a wry glance, then led him over to the workbench. Bending, his father picked Kit up and set him on the countertop so that his small legs dangled off the edge. "Now watch closely, Kit," his father said, holding up a small piece of steel-gray metal and a small attachment. "The widget fits into this slot...remember, to be aerodynamically sound --" he paused, then added seriously, "that means it can fly -- the proportions must be correct. The slightest millimeter off can upset the equilibrium. One small gust of wind and you're falling." His father fitted two pieces of metal together, and held it up to his son, who reached out a paw to touch the half-completed air-board. "That's it," his father said softly, tenderly. "You're gonna reach the clouds someday, my little flyer." --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Kit jerked awake. It was early morning, just after dawn, and the supply room was cold; the window faced west, and the sun had not yet penetrated that side of the building. It was quiet, save for the lonely cry of a single bird in the bush behind the pirate's tavern. He held his breath -- then realized he was listening for something. The steady clanging of a buoy out on the bay, the sound of Becky calling up the stairs, the deep rumble of Baloo singing (unintelligibly) as he brushed his teeth in the bathroom down the hall, the distant banging as Wildcat worked on repairs. The homesickness threatened to overwhelm him again, and Kit choked it down. He would go home. But not yet, he told himself. Not yet. Quickly, he rose, tucked the air board back under his sweater (in case of emergencies), and wandered out to the kitchen to wash his face. Grayclaw might kill him, but Kit had to try again. He would keep trying until the pirate gave in. Adults would do that sometimes, just to shut you up. "Kid, you got a death wish?" Grayclaw demanded, when Kit found him, alone, out on the dock. He wasn't sure what the pirate was doing. Maybe waiting for a plane -- but he had been standing with his paws shoved into the pockets of his breeches, just staring out at the sunrise over the water. At the horizon, clouds glowed pale pink, the same color as the tint that stained the sea. "Look," Kit said, in the tough-guy voice. "I help you, you help me. It's that simple." "You're nuts, you know that?" Grayclaw's glance slid away from the sunrise to Kit. "No more than three and a half feet tall if you're an inch, and you think you can take Don Karnage." "Four feet," Kit corrected. "And I've had run-ins with him before," Kit said. "He's never been able to keep me in one of his brigs for more than one hour at most." Grayclaw sighed, and turned back to the tavern. "Go home, kid." "But..." Kit jogged after the wolf as he started shoreward along the long dock. "I know how to deal with them. I know every inch of the Iron Vulture --" His voice cut off with a gasp as Grayclaw turned suddenly and put a paw on Kit's chest. A flicker of interest might have crossed Grayclaw's snout. "You've been inside the Iron Vulture?" "I told you, I used to be one of his crew." "For all I know, you still are, and he sent you to me." Kit was startled. "No...no," he stammered. "I left the pirates. I hate Karnage. I hated him even before I knew about my parents." "I just have to wonder," Grayclaw said, looking down at Kit sharply, "How you came to leave him. You were a part of his band. Wait a second..." the wolf's eyes narrowed. "There were rumors floating around this place about a year ago. About how Don Karnage was made a fool by a kid...a kid who stole from him, then pretended to be loyal once more, only to double cross the fox a second time. The guys were laughing about it." "Uh..." "You betrayed him." "No!" Kit backed up a step, away from Grayclaw's glare. "It wasn't like that. He was going to destroy Cape Suzette. The whole city! And it wasn't betrayal, I was helping...someone...someone I was really loyal to from the first day after I left Karnage." He kicked at a pebble lying on the dock. It plopped into the water. He hadn't ever phrased it that way even to himself before, but now he realized it was true. "You could be telling me the truth..." Grayclaw said slowly, carefully, his face unreadable. "Even if you aren't, you could be of use. I...I've been looking for an opening, a way to...come back. If you can give me inside information on The Iron Vulture..." "I can show you around myself," Kit said proudly. The wolf nodded. "I suppose if you're with me, you can't pull a fast one. Okay, kid," he said, casually holding out a paw -- the good one. "It's a deal." There was no formality, no swearing. Just a friendly handshake. But somehow Kit knew that breaking that unspoken promise would be extremely unhealthy. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- "That's it!" Starfinder's bellow carried far beyond the property line of Higher For Hire. Perched on the wing of the rented plane, Winger looked up, soapy sponge in hand. The plane was a dull brown, small and rickety and grimy. Faded lettering on the side bore the unpromising legend "Wrecks For Rent." On the opposite side of the dock, The Sea Duck looked state-of-the-art by comparison, its yellow hull gleaming in the early morning sun. The old squirrel came running onto the dock with surprising speed and agility. He leapt down the steps, then skidded to a halt beneath Winger. "Don't muck around in soap suds now, son, I've got to get this heap into the air. Come on, lad, move it!" Starfinder wrenched open the cockpit door. Winger shrugged, then tossed the sponge into the bucket resting on the dock below. He jumped down from the wing. "Hey, what's goin' on, pops?" The squirrel paused, his paw on the door handle. "I got to thinking....Grayclaw the pirate. And then I remembered this hangout the others used to mention...The Parrot's Claw....pirate hang-out. Nasty place. But if I were Kit, and I were looking for a pirate and found out about that place....." "Well, I'll come with you. Sounds like you might need someone to watch your back." Starfinder shook his head. "No go, sorry. Places like that are rough, no place for a kid." "But I'm....." "You stay here, wait for Baloo and Ms. Cunningham to get back from seeing that detective Ms. C. wanted to hire." "Wildcat can tell them." Winger looked off to one side, adopting a casual stance. "Look, Kit's my friend," he said, with a flip of his paw. "I want to come with you." A silence fell, broken only by the ringing of the buoy out on the water and the distant hum of a plane. "All right," Starfinder said at last. "You go tell Wildcat, and I'll start the engines --" "Oh, no." Winger moved closer to the cockpit until he stood directly in front of Starfinder. The lion cub stared levelly up at the red squirrel's face. "I know how it works, pops. The minute I'm out of sight, you're gonna take off without me. You go tell Wildcat, and I'll hit the ignition. I know how -- saw Baloo do it." Starfinder's bushy tail twitched furiously and the muscles around his mouth worked for a moment. At last his face broke out into a broad grin. "Well I'll be a...." He stepped aside, then boosted Winger up through the cockpit door. The red squirrel started back along the docks towards Wildcat's shop. As the engines of the rental coughed, let out a small trickle of smoke, then whined into life, he stopped, turned, and cupped his paws over his mouth. "And don't you go and take off without me, you hear?" --------------------------------------------------------------------------- The landing strip was empty, a gray, concrete field stretching out in all directions. A warm wind whipped across it, stirring the grass that had grown up in the cracks in the pavement. Overhead, the sky was growing overcast; the magnificent sunrise had given way to the promise of a rainstorm. Kit followed Grayclaw, Oni, Bulldog and Slammer as they walked towards a large hangar with dirty windows. It looked as if it hadn't been used in some time. The wolf pushed open a door in the side of the structure. It opened with a creak. Inside, the light was dim. Kit had an impression of great, echoing space, but also of some massive object rearing up in the shadows. Grayclaw switched on the hangar's ancient lights. Warming up after long disuse, the electrical equipment gave a sparking hum which soon died away. Blinking, Kit stepped farther inside, past the others, curious to see. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the light. Resting in the middle of the otherwise empty hangar was an airplane, although "airship" might have been the more appropriate term. It was over a hundred feet long, and its cockpit towered up near the ceiling. The wings were broad and gracefully designed, with two big propeller engines each. A gun turret rose out of the roof of the hull. Once the plane had been a deep, sea blue, but the paint had peeled away in patches, revealing the steel gray underneath and leaving the impression of disease. Red trim circled the engines and nose, and ran along the tail. The white glow of the hangar lights fell over the ship, touching it gently on wing or hull or flaps. Kit said, in a long, drawn-out breath: "Wow." Grayclaw stepped up beside him, arms folded. He had a proud, wistful look on his face. "There she is, The Cormorant. She doesn't look like much now, but she was beautiful once. The fastest ship of her size ever built." Slammer, Oni, and Bulldog began walking around the plane, inspecting it. Oni ran her finger over the chipped paint as she ducked under the wing. "We'll need supplies, Grayclaw," called Bulldog in his gruff voice. He reached up and hauled on the cockpit door handle. The door wrenched open half an inch and stuck with a sickening groan. "Fuel, paint, new instruments...." "We might as well buy a new plane for that," said Grayclaw. "Buy a new plane?" Slammer's lithe ferret body turned back sharply. "You can't buy a new plane!. We've got to do this in The Cormorant." "Relax, fellas," Bulldog said, appearing near the tail. "Grayclaw would never sell this old bird. Besides," he added, a grin turning up the corner of his jowls, "Where else are you going to get a plane with over three-hundred square feet of concealed storage space?" Kit went up to the plane and touched his paw to the hull. "Concealed storage space?" He asked. "Fourteen secret panels, twelve storage compartments." Bulldog clapped a friendly paw on Kit's back. "Not to mention the hidden escape hatches." For the first time since Kit had set eyes on him, Grayclaw's face brightened. "Let's get to work," he said, a glint in his black eyes. "Oni, you and Slammer go get the supplies. Wingnut," he said to the bulldog, "Go round up the old gang." Stifling a laugh, Kit watched as Wingnut saluted, then hurried out of the hangar. He would still always think of him as Bulldog. "How many more of you are there?" Kit asked. Grayclaw shrugged, and reached up to work on opening the other cockpit door. "That --" he grunted. "--depends," he said. The door opened with a horrendous creak. "When Karnage mutineed, most of my men followed him. Worthless bunch of oily vermin," he said cheerfully, climbing up into the cockpit. "About fifteen stuck with me. Of that, two were Slammer and Wingnut. Wingnut may be able to find oh, about ten of them." He stopped, looked down at Kit, then held out his good paw, offering a hand up. Kit took it, and allowed himself to be pulled up into the cockpit. "Met Oni later," he added, settling into the pilot's seat. "Should have found her years ago. There should be more female pirates," he said. He grinned suddenly, flashing his teeth. "Remember Kit, the female of the species is always more deadly than the male." --------------------------------------------------------------------------- They had been working on the plane for hours. With his sweater splattered with white paint and oil, Kit sat down on the unpainted part of the wing he was working on, near the tip. On the other side, Slammer energetically rummaged through an engine, occassionaly muttering curses to himself. There was a steady, pattering drum as the rain beat on the hangar roof. A flicker of lightning shone through the windows of the building, following by a rumble of thunder. Everything was going exactly as Kit had hoped it would. If you knew how to play it, even the craftiest and most dangerous adults would do what you needed them to do. If you knew how. It was a useful skill for an orphan. Only problem was, it stopped working after a certain point. It had stopped working with Baloo the first time the big gray bear had saved him from Don Karnage. Kit shuddered. To this day, he still had no idea exactly what the turnips and the sandpaper could do.... Kit hopped down from the wing and made his way to the front of the plane. Grayclaw was in the cockpit, crouched before an open panel in the dashboard. A multi-colored mass of wires and bits of metal spilled out. Kit climbed the metal pull-down ladder that was the only way to reach the high front of the plane and stopped. "Uh....Grayclaw?" The wolf looked up, then turned back to his work. "Yeah, kid?" "Is the radio working?" "Should be, I just put in a new battery." He glanced up again, more sharply. "Why?" "I need to use it. There's....someone I have to contact." Grayclaw straightened and looked at Kit consideringly. "Really. Now, I know you're not stupid enough to actually tell me when you're reporting your findings to Karnage. Then again, you're extremely bright. You might know that I'd think that, and put it all out in the open, just to throw me off guard." "I told you, I'm not a spy for Don Karnage!" "Tell you what. You can use the radio. But I'm staying right here with you. I'll hear every word you say." The big gray wolf reached out suddenly and hauled Kit into the cockpit by the front of his sweater. "Cross me, Cloudkicker, and you won't see fourteen." Kit gulped. Grayclaw released him. Taking a deep breath, Kit lifted the handset on the radio, and set the frequency for Cape Suzette. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- It had been the most wasted hour of his life. He and Becky had gone to see the detective, Sam Shovel, who had an office above a diner downtown. Shovel had looked promising, a sharp-looking beige dog in shirtsleeves and a tie. A fedora hung next to a trenchcoat on a rack against the wall. There was a large open bag of pistachio nuts on the detective's cluttered desk. Beyond the venetian blinds, opened to slits on the office's big front windows, the rain fell, streaking down the glass. "So, what seems to be the problem?" Shovel leaned back in his chair, propped his hind feet on the desk, and cracked open another pistachio nut. They told him. "Well" -- *crack* -- "It seems that what we have here --" *crunch* "Is a missing persons case. I can start making enquiries--" *crack* "and have some information for you within a week." "A week!!" Baloo said indignantly. Becky signalled to him to hush. "We were hoping you could make this a priority, Mr. Shovel. This is very important. I'm willing to pay extra, of course," she added. "Of course," Shovel said, staring at her, dead pan. He flung a nut into the air and caught it in his mouth. *crunch* -- *crunch* "But even if I give you A-1 priority, cases like this take time. And pirates....well, there'll be hazard pay as well." Seated in the worn leather chair next to Becky's, Baloo pulled at his tie furiously, restraining himself. For a moment, Becky hesitated. Baloo stopped pulling his tie and waited in satisfaction for the outburst, for the lecture on fair commerce and customer relations. But instead, she pulled a roll of bills out of her purse. Becky stared down at the cash for a moment, then set it on the desk next to the pistachios and looked at Shovel. "Just find him," she said softly. Baloo had been very quiet as they left the office and began walking back to Higher For Hire under Becky's large umbrella. His boss had just given Shovel enough to buy a condo in Palo Palo, and Baloo was willing to bet it was twice the going rate for detectives. What had happened to the relentless businesswoman, the financial sense? "Maybe we should see another detective as well," she said thoughtfully. Turning, Baloo took her by the shoulder with one paw, the other still holding the handle of the umbrella. "No way!" He said angrily. "That two-bit gumshoe just took you on a hay ride, lady. Hazard pay my granny's pajamas! Mealy mouthed, no good..." Baloo began muttering under his breath angrily. "I just...." Becky lowered her head sadly, avoiding his eyes. "I just wanted to make sure we tried everything. Just to increase our chances...." The rain pattered on the umbrella arching protectively above them. Baloo trailed off and looked at her. Suddenly, he understood where the financial sense had gone. "Becky?" He said, and waited as she brought her eyes to his face. He smiled. "You're something else, you know that?" She looked startled, then smiled back as the rain fell around them. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Baloo was just loading extra supplies into The Sea Duck during a lull in the rainstorm when Wildcat came running out onto the dock. "Baloo! Baloo, it's Kit, he's on the radio..." At Wildcat's shout, Baloo dropped the container of flares, and ran past Wildcat into the Higher for Hire radio room. He grabbed up the mike. "Kit, where in the thundering mangoes are you?" "I can't tell you," Kit answered, then added hastily, "But I'm all right. I just wanted to let you know. Tell Becky and Molly. Cloudkicker, over and --" "Don't you dare sign off!" Baloo yelled into the mike, in his own ears sounding very much like a parent chewing out a disobedient child. All that was missing was "young man." "Do you have any idea how worried I've been? How worried everyone's been?" His voice sounded rough, scratchy. "Becky hasn't done any paperwork in a week -- spends all her time on the phone to every muckety-muck she knows, lookin' for a way to find you. She told me Molly's been crying herself to sleep...Wildcat accidently rewired the Sea Duck so the wildshield wiper switch activited the cargo doors..." "Well, he's done that before," Kit muttered under his breath. "Kit!" "Baloo, I'm sorry." "Sorry? Sorry won't cut the salami this time, Kit. Sooner or later you've got to stop running away." "I didn't run away. There's something important I have to do." Baloo gripped the stem of the microphone so hard it nearly snapped in two. "Kit, you didn't -- you're not..." "I found Greyclaw. But he wasn't the one who killed them. It was Karnage all along." Above the static, Baloo heard Kit's voice go tight and hard and angry. Kit never sounded like that. "Please, kid, don't do anything stupid." "I was three years old when Karnage shot them down. What could I do? But I'm thirteen now. I can do something about it. Cloudkicker over and out." The transmission ended with a click, leaving Baloo staring numbly down at the mike he held in his paw -- the object that had linked him to Kit. Then he tossed the mike roughly to the table. "Baloo?" Becky, Molly and Wildcat trailing behind, her rushed into the radio room and stopped. "I'm going after him, right now." Baloo said between clenched teeth. He shoved Becky and Wildcat aside and hurried out. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alone, Becky and Wildcat stared at each other for a moment. Molly tugged on Becky's pant leg. "Mommy? Was that Kit on the radio?" "Yes, sweetie," Becky said. "When is he coming home?" "Soon. I hope." Becky picked up Molly, planted a kiss on her daughter's forehead, then handed her to Wildcat's waiting arms. "Wildcat, would you watch Molly for me please? Baloo, wait, I'm coming with you..." "Miz Cunningham," Wildcat yelled urgently. She stopped, and turned. "Starfinder asked me to give you a message. He said he went to look for Kit at someplace called The Pirate's Claw. He gave me the coordinates." Wildcat rummaged in the pocket of his coveralls. "Here," he said, handing her an oily piece of paper. "Oh....thanks, Wildcat." Becky took the paper, and ran from the room. Wildcat looked down at his charge. Her sweet face looked oddly serious as her forehead creased for a moment. "Well, Mollycat, looks like it's just you and me. Come on, I'll show you how to build an airplane engine from scratch." --------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Cloudkicker, over and out." Kit pressed a switch, ending the transmission. For a moment he remained seated at the radio console, staring at the microphone. The way Baloo had yelled at him....sure, Baloo was the yelling sort, but seldom had he sounded so....angry. Flinching, Kit tried to shake off the images that came to him, of Becky pacing the dock, of Molly lying in the darkness in her room, sobbing because of him. Of the memory of Baloo's voice, accusing. Lecturing. Like....like a parent. Shortly after they'd met, he and Baloo had argued about Kit's decision to join an air circus. Kit could still hear his own voice ringing in his ears: You can't tell me what to do. You're not my dad! He'd regretted saying that as soon as he'd said it -- and all the worse when Baloo had been right, and had ended up literally saving Kit's life. "You must be something special, kid. He sounds worried." Startled, Kit turned. He had almost forgotten that Grayclaw was in The Cormorant's radio room with him. Around them, the plane throbbed with the purring of the big engines. The silver-furred wolf was leaning against the door jamb, arms folded. His face was impassive, but he was watching Kit curiously. Almost as if he were remembering something himself, thoughtful. In answer, Kit frowned. "Aren't you going to show me the navigational equipment?" Grayclaw moved, making way for Kit as he started for the door. "Yeah, sure, kid." The wolf cast one last look at the radio set before following Kit out. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Forty nautical miles south-west of Cape Suzette. That was all Becky could figure out with Kit's navigational instruments. There were numbers all over the map, gridlines, two different compasses, and some sort of hinged, pointed instrument with notches marking off some sort of unit. Clouds had gathered, dampening the bright morning. Thin shafts of sunlight filtered through the cover. It was actually kind of breathtaking, Becky thought, taking her eyes from the map for a moment. "How far are we, Beckers?" Baloo asked. "Well," Becky desperately tried to think of what to say so she would sound as if she knew what she was talking about. "We're forty miles south of Cape Suzette...." she said carefully. "Degrees," Baloo said, over the roar of the engines. "How many degrees do I turn so we'll head towards the coordinates?" "I'm sorry." Becky's voice rose a notch. "Kit's the expert navigator, not me. It looks as if we should go farther south." "Great," Baloo snapped. "We'll just fly around in circles running out of gas while Kit's out there...." "Well, it's not my fault you've never been to the pirate hang out!" She said furiously, folding the map. "Maybe we should just land at the port and ask for directions." "Oh sure, we'll just ask the first Joe Shmoe we see how to get to the friendly neighborhood corsair canteena!" "Well, it's better than flying around in circles," she said pointedly. "Why don't you just go sit in the back, leave the work to the professionals," Baloo growled. Affronted, Becky opened her mouth to retort, then paused. A large shadow had appeared in the white of the clouds above them. As she watched, a long, black, steely object protruded from the bottom of the cloud cover and slowly grew larger as more of it was revealed. "Uh...Baloo?" Becky said slowly. "What?!" Her mouth and forefinger moved in a rapid calculation. She pointed up and to the right. "Pirates....two o'clock!" Baloo looked up and let out a bellow of surprise. Dropping down out of the clouds, like a monument unveiled from its sheet, was The Iron Vulture. The hovercraft's engines were going full speed. Wisps of cloud drifted up past the big red pontoons running along either side of it. Slowly, the beak lowered, and a cluster of small, single engines planes began to emerge like bats from a cave. "Great, just great," Baloo growled. "That's all we need right now....more pirates." Baloo yanked the stick to the left as a clatter of fire from the pirate's planes sped past the cockpit window. There was a series of metallic *pings*. "The wing's been hit!" Baloo hollered. "Becky -- get back to the hold and look for something we can use as a weapon." Rebecca unclenched her grip on the arm rests of the co-pilot's seat, rose, and made her way to the cockpit door. "One of these days we're going to install guns on this thing," Becky muttered. The hold was empty. Well, she thought sourly, Karnage will go to all this trouble and he'll having nothing to show for it. Good. There was a cardboard box full of old junk, wiring, bolts, metal plates -- maybe left over from a project of Wildcat's. Nothing that could stop a fleet of pirates. As the plane lurched again, Becky grabbed at the bunkbeds to steady herself. The cardboard box slid across the floor. There was another box, up on a shelf set against the curve of the cabin, that looked promising. Becky hurried over, the hum of the engines loud in her ears. She reached up for the box as another stocatto chorus of machine-gun fire rattled past outside the hull of the plane. There was a sparking, wheezing noise from outside -- one of the engines, Becky realized in horror. "Baloo!" She yelled. The Sea Duck tilted sharply without warning, to starboard. The second box slid off the shelf. Becky, unprepared, saw only an expanse of brown cardboard, heavy with some metallic object inside, descending, and felt a powerful blow to the top of her head. Then blackness. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- When she came to, someone was holding her. He sounded quite worked up about something. The voice was familiar.... "Becky? C'mon Beckers, snap out of it. Say something!! Becky? Rebecca?" Becky opened her eyes. Her vision blurred, then focused on Baloo's face, hovering over her. "Baloo?" She sat up groggily, putting a paw to her head, which was throbbing. Still holding her, Baloo let out a deep sigh. "You're all right! Man, you had me worried, boss lady." "Wh-what happened?" She asked. A horrifying thought occured to her as she looked at Baloo. "Baloo, WHO'S FLYING THE PLANE?!" "Relax, Becky. We're not in the air. We've sort of -- landed." "Landed? Where did we land?" "Uh...we're sort of inside something." Becky did not like where this conversation was going. Baloo had that look on his face. "Inside -- what?" She asked carefully. "The Iron Vulture." "And how did we get there?" Becky asked, her teeth starting to clench. "We...we kinda got captured by Karnage and his crew." "We WHAT?" Becky shoved Baloo in the chest. He went sprawling as she got to her feet. "You dumb bear!" She became conscious that she was yelling, but didn't care. "Won't ever get guns for The Sea Duck, oh no. Air pirates everywhere, but ol' Baloo's just too laid back for that. Just the Bare Necessities." She grabbed him by the lapels of his shirt, hauling him to his feet. "We have to get out of here! How do you expect to find Kit stuck in Karnage's brig?" Baloo looked crestfallen. And guilty. His shoulders slumped. "I shouldn't've let you come along," he said heavily. Becky swallowed, then stepped towards him, holding out her paw. "Baloo...I'm sorry," she said softly. "I shouldn't have yelled at you." He turned, looking down at her in surprise, and took her paws in his. There was a metallic bang at the back of the plane, and they both jumped. With a clanking noise, the cargo doors began to open, letting in a flood of light. A silhouette appeared, tall and flamboyant and menacing. "'Alo," said a voice, depressingly familiar. "So nice of you to....drop by." Karnage looked around the cabin, and a disappointed expression came over his pointed snout. "Unfortunately, you do no seem to 'ave anything for me to line the pockets of my feathered nest. So I will 'ave to toss you into the brig." Other figures appeared behind him, his pirates. With swords, pistols, and other nasty-looking weapons. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- TO BE CONTINUED...