This story, like all my stories, is dedicated to the men and women of vision at Disney who helped make TaleSpin a reality, especially Jymn Magon and Mark Zaslove. It's also dedicated to the many friends I've made on the web, without whom I wouldn't have gotten back into the wonderful TS universe. Thanks to all the webmasters and fanfic writers out there who help keep TS alive and vibrant. A few people I must thank specifically... Laura Anne Trombley - Whose youthful enthusiasm and idealism inspire me every day, and whose kindness and generosity astonish me. Think Ed! David Kimble - My chat buddy and all-around good guy. He served as my technical advisor for this fic: any small measure of accuracy contained in the flying sequences is due to his patient and invaluable assistance. I hope in some small way I was able to convey the love of flight - that part comes from both of us. Michael Gollihue - who served as my "Executive Story Consultant" and FSC savior... He was invaluable in providing a sounding board, and a lot of good ideas, when I was stuck. His patience was much appreciated, as is his hard work in supporting the TS net community Gregory Weagle - Who inspired me to do this in the first place and with whom I share an undying affection for the greatest child character in animation history. Suzie Walton - My AOL buddy, who is the first person to see a lot of this stuff and always has a kind word of advice. She's gonna be a helluva fic writer too. Author's note: This story takes place sometime in the days after the conclusion of "Thicker Than Water." My little TaleSpin mythos exists roughly following the conclusion of High Flight's "Tail Winds" - events are assumed to have taken place in my stories that occurred in that one. Our wonderful little world of cross-pollination is what makes fanfics so fun - Kristof and I are virtually partnering in some ways, and some of the concepts in here were independently conceived by him in his "Brotherly Love", in a case of incredible coincidence They are different worlds but share some elements. My characters are showing up in his fic. There's even a chance real people will show up as bartenders. I've given up trying to keep it all straight. Oh, and if Rick Sky(e) has any living heirs - sorry if I misspelled his name! "Look around you, Baloo! Up here, you're free as a bird! The skies are yours!" Prologue "You know, don't you?" she asked. "Of course I do. Have you forgotten what line of work I'm in?" His dark eyes burned. "I know, Michael, I know. But it seems so - unfair, somehow. When you get into this way of life, you never expect to end up staring at an assignment like this. When I started, I had no family, no responsibilities..." "Angie - this is killing me, you must know that. I love you, and I always will. But we knew when we got into this that the country came first. Anything else - family, love - it had to take a back seat. Even if it means...if it means....." "Yes." she said quietly. "This will be the last one, I'm sure of it. Given your current situation...." "Yeah, that's what I've been led to believe." She sighed. "And you?" He smiled bitterly. "Another assignment, another identity. Some new place, for a while. and then another. It's the life I chose." "I wish - if anything were to - I wish that....." "We've talked about this! You know that's not possible. You know it isn't practical! What kind of life-" "Yes, I know, I know!" she said, waving him to silence. "I know. It's just, well, if anything DOES happen-" "Nothing will happen." he embraced her lightly and kissed her. "Of course, Michael. You're right. Nothing will happen...." PART I The four dogs sat at a round table, two of them - both wearing dark suits and ties - smoking cigarettes which were gradually filling the cramped room with a grey cloud. The other two dogs wore military uniforms, festooned with an array of medals and epaulets, clearly indicating some high rank. "So vat are our options?" the largest dog, and the one with the most military decorations on his uniform, asked in a low grumble. "Ve vill be unable to get any military aircraft in and out of Lasoapsia. Since tensions have risen the security is simply too tight." answered the other soldier. "And yet, ve must get those materials to Alemany. It is absolutely essential to our future endeavors." said the first. "Do not voory, Marshall." cooed one of the suited dogs. "There are far more discreet methods that may be effective." "Vot do you have in mind, Reichunt?" asked the smaller soldier. "Zimple, Major." said the suited man. "Ve must have the materials carried by a civilian carrier - and not an Alemanian von either. This will allow them to pass out of Lasoapsia undetected, provided ve are careful." "And zen?" the Marshall growled. The other suited dog finally spoke. "Ve must hire a firm from a neutral state - a state vhich has a large and regular commercial presence around the world. Zis must not appear to be anysing out of ze ordinary." "Yes, Hans." Reichunt continued. "Ze materials may be transported to a third state - say Myopia for example - vere dere are simple methods of buying ze cooperation of ze local authorities." He pulled a bill out of his pocket and held up , smiling. "From zere we may send an Alemanian transport to complete zere journey." "But Zen we entrust ze materials to someone who is not known to us!" protested the Major. "Ze waters are infested vis thieves and pirates! How can ve be certain that zey will be delivered safely?" Hans spoke up again. "Ve vill simply have to make certain zat we hire ze best pilot - ze one who vill be most certain to safely deliver ze goods. Of course ve vill disguise ze cargo, and zey vill not know vat zey are carrying. It is ze only way. Any direct involvement by our military vill surely be noted. Ve cannot afford any disclosures now. And besides, if zey are caught, ze link to us will be unprovable." He turned to Reichunt. "You vill research - you vill find ze ideal candidate for zis, yes? Ve have little time to vaste. Already our scientists are begging for more materials." "I vill find someone, do not vorry." Reichunt replied. "Mornin' Rebecca!" Baloo called cheerily as he walked down the stairs at Higher for Hire. He whistled a jaunty tune as he headed for the icebox and pulled out a loaf of bread and a jar of jam. "Good morning to you, Baloo!" she smiled. "And where is your _son_ today?" Baloo's face lit up. He loved the way that sounded! He chuckled. "My son is out gettin' the mornin' paper, boss lady. I read the ballgame scores, he reads the news. Go figger, huh?" He sliced a huge chunk of bread and slathered jam on it. "Yeah - go figure!" she laughed. "What's the schedule like for this faaahn Saturday, Miz Manager?" he called , taking a bite of his breakfast. "Just the one drop on Popover Island, Baloo. That's it - you and Kit should be able to take the rest of the day off after that." The grey bear grinned. "Perfect! Seems like a great time for L'il Britches' first flyin' lesson then, wouldn't ya say, Becky?" "You're the teacher, Baloo. I'll leave that part of the job up to you. Just as long as it doesn't effect deliveries..." "Aw, Becky! Come on, don't be such an old spoilsport!" "I have a business to run, Baloo! I want Kit to have this experience as much as you do!" She frowned. "Oh, Baloo, I know it's all legal - " "You bet!" the big bear interrupted. "L'il Britches got 'is learner's licence yesterday - all official." "I know. But I hope we're doing the right thing. He's so young, Baloo - are we asking too much of him?" "C'mon Becky! Ya know better than that! You see the way Kit handles hisself - he's a model employee! You give him a job to do and he does it, every time. Besides, I'm gonna be up there, with him. Don't tell me yer gonna start discriminatin' against him 'cause he's my son!" "Despite what you may think, Baloo, I would never do that. And despite all the reasons you give me to doubt you, I still respect your skills as a pilot." "Thanks bunches!" the pilot grumbled, taking a huge bite of bread and jam. "Besides, Beckers - when the kid's seventeen and gets his licence, official-like, that'll help yer business! You'll have two fully trained pilots the day Kit turns seventeen - he'll already be an ace!" Rebecca stared at her pilot. "Don't you think I know that? That's why I'm allowing you extra flight time in the Sea Duck, paying for the extra gas - because that's an investment in Higher for Hire - and in Kit. When he turns seventeen he can immediately start earning a full pilot's salary - and I can buy a second plane for him. It's good for the company and, more importantly, it's good for Kit's future. He can earn money for college - or not - and decide what he wants to do with all his options open. And there will always be a place for him here." Baloo was taken aback. "Jeez, Becky - didn't know you was thinkin' that way." he said sheepishly. "I know Kit'll be happy when he hears that..." "Let's not give him too much to think about, OK Baloo? Just let him enjoy this experience." A look of sadness crossed her face. "You're lucky - you share something very special with him. You both love flying with your heart and soul, in a way I'll never fully understand. That's enough for Kit, for now." Baloo stared silently, thoughtfully, at Rebecca. After a moment the front door opened and Kit bounced through carrying a copy of the Tribune and a bag. "G'morning! I stopped off and got some muffins from O'Baker's on the way back!" "Kit - how sweet!" Rebecca smiled. "Let me pay you for those-" "Naw, Miz Cunningham! I got 'em!" Kit said He hugged Baloo from behind and the big bear reached back and cuffed his neck. The boy sat at the table and spread out the newspaper, handing Baloo the sports section. "I been saving a few bucks and I just thought you'd like 'em. No big deal." "Thanks, kiddo! You always know how to maker yer ol' Papa Bear happy!" Baloo said, grabbing a muffin and handing one to Kit. "Hey! The Yankees won the series!" "Well, I think it's very sweet Kit!" Rebecca patted him on the shoulder. She snatched three glasses and poured out orange juice, then sat, grabbed a muffin and daintily bit into it. "What's in the paper today?" "Yeah kid, whatcha so interested in the dang newspaper fer every day?" Kit sipped his juice and looked up from the paper. "There's a lot of trouble in Eporue, Baloo. We've been learning about it in school. Things are looking pretty bad. Could be another war." He bit into a muffin. A pained look crossed Baloo's face for an instant. "Danged schools!" he muttered. "Teach kids about wars and stuff at Kit's age! Shouldn't be worryin' about that already!" "I think it's good that Kit shows an interest in world events." Rebecca reached over to stroke the boy's cheek fondly, as he smiled at her. "These things are important." "Some things kids shouldn't have to know about, Becky! You wouldn't understand...." Baloo grumbled angrily. "Anyway!" he said brightening, as he placed a hand in front of Kit's newspaper. "We got bigger fish to fry today, L'il Britches! You know what?" Kit smiled, seemingly aware of what was coming. "We got one drop today, kid - short haul at that! Know what that means? Flyin' lesson today!" "Wa-HOO!" the boy shouted, as Rebecca giggled. He leaped out of his chair and hugged Baloo. "You don't know how long I've dreamed of hearing you say that...." Karl Reichunt sat at the rear of the smoky bar, at a small table in a corner underneath a large painting of Colobus I, first Emperor of Lasoapsia. He nursed a snifter of brandy and a cigarette, and glanced repeatedly at his watch, then the door of the bar. He smoked his first cigarette, lit another and glanced at his watch again. Finally, a grey dog in a long trenchcoat entered the bar and, spotting Reichunt, headed towards the corner, a small wave at the bartender as he passed. Hans sat, nodding at Reichunt, and turned to the bartender who had taken a few steps over from his post. "Schnapps. Raspberry." He said curtly and turned to face Reichunt as the other man took a sip of brandy and watched the bartender's departing back. "My apologies for my tardiness - there are unfriendly faces in ze area. I had to be certain I vas not followed. What news? " he asked his colleague softly. The other dog smiled tightly. "Ve believe that ve have found a suitable locale from which to base the operation-" he paused as the bartender strolled over and gruffly placed a glass of Schnapps in front of Hans. "Cape Suzette appears to be ze perfect choice - zere are countless local shipping agents, and ze entire city is driven by commerce and pursuit of vealth. Is , as ze say, anysing goes, yes?" Hans pursed his lips daintily and took a tiny slug of schnapps. "Zere is no interference from ze local ausorities?" "No, my friend. Zey do not care as long as zere is money to be made. Ze flow of goods in and out is steady and unobserved. It is perfect." "Wery vell. Have you a specific courier chosen?" "No Hans, but zere are numerous choices. Ze city is filled with-" "Zere must be no mistakes, Reichunt. Ve must have a skilled pilot who vill deliver the material without incident. And preferably ze firm that vill ask no questions." "Ve have a few candidates." Reichunt said with a smile. "That's the last of it, Baloo!" Wildcat called from the cargo hold of the Sea Duck. "Roger Wildcat! Thanks." Baloo replied from the cockpit and closed the cargo hatch. It was a small load - twenty-five crates of Belgrum ale to be delivered to the Popover Island Toastmasters Club. Kit swung into the cockpit and hopped across Baloo's lap to the navigator's seat, wearing his oversized bomber jacket over his new green sweater. "Ready, L'il Britches?" the pilot smiled. "Roger, skipper!" The cub replied. He still couldn't quite believe it. That night at Louie's, during the party, Baloo had told him about the story he'd seen in the paper, about the eleven year-old cub that had flown to Malaria and back with her father - and about the old law, passed during the Great War, that anyone eleven or older could fly with a licensed pilot. The law had been passed so that youngsters could be drafted at eighteen and be ready to fly in the war without much training, if needed. Fortunately the war had ended and the practical side of the law had never needed to be tested - but, though nearly forgotten, it had never been repealed. Still, as he sat in the cockpit, preparing for an actual flying lesson with Baloo - his father - it seemed as if it must surely be a dream. He - Kit Cloudkicker - actually flying with Baloo! "Howzabout you start 'er up, kiddo?" Kit blushed - he'd started the Duck on a few occasions before, of course, but it still gave him a little tingling chill down his spine, to feel those engines roar into life. "Gotcha Baloo." Rebecca poked her head through the window. "You be careful!" she admonished, not specifically addressing either bear in the cockpit. "We will." they answered as one, Baloo grimacing as he did. "Remember - cargo - deliver! THAT'S what I'm paying you boys for!." She smiled across at Kit. "And have fun!" "Thanks Miz. Cunningham!" the cub replied, and Rebecca stepped back from the window. "Ready?' Baloo asked with a grin. "Yep." Kit answered a touch nervously. "Ok.... Magnetos on, check..... Set mixture, check... Trim, check....and..throttle up to here........" "Good boy." the big bear nodded approvingly. "OK, we're ready skipper!" The boy looked up expectantly. Baloo scratched his chin. "Tell you what - let's take it slow at first..... You took off in Khan's CT-75, right? Course, that was an airfield takeoff, piece o' cake! Now, if you're ever gonna be a real pilot water takeoffs are the lifeblood of flying. Howzabout you give it a shot?" "Really?" Kit whispered. "Take off in the Sea Duck - right now?" "Gonna have to start somewheres, L'il Britches. And takeoffs are easy - I heard that somewheres. Just take 'er slow and let's get started." "O-OK, Papa Bear!" Kit gulped. The takeoff in Khan's plane had been one thing, but the Sea Duck - that was like a family member. Baloo had extended his trust to a new level. "Ok...reversing props..." he said, extending the co-pilot's control yoke. "Just take her back, nice and slow, kiddo..." Kit delicately backed the yellow seaplane away from the dock and into open water. "OK?" he looked up at Baloo. The big bear smiled. "Yer doin' great! Just reverse the props again, there ya go..." Kit was now in open water, and he scanned the blue surface ahead of him - no obstacles. Now or never, he thought to himself. "Throttle forward." he said aloud, reminding himself of the proper procedures. The Duck started forward. "OK, 40 MPH, throttle ahead, 60 MPH, 70, 80.... stick back..." With a lurch the seaplane's pontoons lifted off of the water and it rose into the sky. "More throttle, nose, up....100 feet...." "Now gently turn her 40 degrees starboard, kid, towards the cliffs. Plenty o' time." Baloo said serenely from the pilot's seat. The boy remembered his lesson with Shere Khan - he wasn't about to jerk the plane into a quick turn that wasn't necessary. He gently eased the wheel to starboard and the plane slowly began to turn. "Little more." Baloo goaded gently. "Giver 'er a touch o' rudder, just a touch...." "Sorry!" the boy said, and was immediately sorry he had. "Calm, Cloudkicker, come on!" he chided himself. He eased the wheel a bit further and slid down to tap the starboard rudder, and the Duck was soon headed directly towards the gap in the cliffs. "OK, skipper, dead on....95 MPH, altitude 220 feet, looking good." Not _too_ bad, I guess." the cub thought to himself. "Great job, L'il Britches, real smooth!" Baloo gave the cub a rub on his head. "Course, I think we'll save maneuvering through the cliffs for a little later!" he grinned, grabbing the wheel. Kit leaned back in his chair, looking unhappy. "I'm sorry, Papa Bear. That was a bush league takeoff." "Aw, kid! Don't start out thinkin' that way! Y'know how long it took me to master a smooth takeoff? It's all feel, Kit - and the only way to get better is experience. And yer gonna be gettin' that in spades. You get the best instincts for flyin' I've ever seen kid, I ain't just sayin' that. Every plane's different, and sometimes yer instincts are gonna be all you got to fly with. That's when someone like you is really gonna shine." "I guess." the cub said, still displeased with his performance. Baloo almost never criticized him anyway, so how could he be sure the pilot meant what he was telling him now? "It just seems like it's gonna take forever to be able to fly like you..." Baloo laughed uproariously as he neatly manoeuvred the Duck through the cliffs. "Holy ailerons kid- take it easy! Y'know how bad I wanted to fly when I was yer age? You got the whole world waitin' for ya. You got the best pilot to teach ya. Just relax and enjoy it. Flyin's the best thing in the world." It was a small office, but was packed with every bit of high-tech communications equipment that was available. The walls were lined with tables covered with radios, Teletype machines, and radar screens. At the circular table in the center of the room sat three men - two leopards - thin, wiry and dressed in conservative black business suits, and a tiger, dressed in a long white labcoat. Each wore a look of extreme concern on their feline countenance. "You're sure, Doctor?" asked the leopard on the left, Perkins, a frown creasing his face. "There appears little doubt, Mr. Perkins. Given what you have told me, the Alemanians must be experimenting with some sort of weapon - or at the very least some sort of powerful energy source." "Dr. Heimenopper - It is your belief that the Alemanians are ahead of us in the race for the understanding of this - technology?" the leopard asked. "Yes sir, that is my belief. We have little understanding of how these elements function, how they are controlled, and worse - we have little access to the raw materials. That is why what you have discovered is so profoundly disturbing." The other leopard finally spoke, without looking up, his dark, haunted eyes staring down at his feet. "I find this all very distasteful, gentlemen - I fear we are embarking on a journey we do not fully understand. Nevertheless, given the current political climate in Eporue, we cannot simply sit back and allow the Alemanians a free hand." He sighed and stood, facing the tiger. "Dr. Heimenopper - rest assured that the government will continue to support your research in whatever way we must." He turned to the other leopard. "Perkins, priority number one is to locate the source of the materials. Priority number two is to determine how they're making it into Alemany under our noses." "Yes sir." Perkins relied stiffly. "To our tasks, gentlemen - and let us hope that this entire affair does not grow to fill all of our lives with regret." He walked out the door and was gone. The drop on Popover Island had gone seamlessly, and the bear and cub had even had time for a leisurely lunch at one of the waterfront cafes that lined Popover Harbor. It was a beautiful spot, the weather was gorgeous, and Rebecca had given them the afternoon off. Kit's mood had lightened, and Baloo was relaxed, enjoying his first Saturday off with his son. Once again Baloo had allowed Kit to execute the takeoff - no grand gesture, given the wide open nature of Popover harbor, but the lad needed the experience, and had seemed more relaxed than he had earlier in Cape Suzette. Baloo wondered if the boy hadn't been a little extra nervous, knowing Rebecca and Wildcat had been watching. They were about 15 minutes out from Popover, over open blue water, and they had passed quickly, the bear and cub engaged in small talk and good-natured banter, Kit's occasional peals of laughter music to the big bear's ears. He just hadn't heard that often enough lately! Kit was enjoying the flight - the hum of the engines, the clear blue sky and brilliant sea beneath them, the sense of leisure and the presence of Baloo a few feet away from him. Kit felt good - the whole world seemed a panorama of possibilities now, where a scant few days before it had seemed grim and hopeless, a narrow corridor to an unwanted destination, with no room to turn around. Somehow, the big grey bear had found a way to reach Kit in that corridor, and pull him free - like a mouse in a maze that was lifted clear, only then to see the vastness of the world that had existed outside his field of vision. He was overwhelmed with a rush of gratitude to Baloo, and involuntarily he grinned stupidly and stared over at the big bear. "What?" the pilot asked with a puzzled laugh. Kit blushed. "Nothing, Papa Bear. I'm - just enjoying the flight." Baloo seemed to somehow sense Kit's thoughts, and punched him on the shoulder wordlessly. After a moment he spoke. "This is pretty neat, huh?" "What's that?" Kit asked with a small querying smile. "Us. You and me. We're sittin' here and I'm your Dad and you're my Son. Just don't seem possible, but here we are!" Kit lounged back in his chair and looked at the pilot. "You read my mind." "Kit - yunno, I sure am - I mean, I'm damn proud, I want you to know that. We don't talk much about that stuff, but I am sure am proud to have you for a kid, y'know?" "I know." Kit replied and looked out ahead. "You know, for a long time I thought - I thought that there must've been a reason why I was alone so long. I felt like - like I was paying off a debt, or something... I still wake up sometimes and for a minute, I look over - I can't really believe that this is MY life. I close my eyes and half expect to see you gone when I open 'em, but I open 'em and you're still there." Baloo coughed, briefly shot a glance at Kit and checked the instrument panel. "You know, we're over open water here, and we're on our own time and Becky's avgas. Why don't you take the stick and we'll try some maneuvers?" "Sure!" the cub answered with a broad grin. He reached out to pull up the yoke on the navigator's side, but Baloo placed a hand over his. The big bear unbuckled and stood. "Naw, go ahead and sit here - just get a feel and fly the plane for a bit. This is the seat to be in - best look at the panel, easiest access to the controls. Have a seat." Slowly, Kit unbuckled and stood, sliding over to the pilot's seat in awe. He ran his hands over the controls, feeling the cockpit as it opened up in front of him. He expected Baloo to lean over the back of the chair and watch him from there, but the grey bear slid into Kit's chair and both buckled in. "Now, there ain't nuthin' to crash into out here 'cept seagulls, kid - no even a hare-brained runt like you could wreck us! So just take it easy!" Baloo said with a laugh. Kit chuckled sheepishly, knowing the big bear was just trying to relax him - but even in spite of the knowledge it worked. He almost always knew what Baloo was trying to do - the big bear was largely guileless in his dealings with Kit - but still, he couldn't resist him. That was why he loved him so much, he supposed. Kit lightly grabbed the stick with both hands. "Check altitude and airspeed." Baloo said gently from beside him. "Roger, altitude 5200 feet, airspeed 186 MPH." the boy said. "Heading?" "Uh, ninety-six degrees, west-southwest." "Allright, just hold her steady for a bit......" Kit flashed back briefly to the first time he had been in the Sea Duck and Baloo had let him take the controls for a few moments. "Get the feel for 'er, kiddo. She's a good ol' bird, she'll be true to ya. Just get the feel for how she moves, how she responds to the controls. Remember this is supposed to be fun - that's why we're doin' it, right L'il Britches? OK, now, nice and slow, ease her up to 5600 feet." Kit gently eased the stick back with his left hand, and raised the throttle a hair with his right, and the Duck climbed slowly as the roar from the engines increased a semitone. The seaplane gently climbed as Kit watched the altimeter. "OK, leveling her off." the cub said, easing the stick forward and pulling back the throttle a tick. He smiled - a smile which lit the entire cockpit and, to Baloo's eyes, was like a bright summer afternoon. "No feelin' like it is there, kid?" the big bear whispered as the boy leveled off the plane. "Wow!" the boy gasped. "That felt so - so -" "Yeah, didn't it?" Baloo grinned over at the cub. "Say Baloo - since I'm flying, do you wanna go out the back on my airfoil?" Kit asked, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I don't think it'd hold me, kid!" Baloo said and both bears laughed uproariously. They sat silently for a moment, staring ahead, no words passing between them as Kit held the plane on it's steady course. "OK, kid, now how about a nice, gentle, roundhouse turn - a sweet little 360 degree loop." "Which way?" "Surprise me!" the pilot said, sitting back in his chair. "Roger." the cub said. He eased the wheel to port, and began a slow turn, sliding down in the chair to tap the port rudder pedal. The plane eased into a languid circle. "What's yer altitude?" Baloo queried. "5500 -oops!" "Don't forget, kiddo - when you turn the plane some of the forward momentum is lost - them scientists have a formula for it, but all I know is you gotta goose the throttle a little to keep yer altitude steady when yer in a long turn. Not too much - just a little." Kit complied - now he was concentrating on the rudder, stick and throttle simultaneously. He forced himself to watch the altimeter, knowing that he couldn't trust his eyes to judge his altitude exactly when he was more than a mile up. It seemed to take an eternity, but the plane inched back up to 5600 feet as it completed it's slow loop. Kit leveled off the plane and resumed his course. "Sweet!" Baloo said approvingly. "Resuming ninety-six west-southwest, airspeed 184 MPH, altitude 5600 feet - well maybe 5598!" Kit glanced over at Baloo expectantly, a toothy, nervous smile on his face. "Well, whaddaya want - a medal?" Baloo mocked. He reached over and playfully pulled Kit's cap down over his eyes. "Hey!" the cub protested. "Dang good flyin', L'il Britches. That was some real nice touch. Just remember that - remember what it felt like when you tapped the rudder, banked the stick. Remember how the engines reacted when you goosed the throttle. But dang - that was some nice flyin'! Yer gonna be an ace, kiddo!" "Gee- thanks Baloo!" Kit blushed. "OK, let's just hold her steady for a while - just keep this heading, and watch the wind, make whatever adjustments you need to keep her at about 5600, and 185 MPH." "Roger that!" The flew in silence for a while, Kit periodically making slight adjustments in course and constantly scanning the horizon and instrument panel.. Baloo sat, hands behind his head, alternating his gaze between the seas beneath them and surreptitious glances at the flight controls in front of the boy. "Kit - how'd ya know so much about flyin' when I met ya, anyways?" Kit looked over. "Oh, you know - I read a lot of books, hung around at airfields whenever I could..." "Yeah, I know kid. But where'd ya get that _passion _? I never knew anybody so stuck on planes and flyin' as you, even then." Kit looked back at the controls. "I don't know, really... I guess.... I don't know-" Baloo frowned. "Don't worry L'il Britches, it ain't important. We're here now, that's the main thing." Kit seemed relieved to have that part of the conversation over, and cheerfully but nervously resumed his study of the horizon and the instrument panel. Baloo stared ahead, a thoughtful expression on his face. Content to let the boy hold the plane steady, Baloo said nothing for a while. Finally, he unbuckled and stood. "Good job, L'il Britches. But we're gonna be gettin' back home pretty soon. Let's switch seats." Kit complied, looking slightly disappointed, and buckled in. "Aw, don't take it hard, kid. That was some real nice pilotin'! But I don't think yer ready for landin' quite yet! _Or_ one o' these!" Baloo yelled, taking the plane into a hair-raising reverse Immelman. "Yeee-HA!" the cub yelled gleefully as the engines wailed in their exertion. Baloo, laughing, banked the plane out of the spin and righted her, pointed towards the cliffs appearing now as a tiny speck on the horizon. Baloo and Kit shared a look of sheer joy, both panting slightly from their laughter and excitement. "No sir, nothing like it in the world, kiddo." Baloo said with a sigh. "You better believe it!" Kit replied. "Nothing else comes close..." Perkins sat at his desk, nervously shuffling papers, glancing at the clock repeatedly. Finally, the door opened, and Perkins' superior walked in, accompanied by a tall walrus in a well-tailored, dark blue suit. Perkins rose stiffly as the two men entered the office. The leopard spoke first. "Perkins, I don't believe you know Mr. Stadler, Special Advisor to the President?" he asked, gesturing at his companion. "Pleasure to meet you Mr. Stadler, sir." Perkins said nervously, reaching over the desk to shake the walrus' fin. "Howdyado." the walrus said gruffly, seating himself in one of the two chairs that faced Perkins' desk. The leopard sat in the other. "Now then gentlemen - I'm a very busy man, as I'm sure you are as well. Let's get right to the point. The president needs to know what's happening with the Alemanian situation and he needs to know now. Major national security issues are hinging on it. Director?" The leopard shifted in his seat. "Well, we know now that the Alemanians are getting the material from somewhere - they are clearly leaping ahead of us in this race. Perkins has been trying to establish an exact location...." "Well?" the walrus asked impatiently, staring at Perkins. "Yes. Well, we believe that the source of the material is somewhere in Central Farmosa - quite possibly Lasoapsia or Chowchowtzu. But we haven't been able to pinpoint the exact source yet." Stadler huffed impatiently. "Is that what I'm supposed to tell the President? That we aren't sure where the Alemanians are getting the stuff, but we're damn sure they're getting it and we aren't?" "W-well sir-" Perkins began. The Director intervened. "You can tell the President that we will have a source nation for the material by the end of the week. Perkins is my best man, and he's got our top people on it. We're getting close." "And why aren't we getting the stuff ourselves, Director? Why are they finding it and we aren't?" "Sir, when we're able to pinpoint the source nation, we can track it back to the actual source - the mines themselves. We'll either get it or make damn sure the Alemanians don't!" Perkins said pleadingly. Stadler stared at him for a long moment. "Very well. I expect to know the source nation by the end of the week, and so will the President." He turned to the Director. "This is too important for gambles, Director. When the fertilizer hits the propeller I want you in the field heading up the operation personally." The leopard arched an eyebrow. "Me, sir? I haven't done field work for a few years, you know." "Nevertheless - that is our expectation. Now, if you will excuse me gentlemen, the President is awaiting a report. And Michael - we cannot afford to miss on this one." The walrus spun and left. Perkins looked helplessly at the Director, who smiled grimly and left the office. It was getting late in the day when Rebecca Cunningham finally decided to load up her papers and head home. The autumn sun was beginning to set and Molly would be home from Day Care soon. Baloo and Kit walked into the office, chatting gaily and laughing. Baloo had delivered his cargo on time for a change and was looking rather pleased with himself; Kit had arrived home from school a while earlier and the two had been sitting in the docks talking about - pilot stuff, of some sort - she didn't follow the conversation but it was music to their ears. "Headin' out, Boss Lady?" Baloo asked, flopping down into the easy chair and taking off his hat. "Yes, Baloo, about that time. Good job today, by the way. The client was very pleased." Baloo and Kit shared a grin. "Always happy to play my part for the company, Beckers!" Kit sprinted up the stairs. "Gonna hit the books for a while, guys. See you later, Miz Cunningham! Bye!" "Bye, sweetie, see you tomorrow!" she called after the cub. Always in a hurry, like all boys his age..... He was such an adult, in so many ways, but such a little boy sometimes, too.... Baloo looked over at her. "What ya got planned fer tomorra, Miz. Manager?" Rebecca glanced up from her briefcase with a look of mild surprise at the question. "Well, I have that meeting with the perspective client tomorrow, Mr. Jones, I told you about that." "Yeah, that's a weird one, flyin' all the way to Lasoapsia to make a pickup, then droppin' it in Myopia! What the heck do they want _us_ fer?" "Who cares, Baloo? The money could be tremendous, if what Mr. Jones told me on the phone is accurate." Baloo lounged in the chair, absently playing with his hat. "So howz Molly doin'? She like Kiddygarten?" Rebecca could clearly sense a strange mood from Baloo - the big bear obviously didn't want her to leave -there was something on his mind, but he was taking his sweet time to get there. "She's fine Baloo, she loves her school. Um... how are the flying lessons going?" "Oh fine, Becky. L'il Britches is a natural - he's just a little exuberant sometimes. I'm bringin' him along nice an' slow, an' he's doin' good, real good." "That's great, Baloo. Listen, is there something bothering you? Something you want to talk about?" "Well, since ya mention it..." The grey bear sat up in the chair and tossed his hat onto the table. Rebecca walked over and sat on the table, facing the pilot. "What's up? Everything going OK with Kit? Father problems? You're still new at this, Baloo-" "Naw!" Baloo said with a wave. "Kit's aces - he's a great kid, we're gettin' along fine. Sometimes I wonder who's the Dad and who's the kid! It's just..." "What?" "Well, I just can't help but wonderin' why Kit don't wanna tell me - stuff, y'know? About his life. I mean, I'm his father now, officially. He must know I'm not goin' anywhere, no matter what he says-" "Baloo." Rebecca sighed. "I don't know what to tell you, except don't worry. We all have our own closet, inside us, where we hide things away. Maybe Kit doesn't want to talk about those things because he doesn't like to remember them. Besides, he's told you a _few_ things..." "I know, Beckers..." the grey bear said, biting a fingernail absently. "I just kinda wonder you know, if maybe the kid still doesn't trust me, somehow." Rebecca moved over and sat on the arm of the easy chair, hand on Baloo's shoulder reassuringly. "Kits trusts you Baloo - as much as he trusts anyone. He just needs a lot of time. I think maybe he believes that part of his life was like another person - that it has nothing to do with who he is now." She smiled at him and rose, grabbing her coat. "He loves you Baloo, and he trusts you - just let him come to you when he's ready. Being a parent is about patience if it's about anything. And maybe you should tell him a little more about you - who you were before you knew him. Maybe that would open a door that he won't be afraid to use later. Have a good night and try not to worry too much - although I know you will anyway! And wear your best flight shirt tomorrow afternoon, we need to look fighting trim for that meeting!" "Right Becky, thanks!" he called after her. "Decent gal, that Beckers." Baloo leaned back and closed his eyes in thought. Rebecca stared at the grey dog seated across her desk. What a strange one he was - impeccably dressed, perfect, precise manner of speaking, but there was something - alien - about him, somehow. "So you see, Mr. Jones, Higher for Hire has the perfect performance record and qualifications for your needs." The dog smiled thinly. "Indeed, Ms. Cunningham. Your pilot does indeed have quite a reputation for skill. You must understand, these shipments are extremely important to my clients, and if there are any problems-" "I can assure you, Mr. Jones, that all of our shipments are important, and we treat them as such. Our pilot is known for his sobriety and efficiency as well as his skill." she said with a grin. "Is he indeed?" Kit and Baloo walked in, chatting gaily, then silenced when they saw Jones. Baloo coughed, and elaborately straightened out his flight shirt, which, Rebecca noticed, had been freshly laundered. "Mr. Jones, may I introduce you to Mr. Baloo, our pilot? He's the finest aviator in Usland, bar none." "Awww!" Baloo blushed, taking the dog's paw and vigorously shaking it. "Real pleasure to make yer acquaintance, Jonesy!" "Indeed?" the dog replied, arching an eyebrow, as Rebecca groaned silently. "The pleasure is mine, Mr. Baloo." "Oh, and this is Kit Cloudkicker, he's our navigator." Rebecca added, pointing to Kit, who was peering at the dog from behind Baloo's back. The cub tentatively stuck out his paw, and the dog shook it. "Hello sir." the boy said meekly. "Your navigator? Indeed. That is very - cute - Ms. Cunningham, but I wonder-" "Now just a minute, Mr. Jones!" Baloo interrupted, as Rebecca dragged her finger across her throat in an urgent attempt to quiet him down. "Kit may be young, but he ain't no mascot - he's a workin' navigator and a darn good one. He gets all our weather reports, draws up the flight plans, makes all the course corrections. It ain't no gimmick - the kid's a pro and I don't apologize for 'im!" The pilot threw an arm around Kit's shoulder defensively. The dog pursed his lips at Baloo, then smiled, seeming to have enjoyed Baloo's outburst. He turned back to Rebecca. "Very well then. I believe all that remains are the terms of our agreement." Sharing a look of surprise, Baloo and Kit walked over to the table and sat down. "Y-yes Mr. Jones. I have a contract prepared, if you'd like to take a look at it..." The dog looked briefly at the document. "So we agree then - One thousand dollars for each shipment. I cannot guarantee what the exact schedule will be, but it is vital that any and all requests for pickups be met within six hours - even if you must delay your other clients. My customers need their deliveries promptly, and I believe that I am paying a sufficient premium for your services to expect that guarantee.' "Yes, as you'll see that's included in the contract, paragraph four...." The dog read briefly, pulled a pen out of his breast pocket and briskly signed the contract once, twice. He returned the pen to it's place, stood, and stiffly reached out his hand to Rebecca, who shook it. "Then it is done. I look forward to a mutually profitable relationship, Ms. Cunningham." He glanced over at Baloo and Kit and smiled. "I trust you will not disappoint me." He strode out the door and was gone. Rebecca stared down at the contract in front of her with a grin. "I can't believe it! A thousand dollars, open-ended...." "A thousand bucks! Geez, Becky, what the heck are we deliverin' for that kinda money? And there's something about that guy..." "No thanks to you!" Rebecca snapped at Baloo. "You don't talk to potential clients that way, Mister! You could have cost us a very lucrative deal-" "He didn't seem to mind, Miz Cunningham." Kit offered, trying to help Baloo off the hook - after all, it was _he_ the pilot had been defending. "Yeah, Becky, all's well that ends well. But there's somethin' about that guy - an' NObody talks about my navigator that way!" "Hmmm. Well, his money's still green, Baloo, and we're going to be seeing a lot of it!" "There, Baloo - Ten o'clock!" Kit said, pointing to a strip of lights off to the left of the Sea Ducks nose. "Looks like about a mile out." "Looks like it's about ten o'clock, too!" Baloo frowned, banking the plane towards the runway. "I don't see what the goldanged hurry is, we gotta fly to Lasoapsia in the middle of the night to pick up these dang *artifacts*." "Like Rebecca said, Papa Bear, as long as he's paying a grand a load, he calls the shots. And he said his customers were real anxious to get there hands on this stuff, whatever it is. And I'm real anxious to get my hands on our flight bonuses for these runs!" "You got that right, kid!" the pilot replied, taking the Duck down gently between the runway lights. They taxied over to the freight terminal and disembarked. After a moment a small truck drove across the tarmac and stopped next to the yellow seaplane's cargo hatch. A coyote in a brown uniform and hat walked out of the truck and over to where Baloo and Kit stood waiting. "Higher for Hire?" he asked, in the peculiar lilting Lasoapsian accent. "Yup, you got 'em chief. You got my delivery?" Baloo barked. Kit shivered from the cold, even in his jacket, and the pilot absently wrapped an arm around the cub's shoulder. The cub glanced around - the tarmac was largely deserted, except for a black car parked a dozen or so yards away. Kit squinted, and made out three silhouettes in the vehicle. "In truck." the coyote said. He turned and opened the rear door of the truck, extracting a wooden plank which he used as a ramp. Baloo peeked inside, and was surprised to see only one box. "That's it? One measly box for all that airtime? Why don't ya just hand it to me?" The coyote did not respond, but instead pulled a hand cart down off the wall of the truck and began to slide it under the box as Baloo scratched his head. Kit pulled himself back into the cockpit and opened the Sea Duck's cargo hatch. Sweating from exertion, even in the chill night air, the coyote wrestled the box down the ramp and onto the Sea Duck. Baloo examined the box -it was a moderately sized wooden crate, and had an extremely durable looking lock on it's latch. The coyote set the box in the center of the hold, slipped the handtruck from underneath it and returned the cart to his truck. "I think it'd be better if we put it over by the wall - don't want 'er shiftin' around." Baloo said, bending to lift the box. He strained and grunted but was barely able to shift it. "Geez! What the heck they shipping here-lead?!" he howled. The coyote returned with a freight order on a clipboard. "Local artisans - use very heavy materials in work. This box is - candlesticks." He held out the clipboard for Baloo as Kit examined the box curiously. "Think it'll be fine right where it is." Baloo mumbled, signing the order. "Payment is upon delivery." The coyote said and was gone. Baloo and Kit looked dumbfoundedly at each other, shrugged and returned to the cockpit. The next few weeks had seen a lot of smiles at Higher for Hire - there had been several more deliveries from Lasoapsia, some at night but mostly daytime runs, and while the flights to Lasoapsia and Myopia were fairly long, the deliveries themselves were easy and there had been no problems. Rebecca had decided to share the newfound bounty with her crew - Baloo received a hundred dollar bonus and Kit fifty every time they made a delivery for Jones. Baloo appreciated her newfound generosity, but suspected that it was due, at least in part, to her belief that any money she gave to him now was indirectly given to Kit as well. Maybe as a single parent she was just trying to make things a little easier on Baloo. Whatever the reasons, he didn't mind the extra cash. They were loading the Sea Duck for an early afternoon run to Freedonia when the Khan Avgas truck pulled up to fill up Higher for Hire's tanks. Rebecca stepped out of the building and waved to the driver, a uniformed leopard who smiled and waved back as he stepped off the truck. Kit paused for a moment and wiped his brow, leaning on a box of rolled oats. Baloo stepped out of the cockpit and joined him on the dock. "These reg'lar cargo runs seem downright excitin' after all those idiot runs, huh kid?" Kit smiled and nodded. One of the unpleasant aspects of the "idiot runs" as Baloo and Kit had taken to calling them was that they had decided up front not to do any flight training on those missions. Baloo felt that the terrain was generally too mountainous and the weather too unpredictable in the northern climes, and Rebecca was concerned that Jones, peculiar and demanding as he was, would not approve. Kit understood, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Kit put on what he hoped was his most cute and pathetic expression - he was a little ashamed, but what the heck - and looked up at Baloo. "Think I can do some flying today, Papa Bear?" he asked sadly, looking quickly down at his feet after he made eye contact with the pilot. "I had a feelin' you were gonna ask me that." Baloo grumbled good-naturedly. "Sure kid. You can do the takeoff and we'll try some new maneuvers out over the water, if the weather holds." Kit looked around quickly - had that gas delivery guy been staring at him? The leopard was busily watching the gauges as he filled the tanks. Maybe not. He returned his gaze to Baloo. "Thanks, Papa Bear! D'ya think maybe... well - maybe I could fly through the cliffs today?" "Don't gimme that look kid!" Baloo smiled at the boy. "Not yet Kit - don't rush it. I just wanna make sure yer ready is all. Now go get yerself strapped in and we'll blow outta here." Kit shrugged, disappointed but not devastated It never hurt to ask - that was the first thing he'd learned with Baloo as a father. The big bear didn't always think of things first but he was pretty receptive, as adults went. He headed up to the cockpit, and after a moment peered out the window. This time, he saw the avgas man quickly looking away - he _had_ been staring at him! Kit watched the man for a moment, but he simply continued his work, whistling jauntily. "Must be getting paranoid, Cloudkicker!" he muttered to himself. "Close the hatch and start 'er up, kid!" Baloo yelled from behind him. Kit fancied that his takeoffs were getting pretty good - he'd had quite a bit of practice and Baloo was pretty much ceding that part of the flight to him by now, absent unusual circumstances. The Freedonia run had lacked any of those, to say the least, and the cub was ready for something different. They were about half an hour out from Freedonia, and Kit was at the controls, in the pilot's chair. Baloo preferred to have him seated there for any actual piloting. The weather was clear, the sea was calm and open ocean lay underneath them in all directions. It was flying that Kit felt, quite honestly, that he could do in his sleep, but he was still enjoying himself. Baloo looked over at him thoughtfully. "Howzabout we try a landin', Kid?" Kit gulped - that had been sudden! "A landing? Really?" Baloo scratched his chin. "Yeah kid, every pilot's gotta land for the first time sooner or later. Middle of the ocean on a calm day's about the best place to do it. Nothin' to crash into and the runway's 200 miles long! What's yer altitude and airspeed?" Kit checked the gauges. "OK, 4400 feet, 187 MPH." "Bring her down slowly, and we'll take it from there." Kit swallowed, forced a smile at Baloo and gently eased the wheel forward. The Sea Duck began to lose altitude slowly. "Good. Nice and slow....I'm right here if you need me. Watch your airspeed and horizon." Kit glanced over at the pilot - he was calmly seated, feet on the dash, glancing over at the controls but seemed quite nonchalant, not having even placed his hands on the co-pilot's control yoke. The big bear must be churning a little inside - Kit knew HE was - but he was making a grand effort not to appear to be worried. Kit felt a stab of gratitude for Baloo and it calmed his nerves - this was the greatest pilot Kit knew and he _believed_ in him! The plane felt good, stable under his hands. He slowly guided her down for a few moments. "OK, we're at 700 feet, airspeed 135 MPH. Throttle back?" "Yup, throttle back - bring our airspeed down slowly, yer not to gonna need to use the wheel much. Take us down to about 110 MPH and 300 feet." Baloo took his feet down off the dash and leaned forward, studying the horizon. "OK, 300 feet, 290 maybe.... Airspeed 110 MPH." Kit looked over at Baloo, who nodded reassuringly. "OK, wheel forward.....260 feet....230.... Ease the throttle back a hair...." "Remember you'll wanna be at about 90 MPH when you tap the water L'il Britches. Let the plane do the work." "OK, Papa Bear....200 feet... 100MPH, easing the throttle back....flaps....." Kit studied his horizon, and eased the wheel to the right - his left wing was a touch low. "All right, 100 feet, airspeed 95 MPH, easing the throttle back....." "Take 'er down nice and slow, kiddo." Baloo said, a hint of nervous excitement - and something else - creeping into his voice. His hand found it's way to Kit's back and stayed there. Kit exhaled deeply - he had been holding his breath! "50 feet. Cutting throttle...92 MPH....steady, steady..." The boy gently eased the plane down, his glance darting between the instruments and the sea below him. At last, the speedometer read 90 MPH and he glanced out - the sea was right there ! Why weren't they touching? "Relax, you're almost there, just keep her level." he said aloud. Then, with a sound that was a symphony to Kit's ears, he heard the pontoons splash gently onto the sea - the left a touch before the right, but oh, well! - and the Sea Duck was on the water. Kit smiled and stared, for just a split second, them with a rush, remembered to cut the engines. They droned to silence, the Duck skimmed the surface of the water for a hundred yards or so and stopped. They sat, rocking very gently in the smooth sea, in silence - Kit staring straight out the front window, almost in disbelief that he'd finally achieved this small part of his dream. He started to giggle, then laugh aloud, prompting a bemused smile from Baloo. The cub unstrapped and flipped his cap buoyantly into the cargo hold, still laughing uproariously. He wrapped his arms around the pilot's neck and slowly his laughter subsided to a few intermittent giggles. "You lose style points for that, kid." Baloo said with a chuckle. "Good pilots don't gloat." The Sea Duck lolled gently in the glassy seas. The day was drawing closer to it's conclusion and the sun sank low in the cloudless sky. Baloo trooped back to the cargo hold and grabbed a couple of dusty deck chairs, which he tossed onto the wing. "C'mon, kid - we ain't got nowhere to be an' it's a gorgeous day. Let's watch the sun set." He climbed out onto the wing and extended a hand. "Grab a couple o' sodas and climb on up here." Kit took two bottles and handed them to Baloo, then grabbed the pilot's hand and was pulled up onto the wing. Bear and cub sat in the chairs, the plane rocking gently, and stared to the west. The entire sky was slowly turning a brilliant burnt orange as the sun sunk lower - a color which contrasted dramatically with the azure Pacific. Kit wasn't sure he'd ever seen anything so beautiful. Except maybe for Sasha's face.... Neither bear said anything for few moments, content to enjoy the scenery and each other's company. Finally Kit turned to Baloo and grinned sheepishly. "Thanks!" "Fer what, L'il Britches?" the big bear smiled, swigging his soda. "For understanding." the boy said, pausing for a long draw on his bottle. "For letting me fly. It's a dream, and it's coming true. A lot of my dreams are lately, I guess." Baloo sighed luxuriantly and settled further into the chair. "I know that dream kid. I-I-..well, I been there. It's hard to explain, kid, but once you've tasted the air, the ground just can't keep you happy." The big bear was silent, a thoughtful look on his face. He glanced over at the cub for a long moment. "What?" Kit asked, smiling self-consciously. Baloo took another pull of his soda. "Kid, I guess I never told you why I love flyin' so much, did I?" "It's not important, Papa Bear. I don't need-" "Naw!" the pilot interrupted. "I wanna talk about it. I haven't really talked to anybody about it, fer a while...since..." A pained look flashed in his eyes. "I was born in Cape Suzette, didya know that kid? On the double-zero, March. Course, the city wasn't like it is now - didn't have all that glitzy money ever'where, shiny new buildings and such. The world was a different place, when I was growin' up...." Kit sat up in his chair and leaned over on his elbow, listening. "First thing I guess I gotta tell ya is that my Mama -well, she died kid, when I was five years old. Lotta folks died young in them days - still do I guess, but back then we had influenza epidemics, and the like. She - she died in the big flu outbreak of zero-five." The big bear closed his eyes and smiled, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Kit stared, wide-eyed and silent, at his father. "She was a special lady, kid. I don't remember much about her, but I remember that. She used to sing a little song to me, at night, help me get ta sleep. Drove my Daddy nuts, he hated that melody....." Kit hesitated, reached out towards Baloo but stopped. "After she...died, my Daddy was never quite the same. I don't wanna tell ya' he was a bad man, kiddo. But he-he liked to drink a little. A little too much. And he wasn't a happy fella, after my Mama died. He ran his business, and he didn't have too much time fer me, or....well, he just wasn't a happy fella, but he put food in my belly an' a roof over my head, so I guess I can't complain too much. Besides, he gave me my love fer boogie-woogie music, and I guess I owe 'im fer that! "I Got Them Flat-Broke, Sticky Shoes, No Banana Boogie-Woogie Blues" - man, what a tune! Fats Wallaby, Scott Joplane - kiddo, we had music then! In them days, kid, the world was a different place. We was just startin' to take to the air, then. Airplanes was new, excitin'.....most o' the freight an' stuff was still shipped by train an' ship, but there was cropdusters, airshows - barnstormers we called 'em. Pilot's flyin around from town to town, entertainin' the locals. And one o' those guys - he was my brother." Kit was by now totally engrossed by the pilot's story, and watched him intently. His jaw dropped a little at Baloo's mention of a brother. Baloo glanced over and tossed him a small smile. "Horace was a lot older 'n me - more than ten years. My Daddy loved 'im.....He was always a natural fer machines, and he was nuts for speed. Ever'thing in a hurry. He was flyin' by the time he was seventeen, an' he was travelin' in an airshow by the time he was twenty-one. I didn't see too much of 'im after that, he was always on tour somewheres, and then he joined up...but that's later I guess. I loved him, L'il Britches - he was ever'thing I wanted to be. He was strong, he was handsome, and boy could he fly! First time I ever saw him in that old Stropwith Dromedary, single-engine....All I ever wanted to do after that was fly. He wrote me a lot o' letters, and whenever he was close by I'd see him, but...anyways, my Daddy thought I was wastin' my time - thought I'd never amount to a pilot in my lifetime, he wanted me to work in his business." Kit reached out and gently touched Baloo's arm, and the big grey bear absently patted the cub's hand, without looking over, and continued his tale. "Course, it weren't like I were lonely, kid. I had friends, ya know....There was this neat guy that lived next door, Buzz - heck, ya know Buzz, L'il Britches! He started out as an aircraft designer, did ya know that? He was always workin' on something, but started out with airplanes... I used to go over there ever' Saturday, and I'd hang out in his garage, and watch him work on whatever weird project he had goin' on. He taught me a lot about aerodynamics an' the like. He was a real friend, kid, always had something I could help him with, an' he never talked to me like I was stupid, even though I couldn't understand most o' what he was talkin' about! He was a real friend....Still is - when he's around! And then there was Uncle Moe. Uncle Moe! What kin I say about him, L'il Britches? He was my Mama's big brother. He moved to Cape Suzette a few years after Mama died. He had a little money, an' he didn't work too hard. He knew how ta have a good time, kiddo. "Relax, Baloo - the faster ya move through life, the faster it's over!" he used ta tell me. He kinda knew my father and I weren't - well - he kinda understood. He used to take me out for malts and stuff, buy me comic books - man o man, the comic books! We had _real_ comics in them days, kid, not like this "Bullethead" stuff ya got today....." Baloo grinned at Kit, and the boy smiled back. "Moe was a lot older than my Dad, and he - he passed away when I was about eleven. He left me a few bucks - made sure it was tied up til' I was eighteen, so - well, never mind. He was smarter than people give 'im credit for, Britches. I missed the heck outta him. Pretty soon after, the world was really startin' to change. There was a lot of bad things starting to happen, over in Eporue. My brother was talkin' about joining up, an' he did, eventually. I figgered I'd join up too, one day. I helped my Dad, went to school, an' hung around the airfield - it really was a _field_ in them days, L'il Britches! - and tried to talk to every pilot I saw. In them days my big heroes was men like Rick Skye - I read about him ever' chance I got, comic books, newspapers.....Rick Skye. Wow! I always wanted to be like him, kid. Brave, honest, and true. And Ol' Whistlestop Jackson! Boy, you remember him, kid - course he was a shell o' the man he was in the teens by the time you met 'im, but a hero once is a hero always in my book. He was the greatest aviator of his day. No fear - he'd go anywhere, do anythin', uncharted seas - he was a real pioneer. In them days it was just a pilot and a plane against the world. Most o' the places ol' Whistlestop went weren't even mapped yet, not really. Those were my heroes, kid. Guys like Whistlestop, Rick Skye...an' my brother. Right before he left for Eporue he gave me a ride in his plane, I'll never fergit it.....So anyways, I was plannin' to get through school an' start flyin' as soon as I could. Things was starting to get pretty hot over there, and it looked like only a matter o' time before there was a war....And then only a matter o' time before Usland got itself into it.... Then, one day, Daddy was haulin' some stuff an' he was in an accident - hurt 'is back real bad. He couldn't run 'is business anymore, not like he needed to. Horace wanted to come back - it was a hardship - an' help him....but my Daddy wouldn't let him. said he was doin' important stuff and he wouldn't let him stop. So I-I had ta quit school then, an' help my Daddy out." Kit continued to stare intently at the pilot, his eyes shining. "It weren't like I was a genius, kid - I was an OK student, but all I wanted to do was fly anyways. Who needed school fer that? An' as fer...other stuff.....well, I was pretty much just around guys, ya know, when I was growin' up, so I never felt too comfortable around girls anyways. So I figgered, no big deal, pilot don't need school..... So I quit, and I helped my Daddy out. He was laid flat out most o' the time - he could walk and such, but it hurt him terrible...Course with all that time sittin' down he started to drink more too.... Anyways, he wasn't real happy, and neither was I. My Daddy was a painter, kid - a house painter, ya know, did homes an' businesses and such. It don't sound like much but he were good at it, an' Cape Suzette was growin', there was a lot o' work. I did my best, and we didn't do as good as before, but we managed to keep the business goin'. I sure hated it tho'. All I wanted to do was fly. An' my Daddy used to say, "Who in there right mind would let a chowderhead like you fly an airplane?" He didn't wanna hear no part of it, kid. He used to throw away my comics, so I hadda hide 'em. I used to sneak out, whenever I could... head over to the airfield, over to Buzz's place - he still wasn't workin' for Khan yet - and he'd let me fly with him sometimes when his planes was bein' tested.....And my brother, he sent us letters.... Then the war started. My brother was in the army, and he was in training a lot, so we almost never saw him. My Daddy was drinkin' real heavy now, he didn't even pay that much attention to the business. I'd do only as many jobs as I had to, no more, an' finish 'em early an' sneak over to Buzz's, or the airfield. Usland was about to get into the war. I figgered I'd join up as soon as I turned eighteen, but my brother said no, he was gonna come home an' teach me how ta fly! Yep, my brother.... he was gonna teach me how ta fly, an' we were gonna be a team. I was really excited, kid - that was my dream, my whole life. I just turned seventeen, and the war was going pretty good, then....Our guys were winnin' - at least that's what we heard. Horace had been in the service for a long time, he was a real flyin' ace, an' he figgered he'd get his discharge soon. He said he'd be home by Christmas. Then, one day, we got a telegram.... November 29, 1917, we got it.... I'll never ferget it. Horace.....Horace...well, you can guess, Kit. All the stuff they told us about that war, kid, and we believed it! It was all a big fight over nuthin', L'il Britches! A few miles o' dirt, that's what they killed each other for, for four years. And that's what Horace.....died for. Never believe what they tell ya about wars, kid. Never believe it. Wars are where brothers die for no good reason and leave you to... to...." The bear paused for a moment, cleared his throat. "Well, anyways kid, I hadda tell my father, that was the worst part. I waited till he was sober enough to understand, and then I told him. I told him Horace was a hero, and he was gonna get a medal - what they call a posthumous citation. And he started crying! I never saw my father cry, kid, not even when Mama died. I actually sat down and put my arm around him..." The pilot sat silent for a moment, gathering himself. "And he looked - he looked at me, kiddo, an' he said, "It shoulda been you, Baloo. If there was any justice, it shoulda been you." And I just sat there, for a minute, an' he cried, and then he drank a bottle o' whisky an' he passed out." Kit sobbed softly, but Baloo didn't seem to notice - he stared straight out into the orange horizon, his eyes filled with memories. "You can't drink that much, kid, and not hurt yerself somethin' terrible, inside. And with Horace gone, I dunno if he even cared about livin' anymore... He was gone within two months after that. I turned eighteen not long after. I sold his business -not much left of it then, but a few clients - and I got the money from my Uncle Moe. It weren't a fortune, but it was more than I'd ever had in one place at one time. I wanted to fly, that's all I knew. I wanted to fly - to fly and get as far the Hell away from Cape Suzette as I could. So I got my pilot's licence, and I had enough dough to lease a small plane, a single engine job, nothin' special, but to me it was like a CT-75. There were just startin'' to be cargo firms in them days, an' I started flyin' free-lance. I hung around cargo pilots an' learned they was as good as any barnstormers - better! They hadda deal with weather, pirates - pirates was an even bigger problem then, kiddo! I met Louie right around then, too. I never had much head fer business, but I was a damn good pilot an' gettin' better every day. So one day I'm at a bar in New Fedora - did a lotta flyin' outta New Fedora - and one of the old guys, Henry Wizzleswite, who I'd kinda started to become pals with - he tells me he's retirin', he doesn't wanna deal with air pirates, bankers and angry customers ("Not sure which I hate worse!" he said) no more, he just wants to relax. So he offers me his cargo business, sez if I wanna take over the lease I can have his building an' his plane. I asked him where it was, an' he sez, "Cape Suzette!". Well, I kinda smiled and shook my head - I dunno kid, I don't believe much in coincidences - and I told 'im sure, why not? I'd always liked the look of his plane, a yellow Conwing L-16. Boy, I loved that yellow paint job! That was the Sea Duck, L'il Britches, and that was Baloo's Air Service. Bank still owned almost of all it, but she was still mine, somehow. And I still didn't have no head fer business, but I sure had a head fer flyin'. I made a few adjustments to the Duck, when I had some bucks...Superflight 100's, overdrive..... That plane was always there fer me, kid. Never disappointed me. That plane and the sky was all I ever wanted, until - until...." The big bear fell silent and stared off into the distance, where the sun was slowly dipping beneath the horizon. Kit had been silently staring at Baloo, and a tear formed in each eye and rolled down his cheeks. This was the man who had given him everything - in his gruff, casual way he had given Kit his entire life. He stood, stepped over to the pilot and wrapped his arms around him. "I'm sorry." He whispered. Baloo returned the embrace and absently patted the cub on the back, chin on the boy's shoulder. "Nuthin' fer _you_ to be sorry fer, kid..." he said huskily, emotion catching in his voice. "I love you." Kit said simply, and it was the first time he had said the words to Baloo, or to anyone, that he could remember, although he knew he had said it before to Baloo in a thousand other ways. He buried his face in the pilot's shoulder and clung tightly, fiercely onto the big grey bear, as if he feared that a great gust of wind would blow him away. "You too, L'il Britches" Baloo whispered as the sun dipped below the horizon and the first stars began to appear in the sky. The Director and Perkins sat silently in the Director's office - a much more posh, elegant room than Perkins' own space - and waited for the Security Advisor. The Director glanced sidelong at Perkins - it seemed that the man was deep in his own thoughts. Why was it, he mused, that people in this business were so incapable of making small talk? Even morticians made jokes once in a while. The door opened and Stadler walked in, unannounced, as usual. He nodded curtly to the two big cats and eased his bulk into the chair across from the desk. "Well, gentlemen? What news do you have that I may take back to the President?" "We have confirmed the drop site is Myopia, and the source mine appears to be Lasoapsia. It's a big country, mountainous - we don't know where the mines are. But we will." "And how are the materials being transported? Without our knowledge?" "By a small cargo firm based in Cape Suzette. As to the pickup and drop points - well, it's a simple enough matter to buy the cooperation of local authorities." The walrus scratched his mustache. "All the way in Cape Suzette? That seems a highly convoluted path of distribution!" "Yes, sir." The Director said patiently, sipping at his coffee mug. Never paid to seem nervous in front of the civilian hotshots - he'd learned from experience that they wanted nothing more than to complicate your life when they thought you were unsure of yourself. "That's the genius part of it. Cape Suzette is a maze of cargo companies, and they fly into a dizzying array of places every day. Frankly sir, if we hadn't had an informant on the other side of the wall who was able to narrow the field down for us we may have never located the shipping firm." "Traitors?" the walrus asked conspiratorially. "No, sir. I personally investigated the outfit very closely, and they are certainly unwitting dupes in the entire operation. They had a big pile of cash waved in front of them and they didn't ask any questions - these companies never do. They can't if they want to stay in business. And it's actually better for the Alemanians if they don't know - that way, if they're intercepted they won't be able to lead anyone too close to the truth." "Well, then. We know where the materials are leaving Lasoapsia. We know who's flying them. We know where they're being dropped. What next?" Perkins shifted nervously in his chair, and the Director leaned back, hands behind head. "The fact is, sir, that if we ground this firm the Alemanians will simply buy another one. What we need to do is to infiltrate the operation - on both ends. And I intend to supervise that myself, as you suggested. I have a plan, and I'll need the President's approval..." "Baloo!" Rebecca called out. "Jones just called - we've got a pickup tonight!" Baloo, comfortably ensconced on the hammock hanging underneath the Sea Duck's tail, groaned. "Aw, man, Beckers - why can't that creep keep his shirt on fer a day? I hate these midnight runs!" "Baloo! For what he's paying us - and what I'm paying you - we should be grateful all we have to do is make a midnight flight once in a while." "Yeah, yeah, don't blow a gasket." the pilot muttered, rolling off the hammock and onto the dock with a thud. At that moment, Kit appeared, school books under his arm. "Sorry to tell ya kiddo - we got another idiot run tonight. Ol' creepy drawers just called Becky." "Aw, Baloo...." Kit was disappointed, mostly because he was hoping for a night flying lesson that evening. "Tell ya what kid - I can handle this one myself. Just take it easy and get a good night's sleep an' I'll do the run solo." "No!" Kit protested "You need me Baloo, it'll be fine. You know what it's like flying into Lasoapsia this time of year, especially at night. I'm not leaving you alone for that - you need your navigator." Rebecca strolled over. "You know Kit, I'll still pay you the flight bonus, if that's what you're worried about-" "I know, but it's not right for Baloo to have to handle a run like that without his navigator. That's why you pay me, Miz Cunningham!" Baloo shrugged at Rebecca. "No point arguin' with the kid, Beckers. He's bound an' determined. C'mon L'il Britches, sooner we leave sooner we get back." The yellow seaplane touched down in the darkness in Lasoapsia, and as usual the small truck drove out to meet it on the tarmac. They had fallen into a routine, by this time - truck stops, ramp out, hand cart off wall, box on cart, box into plane, truck leaves. Baloo was feeling a little tired of it. "What's in these boxes anyway?" Baloo gruffly asked the coyote as he muscled the box onto the Sea Duck. "I tell you before. Is local crafts, made-" "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Local crafts. But why're these danged boxes so heavy? And why the Fort Knox padlock on the things?" The coyote scowled, a hard expression crossed his face. "We pay. You fly." He roughly poked Baloo in the chest with a finger. "Now fly!" Baloo scowled back, and looked for a moment as if he was going to react physically to the coyote's gesture. Kit put a hand on the pilot's arm in concern. After a moment, the big bear turned and walked away. "And a happy Halloween to you too!" he muttered over his shoulder. Baloo and Kit strapped themselves in and the pilot fired up the engines. Kit looked out the window - the truck zoomed off, followed after a moment by a black car. "I'm tellin' ya kid - I don't like these guys! I've been flyin' fer better'n twenty years and I can spot a rat a mile away by this time. Somethin's not right and I don't like it." Baloo seethed. "Yeah, me neither Papa Bear. But what can we do about it? Rebecca'll bust a gasket if we blow this contract. Pretty soon Higher for Hire will have enough money to make some real improvements, and you and me got some spending money for a change...." "Yeah, yeah. Spending money. That don't mean as much to me as it used to. But I tell ya kid, these are folks we don't wanna be mixed up with. I just gotta feeling about 'em." The cub frowned, saying nothing. As usual he was internally divided and not sure what to believe. Baloo and Rebecca sure saw things differently. He yawned and looked at his watch. 10:00. "I'm gonna take a little nap, Papa Bear, so I'll be fresh for the approach to Myopia. Your course is seven-two degrees, just like always. Wake me if you need me." "Sure kid." Baloo answered, ruffling the boy's hair. "See ya in a couple hours." Kit blinked once, twice, momentarily disoriented but then he felt the hum of the engines and realized he was on the Sea Duck. He yawned, and lay still on the seat for a moment, looking over at Baloo, who was silently guiding the seaplane towards Myopia. "How far out are we, Papa Bear?" the cub asked without rising. "Pretty close, kid. Not too much longer. You can sleep if you want." Kit stretched and sat up in his seat. "Naw, I'm OK." he yawned. He looked out the window but saw only blackness beneath him - the vast area of rolling hills that made up most of Myopia before giving way to the mountains and high valleys of the capital. "I think you're right about Jones, Papa Bear. I don't like him. And I noticed something, I didn't think too much about it, but the more I thought..." "What's that, kiddo?" "There was a black car, on the tarmac at Lasoapsia. I think that was the same car that was there the first time we made a pickup, and I'm pretty sure it was there the other times too. And I noticed, as soon as the truck left, the car followed it. I dunno if that happened every time, I wasn't watching, but-" "Yeah. I thought maybe that was just me. I saw it too, but I didn't make too much of it. I gotta start trustin' my instincts, L'il Britches." Kit furrowed his brow in thought, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "An escort? Some kind of security?" "WHY, kid? Why would ya need a security escort for a bunch o' candlesticks an' pots? And besides, if yer pretectin' valuables you let ever'body know about it - you got cops, soldiers, whatever. So's people don't get any ideas. Why would they just sneak around in the background like that?" "I don't know, Papa Bear. It doesn't make any sense to me. And why are the boxes so heavy?" "I got a theory about that, kid..." Baloo mused. "Yeah? What is it?" the boy asked curiously. "Well, kid, I think there's boxes in the crates, made o' lead, that's why they're so heavy an' all. I dunno what's inside 'em, but it couldn't weigh enough to make those boxes that heavy. It's gotta be the boxes themselves." "But _why_, Baloo? Why make a box out of lead? It's expensive, it's heavy - it's a totally impractical way of shipping anything! It busts every law of economics!" Baloo scratched his head. "I dunno that one, kid. I can't figger it out. But I'm gonna tell Becky when we get back, no more deliveries for Mr. Creeps until we get some more details about what this whole business is about. I can't afford to take just any ol' job, no questions asked anymore. I got - responsibilities, is all." Kit frowned worriedly. He shared Baloo's instincts about this situation - not to mention being flattered by his newfound cautiousness. After all, it was Kit the pilot was thinking about. Still... "Baloo, Miz Cunningham ain't gonna like it if we ask questions. She'll ask for proof, and we don't have any - just a couple of punch-drunk midnight flyers and their suspicions. This is one of the biggest contracts we ever got!" Baloo rubbed his chin in thought. "Ya know, yer right, Kit. Ol' fancy drawers won't care a Torbit about what we think. But if we can get her proof..." "What do you mean?" Kit asked, getting worried. He'd heard that tone before.... "Simple, kid. I get that box open and see fer myself what I'm hauling. It's MY plane, dangit!" Kit decided to ignore the legal implications of that statement. "But Baloo! Those guys'll be mad if we open the box! They could bust the whole contract! Or worse...You know what they say about curiosity and the cat-" "You see any whiskers an' tuna breath on me, L'il Britches? I ain't gonna bust the lock, I'm gonna pick it. They'll never know I was in there, an' I won't tell 'em. I ain't gonna take anythin' out, just look at it. Then I close 'er back up and no one's the wiser. An' if he's got me haulin' somethin' dangerous - I got my proof fer Becky!" "I dunno, Baloo..." Kit had that sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that he always had when he knew Baloo was about to do something stupid. "It could be risky, if they catch us we're in real trouble. Besides, that lock looked pretty tough. Maybe we should take our chances with Miz Cunningham-" "Bullfeathers, kiddo!" Baloo had clearly made up his mind. "Take the stick. I've been a flyin' dupe long enough." He stood and headed for the hold, where Kit heard him rummaging through the tool box. Kit unstrapped and slid over to the pilot's chair, taking the stick - his first time flying the Duck at night. He would have been more nervous about that if he wasn't so scared about what Baloo was doing. "Be careful, Papa Bear!" he shouted. "Don't damage that padlock or we're in for it!" "No worries, kid - I gotta piece o' wire right here that'll be perfect!" Kit snuck a peek at his aviation map, willing himself to concentrate on flying the plane. He checked the Googleschlocher Gyrocompass. "Need a two degree shift to the west." he mumbled to himself, easing the stick slightly. He checked his altitude and speed, looked good... Suddenly, the cockpit was illuminated by a flash, and he heard a "Pop!" followed by a yell of pain from the pilot. "Ba-LOO!" he yelled over his shoulder in a squeak.. "Baloo! Are you okay?" "Those dang sons o'... - they rigged it!" The pilot yelled. "Aaaaahhhh!" he moaned again, obviously in pain. Kit put the autopilot on - he hated to do it in the middle of these hills and mountains, but it was an emergency - and rushed back into the hold. There were black stains on the lock and the box, and Baloo was doubled over on the floor, hands over his face. Terrified, Kit rushed over and knelt next to him. "Papa Bear! Papa Bear! You OK? Omigosh...." "Agh! Those bastards rigged the lock - soon as I got the wire in there and started jimmyin' it around the thing blew up in my face!" Baloo struggled to his knees. "They must've rigged a small explosive charge to it, in case somebody tampered with it..." the boy mused. Fighting back a tear he hugged Baloo. "Are you OK? Are you hurt?" The pilot brushed his hands over his face. "I think I'm OK..." He pulled his hands away. "My eyes, L'il Britches! I can't see!" "Omigosh! It must've been the flash from the explosion....Omigosh! Baloo!" The pilot was thrusting his hands blindly out in front of him, reaching for anything, finding empty air. Kit clasped his hands and held them. "I can't see, kid! I can't see! Those bastards blinded me!" Breathing slowly, trying to control his fear, Kit leaned forward and looked at Baloo's eyes. "There aren't any burns, that I can see. They look fine - just watering a lot... It must've been the flash! Maybe it'll be temporary. You'll be OK, you'll see...We'll get you to a Doctor in Myopia." "Myopia - Kid! We're practically on top o' that airfield! Yer gonna have to land this plane!" Kit's jaw dropped, and he sunk back to the floor. He was going to have to land the plane.... PART II Kit led Baloo by the hand back to the cockpit, and over to Kit's seat, where the big bear sat down and strapped in. Kit took his place in the pilot's seat, buckled in, and slowly, deliberately breathed, in and out. He needed to do this - Baloo needed him, he believed in him, he had to come through for Baloo, now, to conquer his fear and bring this plane down. Papa Bear needed him to justify his faith. He removed the autopilot. Baloo's mind was a whirl as he sat blindly in the co-pilot's chair. My eyes- what if I can't see? I'll never fly again! No! - can't think about that now. Kit needs me, he needs my help if he's gonna land this plane - he trusts me, I've gotta come through for the kid. "Take a reading, L'il Britches - get yer bearings and find out just where we are." Baloo said, willing himself to speak calmly. "OK, Papa Bear." The pilot could hear the fear in the cub's voice, and also the effort to hide it. Kid's tryin' to be tough fer me, he thought to himself. "Uh, looks, like we're about 12 miles out from the airfield, direct course. Ummm.... 3400 feet, 175 MPH." "OK, kid. Yer just gonna need to start bringin' this plane down. Nice an' easy." Baloo groaned inwardly. They would have to fly right through a mountain pass, at night no less. He kept his voice calm. "You remember that pass, at about 8 miles out? We're gonna need to fly through there. Take the throttle back some..." Kit pulled the throttles back - too much, and Baloo heard the engines sputter slightly. His ears picked up every detail of the plane's performance - they were all he had. "Too much! Little more throttle now...." The engines hummed back to normalcy. "Good, real good. Just ease 'em back....we're gonna take everything real slow." Kit looked outside - he could see the pass, ahead, by the Sea Duck's lights, but only the eastern edge - to the west it was obscured by clouds. He fought down panic. "Uh, Baloo, there's some overcast...I can't see the western face." "OK kid. What's yer airspeed?" "135 MPH, Baloo." Kit rasped. "Ok, good! That's perfect, nice an' easy. We flew this pass a ton o' times already, kiddo, you know there's plenty o' room. Just stay closer to the east side, where you can see the face. Not too close, but keep it sighted." Kit eased the plane slightly to the east, avoiding the low clouds on the opposite wall. "Our elevation's 2400 feet, we're flying through the pass...." The plane was jarred by a force from below, and lurched. "Baloo!" "Updraft, kid! Just an updraft! Keep, er' steady, grab that wheel and keep 'er on course! You can do it!" Baloo reached out and felt for the boy, finally resting his hand on the back of Kit's neck. The cub felt better with Baloo's comforting hand on his back, and breathed deep, gently fighting the wind currents. They weren't so bad, really.... "OK, Papa Bear. We're OK..." Kit looked out and saw the landscape open up in front of him, and the lights picked up only air straight ahead. "We're through!" "Good work, kiddo!" Baloo yelled, patting the boy on the back. "All open space between here and the airfield, just keep bringin' her down nice and slow, get that airspeed down to about 110 and hold 'er steady there." Kit nudged the stick forward and the plane continued it's descent. He eased the throttle back - by this time, he'd developed a pretty good feel for the response of the engines, and the plane slowed gradually but smoothly. "Uh, Baloo - we need to radio in, for clearance to land." "Yeah, better let me do that L'il Britches. Don't want anybody askin' any questions. Hand me the mike." Kit pressed the mike into Baloo's outstretched hand. "Myopia control, this is the Sea Duck, over. We're about six miles out, request landing clearance, over." "Roger, Sea Duck, this is Myopia control. You're right on time. Clearance for immediate landing, runway two, do you copy?" "Roger Myopia, runway two, we copy. Sea Duck out." Baloo set the mike down. "Just me an' you now, kid. Let's set this bird down." Baloo noticed that he could see some faint shades of light and dark now - but still no shapes. His heart raced - it _was_ temporary, maybe! But no time for that, now..."Altitude and airspeed, Britches?" "1000 feet, 110 MPH, Baloo. We're about four miles out." Kit was doing fine, but he tried not to think about bringing the Sea Duck down on hard, solid ground. He didn't have the more forgiving surface of the Pacific and 200 miles of runway this time. "C'mon!" he told himself. "This is your dream, you've done it in your head, a million times. It's easy." "Keep that wheel forward, kid - we gotta lose some altitude. Remember you've gotta be goin' at least 80 MPH when we land. And we gotta use the brakes this time. Except fer that, it's just like before. I know you can do it!" Kit exhaled, brought the Duck closer still to the earth. 600 feet, keep descending....He could make out the airfield lights now, far off in the distance. "Runway two - that's on the right, isn't it Baloo?" "Right is right, kid. Just aim for those lights and split 'em. What's yer altitude?" Baloo grabbed the armrest with his right hand in the tension of the moment - the left he kept gently on Kit's neck. "400 feet! Airspeed 110. " Kit realized he would need to lose more airspeed and eased the throttles back, as the plane continued it's descent. "Gear!" he shouted suddenly. "Gear down! 300 feet. Flaps. Airspeed 100 MPH..." Kit could see the lights clearly now, seemingly on top of them but still a mile away. He was drifting left, towards the other runway... the wind? He eased the wheel to the right. "200 feet!" "OK, kid - gear's down, you got that runway? Ease that throttle back, just a little. Keep yer nose up. And aim for those lights." Baloo was huffing now, in frustration. He wanted to SEE! Kit glanced at his horizon - looked good. Airspeed was under 100, maybe 95.... He was down to 100 feet. "Still drifting left!" he muttered. "Easing her to the right, 70 feet. This its it!" "Nose up, kid! Nose up and split those lights. As soon as those wheels touch, cut the engines and hit the brakes! Remember, the rear wheels hit first, then the front! Nose too high is better than nose too low!" Baloo rasped helplessly. Kit eased the throttle back a hair, and got the nose up a little more. They would hit any second! "OK, here we go!" He braced himself for the telltale screech of wheels on runway, and waited for one, two, three seconds that felt like hours. Finally, he felt the thump of contact and heard the screech of rubber on cement. "Now, kid!" Baloo yelled. The boy eased the stick forward and the nose thumped into the ground, tossing Baloo and he about in their straps. He yanked the throttles back and threw all of his meager weight on the brakes. They screamed in protest. Kit had used up about fifteen yards of runway before he'd contacted the ground, and the plane was hurtling towards the small outbuildings at the terminus of the runway, seeming, to Kit's terrified eyes, to be going ridiculously fast. Finally, he could feel the great bulk of the plane slowing under him, and the nose started to jerk towards the left. He yanked on the wheel, and straightened her out, weight still pressed on the screeching brakes. The Sea Duck ground to a halt about ten yards from the nearest building. Kit and Baloo sat, panting, for a moment. Finally Baloo unstrapped and felt for Kit and, finding him, grabbed his head in both hands. "Told ya you could do this!" he panted, and planted a kiss on the cub's forehead. The boy gasped, smiled, grabbed Baloo arm and shook it. They heard the rumble of a truck outside. "Kid - we can't let on anythin' happened here! Lemme into the pilot's seat and we'll pretend nuthin' happened." Kit unbuckled and stood unsteadily. "But Baloo! The box - it's got powder burns on it! They'll spot 'em for sure!" "Damn! Well, go back there and see if you can find somethin' to clean 'em off - whatever you got!" Kit rushed back into the hold, grabbed a rag. He found a can of turpentine and dabbed some on the cloth, and proceeded to wipe off the discolorations on the box as best he could. For the most part, they came off. "Ready, kiddo?" Baloo called. "I guess so." the boy returned. Baloo reached for the control from memory and found the cargo hatch release. The hatch opened and a large dog in a maintenance uniform climbed up with a hand cart, looking suspicious. "Everything all right?" he asked coldly. "That landing was a little - aggressive." "No problem!" Baloo called gaily from the cockpit. "Just wanted to test my new brakes!" The dog looked at the box, then glared at Kit. "What happened here?" The boy gulped. "We had a small fire in the fuel line, and it spread to the interior. Pretty dicey for a few minutes." The dog stared at the boy for a moment, then slid the cart under the box and slid it down and onto the truck. He walked back, and, as usual, held out an envelope - a thousand dollars in cash. "Thanks!" Kit said, forcing a smile. "Nice doing business with you." The dog glared at Kit for a moment, then turned and returned to his truck. Kit exhaled, pocketed the envelope and returned to the cockpit. He collapsed wearily into his chair. "Now what, Papa Bear?" "Well, kid, I guess we radio Rebecca in the mornin' and tell 'er we had an accident, and had to stay the night in Myopia. An' we hope I can see by tomorrow morning." "We gotta get you to a hospital, Baloo! Then we'll worry about tomorrow." He sighed. "That wasn't quite how I planned my first real landing, Papa Bear!" Baloo chuckled. "You did real good, L'il Britches. Ya did me proud. I guess all that teachin' really paid off. It's good to know the Sea Duck's flyin' with two pilots from now on." Kit looked over at his father, smiling but clearly in pain as his eyes watered uncontrollably. "Yeah, that's right Baloo, two pilots from now on....C'mon, let's get you to a Doctor." It was nearly noon as Baloo started the engines of the Sea Duck, still perched off of the runway at Myopia Airfield. The last night had been a blur to the exhausted Kit - but a happy one, for the most part. He had taken Baloo by taxi to a small hospital a mile or so from the airfield, where the pilot had been examined by a local physician. The prognosis was good - the big grey bear had been temporarily blinded by the flash, but even by then he was beginning to regain his sight. The Doctor was convinced that the problem would dissipate within days, and had ordered Baloo to wear a pair of dark sunglasses until it did. That was all. They had spent a night at a small hostelry near the airfield, and despite his fatigue Kit awoke early and called Rebecca, telling her that there had been an equipment problem aboard the Duck, and Baloo had been temporarily blinded, but that the cargo had been delivered. Hopefully the pilot would be able to fly them home today. Hearing the fatigue and concern in Kit's voice, Rebecca had been sympathetic, and not asked too many questions. When Kit returned to the hostel Baloo was awake, and reported that his vision was returning, although bright light still caused him pain. They ate a small breakfast, purchased a pair of sunglasses at a local marketplace, and Baloo decided that he could fly the plane. With that, they walked over to the airfield and departed Myopia. They taxied down the runway, and Kit was glad to leave Myopia behind - he hoped he'd never have to return. He certainly hadn't wanted his first landing to be at the expense of his Baloo's health. Still, he felt a certain rush of pride - he had, in demanding circumstances, landed the Sea Duck! "Kid, I tell you what." Baloo grumbled as he guided the plane towards home, looking strange in his dark sunglasses. "I ain't flyin' no more cargo for ol' creepy drawers, and Becky can kiss my shaboozies if she don't like it. I still don't know what's in them boxes, but anythin' you gotta protect with an explosive lock is too dangerous for my blood. I don't like bein' lied to." Kit was silent. Baloo was right, of course - there was clearly more going on here than they had been told. Still, he wasn't sure just how Rebecca would take it..... "WHAT? Are you in-SANE, Baloo?" Rebecca cried, as the pilot sat resolutely across from her desk. Kit sat glumly at the table, chin in hands. "I told ya, Becky. I'm done - I ain't flyin' no more cargoes for that creep until I find out what I'm flyin'. Period." Baloo responded, jaw set and looking determined. "But _why? Why, Baloo? This is one of the biggest contracts we've ever had! The company's making money, you're making money, Kit's making money. If the client doesn't want to tell us what he's shipping, well, for a thousand a shipment I say, so what? He's paying for that secrecy!" Rebecca's voice rose in frustration. "Because it ain't safe, Boss Lady! There's somethin' weird in those boxes - I ain't never seen boxes that size weight that much. There ain't no candlesticks in 'em. I don't like bein' lied to, Becky. And besides, there's weird people hangin' around when we drop the stuff off and pick it up. I don't like the looks of 'em." "Oh you don't, do you?" she replied sarcastically. "So because you don't like the looks of a client, we lose their business? We're not in this business to make friends, Baloo, we're in it to make money! You're going to have to do better than that, Baloo." The pilot glared silently at Rebecca for a moment, no one saying anything. The Avgas truck noisily pulled up outside. "Well, Becky, I wasn't gonna tell you, but, since yer bein' a stubborn ol' mule about this..." Baloo growled, and glanced over at Kit, who looked most unhappy as he sat at the table. "There's somethin' else - more like proof, ya might say. That box we shipped yesterday - and prob'ly the others too, if ya ask me - was booby-trapped." "What?" she said, puzzled. "What in the world do you mean?" "Like I said, Becky. Booby-trapped. There was no equipment problem on the Duck. I got blinded because that box was rigged with an explosive charge - and it went off right in my face." "What? What kind of charge? What set it off?" Baloo shuffled uncomfortably for a moment, the steeled himself. "It was in the lock, Beckers. When I was foolin' around with the lock the thing went off." "What?! What were you doing tampering with the lock on a client's cargo? That's a violation of our contract! What kind of idiot are you?" She was furious now. "Yeah, I kinda thought you'd react like that." the pilot said, shaking his head. "Well, lemme tell you somethin' - I ain't just takin' any job an' damn the consequences no more, Becky. I got responsibilities now - things have changed. An' when I got reason to suspect I'm bein' set up-" "Don't give me that song and dance, Baloo! You just wanted to get a peek at what was in that box - you can't stand being left out of the secret, can you?" Baloo stood and leaned across the desk. "Listen lady -if that's what you think, that all I care about is-" Rebecca stood and went nose to nose with the big bear. "I don't think - I know! I know that whenever this business is in a position to succeed you come up with some way to screw it up-" "Yer nuthin' but a lousy money-grubber, Becky! You'd sell me and Kit to the highest bidder if it would line yer pockets!" "You haven't got a thought in your head, Baloo! You're-" "STOP!" Kit yelled, from across the room, near tears. Both adults turned to him, surprised. "Stop it! Why do you guys always have to do this? I-I..." he slammed his fists on the table in frustration and spun, facing away from them. "K-kiddo, I'm sorry, but..." Baloo stammered. "You're right, Kit -we shouldn't scream at each other like that, but this is-" "Serious! I know!" the boy shouted. He turned back to face the two bears. "Baloo's right, Miz Cunningham - there's something wrong with this whole thing. He shouldn't have tried to open that box, but he did -and what kind of people would rig a box to blow up if you try to open it? What could be worth that?" The cub stood and walked over to the desk, facing Rebecca head-on. "Baloo was only thinking about protecting me, Miz Cunningham. He was wrong to do it, but look what happened. I don't think we should deliver for these people any more." Rebecca stared at the boy, confused emotions on her face. Then, a voice came from the doorway - the Avgas delivery man stood facing them. "I don't think that would be a very good idea." he said. Rebecca Cunningham had seen some strange things happen since she'd taken over Higher For Hire - more than her share, when she thought about it. But this was pretty bizarre, any way you sliced it. Right in the middle of an argument with Baloo, (what could be more normal than that?) the gas delivery man had walked into the office and declared that he was a Federal Agent. Naturally, she'd been skeptical, but he'd flashed some very legitimate looking identification. Now, she sat facing the man - a darkly handsome leopard in his mid to late 40's - across the table at Higher for Hire, with Baloo and Kit seated next to them. "Are we in some kind of trouble?" had been her first reaction. "No, m'amm. We-" "It's Ms. Cunningham." "Yes. Ms. Cunningham. You aren't in any sort of trouble - not with us anyway. That's not why I'm here." "Why the heck are ya here, Mr. - Mr.-" Baloo interrupted. "Michael. Yes, Mr. Baloo. The relevant question. And I'd like to answer it for you, in as much detail as I can...But there are things I cannot tell you, for your own protection." the leopard said delicately. "Why, that's just about as big a bunch o'-" Baloo huffed. "_Please_, Baloo!" Rebecca silenced him. She noticed the leopard seemed to be casting a lot of quick glances in Kit's direction, as the boy sat next to her. He looked distinctly uncomfortable - he'd noticed it too, she figured. "Mr. - Michael? Can you at least give us some idea of what exactly is going on?" The leopard smiled grimly. "It was not my intention to confront you with this..now. But as I overheard your - discussion, it seems that your pilot has rather forced my hand." He grinned, almost warmly, in Baloo's direction. "May I ask - have you been following the news about events in Eporue?" "I have." Kit chimed in. "I read the newspapers everyday." The leopard, now given an excuse to look at the cub, studied him intently. "Yes, well, then you know, there are very serious and very disturbing events taking place there right now. The government of Alemany has exhibited behavior that can only be described as barbaric. We, like the rest of the free nations, are very concerned." "What's this got to do with us?" Baloo asked impatiently. "Mr. Baloo - I'm getting to that. This is difficult - there are things I cannot tell you. But let me say - events are taking place which, if allowed to continue, could place the Alemanians in a position to threaten not only Eporue but also Usland and the rest of the world. Threaten them in terrible ways. Unfortunately, through no fault of your own, you and your associates," he gestured at Rebecca and Kit, "have become involved. That is a fact - it cannot be undone." "Involved how?" Kit asked, wide-eyed. The leopard smiled at the boy. "Your father and you were correct in your instincts. You are, in fact, shipping something very dangerous. And very vital to the security of the free world." "I KNEW it!" Baloo snarled. "I knew that Jones was a no-good rat! What is it? Have Kit and I been in any danger?" The leopard frowned, considering his next response. "What you have been shipping - it has been *packaged* in such a way that you were in no direct danger - other, of course, than from the lock on the box." He smiled tightly. "I can tell you no more than that." Rebecca had heard enough. "But - if this is dangerous material, why shouldn't we stop shipping it? Right now?" "Miss Cunningham. I can tell you that it is vital to the security of the free world that we discover the source and destination of these materials-" "Here it comes!" Baloo growled. He banged a fist on the table and leaned across to face the leopard. "Don't start in with yer patriotic talk, Michael or whatever yer name is. I've heard it before - how we all have to make sacrifices, we all have to put the country first! Well, I've made my sacrifices buddy! My family was my sacrifice! And all the stuff you told us about that last war was a bunch o' bunk - lies and stories to stir people up! It ain't happenin' again! I ain't givin' up another family to your politics. Find yerself another sucker." he stormed off and flopped into the easy chair. Kit and Rebecca stared, open-mouthed, at the pilot. Rebecca was stunned - she'd never heard Baloo talk about politics of any kind, before, much less his family. "I'm very sorry, Michael, for his behavior! It's-" The leopard held up a hand. "That's quite all right." He walked over towards Baloo and stood, arms crossed, looking at the bear. "Mr. Baloo, I think, were I in you shoes, I would react the same way. I understand your position, I think, better than you realize." He glanced over at Kit, who was staring at Baloo with something like pity in his eyes. "Sir, when I was twenty-two years old I was drafted and sent to Eporue. I didn't understand much of the fight, but I went. I saw a lot of friends die. It was thew worst two years I've ever spent in my life. I came home, and tried to understand the reason why I'd been fighting, why my friends were dying. I tried, but I couldn't fully understand. I finished college and dedicated myself to the pursuit of preventing wars, in the future. I knew that I could make a difference - I was young then - and I wanted to give it everything I had. That was almost twenty years ago, and I've learned a lot in that time. I learned that there are people who will pursue evil, no matter what barriers of logic and reason you throw in their way. Mr. Baloo, I have seen things - well - things that I won't repeat here, but I see a future that's very frightening to me. I see a force for evil that will not be turned away by logic, reason or decency. I see that force running roughshod over the world unless we do something to stop it, sooner or later. And you have an opportunity to aid in that cause, now, and save countless lives, later." The leopard sat down, stared at Baloo across the room. "I think perhaps I need to explain this situation in terms that are a little closer to home. I know your motivation." He nodded at Kit. "I understand your feelings. But the fact is that you are involved with some very dangerous people. If you simply refuse to deal with them, they will not only find another cargo firm to deliver for them, but they will be most suspicious of your motivation. That could be a very awkward situation for you, and your firm. If on the other hand, you assist me - and I can promise you that I will place you in no danger - we will have the opportunity to follow this material to it's destination - and destroy that destination. We will have the opportunity to track it to it's source - and commandeer that source - or destroy it. There will be no more illicit shipments, because there will be no reason for them. Your relationship with the Alemanians will be severed, by them. You will be washed clean of the situation." "Alemanians? So that's who we've been dealing with?" Rebecca was stunned. "Yes, Miss Cunningham. Your "Mr. Jones" is, in fact, one of several representatives of Alemanian Intelligence, although I couldn't tell you for certain which one." Baloo spoke, finally. "What happens then? Won't the Alemanians know we double-crossed 'em? Who's gonna look out fer us then?" The leopard smiled. "We have - representatives - in place. By recalling them, blowing their cover and extracting them, we can direct the blame in a different direction. It's an old trick, been used for longer than any of us can remember. We can easily convince the Alemanians that they have an internal leak somewhere that's to blame. And, of course, we will monitor the situation, and you will have the protection of the Usland government." Baloo groaned, and put his head in his hands. Kit walked over to him and sat on the arm of the chair. He put a paw on Baloo's arm. "Papa Bear - I know this is hard for you. But he's right -there are terrible things happening, and we have to do whatever we can. I'm not going anywhere, Papa Bear, don't worry. Besides, like he said - we're in this up to our necks now anyway, like it or not. At least this way we can break away clean and be done with it." "He's right Baloo." Rebecca said, walking over to him. "We can't back away from this now, even if we want to." Baloo looked at the leopard, a fierce anger burning in his eyes. He grabbed Kit and pulled the cub close to him. "All right, smart guy, we're in - you got what you want. But if you put Kit 'n me in any danger-" "I promise you, Baloo - your safest course is cooperation with us. I've already devised a plan, and we've received approval to implement it." "What do we have to do?" Rebecca asked, placing a consoling hand on Baloo's back. "For right now, nothing. Until you receive another call from Jones. The next time he requests a nighttime pickup - it must be nighttime - call this number." He handed her a slip of paper. "And call it from a pay phone, collect. Ask for Michael. And, in the meantime - do NOT mention this to anyone, anywhere. That is absolutely vital." Rebecca pocketed the slip of paper and sighed. Baloo hugged Kit closer, and a look of deep pain crossed his face. The next few days seemed like weeks to Kit Cloudkicker. There was school, standard-issue cargo runs, and a lot of small talk at Higher for Hire. Rebecca and Baloo had tried to pretend as though things were normal, to go about their daily routines...but they all knew that they were waiting for one thing, one phone call - and then their lives would change, possibly forever. Kit had something else on his mind, too - they hadn't discussed it, but he was pretty sure Baloo and Miz Cunningham would try to keep Kit off of their next idiot run. And he wasn't about to allow that to happen. He left school on Friday and headed back for Higher for Hire, shivering despite his new sweater, which was thicker and warmer than the old one. It was an unusually cold day, for Cape Suzette, even if it was nearly November. He arrived home from school to find Rebecca seated at her desk, nervously drumming her fingers on it's surface. Baloo was nowhere to be seen. Kit had a terrible thought - had the call come, and the pilot left without him? "Miz Cunningham! Where's Baloo?" "On the way back from Mango-Pango, Kit." she replied tensely. Normally, she always tried to put on a cheerful face around Kit, and he knew immediately something was wrong. "The call came in, didn't it?" the boy asked, sitting on the desk. "About half an hour ago." she nodded, and reached out for Kit's hand and clasped it. "They want a pickup tonight." The boy closed his eyes. "I guess this is it then. I sure hope that government guy knew what he was talking about." "Me too, Kit, me too. I think we should call now, let him know as soon as possible." They walked over to the pay phone at the marine refueling station. Rebecca took a deep breath, squeezed Kit's arm, and walked into the booth. The boy stood outside and waited, Rebecca's voice muffled by the glass door. In the distance, he saw the familiar yellow silhouette of the Sea Duck as it looped towards the dock for a landing. Baloo would be home when they got back. After a moment Rebecca stepped out of the phone booth and smiled grimly at Kit. "I Guess there's nothing now but to do it." "What did he say, Miz Cunningham?" "Not much, really. He said he has two people stationed in Point Diablo - he wants Baloo to pick them up there and fly on to Lasoapsia. He said that there's be no danger - and that we'd be reimbursed for the gas, as if that mattered!" she chuckled bitterly. The woman and the boy started for home. "Baloo flew in a minute ago. He'll be waiting for us." Kit said. "Good. Let's just get this whole thing over with as quickly as possible. I guess I'm not going to get much sleep tonight!" They walked into Higher for Hire and Baloo was in the kitchen, preparing a sandwich. He took one look at their faces and realized immediately what was happening. "Guess I better eat this." He smiled grimly and wolfed down the sandwich in two bites. "Dunno when I'm gonna get my next meal." He walked over and sat at the table. "Lemme have it, Beckers. What's the story?" Rebecca sat next to him. "He said to fly to Point Diablo, and there are two agents there. They'll meet you. From there you fly on to Lasoapsia, and to Myopia. That's all he said." She sighed. "Not much to go on, is it Baloo?" "You never get straight answers from these official types, Becky. At least Diablo's on the way. May as well get this over, no time like the present." He stood and turned towards the door. Kit grabbed his jacket. "Now, kid-" "Forget it Baloo." the boy interrupted. "Don't bother. I'm coming with you and you can't stop me." "Try me, kid!" Baloo said resolutely, jaw set. Kit stared hard, fiercely at Baloo. "I'm going. We're a team, remember? If we don't stick together we got nothing. What would've happened if I hadn't been there last time, in Myopia, Baloo? Where would _I_ be if you hadn't flown to Port Wallaby and saved me from Karnage? We either stick together always or we lose, haven't you figured that out yet? I'm going and you can't stop me!" The boy opened the door and headed out to the plane. "Kit!" Baloo called after him, more pleading than angry. He turned to Rebecca, a look of desperation in his eyes. She returned his stare. "I can't tell him not to go, Baloo. I've long ago given up trying to figure out this weird karma between you two. He'll be all right." She walked over to the big bear and hugged him. "Be careful! And don't forget your jacket, it's going to be cold in Lasoapsia tonight." With a helpless sigh, the pilot grabbed his jacket and headed for the Sea Duck. Baloo and Kit didn't say much on the way to Point Diablo. It wasn't a long flight and the pilot knew the way by heart. As they skimmed over the outer banks and Baloo began to slowly descend, Kit glared over at him. "Thanks a lot!" he scowled. "What?" Baloo asked, taken aback. "Thinkin' I'd let you do this by yourself! After everything! All we've been through... I can't believe it." The cub shook his head disgustedly. Baloo chuckled ruefully. "I swear, L'il Britches - the way you think. You sure are a pip!" They passed the rest of the flight in silence. After a few more moments the lights of Point Diablo station came into view - it was an isolated settlement on the bare, rocky coast, and the airstrip was mostly used by weather planes and the Coast Guard. Baloo had made numerous supply drops here over the years, dating almost back to his first days free-lancing. In it's exposed, windswept way, the place was charming, and normally Baloo had a soft spot for it. Today, however, it had considerably less charm - it was a cold, grey evening and the place looked indescribably grim to the pilot in his current mood. He guided the seaplane towards the lone airstrip, and saw a few small planes on the ground. "Wonder what happens now." he mused, easing the plane to the ground. "Dunno, Papa Bear." Kit answered, leaning out the window to reconnoiter. He seemed to be largely over his huff of a few minutes earlier. "The guy said they'd find us." Sure enough, no more than a minute after they'd glided to a stop a small truck zoomed across the strip and pulled up adjacent to the cargo hatch. Baloo opened the rear hatch and he and Kit jumped down to the tarmac. Two cheetahs dressed in black shirts and pants and wearing black packs stepped out of the truck and approached them. "Baloo?" "You got him, ace." The cheetahs extended their hands without introducing themselves, and Baloo shook them warily. "My navigator - and my son, Kit." he said, gesturing to the cub. The cheetahs, seemingly unsurprised, shook his hand as well. One of the lithe cats opened up the rear door of the truck - several crates rested on it's bed, and the cat grabbed a cart as though to load them onto the Sea Duck. "What's those for?" Baloo asked. The other cheetah replied. "Someplace to hide us, Baloo, unless you reckon we introduce ourselves to our new friends later." The pilot and Kit shared a chuckle. "No need o' that, boys. Ol' Baloo's got a few tricks up his sleeve." He walked onto the Duck and gestured for the cheetahs to follow. He pointed to the deck and smiled. "Removable floor panels, gents - hiding a couple of nice man-sized storage spaces. Come in handy on more'n one occasion." The two cheetahs stared and each other and smiled slightly. "Very good, Mr. Baloo. This is better - no suspicious extra cargo." the first one smiled. The other cheetah closed the rear door of the truck and banged on it's side, and it pulled away. "Shall we get this operation started?" Baloo said, and the cheetahs strolled onto the plane. "You're doing a real service for peace, Mr. Baloo - I think you should know that." "Yeah, yeah. Gimmee a medal. I know all about service....." The flight to Lasoapsia was uneventful, for the most part. The two cheetahs sat in the hold, talking quietly, seemingly not at all nervous about what they were about to do. Baloo and Kit shared the cockpit, occasionally discussing weather conditions or course adjustments, more to pass the time than anything else. One of the cheetahs walked up and stood in the cockpit doorway - Identically dressed, Baloo still couldn't tell them apart. "Nice plane you've got here, Mr. Baloo. I'm something of an aviation buff - always loved the L-16 - a real high character aircraft. Overachiever. These engines aren't standard equipment though - Superflight 100's?" Baloo was impressed - the easiest way to soften him up was to praise his plane. "Yup. Customized 'er myself, added a few nice touches here and there...." The cheetah looked over the cockpit. "Yes sir, she's a real beaut. Bet you've seen some times in this crate, huh?" Baloo chuckled and Kit grinned. "And you - you're about the youngest navigator I've seen in these skies. What's your story, son?" "Sorry I brought him along - but the kid insisted, you know kids..." The cub shot a glare in Baloo's direction. The cheetah laughed. "That's quite all right. In fact, if he normally accompanies you it's better that he's here - any change in routine can arouse suspicion. Not to mention you'd be flying without your wingman. We would never ask that you bring the boy, but, as long as he's here..." The man smiled at Kit. "So what's your story? How'd you get to be flying so young? What are you, fourteen?" "Thirteen, sir." the boy replied. "You know how it is, been hangin' around airplanes since I was a little kid. Baloo was the same way. Listened and watched a lot - people don't wanna tell you stuff when your a kid, but they don't much care whether you overhear things." "Kit's a dandy pilot, too!" Baloo said proudly. "Landed this baby in Myopia after I lost my eyesight temporarily - did a real bang-up job, too!" "Is that a fact?" the cheetah whistled. "Bang-up? Bad choice o' words, Papa Bear!" Kit scolded. "Haha! Sorry, L'il Britches!" "Sir -" Kit began "Names Dan, Kit." the man replied. "Dan - how can you guys be so calm? Knowing that you're gonna be doing something this dangerous in a few minutes?" The cheetah laughed. "It's all part of the job, kid. I got into this line of work for the excitement- and this is exciting. If you guys liked sitting in an office all day, you wouldn't be up here flying, would you?" "Yeah, well, speakin' of excitement, Dan - we're not far out from Lasoapsia - you mind tellin' me just what you guys have planned?" Baloo asked the cheetah. "Fair enough. I'll spare you the technicalities. Right before we hit the airfield in Lasoapsia, my partner's gonna ditch. You're gonna fly a southwesterly approach, and he's gonna jump about a mile out from the field. There's only one access road from that airfield, and it runs southwest. He's gonna hop that truck in the dark and - well, let's just say he'll do what he does best!" Baloo whistled. "Howdy! Ain't that a kick! What then?" "I'll tell you more later. Once we get the stuff on board. I'll be flying over to Myopia with you. Plenty of time to fill you in then - let's not get ahead of ourselves." Kit coughed. "You know, I don't wanna sound - I dunno - but, since we _are_ doing this voluntarily, an' all - don't we deserve to know what this is _really_ all about? What's in the boxes?" Dan looked down. "You do, son. No doubt about it. But some things I can't tell you. I just can't - I'm doing you a favor, believe me." "Naturally." Baloo muttered. The cheetah looked over at him. "You guys know what's goin' on? In Eporue? You follow that stuff?" "Kit does. I had my fill of it the last time. Taught me ever'thing I need to know." Dan looked at Kit. "I can't tell you why, son - but I can tell you that if we don't stop them, the Alemanians are going to be in a position to do some terrible things. The people in charge there are not bound by reason and decency - they'll stop at nothing to get what they want. And what we're doing could do a great deal to hinder their efforts. That's all I can say." "Same old." The pilot said. "Things don't change, Danny boy. They stay the same. There's always gonna be a new reason to fight, if ya look fer it." The cheetah stared at Baloo for along moment, a kind of strange tension in the cockpit. "Mr. Baloo, Kit - your son - he's thirteen years old." "Yup." "Well, all I know is this. If I can do anything to make sure Kit never has to fight in a war, I'm going to do it. Five years seems like a long time from now - but it isn't. There are dark forces on the move and we need to do everything we can do to stop them so we don't have to fight them later. It might be enough, it might not. But I'm going to try. That's why I'm here. It seems like you know something about this, Mr. Baloo. Maybe you lost somebody the last time, I don't know. But Kit has his whole life in front of him. He's all potential. I aim to see that he gets a chance to fulfill it, Baloo. That's why I'm here, and that's why you're here too. You can shut out the world but you can't hide forever. Sooner or later it breaks in. I know you love your son very much. Whatever we do may seem petty and political to you, but if you remember the last time, you, of all people, should understand how important it is that there _is_ no next time." The cheetah patted bear and cub on the shoulder and returned to the hold. Baloo and Kit stared at each other for a moment, and then each returned his gaze to the dark skies outside the cockpit, losing themselves in their own thoughts. "We're about six miles out!" Baloo shouted back to the hold. "Kit, better get back there and show 'em how those floor compartments work." "Right Baloo!" the cub said, and unstrapped his belt. In the hold, Dan's partner was strapping on a small parachute. Dan smiled at Kit as he walked back to join them. "Guess you better get hidden, huh?" the boy said, reaching for a crowbar. "You bet, Kit." He turned to the other cat, and the two exchanged a few sentences in a whisper, then shook hands. The other cheetah headed up to the cockpit, and Dan turned back to Kit. "So - how does this work?" "Simple. You just slide the crowbar under the corner of the panel here..." the boy grunted with exertion., and lifted a corner. "And then you just lift it out, and there you go." The cheetah grabbed the panel and pulled it clear. He stepped down into the space. "Just tap on the panel twice when the coast is clear. I can't imagine there's that much air down here!" "Don't worry, it won't be long." the boy said and slid the panel back down over the chamber. He returned to the cockpit, where the other cat was intently staring out the window, gazing at the dark landscape below. "There!" he pointed. "That's the road - I'm going to have to come down in the trees, unfortunately. Can't risk jumping onto the road like that." "What happens if you get snagged?" the pilot asked. The cheetah grinned and patted his belt. "Cut myself clear and climb down - if I don't get tangled in the chute and choke to death! All part of the training." The cheetah checked his belt, pack and parachute. "Good luck to you, Baloo. Stay cool on the ground and you'll be out of here no problem. And thanks." He patted the bear on the shoulder and headed back to the hold, Kit behind him. "Yeah, good luck!" Baloo shouted after him. "Crazy nut...." The cheetah opened the cabin door and scanned the landscape below him as the Sea Duck slowly descended, Kit peering over his shoulder. "You ever jump out of a plane, kid?" "Oh yeah, one time. Lost both engines in a thunderstorm." The sleek cat grinned. "Lots of fun it ain't! Gimme a nice smooth landing anyday." He shook the boy's hand and clapped him on the shoulder, then turned, jumped, and was gone. "Good luck" Kit said softly to his falling form. After a moment his parachute, as black as his clothes, opened, barely visible from the plane, and he was lost in the Sea Duck's wake. Baloo and Kit stood in the cargo hold, shivering from the chill and trying not to look nervous. The usual truck rolled up, and a coyote got out - it might have been the same one, it might not, who could tell - and prepared the crate in his truck. The canine wheeled the box onto the Sea Duck with a curt nod at Baloo, and held out the clipboard for the pilot to sign. "No questions for me today?" he lilted sarcastically. Kit groaned inwardly - he was hoping there would be no communication, but apparently Baloo's outburst from the last pickup hadn't been totally forgotten. The big bear shuffled nervously. "Aw, sorry bout that, pardner. Had a long flight, ya know, I was a little irritable, ya know how it is. Ya know, I think-" Kit sensed trouble - once Baloo got started it could be tough to shut him up. He screwed his face into a pathetic grimace and grabbed his belly. "Papa Bear? I don't feel so good. My stomach hurts. Can we go home now?" he whined in a high-pitched voice. The coyote scowled and grimaced. Baloo turned with surprise to the boy. "Oh, uh, sure, kid. We just gotta make our delivery and then we'll go home." He turned back to the coyote. "Sorry to cut this short, but looks like we better get going." The coyote laughed a short, barking laugh. "That's what you get when you let _kid_ fly." he said derisively and walked back to his truck. "And you can stuff it in your..." Kit muttered under his breath as he walked back to the cockpit and closed the cargo hatch. The truck drove off, followed a moment later by the same black car that had followed it before. Within a moment they were airborne. Kit went back and tapped on the floor panel, and the cheetah pushed it clear. He emerged, chuckling. "Pretty quick thinkin' son." "Thanks." the boy said, and slid the panel back into place. They walked back up to the cockpit. "What next, ace?" the pilot asked the cheetah. "Nothing - for the moment. I want to wait until we're clear of Lasoapsian airspace, then I get a look at that cargo." The cheetah had found the spot he was looking for - a tree with a good overhanging canopy, near a bend in the road. He would only need a second or less, and the corner should provide that. He settled down on a branch and waited. After a few moments he could hear the truck's engines laboring up the grade as it approached. He was counting on those noisy, laboring engines. He saw one pair of lights in the distance, then two. As they had suspected. There would just need to be a few yards of space between the vehicles - that was all he needed.... The truck approached, and he poised himself. With a spring, he launched himself onto the roof and splayed himself flat. The car would not be able to see him - if they hadn't seen him jump. "What was that?" the coyote said to the uniformed dog with whom he shared the front seat of the truck. "What?" "I felt something - must've been a bump in the road, I guess." The cheetah reached into his pack and pulled out a small metal device. He reached in again and pulled out a small tube of adhesive. He squeezed a dab onto the device and proceeded to attach it to the roof of the truck, near the cab. He crawled forward and waited for a few moments, scanning the road ahead of them. He saw what he was looking for - a steep crest in the road ahead. For an instant, the truck and car would be on opposite sides of the rise - not for long, but then, he didn't need much time. He slid over to the right edge of the roof, and waited. The truck's engine complained as it climbed the ridge, them wheezed as it crested it. He sprung off the roof and landed in ball in the brush at the roadside. He pressed himself flat against the ground, suppressing a grunt of pain. After perhaps two seconds he heard the car pass him on the road, and he stayed pressed to the ground. For a minute he stayed, and the two vehicles could be heard slowly receding in the distance. Finally, he stood, surveyed himself for lacerations, and finding nothing more serious than a few bruises, allowed himself a grin. Now to head back and dispose of the parachute...after that, there would be plenty of time. Time was on his side now. He set off at a blazing sprint through the trees, retracing his path back to where he had come to rest a few moments earlier. The Sea Duck was over open water now, perhaps a hundred miles out from Lasoapsia. Dan seemed satisfied. He reached for his pack and headed back to the cargo hold. "Time to find out just what we have here. I'm going to have to ask you boys to stay in the cockpit for a while, I'm afraid." "That lock's booby-trapped, y'know!" Baloo called nonchalantly. "Yeah, they trapped one booby already." Kit added. The cheetah laughed. "That's one of the reasons I'd like you to stay up there, if you would. We have our ways, but it doesn't hurt to play it safe." Kit cast a curious look over his shoulder, but all he could see was the cheetah's back as he hunched over the box. He turned to Baloo. "Papa Bear - how come - how come you never told me about.... about your Mom, and your brother, and all that?" "Strange time to bring it up, kid! I dunno.... Some things you just don't like to talk about. You know what I mean?" He cast a pointed look at the cub. "I guess." Kit said softly, staring at the black ocean below them. "It's just - this whole business - I don't know what to think. I can't figure out what the truth is. I read things, my teachers tell me stuff...But how can.... I mean, what could possibly be worth it? Be worth - be worth-" "L'il Britches - you gotta make up yer own mind about things. That's how life is. But I made up mine - made it up from experience. From facts, not speeches. I know how the world works. The only thing that matters is yer family, kiddo - yer family and yer friends. Anybody tells ya somethin' different just wants to get somethin' from ya." Kit stared out the side window for a moment, lost in thought. He turned back to Baloo. "Know what I keep thinking about?" "What's that, L'il Britches?" "Sasha. About her dad, and those people - that prison. And what I hear is happening in Alemany....I just keep seeing those faces, in that prison, behind those bars. That's all I keep seeing...." "Kid..." Baloo struggled over what to say. "L'il Britches - I can't make up yer mind for ya. You care about those people - I do too! I dunno what's happenin' in Alemany like you do, but if it's as bad as you say.... But there's always gonna be bad people, doin' bad things. You stop it one time, it'll happen again somewhere else, later. You can't stop it. All you can do is treat people like they oughta be treated, and help 'em when ya can. That's all ya can do. That guy back there - Dan - I'm sure he thinks he's doin' the best thing fer everybody. But he see's everythin' his own way, and he don't understand the way the real world works. None o' those guys do. Everything's a cause, fer them - and they don't care how many people they gotta use up to win. We're here right now, ain't we? Just do right by the people yer close to, kid - and treat ever'body decent. That's the best thing anybody can do for ever'body else." Kit looked at Baloo, then out into the night, his face clouded by confusion and doubt. There was so much he had to understand, to deal with... "Got it!" Dan's voice shouted from the cargo hold. Kit unstrapped and went back to peer through the doorway to the hold. Dan carefully removed the lock and set it aside. He reached into his bag and pulled out a thick pair of insulated gloves - rubber or asbestos, Kit thought - but there was something odd about them.... "Not too close, son." the cheetah said without looking up. He put the gloves on and carefully lifted the lid of the wooden crate. He reached back into his bag and came out with sore sort of device. "Baloo!" Kit whispered to the pilot and gestured for him to come and look. The big grey bear put the autopilot on and joined him in the doorway. Dan took the device - Kit could see now that it had some kind of meter on it - and waved it in front of the contents of the box. It emitted a series of slow clicks. "What IS that thing?" he called over, as Baloo and he watched, curiosity holding them rapt with attention. "I just want to make certain that this stuff is shielded properly, that we aren't being exposed." "To what?" the pilot asked. "Let's just say that this material would be dangerous if it weren't packaged properly. Fortunately the Alemanians did package it properly, looks like. Guess they didn't want to have to break in a new cargo service." Kit felt a shiver run down his spine. Dan set the meter down and put some kind of mask over his face. "Hate to have to do this, boys, but I need to see just what's in here. A few seconds exposure shouldn't cause any problems, but stay well back." "Man, I ain't never seen anythin' like this before! What kinda poison we been haulin'?" Baloo grumbled, a mix of anger and wonder in his voice. He pulled Kit behind him, and the cub peered out from behind his massive back. The cheetah reached into the box and strained, as though trying to lift it's contents. "Guess you're not goin' anywhere. Gonna have to examine you where you're at." He reached in and gently lifted, and came out with a thin metallic box lid, perhaps 36" by 20". He strained under it's weight, and set it on the deck with a clang. Immediately, Kit heard the meter device begin to click much more rapidly, even before Dan picked it up. When he held it inside the box it clicked at an enormous rate. "What's that?" he asked excitedly. "What's it doing?" "Telling us to get that lid back on pretty quick, Kit." the cheetah answered. He allowed the device to register for a few seconds, then reached a gloved hand inside and lifted out a small bar of metal - strange metal, that Kit had never seen before. He examined it closely for a few seconds, then placed it back inside the box. Grunting, he heaved the metal lid off of the deck and hefted it back inside the crate, where Kit heard it contact with another metal surface. The device resumed it's slow clicking. Dan stood and removed his mask and gloves, and breathed deeply. He turned to the bears and grinned. "Don't much care for that part of the job. Gives me the willies!" "OK, hotshot - so what was that stuff?" Baloo challenged. "It's a metal - a special metal. Nobody really understands exactly how it works, yet - but we're working on it. So are the Alemanians." He looked down at the crate and frowned. "Hate to even let 'em have this - it's a valuable load of stuff. But it's more important that we use it to find out where they're conducting their research." "So what do you do now?" Kit asked the cheetah. He reached down into his bag yet again - he seemed to keep everything in there! Kit half expected to see him pull out a pink inkara, but instead he pulled out a small metal disc and held it up for them to see. "And that is?" Baloo asked impatiently. The cat smiled. "A homing signal. We're getting better at these all the time - they get smaller and smaller. I'd like to place it in with the material itself, just to minimize the chance that they'd find it too soon, but-" "Lead screws up radio signals!" Kit finished his sentence. Dan laughed. "Very good, son - you impress me. That is correct." "So that _was_ lead we was haulin', huh?" Baloo mused. "Figgered it had ta be - nuthin' else that heavy. So the lead - blocks out the poison, somehow?" "Yes, that's more or less accurate. You boys are pretty resourceful for cargo jockeys, Baloo." "Cargo jockeys have to be resourceful, smart-guy. And despite what you might think we ain't stupid, neither." the pilot sneered Dan held out his hands. "No offense! Meant it as a compliment." He turned and knelt by the box. "Now, we just find a nice cozy spot in here to hide our little friend....And when the Alemanians find him, with the locking device still intact, they'll have to assume at least the likelihood that it was placed from the inside - before the box was sealed." "But - how do you set the lock again - rig it?" Kit asked. "Well - that's actually tougher than picking it without setting it off, to tell you the truth." he answered. "But I have a few tricks left in my bag....Just in case, I'd like you gentlemen back in the cockpit, please." "They're all danged crazy!" Baloo muttered and headed back for his chair. "C'mon, kiddo - let's give this guy all the room he needs. We still got a plane to fly." The Sea Duck cruised comfortably through the Myopian night, the airfield about twenty miles distant. The cheetah had prepared the crate and re-armed the lock, and now was making the final preparations to his parachute and pack. They hadn't discussed it, but Baloo and Kit assumed that he'd be following his partner's lead and jumping before they reached the airfield. The pilot and navigator sat silently in the cockpit, the dim cabin lights doing little to obscure the brilliant display of stars in the sky around them. There didn't appear to be a cloud in the sky. Baloo yawned, stretched and unbuckled his safety belt. "Take the stick, L'il Britches." he said casually, standing. Kit looked up at him in surprise. "Really?" he said, casting a glance back towards the hold. "Yeah, sure, Kit. It's still my damn plane. You can handle it!" he said intently. Kit sensed that this was important to the big bear - and besides, he was never one to turn down an offer to fly, especially at night. If he could handle this run with Baloo blinded, he could handle it with the pilot fully capable. "Roger, skipper." he said, sliding into the pilot's chair. Baloo sat in the navigator's seat. "I'll handle the landing, you take the approach. I missed it last time, kid - and since I don't plan on comin' back to this hole again I wanna see you fly that approach with my own eyes!" Kit knew that this was about more than himself, but it was still an opportunity to vindicate the pilot's faith in him. "OK, 17 miles out, airspeed 170 MPH, altitude 3800 feet. Reducing velocity to 150 MPH, altitude to 3000 feet.... now." He eased the throttle back, and gently pushed the wheel forward. "You know the script, kid." Baloo said calmly from his side. Dan stood in the doorway, a look of astonishment on his face. "Mr. Baloo - is this truly necessary, given the circumstances?" Baloo didn't look back. "Not necessary. But that don't matter. L'il Britches needs night flyin' experience and it looks like nighttime to me." "Perhaps you don't understand the magnitude-" Baloo held up a hand for silence. He leaned over to Kit. "Looks like about another six miles to the pass. Clear sailing all the way - couldn't ask fer a better view. Keep bringin' her down slowly and reduce airspeed, just like last time." He stood and faced the cheetah, gently pushing him back into the hold. "I think it's you who don't understand, Danny boy. Yer making my wingman nervous, and guys who do that stay the hell outta my cockpit. Leave the pilotin' to me, Mister - to me an' my kid. We'll get the Sea Duck down no problems. You just do whatever it is you gotta do and stay outta my way. Just what the heck _are_ you gonna do, anyways?" Dan bristled for a moment, then chuckled and brushed Baloo's shoulder as if swiping some dust off of his shirt. The pilot did not smile. "Very simple Baloo. I'm going to jump out of this plane as soon as we're through Cataract Pass. The bug is in place - all I need to do is track it and report back to our friends back home. We'll put the Alemanians out of business inside a week." "You'd better. I didn't drag my wingman and my plane all the way out there to have you screw it up. I don't know your world, Danny boy, and I don't want to. But just make sure you finish what we started." The cheetah smiled dazzlingly. "Ever the gracious host, Baloo. A gentleman's cargo jockey." He looked around the pilot's shoulder at the cockpit. "The kid can really fly, huh?" "He's an ace. Good luck." Baloo turned and walked back up to the cockpit and patted Kit on the back. "How're things up here?" Kit grinned. "Thought you were gonna bail on me there for a minute! Everything looks good - we're about two miles out from the pass." Ahead, the Sea Duck's lights and the pale moonglow illuminated the mountain gap, now visible on both faces. It looked formidable, but less so than the last time. It was much wider than the cliffs guarding Cape Suzette, but less smooth - jagged shards of mountain stuck out from the rock faces on either side. "You want the stick back? "Naw, kid - you take it. You kin handle this, no problem." Dan stuck his head through the cockpit door, parachute strapped on. "About that time, boys. As soon as you clear the pass, kid, gimme a holler - I'll look for a spot and ditch. Y'know kid, you're a helluva trooper. Hope you consider coming to work for the good guys in a few years." The cheetah saluted crisply. "Gentlemen - thank you for your service. Clear skies." He turned and disappeared into the hold, and the bear and cub could hear the cargo door opening. They were almost in the pass now. Kit steered the Duck towards the center, leaving plenty of room on either side. "Remember the-" Baloo began "Updrafts!" Kit finished with a grin. "No problem skipper. 2500 feet now, 125 MPH, we're right in the pass now..." the boy made small steering adjustments as the updrafts rocked the plane slightly. "Giving her a little port rudder...On track....OK, we're through!" He turned towards the cabin. "We're out, Dan! Good luck!" "Gentlemen!" The cheetah yelled, and then there was silence. Baloo caught a glimpse of the silhouette of the cheetah's chute as it opened behind them. "Wow." Kit said. "With all that hot wind, hope he doesn't get blown off course!" Baloo muttered. He walked back to the hold and slammed the cargo door shut. "Well, kid", he said with a pat on the back, "With all that weird stuff on board I think I'll land this crate." "Roger!" the boy said and slipped out of the pilot's chair. He still wasn't sure exactly why Baloo had allowed him to fly the approach, but there had been a battle of wills going on - he was sure of that - and he was just as sure that he'd been at the center of it. "Gonna have to come up with some new ways to challenge you, kid!" Baloo grinned at him as he took his seat and buckled in. "This is getting too danged easy! Maybe we'll fly you through Merkle Pass next." "Let's just get the Duck on the ground, Papa Bear - get that stuff off the plane and I hope we never see it or Myopia again!" "Amen, kiddo!" the pilot echoed, and guided the yellow seaplane in for a landing. Both Baloo and Kit half expected trouble on the ground in Myopia - it just didn't seem fitting that this whole business should end routinely, with another thousand dollars in their pockets. But it had been an entirely mundane drop - the dog had picked up the box, carted it away and handed them an envelope. The truck drove off, they were cleared for takeoff, and that was that. Baloo looked at Kit as the cleared the runway and set course for home. "That's it?" Kit shrugged. "I guess so. I wonder what's gonna happen now - with all this stuff about the special metal, and the Alemanians, and all that." "No concern of ours anymore, kid. Our little experiment in international politics is over! And none too soon if ya ask me." Kit looked out the window, thoughtfully. The world certainly was a weird place. There was always stuff going on that you never heard about - if it didn't effect your life it didn't even happen as far as you were concerned. But it _did_ still happen. It was all too much to think about right now. He pulled his legs up and curled up on the seat. "I'm gonna get some winks, Papa Bear. Wake me when we get home...." "FOUR hours, Baloo!" Rebecca Cunningham yelled. "You were _four_ hours late delivering those Kumquats! And I don't want to hear any lame excuses about pirates, or hurricanes..." "But I'm _tellin'_ ya lady, they was everywhere! Musty been sixty planes, mebbe more. Why, it was all I could do with my heroic flyin' just ta avoid em, ain't that right Kit?" "Uh, right Baloo." the cub said glumly, sitting at the table and reading the newspaper. "Sixty at least." The last week had been back to normal - and all that that carried along with it. "Honestly, Baloo - if you tick off one more client, I'm gonna have to start docking your pay. I mean it this time, Mister!" "Aw, lighten up boss-lady! Most o' those stuffed-shirts could use a little lesson in patience anyways." "Baloo! How dare you-" "Telephone repairman!" A voice called, and a uniformed man with a toolbelt walked through the door. "Telephone?" Rebecca asked, puzzled. "We didn't report any problems with the phone!" "Hmmm." said the man, studying his clipboard. He looked up from the clipboard and removed his hard hat, revealing a dark-eyed leopard visage. "Says something there about unfinished business." The leopard, Baloo and Kit sat at the table, and Rebecca poured three cups of coffee and joined them. "Thank you." the cat smiled politely, and took a sip of coffee. "Now Mr. - ah yes, Michael? Perhaps you can tell us the reason for your visit? It was my understanding that Higher for Hire had completed our part in this situation." "Yeah, I'm on pins and needles, Mikey!" Baloo said sarcastically. "If you think I'm runnin' any more errands-" "No, Mr. Baloo." the leopard interrupted. Kit had the same uncomfortable sense as before, that the man seemed to be paying an inordinate amount of attention to him. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "So why _are_ you here then, Michael?" Rebecca asked gently. "The truth." he replied with a frown. "Well, that was helpful." Baloo muttered. "What do you mean - the truth?" Kit asked sharply. The leopard looked down at the boy and a strange pain flashed in his eyes. "I've spent the last nineteen years of my life keeping secrets. Lies, deceptions - all for cause, of course. Sooner or later there has to be a time for the truth." The three bears were clearly captured, now - this strange man had their complete attention. "Let me say, first of all, that in the matter at hand - even if I can't tell you details, I can tell you, your efforts were greatly appreciated, and have led to most encouraging developments. This is a situation, frankly, that will bring no joy to us, I fear - but clearly we are in a better position today than we were a week ago. Thank you." Baloo and Kit shared a look of some small pride. "However, I am here today regarding another matter. You may say that I am here on personal business. In fact, I will deny that I was even here, or that this conversation ever took place. My position would be forfeit should it ever be known that I've told you - what I'm going to tell you." The leopard rubbed a hand wearily, painfully, across his brow. "As I said, there must, it seems to me, come a time for truth, sooner or later. It may never officially be the time, but I have to live with myself at the end of the day." He looked at Kit squarely. "I had no idea, when this affair started - I didn't see the connection. When I heard your name, Cloudkicker - I recognized it, and then, when I saw you - your eyes, your smile...and the way you carry yourself, it was obvious." Kit sat stiffly in his chair, unsure where this was leading. Baloo snaked an arm out and protectively placed it over the cub's shoulders. "I did some checking, of course." Michael continued. "I wanted to be sure, you understand. But there was never any doubt, once I saw you." A tear rolled from the cats's eye and down his cheek, and he reached across and clasped the boy's hand. "Kit - I need to tell you about your mother." PART III Kit stared at the spotted paw that gripped his own. tightly, warmly - and felt himself being drawn into a wave of shock. How many more of these revelations could there be? Wasn't he ever going to be allowed to just have a normal life? He forced his gaze to the leopard's face. "My mother - she's - she-" "What's all this about, smart-guy? Ain't the kid been through enough already?" Baloo was angry now. "Baloo - let him finish!" Rebecca admonished. There was something in the man's manner, his tone - she could sense that he felt this was incredibly important. Kit took a deep breath and pulled his hand away, gently. "Sir, my mother is d-dead. She died along with my father - killed by air pirates. What more could you possibly have that I need to know than that?" He sobbed softly and Baloo wrapped his arm more tightly around his shoulder. The cheetah stared intently at Kit. "Those eyes - it's incredible! I feel like I've gone back in time..... Son, I know what happened to your father - I wasn't sure you did - but that was not your mother that died with him. That was your stepmother." "What?" Rebecca blurted out in surprise. "It's true, Miss Cunningham. The boy's father was married twice - and his second wife was with him when they - when they died." "This is all too much!" Kit said, burying his face in his hands. "I don't wanna hear any more!" "I don't understand, Mikey." Baloo said angrily as he consoled Kit. "Why the heck are you tellin' us all this, if it's so hush-hush that yer sayin' you won't even admit you told us?" The leopard sighed, a gesture that was filled with deep regret. "Because I loved her, Baloo - I loved her with all my heart and soul like I've never loved anyone." He looked back at Kit, who was struggling hard to control his emotions. "And because I loved her, Kit, I love you too - I see her in you, in every gesture and every expression. I love you, even though I haven't seen you in ten years - longer. I love you because she's in you. And I think you deserve to know the truth." Kit breathed deeply, slowly. He wiped a single tear away and sat back in his chair, eyes closed. Rebecca could sense that he'd crossed some kind of internal barrier - he was ready to believe what the man was telling him. He opened his eyes and started resolutely at the leopard. "Tell me." he said simply. "Her name was Angela - Angela Crosswhyte. She was a wonderful woman., a pioneer, a great pilot. There weren't many female pilots then." "She - she was a pilot?" the cub asked. The cat smiled. "A hell of a pilot, Kit. Your father was, too. They loved to fly. Your father was an engineer as well, a terrific designer. Your mother, she - well, she was what we called a sleeper. She started flying covert missions for the government, whenever they'd call her. She had unique abilities, talents. She did great service to Usland. That's how I met her, Kit. We both worked in the same business, shall we say. She worked secretly, in the field. I worked in an office. When we met, it was - I don't know. There was a special magic between us, from the beginning. She was still married to your father then. I'm truly, truly sorry that I ever got involved with her, but I did. We were in love. She was drifting apart from your father by then, but I live with the shame, every day." The leopard paused for moment to gather himself. Kit stared raptly at the man, seemingly overwhelmed. After a moment he continued. "Every day I live with it. But the biggest shame is that I'd do it again." He sighed again. "When your parents divorced, your father was already close to your stepmother. I didn't know her well, but she was a wonderful woman, a pilot too - and they were very happy. She loved you as if you were her son, Kit, I can promise you that. In any case, your parents decided that, given the nature of your mother's - occupation - that you should be with your father and stepmother - that they would give you a more stable home. She was, by trade, a surveyor, and was frequently gone on long missions, and there was always the possibility that, at any moment, she would be - called, for something dangerous. It ate at her, deep inside, but she did it because she thought it would be best for you. When your father and stepmother - when they died....she was devastated. She was in the midst of something very important. It was a mission that was so secret that it was never acknowledged....but I'm getting ahead of myself, I see. When your father died, your mother planned to give up her responsibilities and collect you. But there was one more mission she had to fly - she was uniquely qualified and trained, and she knew it's importance. It would have been her last mission in any case...." "L-last mission?" Kit gasped. The leopard buried his head in his hands. He took a deep breath and continued. "Given the tragedy, she would have been taken off duty permanently. That was the plan. But she flew the last mission. She never returned. It was never acknowledged, by the government. No search parties were sent. She filed a flight plan - a false one of course - and motions were gone through. But she was never actively searched for - that would have been a tacit admission that they - we - were not willing to make. She was never seen nor heard from again." The leopard cried, quietly, tears rolling down his cheeks, the weight of his professional detachment finally having been lifted for a few moments. "She-disappeared?" Kit asked in a daze. "Then - she could still be alive..." "Oh Kit - that isn't why I'm telling you this..." "Why _are_ you?" Rebecca gently prodded. "Yeah - Whyd'ya hafta to come in here and upset the kid? Can't you see he's been through enough already? Let 'im get on with his life!" "I wanted him to know the truth. That's all. I wanted him to know he had a mother who loved him. I wanted him to know that he could be proud of her - that she was a wonderful aviator, a wonderful patriot - and a wonderful woman. I've been keeping secrets for nineteen years. The boy deserves to know." Kit walked over to the easy chair and sat, chin in hands. "This is - I don't know what to think. I just can't believe it. It never seems to end." Baloo followed the cub and grabbed his shoulders. "L'il Britches - even if what this guy says is true - it don't change anything. Your life is till here - with us. With me. We're still your family." Kit stood and hugged Baloo tightly. "I know. But every time I think I've finally....gotten on top of it, there's something else! Why, Papa Bear?" "I dunno kid, that's just the way life is sometimes." he answered, hugging the boy to him.. "Tell me!" Kit said suddenly, to the leopard. "Tell me where she went! You can't just come in here and give me bits and pieces, and not tell me everything you know! It's not fair!" The leopard looked sadly at Kit. "There are things even I don't know, son -and others that I can't tell you. I'm sorry." "That's not fair!" the boy yelled, storming over to him. "What kind of person are you - what about the truth? What about loving me? How can any of that matter to you if you won't even tell me where she went - how I can find her! She's my mother!" "Kit...." Baloo put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "She's gone, Kit." the leopard sighed. "It's been a long time. She's gone." Rebecca had been silent for a long time. She felt she could be silent no longer. "Michael - I have to ask you the same thing Kit did - what kind of person are you? What kind of man drops a bombshell on a child like that and then won't finish what he started? Don't tell me any sob stories about the truth, or love - this was all about cleansing your conscience, wasn't it? You felt guilty - guilty about breaking up a marriage, guilty about hiding the truth from Kit for ten years, guilty for God knows what else you've done. What kind of commitment to the truth is that? Be a man and finish what you started here! Let the poor child get on with his life once and for all!" There was heavy silence in the room. The leopard stared at Kit, a haunted expression in his eyes. Kit breathed heavy, ragged breaths, and Baloo stood behind him and held him to his chest. Rebecca stood from the table and glared at the cat. Finally, after a moment. Michael broke the spell. "Very well. I have forfeited my position merely by coming here today, should I ever be discovered. Let the events of a decade past lie where they are - whatever happens will happen." He grabbed Kit's hand. She was headed to Wahini Atoll. The reason is unimportant. She never arrived. I do not know anything else, I swear it on my very soul. And may I be forgiven for having kept it from you for this long." He sank back into his chair and closed his eyes. Baloo held Kit to him for a moment, and the boy turned, grabbed the big grey bear's hands. They stared wordlessly at each other for a moment. "I'm you father, L'il Britches. That's forever." the pilot whispered. "Always." Kit said in reply. He disappeared out the door. "I'll be back." "Mr. Baloo." the leopard called weakly. The pilot walked over to him, a mix of anger and sadness on his face. "The events of the past week. They have, as I told you, improved the situation. Nevertheless, it is still very grim. We are engaged in a race that we cannot win, even if we arrive at the finish line first. There will only be degrees of loss." "Why you telling me this, Mikey?" The leopard opened his dark eyes. "There are those, mostly young idealists, who believe that we are on a successful path of peace. I've seen too much to believe it. War is coming, Baloo. War is coming, and we will be dragged into it, sooner or later. And when it comes, it will dwarf even the last great war." Baloo was rapt, unable to look away. A terrible somberness had gripped the big cat. Rebecca's eyes as well were glued to him. "This isn't like the last time, Baloo. This is a fight that must be fought, but...we will see terrible things. I fear that there will still be war in five years time - it will not be over and settled. Kit - Kit will want to fight, Mr. Baloo. I know. I can see it in his actions, in his spirit. I know, because - because Angie would want to. And she's in him. I can't explain why things happen. I can't change the past. All I know is that Kit has found you - yourself and Miss Cunningham. Maybe things happen for the best. He's found happiness. He's been through so much already - and his family has made their sacrifice - his family and himself as well. I hold a position of considerable authority in the government, Mr. Baloo. More, I think, than you can know. I intend to make certain that there are no further sacrifices. Kit would hate me for it, if he were ever to find out, but I can live with that. It is grossly unfair - I can live with that. What I cannot live with is the prospect that after he has finally found the happiness that he deserves, he forfeits his life, and that I could have prevented it. There will be other contributions, other efforts to be made - here, at home. He'll distinguish himself with honor and excellence. He's his mother's son. But there will be no more sacrifices, Baloo - no more. His family has paid it's debt. Maybe in some small way I can repay mine." He stood, smiled weakly at Rebecca. He grabbed Baloo by the shoulders and intently, almost pleadingly addressed him. "I'm sorry, Baloo. I'm sorry that I've let this go for so long, and I'm sorry that I've contributed to so much sorrow in Kit's life. I love him, more than you can ever understand. Thank God he has you, Baloo. Don't let him down. Be there for him. He'll be as fine a son as you could ever hope for. I know." Baloo patted the cat's shoulder. "Ya don't hafta worry about that Mikey. We're a team. I may be a lot o' things, but one thing I ain't is the guy that's ever gonna let that kid outta his life. He's got a lot o' guardian angels out there." Kit walked in, carrying an armload of aviation maps from the Sea Duck and a determined expression. He saw Baloo and Michael in their half embrace and paused. The cat disengaged from Baloo and shook his hand. "Miss Cunningham - again, thank you." he said to Rebecca. "You're leaving?" Kit said in disbelief. "But - there's so much I want to ask you-" "No more." the cat said. "I've told you all I can. Live your life, now. Do what you feel you must, keep your father close to your heart and live your life." He placed a hand on the cub's cheek fondly. "You _are_ her. Incredible! To see your face - it's a gift I shall never forget. Good-bye." His hand lingered on Kit's cheek for a moment, and his eyes drifted, seeing images only he could see. Then, abruptly, he turned and was gone. The leopard's second visit to Higher for Hire had, incredibly, upset the routine there more than even his first. Kit had been quiet and withdrawn since, mired in thoughts only he could understand. Baloo, as he had been so often before, was left to watch, helplessly, and to allow the cub to face his past in his own way. Rebecca, too, had been thrust into a familiar role - that of Baloo's sounding board, and his consolation. She wasn't entirely comfortable in it, but it was clear that the big bear needed her. Every day with Kit was an adventure for him, sometimes a frightening one - and he had so little experience in the perils of parenthood that he found himself frustrated by his inability to control events - they always seemed to be one step ahead of him, no matter what he did. And so, in his affable, roundabout way he turned to her. She watched him from across the office, as he sat idly picking at a bunch of grapes at the table. That was his way - when he needed to talk, he simply hovered close by, taking his sweet time in getting to the point and sometimes never getting there, but clearly needing simply to have the contact. Rebecca wasn't sure that she understood Kit any better than the pilot did, but she was happy at least to soothe Baloo's anxiety, a little. "Well, Beckers - at least we got to keep all that moolah, huh? Least we can expect after the ride we got stuck on, I guess." he said affably, slurping in a grape. "I suppose, Baloo. It _will_ come in handy, there's no question about that. We can finally get that new radio you've wanted for the Sea Duck, and I can certainly make some improvements around here. None of this was in the manual on running an air cargo service, though, that's for sure. What will you and Kit do with your money?" "Oh, I dunno Beckers. There's this flight jacket that I saw at Flap's Aviation Supply downtown - I think it'd be perfect fer L'il Britches. I was thinkin' about gettin' it for him. And as fer his money..." the pilot smiled fondly. "You know Kit, Becky - he'll probably end up puttin' it in a savings bond or somethin' sensible like that. Just once I'd like to see him do somethin' really dumb - like blowin' it on a new bike, or somethin'!" Rebecca laughed. "That doesn't sound like Kit! You'll just have to be impractical enough for the both of you!" "Can do!" Baloo answered with a wry chuckle. Kit walked in, book bag slung over his shoulder. He smiled at Rebecca and tossed his bag onto the table loudly. "Hi Becky, hey Baloo. What's up?" Rebecca smiled at that - it was nice to hear the boy address her informally for once. "Not much, Kit. How was school?" "Fine." the boy said distractedly, giving Baloo a quick slap on the back. "Ummmm. I need to talk to you guys, is now a good time?" Rebecca and Baloo shared a look of mixed dread and anticipation. "Sure, Kit. Anytime is a good time." she smiled. "Yeah, kiddo, fire away." Baloo added. The boy sat at the table next to Baloo and crossed his arms in front of him. "I've been thinking about what Michael said - a lot. And...I want to try to find my mother." Baloo sighed. He'd been expecting it, but that didn't make the moment any easier. "L'il Britches - I know you want to, but be honest with yourself - what do you have to gain, really? It's been ten years, more-" "I know, Papa Bear. I know. But I couldn't live with myself, knowing there was any chance that - that she was alive, and I didn't try. I _have_ to know, Baloo. I've thought about it, long and hard. I have to know." Baloo grabbed the cub's paw and started intently at him, eye-to-eye. "Kit- I hope and pray she's alive, as unlikely as it is. But someone needs to ask - what _if_ she is? What then?" Kit smiled. "I'm your son, Baloo. I always will be - that will never change, I promise you, no matter what happens. I don't want to be anything else. That's not why I have to do this. I just have to." Baloo shook his head in doubt. "Kid, I don't-" "Baloo - I don't wanna do this without you. I can't face this without you. I need you with me. I need you with me for this - and afterwards. I don't know what I'll find out. But I want to find it together, with you. Please!" he pleaded. Baloo looked down at the table, shaking his head. "Kit - I just don't know. I dunno what to do...." "Kit-" Rebecca interrupted the pilot's pained ramblings. "What exactly did you have in mind? How are you planning to go about this? She's been missing for ten years, there's no flight plan. How do you expect to find her?" Kit frowned. "I have some ideas.... I can do some research - he said she was a fairly well-known aviator. Someone must have had some idea about her flight plan. I know where she was going to end up. I can talk to people-" "Kit, Wahini Atoll is in the middle of one of the most trackless stretches of ocean this side of the Bearmuda Trapezoid!" Baloo protested. "She could've ended up anywhere!" "I know - but you're the best pilot in the skies - and I'm the best navigator. Maybe no one's ever really looked. If she was as good as Michael said, maybe she found a way to make land, somewhere..." The boy turned to Rebecca, serious purpose in his visage. "I know this is my problem, Miz Cunningham. If Baloo will go, I'll find a way to pay the company back for the gas, for the air miles. I have some money from the idiot runs, and you can hold back my wages until it's paid off-" "Kit!" she sighed, walking over to the boy. She knelt and placed her hands on his shoulders. "I would never ask you to do that. We're doing just fine. This is a family business - the accent is on the family. If this is something you need to do then I'll support it any way that I can. I just wonder if you aren't exposing yourself to a lot of heartache that you don't need. If it's what you want, I'll support you." "Thanks, Miz Cunningham!" Kit said gratefully, and they hugged. Baloo took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair absently. "Kit - if this is what you want - what you truly want - I'll help you. We'll face it together, just like everything else. I just hope that you're sure - that you're prepared to be - disappointed." "I can take anything, Baloo - as long as you're there." The bear and cub embraced, Kit resting his head on the pilot's shoulder, a grateful expression on his face. Baloo held him, and his eyes met Rebecca's. She smiled reassuringly at him, and he shook his head ruefully. The brown cub wheeled his bike up to the Cape Suzette Public Library and locked it to the rack. He entered, realizing as he did that it was the first time he'd ever been inside the building. He chuckled to himself. "Baloo would probably be proud to hear that!" he thought. He walked over to the card catalog, and searched for anything on "Crosswhyte, Angela" by title, author and subject - nothing. He frowned - now he wished he'd spent more time here - he'd know his way around the place a little better. He walked over to the reference desk and approached the librarian, a stern looking elderly alligator dressed in black. He took off his cap and nervously shuffled. Why was that he could sneer at pirates and stuff like this still intimidated him? "Ahem. 'Scuse, me m'amm - I need your help to find something..." "Yes, young man?" she answered in a surprisingly gentle voice. "Er, I need to see if there's any information about someone - Angela Crosswhyte. She was a pilot. I tried the card catalog, and there were no books-" She smiled, leaned over the counter and pointed to a door. "That's the periodicals room, young man. If she's been mentioned in any newspapers or magazines that's where they'll be. When you go in there you'll see a big book called "Usland Comprehensive Periodicals Reference." Look her name up in there -it'll tell you what periodical she's been mentioned in. The periodicals are in the boxes on the shelves, and the boxes are alphabetically sorted. Good luck!" "Thank you m'amm." He smiled. That hadn't been so bad - can't judge a book by it's cover, he mused. He replaced his cap and went through the door she'd indicated and found himself in a larger room than he'd expected. There were two rows of shelves, four-high, and a huge hardbound book on a pedestal in the front. He examined it- sure enough, it was the reference she'd told him about. He leafed through the pages - it was the biggest book he'd ever seen. He found the subject listings, and after a moment the "C"s. "Let's see....Crandall, Creswell, Cromley..." he muttered to himself. "Crosswhyte, Angela!" To his surprise, there were three listings! Heart racing in his chest, he grabbed a pencil and wrote the three listings down, and headed for the stacks. The first listing was for "Flyboy Magazine", June, 1926, page 23. He found the "F"s, then the boxes of Flyboy Magazine. He found the 1926's and grabbed June. Breathlessly he leafed to page 23. "Aviation news: Thirty year-old Angela Crosswhtye became the first female pilot to fly solo from Cape Suzette to San Flamingo last month. She is one of only four female pilots registered in the San Flamingo Pilot's Guild." That was all. Disappointed, he returned the magazine to it's place and checked the next listing. At least he knew her age now - she'd be 42. If she was alive. He shuddered and cleared that thought out of his mind. The next listing was for the "San Flamingo Sentinel", March 18, 1927, page 32. He located the newspaper, but it was a much bigger job to find the one he needed - there were thousands of copies of the Sentinel, in dozens of boxes, all laid-out flat. After ten minutes of searching he finally found what he was looking for. Hands shaking, he opened the March 18 edition to page 32. It was in the "Lifestyles" section, he noticed. His heart leaped - there was an article - and a picture! He stared long and hard at the grainy black and white photo, unable to tear his eyes away. It showed a brown bearess, leaning against the wing of an old twin-engine Conwing L-10, wearing a tan flightsuit and scarf, a pair of goggles perched on her forehead and a jaunty smile on her lips. Kit couldn't look away - this was his mother! Her brown eyes seemed to speak to him, from the flatness of the page. They seemed alive. She smiled, but there was a trace of sadness in her visage, too. And she flew an L-10 - a Conwing, just like him! A classic plane, a legend...and those eyes.... He remembered himself and forced his eyes to look down at the text. There was a small headline - "LOCAL PILOT BUCKS (DOE-S?) THE ODDS". He scanned down to the text, and read it softly aloud "Angela Crosswhyte - Angie to her friends - isn't your typical San Flamingo housewife. For fun, this brown-eyed beauty takes to the skies and leaves her cares behind. But this lovely lady doesn't jump on a blimp or balloon - she's a fully licensed pilot, and a respected free-lance mapper and surveyor. She even served in the army in the great war. How does she keep looking so beautiful when she works so hard? "I just do what I love." the Lindyesque lovely says. Indeed, our local gal loves to fly - her former husband is a pilot too. How does it feel to be one of only four ladies in the San Flamingo Pilot's Guild? "I don't think about it." Angie says. "One day women pilots will be as commonplace as male pilots. I'm just a few years ahead." Her longtime navigator, Harry "Props" McDowd, is quick to praise his partner's skill. "She's as good as any man when it comes to piloting." Props says. "She can hold her own with any pilot in Usland." She's a heck of a lot prettier, too! That was all. Harry McDowd - longtime navigator? That was worth remembering. Kit's eyes stole back to the picture, and her eyes. He looked down at his list again. One more listing - the "Sentinel" again - November 29, 1927, page 23. That date, November 29 - why did he remember it? He found the newspaper, only a few months more recent that the last one, in a few moments. He rifled through the pages, found page 23. His heart sank. He looked at the heading at the top of the page. "OBITUARIES". He closed his eyes for a long moment. Steeling himself, he opened them and forced himself to keep reading. Her name was about halfway down the page - no picture. "Angela Crosswhyte, local aviator, aged 31. Missing since November 4 and officially pronounced dead. Crosswhyte disappeared on a routine flight from San Flamingo to East Patagalpa. No trace of her aircraft has been found. She leaves behind a son, Kit, aged 2." There was no more. Kit set the newspaper down, stared at it, re-read it. "Officially pronounced dead." He sobbed softly and a tear rolled down his cheek. "Are you all right, child?" a voice asked from behind him. He spun, startled - it was the reference librarian. "Y-yes. I'm sorry. I'll put these back..." "Did you know her?" the woman asked softly. "No." the cub sobbed again. "But she was my mother." The librarian opened her mouth slightly in surprise. "Oh dear." she whispered. She shuffled over to Kit and looked over his shoulder. "She was very beautiful. You look very much like her." Kit forced a smile. "Y-yes, she was. I'd never seen her before today. Not that I could remember. I...I-" The librarian clearly didn't understand all that was going on, but she'd had children of her own and her instincts told her this one needed comfort. "Would you like to have that photo? And the article?" Kit choked back a sob and looked up in surprise. "Could I? I'd - I'd like that. Very much." The woman smiled warmly. "We don't get much call for ten year-old San Flamingo papers here. I'll order another one from the publisher and I'm sure it won't be missed in the meantime. I think it will mean more to you." "Thank you." the cub said sincerely, grabbing the article and photo and hugging it to his chest. "Is there anything else that I may help you find?" The boy thought for a moment and composed himself. "Yes - where do you keep the telephone directories?" Kit had tried everything he could think of - The San Flamingo telephone directory, the Pilot's Guild, even the San Flamingo Sentinel itself - and no one had a number for Harry McDowd. He banged his fist on the desk at Higher for Hire in frustration and scowled. "I'm sorry, Kit. It's been a long time, you know?" Rebecca said sympathetically as she browsed the file cabinet. "Who knows where Mr. McDowd lives now? Perhaps you could track him down, hire a service or an agency..." She resumed her filing. "I dunno, Miz Cunningham. That could take forever, cost a fortune. I don't want to wait. I wanna talk to this guy now!" He consulted his list of numbers, but there were no more. "Only one thing I haven't tried..." He picked up the phone and dialed several numbers. "Hello, San Flamingo information? I'm looking for McDowd, a residence. Any McDowd, whatever you've got." There was a pause, and the operator came back on the line. "Margaret McDowd? Yes, thank you." He wrote down a number. "Found something?" "Probably not - but there is one McDowd listed - I'm gonna give it a try, nothing to lose. I'll pay you back for all these long distance calls Becky, - I promise!" She laughed. "That's fine, Kit! If you want to. I really don't care, you know. As long as you find what you're looking for." Kit knocked on the wooden desk and smiled at her, dialing the number. After two rings a woman picked up. "Hello?" "Uh, yes, hello m'amm. You don't know me, but I'm trying to locate Harry McDowd. I was hoping that you knew him." "Harry McDowd is my father." she answered, sounding surprised. "May I ask what this is regarding?" Kit's face lit up, which was not unnoticed by Rebecca. She walked over and sat on the desk. "Well - It's about Angela Crosswhyte - his old partner." the boy said nervously. "I'm sorry." The woman said coldly. "My father is retired and he does not discuss his flight career. So if-" "Wait! Please.....I - I need to talk to him - it's real important. Angela Crosswhyte was my mother." There was a silence at the other end of the line. "Who is this?" the woman asked suspiciously after a moment. Kit looked helplessly at Rebecca, who had sat down on the corner of the desk. "I know it sounds weird but - I'm her son. I saw your father's name in the paper at the library-" "Is this Kit?" she asked in disbelief. "Uh, yeah. Kit Cloudkicker - that's me." "My God....Kit Cloudkicker - I can't believe it! I used to baby-sit you, Kit! When you were a year old, younger - while Angie was still married. I was a teenager then. I thought - well, we didn't think you _knew_ about your mother, Kit." "Well, I didn't, until just a few days ago. I just - found out. An' I went to the library, and I saw your father's name in a news story-" "God! That ludicrous story in the "Sentinel"! Angie hated that....Very flattering picture though. Kit, why do you want to talk to my father? What is this about?" Kit balled his fist in frustration. "I just want to ask him... about her. Questions. I just want to know about her." "She was a wonderful lady, Kit. I loved her like a mother." There was a sigh on the other end of the line. "Kit, my father's retired - he lives in Azirona now. He doesn't like to talk about Angie, but I think he'll want to talk to you. I'll call him, and tell him you - that you know. If he's willing I'll have him call you. What's your number?" "It's CS-531, Ms. McDowd. Cape Suzette. And thanks - I really appreciate it." "It was wonderful to hear your voice, Kit. I hope he calls you, I really do. Good-bye." "Bye." The cub hung up the phone. "That's his daughter, Miz Cunningham! She said he doesn't like to talk about Angie - my mother - but maybe he'll call...." "I'm sure he'll call, Kit." "I sure hope so..." the boy whispered, a faraway look in his eyes. "So that's what happened, Baloo. And everytime the phone's rung all afternoon, he's been down here like a shot, hoping it was him. It's one of the saddest things I've ever seen." The pilot shook his head sadly. "I dunno Beckers - maybe this is fer the best, but the kid's had his heart broken so many times - I don't know how much more he can take. This just don't feel like a good thing to me." "He's strong Baloo - you don't survive what he's been through without being strong. And he didn't have you to support him before..." "Us." Baloo said firmly. Rebecca was strangely touched by the pilot's gruff reply. "Didn't have _us _ to support him before. I'm worried too - but if I were in his shoes, I'd want to find out as much as I could -wouldn't you?" "Reckon yer right boss. I'd just like to have one normal week as a father 'n son, y'know? That don't seem like too much ta ask..." Rebecca gathered her papers and stuffed them in her briefcase. "I'm about done, Baloo. I think I'll check in on Kit before I go. Coming?" The bear followed her up the stairs to the bedroom. Kit was seated cross-legged on the bed. When he heard them enter, he quickly shoved something behind his back. "I'm leaving Kit. I just wanted to say goodbye." "Bye." the cub replied glumly. "Kit, he'll call you if he wants to. But it's not your decision. You're going to have to live with the fact that he might just not want to talk about it." "I know, I know..." he said in a frustrated growl. Baloo sat on his bed. "Watcha got there, L'il Britches?" he asked gently. "Nothin'." the boy mumbled. "Come on - together, remember? No secrets." Kit lowered his head and was silent for a moment. With a sigh, he pulled the newspaper clipping from behind his back. "Well, pop my peepers!" Baloo whispered, looking at the picture. "What is it?" Rebecca asked, joining them on Kit's small bed. "This her, L'il Britches?" the pilot asked. Kit nodded without raising his head. Rebecca stared at the photo - a strikingly beautiful, dark-eyed bearess gazed back at her, leaning against her plane as if she owned the world. "Kit - she's so beautiful...." "Wow! A Conwing L-10! Great taste too!" Baloo whistled in appreciation. Kit still looked down, not meeting the his friends' eyes. "Kit, I can't get over - her eyes, she looks so much like you. It's uncanny." Rebecca gasped. The boy closed his eyes tightly. Baloo was reading the text of the article. "Wow - sounds like she was a real ace, too! Amazin'. Never seen a woman pilot like that..." Rebecca slid over to Kit and put an arm around his shoulder. "I know this hurts - but it's what you want, isn't it? Wouldn't you rather see her, know what she looks like, who she was? That makes her more real - but it makes it hurt more, doesn't it?" "Yeah." he rasped, leaning against her. "I just - I don't know how to feel. I just wanna keep asking 'why?' But it doesn't do any good...." Baloo hugged his arm around Kit and Rebecca, sandwiching the boy between them. "Kiddo - It don't do no good to ask 'why?'. Believe me, I know." The two shared a look of understanding. "I asked that fer a long time, but all it does is make you crazy. All you can do is count yer blessings and be thankful fer what you got. And you can be happy she was such a great lady too - you can be proud of her. And be grateful fer what you got." He squeezed Kit and Rebecca tighter, and Rebecca did the same, forcing a reluctant giggle out of Kit, wedged between them. "Thanks, you guys. You're the best!" he said with a grin. The phone rang, and he popped out of their midst like a champagne cork and bolted down the stairs at run, leaving Baloo and Rebecca leaning against each other to keep from falling over. Rebecca laughed, and Baloo fell back on the bed. "It's him!" Kit squeaked from the office. By the time Rebecca and Baloo reached the bottom of the stairs, Kit was standing, leaning on the desk and listening to the receiver. He sat down, then stood again, too excited to stay in one position for more than a few seconds. Kit's head was spinning - this was his mother's friend, her partner - the mother he had never known! Harry McDowd's voice was gruff and gravelly, which set Kit back for a moment, but hearing the cub's voice perceptibly softened the man's tone. "So you're Kit Cloudkicker, eh?" McDowd growled, but there was a friendly undertone now. "Y-yes sir. I'm sorry that I bothered you-" "By golly - you'd have to be thirteen now, wouldn't you Sprig?" "Yes sir." Kit replied, surprised by the nickname the man used. "By golly. Our little sprig is a teenager. Don't that make me feel old. Where are ya kid? What're you doing with yerself? Stayin' out of trouble I hope, though that might be askin' too much o' Angie's boy." Kit smiled at the man's banter. It was like talking to his grandfather - or rather what he imagined that _might_ be like. "I live in Cape Suzette, sir-" "Harry! 'Sir' don't sound right on a pilot's back." Kit grinned again. This fellow reminded him of Baloo. "I live in Cape Suzette, Harry. I was just adopted, a few weeks ago - by Baloo, he's a cargo pilot here." "Adopted? Why, that's terrific, kid. I'm really glad to hear that. He treatin' you good?" "Harry - he's the best. He's my best friend. And Becky - Miss Cunningham, she's my boss - they treat me great. They're the best people in the world." Baloo and Rebecca shared a smile, listening from a discreet distance. "And Harry - guess what? _I'm_ a navigator too!" McDowd laughed - a big, hoarse roar that sounded like a car engine on a cold morning. "That's great, Sprig! A navigator already! Ya wear yer hat backwards? Yer supposed ta, ya know!" Kit grinned broadly and reflexively rubbed his head. "You bet Harry! Baloo learned me, first thing." The big grey bear chuckled softly from the foot of the stairs. Harry laughed again. "Kit, I gotta ask - how the heck didya find out about Angie? Who told you?" Kit shifted uncomfortably, stood again and leaned on the desk. "An - old friend of her's, Harry. He recognized me and put two and two together, and here I am." "Old friend, huh?' McDowd said dubiously. He seemed as though he was going to pursue that further but changed tack. "Kit- it's great to hear from you - to know yer doing good. I been thinkin' about you a lot over these last near eleven years. But what exactly did you want to talk to me about?" "Mr. McDowd, sir...Harry - I want to know what happened to my mother. This old friend - he kinda led me to think that she wasn't really headed to East Patagalpa when she...dissapeared." There was a long, awkward silence from the other end of the line. "Sprig - it sounds like you got somethin' real good goin', where yer at. Sound like you hooked up with some real nice folks there - yer even learnin' how to navigate and such. Don't cause yerself any pain, kid. Let her go. I can send you some photos, stuff o' hers, if ya like, but - " "Yes, please!" the cub said. "But Harry - I wondered my whole life what happened to my mother, then finally I thought I knew - but that turned out to be a lie, too. I want to know, Harry. I want to know what happened - I've got a real family now, and I can take whatever it is. I just need to know." He looked over at his friends thoughtfully. "It's time for the truth." "Kit - I don't know what you want me to tell you, but your mother disappeared on a flight from San Flamingo to East Patagalpa, and was never found. That's what happened. You can check the-" "Harry!" Kit said, a note of pleading in his voice. "You were her navigator - her best friend! You can't tell me she didn't give you some idea of what she was really doing! That story about East Patagalpa is a lie - we both know it. _Please_, Mr. McDowd! Tell me what you know! She was my mother!" There was another pause of silence on the line, and Kit could hear the man sobbing quietly on the other end. "Sprig - yer right, she didn't go to East Patagalpa. There were sometimes...flights - times where I didn't go with her. We didn't talk about it, but it was an unspoken agreement with us, that I wouldn't ask. That last time was one of 'em. I don't know where she was really goin'. I didn't ask her and wouldn'ta told me anyways. But - she said...she told me she was stoppin' in Tortuga. I asked her was she comin' back afters, and she said no, I got some other business after that. I know she didn't go to Tortuga fer no turtle toss, kid - but that's all I know. I never saw her again." Kit ran it over in his mind. Tortuga? That was only a fifteen hundred miles from Wahini Atoll, and Wahini Atoll was so remote that a fifteen hundred miles was a near-miss....it made sense.... "Sprig?" "Yes, Mr. McDowd - Harry. Thank you. Thanks for everything. If you ever come to Cape Suzette - if you ever, you know, just want to talk....I sure would like it if you'd call me. Or send me a card. It's Higher for Hire, 15 Harbor Drive, Cape Suzette." Harry laughed. "Cute name! Don't get out much, kid. Suzette's a pretty fair haul from Azirona. But I'll tell you what - I'll keep tabs on you, Sprig, and send ya some o' Angie's stuff. Don't screw up yer life or I'll kick yer tail!" Kit chuckled. "Geez, sure was nice to hear from ya, Sprig. I'll call ya again. Remember yer Mama, kid, but she's gone. Don't set yerself up fer a lot o' pain." "Thanks, Harry." the boy said, choking back a tear. "G'bye." "Kid!" McDowd called from the other end of the line. "Sprig - you take care o' yerself." "You too, Harry." he replied, and hung up the phone. Kit looked up to see Baloo and Rebecca staring at him from the bottom of the stairs. He smiled, and his eyes shone, though he was calm. "What a nice man...." "Did - did he tell ya anythin', L'il Britches? About yer Mama - where she was goin', an' all?" Kit sat on the desk. "He told me something - that she was going to Tortuga the day before she disappeared. That could be it, Baloo - maybe she was flying from there to Wahini, I don't know why..." Rebecca sat next to him on the desk and smiled. "You really seemed to hit it off, Kit! Your face just lit up while you were talking to him. What else did you talk about?" Kit grinned. "Miz. Cunningham - I can't explain it, but - it was like I was talking to her, somehow, too. He's a part of her life, and he was right there on the phone! He sounds like a neat guy. We were talkin' about navigating, and other stuff. I sure hope he keeps in touch!" Baloo was lost in thought. Tortuga held memories for him. A cargo run, years ago....he had stopped at the turtle toss - lost all his money, naturally - and then left at dusk. An engine failure...there was an airfield, in a little valley, he'd barely spotted it, there were so few lights, and it wasn't on the maps. He'd radioed for clearance to land, and gotten no reply at all. When he'd gone in for his approach, he'd been met with anti-aircraft fire from the ground - warning shots, or they could have taken out his crippled craft easily. He'd had to ditch in the ocean and get himself towed to Tortuga airfield. Weird day all around, he hadn't thought about it in years.... "Well, Baloo?" Rebecca called from across the room. "Huh?" Baloo said, snapped out of his reverie. He hadn't heard a word they'd been saying. She frowned. "Kit just asked if you'd like to go visit Mr. McDowd in Azirona sometime." "Oh, sorry, L'il Britches, I was thinkin' about somethin', didn't hear ya...Sure, we can stop by, maybe visit Clementine when we're there, Wildcat'd like that-" "YOU were _thinking_?" Rebecca chortled. "Well, ha-ha, Miz smarty-pants!" the pilot countered. Kit stared at Baloo. "What? What were you thinkin' about, Papa Bear?" Baloo frowned and plopped down in the easy chair. "I dunno kid. It's just - I had a funny experience on Tortuga a few years back...." "What kind of experience?" he asked sharply. "Well - I stumbled on a little airfield, never woulda seen it except I was off course cause of mechanical problems. Way in the middle o' nowhere, way off the standard flight paths, not on the maps....I got the feelin' they weren't welcomin' visitors, if ya know what I mean. Could be a coincidence..." "But it might not be!" Kit said, excitement rising in his voice. "If there's a government base on Tortuga, maybe she stopped there for fuel - or whatever -and then flew on to Wahini Atoll!" "Slow down!" Rebecca admonished, grabbing his shoulders. "You're moving way too fast here, honey. This is starting to sound like a spy movie!" "No, Miz Cunningham!" the Cub said, grabbing her arms. "It makes sense - after all we've seen these last few weeks, how can you say that?" Kid-" Baloo said, rising. "Even if there's a connection, we're still lookin' at a needle in a haystack. Tortuga's last call on the milk run - past there it's a thousand miles o' empty seas to Wahini - and most of it's uncharted! There's a lot o' blank map there!" Kit walked over to the door and paced around the room. "I know, I know. But we're close - I can feel it! This feel's right! There must be some way, some way we can narrow this down." Baloo started to speak, then stopped - that was a possibility...why not? Couldn't hurt to ask.. "L'il Britches! Run out to the Duck and get the maps fer Tortuga and points west." Grinning, the boy ran out the door. "What do you have in mind?" Rebecca asked curiously. "Just thought of an old friend, Becky, who might be able to help us...." "Is that you, Baloo?" the robust voice on the phone shouted "Why you fantaviastic young pup - Ha-Haa! How are you, son?" "Great, Whistlestop." Baloo said, smiling. He sat at Rebecca's desk, which had been cleared, and several aviation maps were rolled out on it's surface. "We sure miss ya round here!" "I miss you young folks too, son. How's that little navigator of your's? And that feisty young Rebecca Cunningham?" "They're great, Mr. Jackson. I adopted Kit - he's my son now! I was hopin' ya could help me with a little project Kit 'n me are workin' on." "Adopted, eh? Why that just sounds terrific, son - I'll be glad to help any ways I can. But what do you need from a retired old war-horse like me?" Baloo smiled. "I need yer experience, Whistlestop. You used to do a lot of surveyin' work and such, fer International Geographic, didn't ya? After the war?" Jackson laughed. "Ha-Haa! I sure did, Baloo! I saw more uncharted territory in the 20's than any pilot alive - or dead, fer that matter." "Well, here's the dope, Whistlestop - I wanna know about the ocean between Tortuga and Wahini Atoll." Jackson whistled. "That's pretty wild seas there, son. There aren't more than a half dozen pilots as have ever flown that territory - and no one who'se flown the whole length of it. What do you want to know about that for? There sure aren't any dollars to be made in the cargo business down there." "We're doin' some research, Mr. Jackson. Tryin' to find something - someone, who we think might have tried to make that flight." There was a pause. "Well, if they did they was sure crazy, Baloo! There aren't but a few uninhabited islands -and a few you wish were uninhabited - in that stretch of water. And the weather can be as unpredictable as a hungry tiger." Baloo tapped the desk. "Mr. Jackson - Whistlestop - we really want to try to find this person. You've flown more down there than anybody - if you was gonna try to fly from Tortuga to Wahini, what route would ya take?" "By golly, that's a peach." "Do you wanna get some maps and look 'em over, maybe call me back?" Baloo asked. "Ha-Haa! Don't need no maps son - I know every inch of water I've flown over by heart. And the maps for down that ways is useless anyways - half the islands aren't even on 'em. I don't even know where to start, son First of all, there's the problem of fuel - even assuming there was some place to fill up on Wahini, you'd need to scrimp every ounce. The South Pacific jetstream flows from the southeast down thataways. If it were me, I'd take a northwesterly course on the outward leg - try to ride that as much as I could. Fly out of Tortuga and head west, the pick up that highway and ride it all the way to Wahini. Then on the inward leg-" "We aren't too worried about the inward leg, Whistlestop." Baloo interrupted, making notes on the maps. "We don't think - we don't think they ever made it that far." "Ha-Haa! But it doesn't matter, son. They were planning to! And with the prevailing winds against 'em, there's no way they could fly the inward leg on a full tank, even if they did fill up on Wahini. They couldn't carry enough either - too heavy. They'd have had to drop fuel on the outward leg somewheres. They wouldn't have parachuted fuel into the middle of the ocean, would they? With the currents they'd have never found it. They dropped fuel on an island - and if you can figure out which one you know the route they flew on the outward leg!" "Well, I'll be..." Baloo muttered. "Yer right, Whistlestop, you clever old dog! There's only one problem - I don't see any islands that look like they's on the course you described." "Like I told ya, son, those maps are useless. I got a better one right here - in my head. Now let me think...." there was silence on the line for a moment. "There's one or two islands...sand bars is more like it. But there is one - about twenty miles north o' the jet, maybe six hundred miles out from Tortuga. Maybe a mile square, no more - but pretty flat, some trees but some open stretches too. Never got a second chance to check it out - spotted it in '25, never got back there. No reason to. Not on any of the maps either. I don't have an exact location, didn't get a chance-" "That's OK Whistlestop!" Baloo said. "That's a big help - lemme see, six hundred miles out, twenty miles north of the jet..." the pilot made an 'X' on the map and circled it. "I'm sure we can find it." "Listen, son - there's a lot more to this than I've told you. That island - that was about as far out as I've ever got. I have no idea what's beyond there. And the Wambizi Current runs right around there - that's some of the warmest water in the world. You know what that means Baloo. And when that bathtub water collides with that jetstream - crazy things can happen - and they can happen faster than you can predict 'em. One bad decision and yer radioing for a ride - if you're lucky. And the Coast Guard doesn't patrol that far out." "Whistlestop, I know it sounds kinda nuts - but this is pretty important to someone I really care about - to my son. So it's important to me. We're gonna head down there and see what we can see." Whistlestop chuckled. "Well, son - I don't really understand what your talkin' about, but it's obvious you're serious. All I can tell you is - be careful. You've got no margin for error that far out, Baloo. Take it from an old barnstormer - surveying waters like that is more dangerous than stunt flying any day of the week. Keep your head and, above everything else, keep your eye on your gas gauge! You understand me, son?" Baloo smiled grimly. "Gotcha Whistlestop. Thanks fer everything - take care of yerself, OK?" "Ha-Haa! You too, son. Give my best to Rebecca and your son. Nice to know the world's in good hands! Clear skies!" "Clear skies, Whistlestop." Baloo hung up the phone and tapped his pencil on the desk "Well, Baloo, I've cleared the schedule - we have no deliveries on Friday, Saturday or Sunday. it's up to you now." Rebecca said, closing her appointment book with a sigh. Kit and Baloo sat at the table, their maps spread out in front of them. "Miz Cunningham - I dunno what to say. You've been so great through all this-" Kit said "I'm lucky, Kit - I have a mother and father - I never had to wonder, to not know who they were, or where. If I were in your shoes you'd do the same for me." Baloo sat back with a weary sigh and crossed his arms behind his head. "There's no more we can do here, L'il Britches. We know as much as we're gonna know without goin' down there and seein' fer ourselves." Kit studied the maps. "Then let's pull chocks, first thing tomorrow morning. What's the plan, Skipper?" "We head to Tortuga, fill up the tanks like they never been filled before. Then it's last gas, 1500 miles. We bring some extra fuel, dump it at Whistlestop's island, assuming we can find it. We radiate out from there, search any piece o' rock we see. When we get low, we head back and fill up with the gas we dropped. Then we head back to Tortuga, fill 'er up and try again. Sorry, kid, but there's no way I risk trying to fly all the way to Wahini - it's just too dangerous. We'll just have to hope we spot somethin' within a couple hundred air miles of the drop point." Kit frowned resolutely. "Well, we'll just have to find her there, then. Simple." Rebecca sat at the table with them. "Seems like I'm always seeing you off on a dangerous mission lately, Baloo. My hair'll start going grey pretty soon at this rate." "I wish you could come with us, Becky." Kit said sadly. "I'd like for you to be there, when - when..." "I wish I could too, sweetie. It's better than waiting around here. But it's just not possible, you know, with Molly - and somebody's got to run the business." "I know." he replied glumly. "I'll be with you. In spirit." she smiled. He grabbed her paw and they sat in silence for a moment. Baloo rolled the maps and stuffed them into his flight bag. "Better get packed, kiddo. We could be gone a few days. Better get to bed early, too - we gotta hit the clouds by daybreak - five hours to Tortuga." "Roger, Skipper." the boy answered, standing and starting for the stairs. "Baloo, Kit - you boys be careful!" Rebecca said, grabbing her briefcase. "Whatever happens, don't take any foolish risks - you're here, right now - alive and well. That's a certainty. And it's not worth jeopardizing over a possibility!" "Don't worry, Beckers - ol' Baloo always brings the Duck home in one piece!" "We'll be careful Miz Cunningham." Kit said, meeting her eyes. "We'll see you in a few days." "Good luck!" she whispered with a halfhearted smile, and was gone. The Sea Duck lifted off from Tortuga airfield under a brilliant blue south Pacific sky, dotted here and there by friendly looking puffy clouds. It was all very innocuous, and clashed with Baloo's mood, which was one of extreme nervous excitement and trepidation There was also the fact that this far out into the south Pacific, weather like this was no predictor of weather in an hour - or even five minutes. The vast expanses of warm salt water could summon storms up with devastating speed, and many an aviator had lost their life to overconfidence. The cargo hold of the Sea Duck was barren - stripped of everything in order to save weight. Everything, that is, except for two duffel bags, the tool kit, and six large drums which were filled with gasoline, three of which had parachutes strapped to them. Baloo had filled them and the Sea Duck's tanks moments before - filled the tanks until the gasoline began to spill onto the tarmac, not wanting to underfill by a drop of precious fuel. The pilot glanced over at Kit, who had been silent for the most part since they'd left Cape Suzette. Understandably, Baloo figured - he had some serious issues on his mind. Still, clarity of thought from the entire flight crew was going to be needed now. "Still with me, kid?" he asked gently. The cub looked over and smiled. "Still here, Baloo. Just thinking about stuff." Baloo frowned. "Y'know, L'il Britches, these next couple o' days - this is when you really gotta earn yer stripes as a navigator. Yer all I'm gonna have to go on out there - an' you gotta be one-hundred percent focused on yer job. You got a lot on your mind, an' I understand - and you might get frustrated, or angry too. Searching uncharted waters is hard work, and boring. We may not find anything. Your number one job is this plane - gettin' it out and back safe, and in one piece. No matter what else happens, or doesn't happen - no matter how you feel about that. Yer job comes first. Am I making myself clear?" Kit seemed a little taken aback by Baloo's uncharacteristic seriousness for a moment. "Don't worry, Papa Bear. I won't forget my job." "I don't mean ta bust yer chops, Kit. But I just wanna make sure you understand. This ain't no mango run, kid - pilots have died doin' what we're doin'. And most o' the time it's cause they forgot what was important - panicked, whatever. We stay focused and we work as a team, we come home safe." He smiled and tousled the boy's hair through his cap. "Now let's go find us a missin' plane!" "Roger that, Skipper!" the cub answered, squeezing Baloo's arm. Ahead of them, the Pacific opened into an expanse that filled the horizon, unbroken in any direction. The yellow seaplane was a tiny dot as it disappeared into that expanse of blue. "Course shift - six degrees north." Kit said, intently studying the map on his lap. He checked his compass and made a calculation. "That should keep us on in line with the jet - on the same course Whistlestop said to take." "Roger." Baloo, said, banking the plane into a gentle turn. "He said the island was about twenty miles north of our projected course. There's enough mist out there that we won't be able to see it unless we're practically right on top of it." Kit frowned as he peered out the window. "It's amazing, Papa Bear - I've never seen a stretch of ocean with so few islands! It's totally unbroken, never changes.." "That's the trap." Baloo said grimly. "Lull's ya to sleep - and then yer too far out to make it back on yer tank o' gas. Then it's ditch and pray fer a pickup. Or the weather can change in a heartbeat and bite ya." They flew in silence for a time, Kit scanning the sea beneath them with his keen eyes, searching for any sign of land. The seas continued, undaunted for as far as the eye could see. He consulted his map and compass every few minutes, making a calculation and marking a spot on the map. At last, he saw what he had been looking for. "Papa Bear, we're about six hundred miles out of Tortuga - and Whistlestop's island is out there-" he pointed to the north, where the sea was broken by wispy clouds of mist, "somewhere." Baloo banked the plane into a turn and followed his navigator's lead. "This is where it gets tough, kid - if Whistlestop was right about that island being a square mile, it's gonna be pretty hard to spot." "We'll find it." the boy said confidently. They flew for a few moments, and Kit consulted his compass again. "This should be it - it should be right in this area somewhere." Baloo had kept the plane cruising at about 2000 feet - high enough, he hoped, to see a wide area but low enough not to be effected by the mist. The wispy fog had become thicker, though, as they flew north. "I'm gonna take her down lower kid, so we can see through this chuff a little better. I'll fly a circle, and we'll expand outward, hope we spot something." He banked the plane into a gentle turn and brought her closer to the surface of the water. They circled for a few moments, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. Kit scanned the horizon with binoculars, panning a wide arc across the water's surface. Finally, he spotted something. "There!" he said excitedly, pointing. Baloo squinted. "Don't see nuthin', kid. Lemme have them binoculars." Kit handed them over. "There, Baloo! Two-o'clock! I almost missed it, looked right past it at first. A slightly darker patch of white, through the mist-" "Bingo! Good eye, L'il Britches. That's land all right. Looks like about three miles out. Let's check out the party." Baloo brought the plane down to 200 feet and as the island grew closer they were able to pick out a few details. It was largely flat, with a couple of small hills towards the center, and ringed by sand around it's circumference. Patches of green appeared, here and there - batches of scrub and low bush cover, with a few groves of palms scattered about. It did indeed appear to be about a square mile in area, perhaps a bit more. "Get a best a fix as you can , kiddo. We're gonna need to find this rock again. Don't look like much of a place, but it should serve as our gas station. First things first. I'm gonna fly in low and look fer a likely spot to drop the fuel." He flew around the outer edge of the atoll, following it's shoreline. "There!.. That looks good." He pointed to a small indentation, where the sea formed a lagoon. "I should be able to land her in that lagoon, we'll shoot fer the beach right around there." He eased the throttle and brought the plane down to 100 MPH, and flew a wide loop and started back towards the lagoon. "You take the stick, kid. Keep her nice and slow and about 100 feet. I'll drop three barrels, that oughta be enough to get us home today." He unbuckled and headed back to the hold. "Roger." Kit barked and slid over to the pilot's seat. He headed for the lagoon at a stately 100 MPH. "Open the cargo hatch!" Baloo called up to the cockpit, and the cub complied. They were almost over the lagoon now. With a grunt, he kicked aside the bricks that held the first barrel in place and rolled it out the back of the plane. Without watching it's progress he hurriedly repeated the process with the next two barrels. The chutes caught the wind and fluttered open, and the drums fell with a thump, separated by perhaps thirty yards of beach between them. Baloo huffed back into the cockpit. "Good work, kid. That oughta do the job to get as home, as long as we can find this little paradise again." "Now it's my turn!" the boy said rising from the pilot's seat. He took his airfoil out from underneath his sweater. "Keep her real low, Baloo. There's nothing sticking up on that island to run into, and I don't wanna miss anything." He headed back into the hold. "You be careful!" Baloo yelled back. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the boy grab the tow rope and leap out through the cargo hold. His heart still caught in his throat, just a little, every time he saw that - even after all this time. He turned his attention forward, and headed into a low buzz of Whistlestop's Island. Kit looped the tow rope around his foot and grabbed the binoculars in both hands, scanning the surface of the island for anything unnatural. He saw the Sea Duck's three gas drums spaced out on the beach, bracketing the lagoon. If his mother was as good a pilot as reported - and he felt in his heart that she was - then she would have spotted the same lagoon that Baloo had. Of course, she'd been flying alone, so her accuracy would have been less than perfect - she'd have had to put the plane on autopilot when she dumped the barrels... He scanned the area around the lagoon - nothing. He signaled to Baloo to fly a loop, and the pilot began to circle the island. He scanned the palm groves, hoping that they might be hiding something - wreckage, anything. No luck.. The two small hills in the center of the island were nearly barren, and seemed incapable of hiding any secrets. He looked among the brush and scrub - nothing. His heart began to sink in his chest - if they found no traces of her fuel here, than Whistlestop's theory was unprovable, and they might be flying the entirely wrong course. There HAD to be something...To his dismay, he saw that they were almost back at the lagoon. He slipped slightly on the airfoil as a gust of wind caught him, and flailed momentarily. Baloo must have noticed - he saw the pilot look back with a scowl. He was going to call Kit in soon, the boy knew. There had to be something, there had to... Then, with a flash, he saw it - nestled among the scrub dotted rocks perhaps fifty yards inland of the lagoon, the remnants of a parachute - bleached so white that it was almost impossible to see against the pale rocky backdrop. He excitedly gestured for Baloo's attention and pointed straight down - he needed a closer look. Baloo looped around and came in low, and Kit, knowing exactly where to look, was able to see exactly what he had found. There were two drums, both attached to a single parachute, strewn amongst the boulders and scrub. All color had been bleached out of the metal by the relentless tropical sun, but they drums appeared to be intact, if rusty. He signalled for Baloo to pull him in. As soon as he was in the hold, he dashed up to the cockpit. "Didya see it, Papa Bear?" The pilot grinned. "Yup - that second pass, I got a good look. two drums, right?" Kit huffed, catching his breath as he collapsed into his chair. "Yeah - two drums, and a parachute! The drums looked like they were in good shape too. It's her, Papa Bear! It's gotta be! Whistlestop was right!" "Looks that way, kid." He checked the gas gauge. "We got enough fuel to search for an hour, kid, then we head back fer the island and fill up - and then Tortuga. I'm not gonna cut it close, and I ain't countin' on no ten-year old barrels havin' fuel in em." "She was here, Baloo!" Kit breathed. "She was here. She's out there somewhere, Baloo - maybe she found an island, maybe there was enough food growing there to survive - who knows?" Baloo frowned and patted Kit's shoulder. "Kid - anythin's possible. But ya know that ain't likely, dontcha? Don't set yerself up fer a big heartbreak...I'm beggin 'ya, kiddo." Kit was defiant. "Whatever we find, we find, Baloo. That's all. At least we're on the right track. Now, we've got searching to do!" "You bet kid. If Whistlestop was right, as soon as she dropped the fuel shed've headed back to pick up the jetstream as quick as her wings could carry 'er. What's the course?" Kit checked his map. "Eighty-two degrees - just north of due west. That's gets us back on Whistlestop's ideal course in about forty miles." They flew on that course for a quarter hour, Kit scanning the seas with the binoculars. With the exception of couple of tiny sandbars, incapable of hiding any wreckage, the ocean surface was unbroken. "Papa Bear - change heading, fifteen degrees north - that keeps us on the planned course." Kit called out. "Roger." the pilot answered. The skies were still a brilliant blue, but now were more frequently pockmarked by grey clouds. They flew, and still the Pacific yielded no secrets - no hidden atolls or tropical paradises - only mile after mile of unbroken blue water. "Chop's startin' to pick up." Baloo muttered. Kit turned the binoculars onto the sea beneath them and sure enough, whitecaps were beginning to appear on the water's surface. It was a sure sign of weather ahead, somewhere. Kit could feel the frustration starting to well up inside him as they flew on. The clock was ticking and he knew it - if they didn't spot something soon they would have to abandon the search for the day. He forced himself to concentrate, remembering Baloo's stern words of earlier in the day. He slowly panned the binoculars side to side, looking for any sign of land near their flight path. With a start, he noticed something strange, dead ahead in their course. "What's _that_?" he whispered, a note of alarm in his voice. "Huh?" Baloo asked, puzzled. "Lemme have them binoculars." Kit handed them over. He squinted, his keen eyes trying to perceive unaided what he had just observed. He could see a _discoloration_, a massive blot on the horizon. It seemed to stretch as far as he could see. Below, the waters began to roil more violently. "Uh-oh!" Baloo said beside him. "I don't like the looks o' that." "What is it Baloo?" Kit asked, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Baloo looked through the binoculars for a moment more, then handed them back to Kit with a sigh. "Whistlestop warned me about this. It's the Wambizi current, kid - some real warm water, and that's where it flows right under the south Pacific jet stream. When that air's a little colder, they get together and make some weather. We're gonna have to get a little closer and see what we're dealin' with." They flew closer to what appeared to be a massive wall of cloud, which extended from the very surface of the water all the way up to fierce-looking black clouds, thousands of feet higher than their present elevation. Lightning lit the sky in the distance. "That - that looks pretty bad, Papa Bear." Kit said in awe. "And right in our course, too. I'm not gonna risk flyin' through that with a half empty tank, L'il Britches." Kit panned the binoculars along the storm front. "I don't see any break, Papa Bear, in either direction. Can we fly over?" "No way kiddo. Those storms are up there at 25,000 feet, minimum. Not in our arsenal unless you wanna stay out here fer good." He frowned and studied the horizon. "We've got enough fuel to search on this side for a while. Then we'll head back and try to fly around it tomorrow." Baloo banked the plane to the east, and they began a wide arcing loop. Kit studied the massive front behind him - it looked like an impenetrable barrier, as formidable as a mountain range. There had been an inordinate number of those in his path in his short lifetime, he figured. How would they ever get around it? Baloo rolled the drums along the sand towards the Sea Duck, as Kit dashed along the rocks to investigate the old bleached barrels he'd spotted earlier. The last half hour of searching had been fruitless - they'd seen no land of any kind, and that ominous wall of weather had hovered over them like a bad mood. The rock they had come to call Whistlestop's Island was peaceful and tranquil by comparison - the setting sun turned the western horizon orange, while the sky was clear and blue overhead, dotted with seabirds. Kit's psyche felt like he was still back under the shadow of that wall, however. He located the drums and went to investigate. They had nestled among some car sized boulders, and their surface had been bleached white by the burning sun of four thousand Pacific days. They were dotted with rust. To his dismay, he saw that the oxidation had eaten a small hole in the base of the first barrel, and when he tapped it's surface he heard no liquid sloshing inside. He tried the second barrel, and it was even worse - it had been punctured by a sharp rock and was clearly empty He trudged back down the rocks to the lagoon. Baloo was already siphoning the first drum's gas into the seaplane's tanks when he arrived back. The tradewinds blew, and it was a cool evening. "Baloo! There's no fuel in the barrels. One of 'em didn't survive the drop, and the other one's been eaten through with rust." Baloo wiped his brow. "So even if she'd made it back here, she'd have been in trouble." Kit sat wearily and twisted his cap in his hands. "Why does this ocean have to be so _big_? It's almost like they're not giving us a chance..." Baloo smiled grimly. "That's why people don't come out here much, kid. One false move and yer tougher to find than a cat in a doghouse." He finished with the first drum and gave it a shove down the sand. he rolled the second into place and began siphoning the gas. "One good thing - we can drop the other three drums now, so we don't have to waste and time or fuel coming out here to do it tomorrow. Gives us a little more chance to search at least." Kit stared behind him, towards the now invisible wall of darkness out there on the water. "Not much of one." he whispered, and put his face in his hands. The mis-named "Tortuga Tropical Paradise Inn" sat across from the airfield amongst a strip of taverns and houses of ill repute. It looked (and smelled) from the inside like a barn, more than anything else - rotting wooden rafters lined the ceiling and there was straw on the floor, employed, no doubt, to soak up the beer and other things spilled by it's rowdy crowd, mostly visiting pilots. In a corner sat a large grey bear and his son, munching on hamburgers and looking at aviation maps spread on the table before them. Baloo was unfazed by the decor - he'd spent more hours in pilot dives like this one than he'd care to admit. Kit Cloudkicker wasn't paying much notice either. His mind was still out on the water, circling in a yellow seaplane and searching an ocean that seemed impossibly big. "C'mon, L'il Britches. Nobody said this was gonna be easy. Keep yer chin up. We've still got tomorrow to search." "I know Baloo." the cub said, taking a bite of his hamburger and grimacing. "But I just keep seeing that storm out there - I've never seen anything like it before. It didn't even seem to be moving. It was like a wall someone built to keep us out." Baloo grinned. "That's the tropics kid. Warm water likes to make trouble - especially when it gets together with cold air." Kit furrowed his brow in thought. "What's the date today, Baloo?" Baloo was surprised at the question. "November 3rd, kid. Whassa matter - ya missin' a dentist appointment or somethin'?" Kit tapped the table. "I was just thinkin', Baloo. You know that newspaper, where it talks about my Mother, how she - how she-" "Yeah." the pilot said gently. "Yeah. Well, I just remembered - she disappeared on the 4th of November. Tomorrow's the 4th, Baloo!" Baloo frowned. "I guess that _is_ a pretty weird coincidence, kiddo, but-" "No! Don't you see?" the boy said, excitement creeping into his voice. ""That's the same date - that means she was probably encountering the same weather conditions we were, Baloo!" "Yeah, you could be right..." Baloo said, nodding slowly. "Look, you said yourself - that current -Wabeezi, whatever it was - flows through there, warm water, all year round. It doesn't change. So it was there, eleven years ago, when Angie flew through there. There's a good chance the upper air temperature was about the same too - it was the exact same date! Which means that when she flew she probably ran into the same - wall, storm, whatever - that we did!" Baloo nodded. "Yeah, L'il Britches - you could be right. But I still don't see where that helps us. We still got no idea which course change she flew to get around it." "But she didn't, Baloo! She couldn't - she had to make it all the way to Wahini Atoll, remember? You saw how massive that thing was! She couldn't afford a hundred mile detour, each way, to fly around it! She _must've_ gone straight through!" "Now hold on, kid! Even if she did - which would be a pretty foolhardy thing to do - that don't mean we're gonna do that too. It's too dangerous!" "But Baloo!" the cub pleaded. "We came all this way out here to find her! What's the point of it all if we fly the wrong course? You're the best there is Baloo - you can handle that storm!" "No sale!" the pilot replied, crossing his arms stubbornly. "There's chances and there's chances - and some chances shouldn't be took! It's too risky." "_Please_, Baloo!" Kit begged. "We'll have more fuel - we won't have to detour to Whistlestop's island on the way. How can I come this close and not at least try to find out what happened? We've flown through storms before, lots o' times! We have to try. PLEASE!" "That ain't no ordinary storm, kid! I ain't never seen nuthin' like it...." He looked down at the boy, his pleading eyes staring at him. "All right - we'll take a look, but no promises! We'll fly up close and see what it looks like, then decide-" Kit bounded over and hugged him."Thanks, Papa Bear!" he whispered. "I knew you'd try." Baloo returned his embrace, then grabbed the boy's face in a massive paw. "I still don't like this, L'il Britches! We're takin' a chance that we shouldn't - it ain't no reason to celebrate." He hugged the boy tightly to him again. "I don't think I should be doin' this, kid. But if it means that much to you, we'll try. Some responsible parent I turned out to be...." From the moment they first saw it, the massive tower of ill weather was a damper on the mood in the Sea Duck's cockpit. As they approached, the true depth and scope of it became apparent - it extended for at least fifty miles in either direction, without a break in sight. Baloo eased the stick forward. "I'm gonna try takin' us through low - maybe less chance of gettin' hit by lightning that way." The water churned beneath them as the approached the front. Sheets of lightning lit the sky and a few drops of rain spattered the windshield. As they flew closer Kit could see that the definitions of the bad weather were not so clearly defined as they'd appeared from a distance - there was a gradual deterioration of the conditions as they grew closer. "Here we go." Baloo said quietly as a few more drops of wain fell and gusts of wind began to toss the seaplane, forcing Baloo make constant adjustments to the wheel. Kit grabbed Baloo's arm nervously with one paw and studied his compass with the other. "Stay this course - it's right on our projections. That's what she would've tried to do!" The wind howled outside the ship and sheets of rain began pounding the windows. Claps of thunder could be heard over the roar of the engines, and shards of lightning split the increasingly dark sky. "Lights!" Baloo said aloud, and Kit flicked the exterior lights on. "Stay on this course!" Kit shouted over the rising din. "Due northwest!" "I'm _tryin'_ Kit!" Baloo shouted, as a bolt of lightning pierced the sky off the port side. Too close. It was now dark as any night outside, and the winds tossed the seaplane about like a toy. Suddenly, a noise like a thousand drums began to rattle the ship. "What's that?" Kit yelled, alarmed. "Hail!" Baloo shouted. "This is gettin' worse, kid! Which way is out?" "I dunno, Baloo!" the boy yelled, panic rising in his voice. Lightning was all around them, and the hailstones were getting larger, creating a nerve-shattering din as they impacted the hull and windshield. "My compass is all screwed up - it's the lightning!" "The Googleschlocher!" the grey bear yelled, teeth clenched as he wrestled with the wind for control of the Sea Duck. The boy looked at the large Googlescholcher Gyromcompass mounted on the dash - it was designed to function in any conditions. The needle wavered, but he was able to take a reading. "We're being blown south, off our course!" he screamed over the din. "Turn six degrees north!" "But is that the fastest way out?" Baloo yelled, wrestling the plane. "It's only a matter o' time before one o' those strikes catches up with us, kid!" The sky was lit constantly now by lightning. "There!" the cub screamed, pointing to the north. "One o'clock, Baloo! I see blue sky!" Baloo squinted through the hail and rain. There was a small clear patch in the black clouds, far to their north. The wind buffeted the plane wildly, but the pilot tacked across repeatedly to avoid the worst of it. Gradually the conditions improved, and the patch of blue grew larger. "We're gonna make it!" Kit shouted joyfully. Baloo smiled, then his eyes drifted to the instrument panel. "The oil pressure!" He looked behind him - a thin trail of black smoke wafted back from the engine. "Oh, great! One of those hailstones or lightning strikes caught the oil line, kid!" "How bad, Baloo?" They were now into a patch of light rain and scattered sun - the worst of the weather was behind them. Baloo rolled down his window and stuck his upper body out to get a look at the engine. He popped back in and shook his head, water flying everywhere. "Looks like _two - leaks, believe it or not - small ones. Must've been those hailbombs out there - they were like anti-aircraft flak! We're gonna lose that engine if we don't get 'em plugged. I think we can fix 'em, but we need to find a place to land - now! It's either that or ditch in the middle of the ocean." Kit grabbed the binoculars and began searching the horizon. The irony of the situation was not lost on him. "If we got two holes in the oil line, Baloo, who know what happened to Angie? If she was flyin' a L-10 it might've come out even worse." "Let's hope that's where the similarity stops." Baloo said grimly. He checked the gauge again. "I don't like the looks o' this pressure gauge, L'il Britches. If that engine burns out on us we're in deep. I can fix an oil leak but I can't fix a fried engine! I'm gonna put down in the water and hope we can get to that engine." "Baloo - wait!" Kit said, binoculars to his eyes.. "Sea birds! There must be land somewhere, an island! We haven't flown over anything close enough for those birds to get to, and there's no way birds are flyin' through that hurricane!" "Better find it quick, kid - five more minutes and that engine's runnin' dry." "Turn forty degrees east, Baloo! That's where I saw the birds! There -must_ be an island! If Angie was in trouble she's have been looking for it too..." "Damn!" Baloo muttered. "Two minutes, Kit, I mean it! If you don't spot land in two minutes I'm-" "There!" the boy yelled. "Eleven o'clock!" He handed the binoculars to Baloo. "Well, I'll be!" Baloo whispered. He saw a small island a few miles off - it was rugged, and the rocks were a strange black variety - volcanic? "I can reach that - maybe. Hold on to yer eyeballs, kid!" Baloo banked the plane and descended as he approached - there wouldn't be time to be fancy or choosy about landing. The island looked no more inviting close up - it was formed of a black rock that seemed to have been thrust up from the ocean floor. There were numerous hills, and it appeared to be no more than a mile across. He picked out a fairly level section of coast and aimed for it. As the plane descend below 100 feet he caught a glimpse of something shining on a rise overlooking his landing spot. "Did you see that?" Kit asked, turning to catch another look, but it was gone from view. "I saw it." Baloo said grimly. "First things first - let's get this baby down in one piece." He brought the plane down on the ocean surface a hundred yards or so offshore, and taxied over, looking for a place to beach her. There was a shelf of what looked like black sand - it was narrow and far from perfect, but it would have to do. With a scraping sound the sea plane skimmed onto the sandy surface and Baloo killed the engines. He leaped down to the island. They appeared to be standing on what were actually small pebbles of the same black rock that seemed to constitute the island - not true sand. He reached up and helped Kit down. The cub immediately made as if to head for the rise, but Baloo grabbed him by the collar and held him. "No sir! No one goes anywhere til the engine's repaired, L'il Britches. That's what gets us home. And no going off by yourself, neither." "But Baloo-" the boy pleaded. "But nuthin'!" Baloo barked with uncharacteristic firmness. "We fix the engine first and then we go searchin' together. Period. Understand?" "Yes sir." Kit said glumly. "Good. Now go get me the tool box and keep yer fingers crossed." Baloo emptied the last of the oil into the engine and wiped his grease-covered paws on his shirt. "Good thing I carry a few quarts o' oil on board, L'il Britches, or we'd be swimmin' home. Not to mention another minute and that engine woulda burned out like a firecracker. We got some kinda guardian angel out here." Kit took the tool box from Baloo and stowed it in the hold. He jumped outside and Baloo was already staring up at the stand of rock which stood perhaps seventy feet in height. He held out his hand to the cub. "I guess it's time, kid. This is what we came here for." Kit grabbed his hand and Baloo squeezed the cub's paw reassuringly. The two bears stared up the rise. They were near the top when Kit spotted the first small pieces of wreckage. There were bits of glass, what looked liked small pieces of the fuselage. Then he saw the wing -or what was left of it. Baloo panted as he caught up with Kit. The crest of the hill was ahead, and the was a small dip in between it and where they stood. The boy stared down, where a large section of silver wing nestled in the bottom of the little valley. "Looks like they was in worse shape then we were when they was landin'." Baloo said, then, seeing Kit wince, silently cursed himself for saying it. They scurried down to look at the wing. It had been neatly sheared near it's base - most likely by the crest of the hill above them. They both knew what was likely to be on the other side. Grunting with exertion they climbed the last hill, and sat to rest on the top. Kit steeled himself, and looked over. Ahead of him, he saw the body of the plane, the other wing still attached. Small parts of the fuselage were scattered among the black rocks on the slope, shining silver in the bright sunlight. "My God." he whispered. Baloo joined him and put an arm around his shoulder. "Wow. " he mumbled. "Guess we better - Kit!" The cub was racing down the hillside towards the remains of the plane. By the time Baloo caught up with the boy he was already examining the fuselage. "Careful!" Baloo yelled. "That could be dangerous!" "This isn't a Conwing L-10!" Kit said in a low voice. Baloo stepped back to take a better look. "Yer right, kid - this ain't no Conwing." he said. Kit threw his cap to the ground and put his face in his hands. "It's not her!" he groaned. "After all, that, and it's not her!" "I ain't never seen a plane like this before." Baloo whispered. "This is some kinda weird design...What's this metal?" he said, fingering a section of fuselage. The entire design of the plane was strange. The wings were too far forward, and they stuck out at a funny angle, the tail section was too long. What _was_ this thing? Kit morosely walked over to the cockpit and peered inside. "Doesn't look like there's much in here." he said, trying the door, which didn't give. Baloo examined the tail section - or what was left of it. "This is weird!" he called. "There's no registration number. What the heck?" He was starting to get a funny feeling about this.... Kit's grunting as he tried to open the cockpit door interrupted his thoughts. Baloo walked over. "Stand back." he ordered. He reached out for the door and gave it a great heave. With a scream of tortured metal it gave way, and he pulled it clear and tossed it with a clang to the rocks. Kit crawled into the cockpit. "Blood." he said, pointing to the seat. "Not a lot, though, just a few drops. Whoever this was they survived the impact." The boy examined the controls. "You're right -there's no identification at all. This is weird, Papa Bear. I've never seen a cockpit design like this - what are these?" he asked, pointing to a series of unmarked gauges on the panel. Baloo examined. "I dunno, kiddo. I never seen a cockpit like this - it ain't no aircraft manufacturer I've ever seen. Let's check out the hold." The cargo hold was barren - the roof had been ripped badly, and sunlight shone through. The tail section had separated from the main fuselage. It was a mess. "What now?" the cub asked. "I guess we look - look for whoever was flyin' this thing." Baloo still had an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach. They trudged down the hill towards the center of the island. Because the black rocky surface absorbed the sun's energy, the island was uncomfortably hot, even by tropical standards. The black rocks were spotted here and there by bird droppings - fishing birds, no doubt. Baloo looked back, over his shoulder - he could see the wall of the storm front they had passed through, still hanging over them menacingly. Did it ever rain here - on the island? Kit trudged a few steps ahead of the pilot, looking about with the binoculars. He was tired, already - the oppressive heat was bad enough, but the surface was rocky, uneven - and the rocks were sharp-edged and pointy. It made walking extremely uncomfortable. Ball put a hand on the cub's back. "Rest a sec, kid. No rush now." he panted. "Y'know, kid - that looked like some kinda test aircraft to me. Maybe military. That could be what all the hush-hush was about, somehow." Kit frowned and shielded his eyes from the sun. He wasn't sure whether to be encouraged or depressed by that theory. "Then that could have been her plane....but this place - how could anyone-" The boy stopped, as Baloo squeezed his shoulder tightly. "Let's just keep on looking." He said with a thin smile. They crested another small hill and slowly descended the far side. They faced west, as the slowly setting sun now stared at them head on. "I'm gonna check out that hollow." Kit said, pointing at a small depression a few dozen yards to their left. Baloo thought to follow him, but his weariness won out. He sat to rest. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash as the sunlight reflected off of something to his right. He turned, looked at Kit and thought about calling him, but decided to check it out on his own. There was a small bowl in the hillside, and as Baloo approached it he saw what appeared to be a man-sized piece of shiny silver metal propped up against a pile of rocks, forming a kind of overhang. Stomach churning, he slowly approached, and walked around to peer underneath the slab of fuselage. His heart leapt into his throat. He stifled a cry, and crawled onto his hands and knees to examine the skeleton. Clearly, it had been dead for a long time. He breathed deeply and parted the rags of cloth that still ringed the bones. There was a set of dog tags. Fists clenched, he crawled backwards for a few yards and sat down, head in hands. "What is it?" Kit's voice asked, from a few yards behind him. Baloo turned, and the boy saw the expression on his face. "What?!" he asked again sharply, and started to walk around the big grey bear. Baloo grabbed Kit by the arms and pulled him into an embrace. "No." "What?" the cub said, straining at Baloo's arms wildly. "No, L'il Britches. Don't." the pilot said quietly, tears rolling down his cheeks. The boy continued to struggle against his hold. Baloo stroked the cub's hair - his hat must still be down by the plane, he thought idly. "Lemme GO!" Kit bellowed. "Baloo! I have to see." With a sigh, Baloo released the boy and buried his face in his hands. There was silence - the only sound the wind whistling slightly as it blew through the crags. A sea bird called, from somewhere on the island. After a few moments Baloo turned and saw Kit standing stock still, staring at the scene before him. Finally, after an eternity passed in Baloo's perception, Kit slowly turned, a strange expression on his face - annoyance, it seemed to Baloo, more than anything else. "Is...is..." the boy mumbled softly. Baloo held out his hand, fist clenched. Kit reached his paw out, and Baloo dropped the dog tags into his waiting palm. Slowly, calmly, the boy lifted them and, shielding his eyes from the setting sun, read them. He dropped them to the rocks, and closed his eyes tightly. Baloo wiped tears from his eyes and looked at the boy. Kit stood for a moment, eyes closed to the world. He opened them, took two steps ahead and then looked sidelong at Baloo, as if he'd forgotten the bear was present. Wordlessly, he dropped to his knees and held his arms out. Baloo grabbed him and held him tightly. Neither bear nor cub spoke - they simply sat, Kit's head on Baloo's chest. The boy didn't cry - maybe he has no more tears left to give, Baloo thought to himself. He simply laid his head on Baloo's chest and stared straight ahead, for five minutes, then ten. Finally, he disengaged himself from Baloo, squeezed the pilot's arm and, pausing to pick up the dog tags, began walking down towards the wrecked aircraft. Baloo stared at his back for a moment, then crawled back under the overhanging fuselage. He rooted around in the rocks. Scattered nearby were a few rusted tin cans, a few scraps of cloth, and a scorched depression where a fire had clearly burned. He spotted a tattered khaki knapsack wedged under a boulder and picked it up. He rooted around inside, and found three flares, unused. An empty water bottle. An aviation map, folded neatly. And, wedged in a side pocket, an envelope. It was yellowed and weather-beaten, but still, incredibly, sealed. There was no address on the front, only a name: "Michael Smith". Baloo found Kit seated on a rock a few yards away from the wrecked fuselage of the silver plane. The boy did not look up or speak as Baloo approached. Baloo stood, for a moment, catching his breath. He reached down and picked up the red and blue baseball cap, which had blown a few feet and stuck against a boulder. He placed it on Kit's head and turned the bill backwards. "Thanks." the cub said, and stood. Baloo grabbed his paw and they walked back to the Sea Duck. Within a few moments they were airborne. The repairs held - the engine was not leaking oil and the pressure held firm. Baloo scanned the sky in front of him - he could see now that the wall of clouds was in fact moving. The storms were forming as the paths of the Wambizi current and the South Pacific Jet merged, and ran parallel. With the clarity of hindsight, Baloo knew for certain that when the two diverged again the storms would be carried north on the jet. Clear skies would be closer to the south. He flew to the outskirts of the ill weather and banked the plane south. He reached into his pocket and handed the envelope to Kit. "I found this up there." He said quietly. Kit looked at the envelope silently. "What do we do with it?" he asked in a flat voice. "I think you know who Michael Smith is, kid." The boy scowled. "I guess this belongs to him, then." he said and handed it back to Baloo. They were silent after that as Baloo continued south. After about fifty miles breaks began to appear in the previously solid wall of storms, and Baloo turned to the east. "Course correction." Kit said to his right, startling the pilot, who had almost forgotten the boy was there. Kit had his maps spread out before him, and was making calculations. "Eighty-two degrees east-northeast, Papa Bear. That's a direct heading to our gas station. Should be about sixty miles." "Good work, navigator." Baloo said, patting Kit on the shoulder, and changing course. Baloo stared across the bar at Kit, seated at the table absently stirring his drink with his straw. "That's right, Beckers. " he said into the receiver. "Be home by early afternoon, tomorrow." "Well? What happened? Did you..." "Yeah." There was a pause. "Was..." "Yeah." Baloo said huskily. "And Becky, give a call to our friend - you know who. Call 'im collect. Tell 'im we found a letter for 'im. See you tomorrow." Baloo hung up the phone and headed back to the table. Kit, he noticed, was wearing the dog tags. Kit stared out the window at the sea beneath him - _his_ sea. These were waters he knew. They would be home in a few hours. He could no longer hold back the thoughts that clamored for release - he had managed to suppress them for the most part, since yesterday, but he no longer could. They demanded to be thought. "Baloo - I wanna talk." he said to the pilot. Baloo stared over at him with sad eyes. "So talk, kid. Y'know I'll listen all day if I have to." Kit smiled ruefully. "Why, Papa Bear? What was the point?" Baloo sighed. "Kit - I thought I already told you how I felt about that question..." Kit shook his head. "I just don't understand it. I was perfectly happy. Everything was fine. How does this matter, to me? Why did this have to happen? Isn't there a _reason_ for things to happen?" Baloo paused for a moment. "Y'know kid, you can try to explain things like that yer whole life, and all ya ever get is more questions, and more heartache. My Uncle Moe told me once, he said, 'Baloo, best thing that ever happened to me was goin' bust in the depression of the '80s. Before, I never knew what a good meal tasted like - REALLY tasted like. I never appreciated havin' a warm bed on a cold night. I never understood how good it felt to look at somebody you love's face after you give 'em something, something they really want. I did all those things, but I may as well've been fallin' off a log as little as I appreciated 'em at the time. Now, Baloo, every day I wake up with a shaboozie in my pocket and a warm blanket is a joy. Every time I buy you a comic book is a pleasure. Every ice cream sundae I eat tastes like Nirvana itself. Cause I know what all those things mean, Baloo. If I haddana gone bust I'd gone through my whole life and never truly enjoyed anything. That depression was the greatest gift I ever got.' Now kid, I had to think about that fer a while, but then that was true with a lot o' what ol' Moe said. But when I thought about it, 'specially as I got older, it made sense. If I haddana lost my Mama, when I was five - if I haddana lost my brother....Now kid, I wish I still had those people, don't get me wrong. But L'il Britches - if I haddana gone through that - if I didn't know what it felt like, if I haddana been a solo pilot for near twenty years...Kid, when you flew into Louie's and landed on my belly would I have offered you a ride? Would I have seen you for who you were 'stead o' what you was pretendin' to be? Kit - if I haddana known what it felt like - really felt like, all those years - would I know now how much......I love you - how much I love havin' you as a son, as my best friend? Would I understand how empty my life was before, and how empty it'd still be if you weren't in it? Kiddo - If my brother, hadnt't...if he hadn't...well - would I've understood how much you needed somebody to be there, for you? How much ya needed _me_ to be there, and not let you down? Ever? I guess I'm just tryin' to say - you gotta stop and think about the ways yer really lucky - and then when bad stuff happens you'll appreciate that even more. Does that make any sense, L'il Britches?" Kit stared up at Baloo. The big bear, even now, had the ability to surprise him. It was hard to sit here, next to him in the Sea Duck, and _not_ feel lucky. He smiled. "I don't really understand all of it, Papa Bear. But I sure am lucky to have you to explain it to me." Baloo smiled awkwardly. "Thanks. I guess." He unbuckled and stood. "Now, wingman - fly us home." Kit met his eyes. "All the way home?" "All the way home." Baloo said with a smile. Kit unbuckled, stood and hugged the pilot quickly. He strapped in and checked the instruments. "OK...altitude 4400 feet, airspeed 177 MPH. Heading 22 degrees east-northeast....." The cliffs grew larger in the window as Kit guided the Sea Duck home. Baloo reached over and picked up the mike, and handed it to him. Kit grinned sheepishly and pressed the transmit button. "Harbor Patrol - this is Sea Duck, approaching one mile out, request permission to enter the Cape." he said in what he hoped was a mature voice. There was crackle of static on the other end. "That you, Baloo?" a puzzled voice asked. Kit grinned over at his partner. "Negative. It's Kit - Kit Cloudkicker. Baloo's my wingman today." "Huh." the voice answered. "Ain't that a kick. Roger, Cloudkicker, yer cleared. Huh!" "Roger, Cloudkicker out!" He looked at Baloo and laughed. "I guess we gave him his coffee break story for today!" "Those guys need a little shakin' up these days. Not enough pirate attacks to keep 'em busy." Kit aimed the Duck at the opening in the cliffs and eased the throttle back. He had rehearsed this moment in his mind, so many times, but now he felt no nervousness at all. This was in his blood, in his heart. It pumped through his veins with every beat. Calmly he fell in line behind a Khan cargo plane and eased the Duck through the gap and into Cape Suzette. The city spread out beneath him. Memories of Freeburg, Port Wallaby, San Flamingo played out in his mind. Would he appreciate - truly appreciate - this incredible wonderland if he hadn't lived on the streets and orphanages of those grey towns? "There it is, kiddo! Cape Suzette! Whaddaya think?" He flew a wide, graceful, arc, past the glimmering, colorful skyscrapers downtown, past the homes built into the very mountains around the city. He flew out over the park, it's verdant expanse spreading out beneath the plane. He flew finally back to the harbor, the airplanes and ships busily delivering goods to and picking up goods from home - _his_ home. And he flew to Higher for Hire, it's crow's next sticking up jauntily atop the building and seemingly trying to reach into the mountains behind it. He brought the plane in confidently and touched the pontoons to the harbor at 90 MPH, and cut the engines. The plane slowed and gracefully skated to a stop alongside the dock, where Wildcat waved cheerily. They were home. Baloo and Rebecca framed Kit on one side of the booth at Levinson's Diner. Kit looked at his watch and smiled at Rebecca. "Thanks for coming - Miz - Becky. I sure appreciate it." Rebecca smiled, stirring her coffee absently. "I wouldn't have missed it Kit. You know that." Kit looked at his watch again. "He said seven, right?" "Don't worry L'il Britches. He'll be here." Baloo said. "These types are real prompt." He noisily slurped his soda." Kit absently took a sip of his and looked at the clock. Sure enough, at 6:59 the leopard walked in, dressed in a dark suit and black hat. He tapped his brim and sat at the booth. "Hello, all of you. I somehow suspected I'd be seeing you again." "H'lo." Baloo said curtly. "How are things in Myopia? Lasoapsia?" Rebecca asked with a bitter smile. The cat stared at her. "Very well, thank you." "Dee-lightful." Baloo mumbled. "Well - Miss Cunningham informed me that you had a letter addressed to me. From Angie. Since I so rudely refused to answer so many of your questions before, I'll do you the courtesy of not asking how you came into possession of it. Frankly I think it would be better if I didn't know in any case." Without a word Kit reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter. The man took it, dark eyes shining. He studied the yellowed envelope and smiled sadly. "I was supposed to meet her, you know. I was supposed to see her off, the day she left. There was a blowup, a crisis. I had to deal with it. It's not important. I never made it. I imagine she was rather cross." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a letter opener. With a tearing sound he ripped the old envelope open. Two pieces of paper fell out. He glanced at one quickly, looked away as quickly, then read the other. His dark eyes glistened, and a tear rolled down his cheek. With a deep breath, he folded the second piece of yellowed paper and stuffed it into a pocket. "It - it seems that I have yet another reason to apologize to you, young man. This is yours, and you should have received it years ago." He stood and handed the first letter to Kit. "I hope you can forgive me -and I hope you will understand, whatever happens. You are needed, Kit. Always remember that." He touched Kit's cheek briefly and quickly left the restaurant, leaving a stunned Rebecca and Baloo staring, slack-jawed. Kit looked at the letter, folded and unfolded it in his hands. He set it on the table and stared at it. "You...wanna be alone, kiddo?" Baloo asked gently. Kit smiled and patted his arm. "Please, stay. Please." Rebecca squeezed his hand reassuringly. "Whenever you're ready. We're not going anywhere." Kit blew out a breath and picked up the paper. He unfolded it and began reading it aloud. "Dear Kit; How strange this is! To be writing a letter, and considering my words so carefully, and yet hoping you will never read it! How strange we all are, people. If you're reading this, it means I am gone. I hope you can forgive me for leaving you. If it will make you feel any better, I love you more than anything. I always have and always will. I've made mistakes in my life, and paid for them , as we all do. If I've left you it was my greatest mistake of all. I wonder what kind of person you are. They all tell me that you look just like me. In my selfish way I hope it's true! I hope you are happy, and I hope you have parents who take good care of you and feed your imagination, like mine did. I hope they teach you to soar. I wonder if you like to fly! Again, in my selfish way, I hope that you do. I sure do. It's the greatest thing in my life, after you. The best thing is when you can just fly - not because you have a job, or a task, but just because you want to. The more I think about it, the more I think that's the greatest gift I could give you - because it's the greatest gift fate ever gave me. I hope that from me you got the urge to fly - to shuck the bonds of earth and be free, among the clouds and the birds, and touch the sky. The only thing greater than that, Kit, is to be able to share all of those things with someone you love. I hope fate has given you that gift, too. I guess that's about all - except to say again, I'm sorry that I'm not around. I never really was cut out for this mothering thing, and if you're reading this that means that I really screwed it up. The only part I was really good at was loving you. I was great at that. Always will be! I hope that you think of me, some day, when you're flying. But even if you don't decide that's what you want to do, I hope you think of me anyways. I'll be thinking about you. With love, Angie Kit set the letter down on the table and sat back in the booth. Rebecca was crying quietly, and Baloo had taken off his hat and was staring down at it as he held it in his lap. No one said anything for a moment. Kit folded then letter carefully and put it in his pocket. He closed his eyes and began to cry, gently at first, but then the sobs began to come uncontrollably, prompting a few curious stares from the other tables. He could feel Baloo and Rebecca holding him, gently squeezing him between their embraces as they sat in the booth. It was strange - almost as if he were looking at himself, sitting there crying. He thought objectively that it was good, something that he needed to do. There were questions of course - but they seemed unimportant to him now. There would be time for them later - or not. And as he thought those things he realized that it felt good to cry, and to think about his mother. It was something he'd needed to do for a long time. Now, at last, he could mourn a real person. He reached his arms out and hugged Baloo and Rebecca closer. That felt good too. No matter where he went he always seemed to end up right back here - squeezed right in between Baloo and Rebecca. That felt the best of all. "S.S.T.I.S.D.D.!" the postman shouted cheerfully as knocked on the door of Higher for Hire. "Goodness!" Rebecca said, rising to answer it. "What could that be?" Kit and Molly sat on the floor, playing with one of his models. He guided it through the air with a buzzing sound, and bright it close to Molly's ear with a roar. "Hey!" She squeaked. "Cut it out!" "So anyways, L'il Britches" Baloo said from the easy chair. "They was sayin' they might wanna name it Kit Island, since you took the sighting." "Naw." the cub said. "It should be Whistlestop Island. We would never have found it if it hadn't been for him." Baloo grinned. "Yeah, I kinda thought you'd feel that way - I do too. Whatever ya call it, when the new Aviation Maps come out that island will be on 'em!" "Besides," Kit said, playfully wrestling with Molly, "I'm gonna discover plenty o' islands, and that name's already reserved for the second one I find." "Second? What's the first one gonna be, L'il Britches?" The cub smiled at him and said nothing. "Aw, shucks, kid..." Baloo mumbled, blushing, as Kit grinned back at him. "Kit!" Rebecca called from the door. "Come and sign this -it's for you." Kit shot Baloo a puzzled look and walked over to the door. He signed the receipt and the postman handed him a large envelope. "It's from Props!" "Who's Props?" Molly asked gaily. Kit smiled. "He's like my grampa, Molly." He walked over to the table and opened the envelope. He tipped it's contents out. There were a few black and white photos, a pin, a separate, smaller envelope and a loose pink piece of paper which fell to the table. Baloo stood. "That looks like....." Kit opened the smaller envelope excitedly and began reading. "Dear Kit, Here's a few momentos of your Mom I thought you'd like. She wasn't much of a collector but I had a few things. There's one other thing, too. After Angie left, her plane ended up with me, somehow. They never told me where they found it. Now, I can pilot a little but I'm a navigator and always will be. Without my pilot I'm not much good up there. But not you - you're Angies's son. You'll be a helluva pilot or my name's not Props McDowd. Now I'm pretty sure Angie would've wanted you to have her old plane, Sprig. The Blue Eagle. Especially if she knew you were already an ace navigator like yer old Uncle Harry. I hope you'll forgive me - I flown it a few times. But I took real good care of it, Sprig. It may be old but it's a great plane - it's seen more adventures that a squad of barnstormers. When yer Daddy Baloo teaches you to fly she'll be waitin' for ya, and she'll start you off right. Maybe you'll even think of yer Mama and old Harry when you fly her. Now I already went to my lawyer and made this all legal - she's your plane, Sprig, free and clear. Should be arriving soon if it hasn't already. Enjoy her, and love her like yer Mama did. Maybe you'll fly her to Azirona and visit old Harry sometime. When I see that old beauty soarin' down at me I'll feel eighteen again! That's it, Sprig! Give my love to your family and see you soon. Clear skies! Harry McDowd Rebecca beamed at Baloo and the pilot laughed and grabbed her hands. A plane splashed down on the water outside. Kit set down the letter and picked up the pink piece of paper from the table. "The pink slip! Papa Bear, Becky - the pink slip! 'Conwing L-10, RJW-1976, Registry Cape Suzette, Owner Kit Cloudkicker!' Wa-HOO!" The boy ran across the room and jumped into Baloo's arms as the big pilot laughed. There was a knock on the door. Rebecca pulled it open. A pilot, a lion in a brown leather jacket and goggles, stood outside. "There a Kit Cloudkicker here?" "That's me!" the cub yelled, sliding from Baloo's arms and running over to the door. The lion beamed and held out a set of keys. "These are yours son. A Harry McDowd paid to have this little lady delivered here." He gestured out to the dock. Kit ran out, Baloo, Rebecca and Molly close behind. Parked next to the Sea Duck was a sky blue and gold twin-engine Conwing L-10. She was perhaps half the size of the Sea Duck, but had the same sleek, efficient lines. Kit ran up to the cockpit door and opened it and crawled inside. He sat in the pilot's chair of the plane - his mother's plane - _his_ plane - and slowly ran his fingers over the controls. The interior was spotless - lovingly cared for and preserved - even the burgundy colored upholstery was free of blemishes. Baloo and the other pilot walked over and peered inside. "L'il Britches -she's gorgeous! A real Beauty!" The lion smiled. "I hafta admit kid - when my partner and I drew this assigment-" he pointed to another plane parked a few dozen yards away, "I didn't wanna fly this bird - I'm used to something a little more modern. But I'll tell, she's a honey! Smooth as silk and soft as butter, with a real kick too! I think I drew the plumb assignment. Enjoy her, kid." He patted the cub on the shoulder and Kit smiled gratefully. He walked over to the other plane with a wave and they departed. Kit closed his eyes and smelled the interior - _his_ plane. When he opened them Baloo was leaning in the window, grinning a mile wide, and Rebecca held Molly up to peek in. He looked at the panel. In the corner, a grainy photo had been taped. It showed a bearess holding a small toddler, and a large tiger holding a map and compass. All were smiling happily. "Thanks, Harry!" Kit whispered, closing his eyes. "L'il Britches! C'mon down and have some breakfast!" Baloo called. "Just a minute, be right down!" the boy answered, as he lay in bed reading the newspaper. "Hurry up kid - ya know we're all goin' to Veronica Lake today. If ya don't get down here soon I might change my mind about lettin' you fly us there!" Kit scanned the newspaper for another moment. The headline read "TENSIONS RISE IN EPORUE - WAR SOON?" He read for a moment and then set the paper down. He stood and slipped on his sweater, and walked over to the top of the stairs. He glanced down - Molly was running around, holding one of his models, his old green sweater draped over her. Rebecca, dressed in shorts and a floppy hat, watched her daughter with an occasional laugh. Baloo sat at the table and popped a banana into his mouth, whole. Kit grinned and walked back into the bedroom. He walked over to the window and peered out. The Sea Duck reclined, gleaming yellow and red in the morning sun. Next to her, the Blue Eagle sat regally, seeming almost to merge with the blue water beneath it. Wildcat sat atop the wing, happily polishing her. Kit smiled to see them, side by side. He walked over to the dresser, where his red and blue baseball cap sat, next to Angela Crosswhyte's dog tags. He stared down at them for moment, side by side. He picked up the dog tags and kissed them gently, then opened the top drawer and slid them inside. He grabbed the cap, placed it on his head and spun it to face backwards. He started for the door, paused and bent to pick the newspaper up off of the bed. He glanced at it for a moment, then tucked it under his arm and headed downstairs. "Thought you was never comin' down here, Britches!" Baloo scolded him jovially. Kit smiled at him. "It's just such a nice day, Baloo - I figured the faster I move through it, the faster it'll be over." Baloo looked at him in surprise, then laughed, uproariously. "C'mon kiddo! We got fish to catch. Grab somethin' to eat an let's pull chocks." Kit grabbed a donut and the four bears headed for the door. Baloo tossed Kit the keys to the Sea Duck. He caught them with a grin. He stopped in the doorway, glanced at the newspaper briefly, and tossed it into the pile next to the fireplace. "Kit, can I take a ride in your plane soon?" Molly pleaded. Kit smiled at her. "Sure button-nose, but what's your hurry? There's plenty of time." He smiled at Baloo. "There's plenty of time." THE END