Kim Possible is the property of Disney
Superman is the property of Warner Bros.
Contains spoilers for the movie Superman Returns and my crossover with Classic Cowboy, The Worlds Finest.
Kim Possible: The Last
Kim Possible Returns
Prologue
"It's only a year, Ron", Kim Possible, world famous red headed superhero, murmured as she felt her husband's arms tighten around her.
"Only a year," Ron Stoppable, blond master of mystical monkey power and Kim's unashamed sidekick in Team Possible, repeated painfully.
Ron, just recently married to his best friend since pre-K, couldn't keep the anguish out of his voice.
"In twenty-five years, we've never been apart, Kim," he said softly. "Remind me why I can't go with you."
Kim's eyes were leaking tears. She'd known it would be hard, but she hadn't thought it would be this hard. And Ron wasn't even objecting to her leaving. Ever since NASA had published those pictures of Krypton, still intact, with illuminated cities plainly visible on it's night side, she'd been torn by doubt. What if Jor-el had been wrong? All the information stored aboard the ship that had brought her to Earth had been recorded before she left the world of her birth. The imagery of Krypton's destruction, she'd discovered, was only a simulation of what her biological father had thought was going to happen. If there was any chance, no matter how slim, that she wasn't the last of her people, she had to know. And there was only one way to find out.
"Krypton is halfway across the galaxy, Ron," she choked, "And the ship can travel a lot faster, if it's only me."
"Kimmie's right, Ron."
Ron turned his head to look at the source of the words.
James Possible, Kim's adoptive father. Now in his sixties, hair shot through with gray, he was the director of the Middleton Science Center, the most famous laboratory on Earth.
"She can tolerate much higher G loads than you or any other human possibly could, Ron. That will let us dial down the inertial compensator, and shave years off the trip."
"I know," Ron acknowledged, his own voice breaking. Understanding the reality of the situation didn't make the matter any easier to bear.
"I'll be back, Ron," Kim said, fiercely. "I swear I will, no matter what I find."
"I love you, Kim," Ron replied, kissing his wife on her forehead, then on her lips. "Now get out of here," he commanded, sniffling.
Smiling, weeping, Kim turned and climbed up into the ship that her biological father had built, that her adoptive father had modified. The access hatch closed behind her. Moments later the ship was rising, climbing toward the heavens, disappearing from view.
Chapter One
A year and more passed.
Life went on.
People forgot.
There were other heroes, after all.
Ron Stoppable.
In Gotham City Bruce Wayne, one of Team Possible's benefactors, inspired by an encounter with a dimensional alternate of Ron's, had assumed the role of Batman.
Kansas City had The Flash, a man who could run as fast as the speed of sound.
New York had Wonder Woman, representative of the Amazons to the world of man.
Germany had the Blue Beetle.
Japan had Booster Gold.
They were all great heroes.
But they all had four flaws.
None of them was faster than a speeding bullet.
None of them was more powerful than a locomotive.
None of them was able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.
None of them was Superwoman.
Life went on.
Kim became a memory. Almost a legend.
It was Independence Day, and Ron was in the Team Possible jet, over the Pacific Ocean, flying chase on Genesis, the new space shuttle, as it prepared for it's maiden flight. Piggybacked onto an Air Force 777, Genesis would ascend not quite into orbit. Once it detached from its carrier, solid rocket boosters would propel the craft into the mesosphere. There, the main engines would ignite, launching Genesis into a sub-orbital flight that would carry it across the United States and all the way to Rota, in Spain, where it would land.
Aboard the 777, a NASA administrator was giving a talk to that effect, complete with CGI animations of what the flight would look like, for the benefit of two dozen reporters from various newspapers and television networks. Ron couldn't hear what was being said, but he was sure that one of those reporters, one Bonnie Rockwaller of CNN, was making the administrator's life a living hell with annoying questions.
Houston Control's voice crackled in Ron's ears. "Genesis, we are go for launch. Automatic ignition program engaged, t-minus sixty seconds."
Ron heard the shuttle commander acknowledge the fact. Aboard the 777 the NASA administrator took a seat and strapped herself in. She kept on talking, though.
"Genesis will automatically separate from the carrier at t-minus twenty seconds. We'll immediately enter a diving turn to get clear of the blast from the solid rocket boosters. However, if we're lucky, we just may hear the faint pop of the sonic boom as Genesis breaks the sound barrier."
It happened at t-minus thirty-two seconds.
It started in Phoenix, Arizona, and spread around the world at the speed of light.
Power grids failed.
Cell phones died.
TV's went dark.
Off the coast of California, Ron watched as every system in the Team Possible jet went dead, including the engines. He tried various procedures without result. He didn't panic: his flight controls were triple redundant, with direct physical links to the jet's control surfaces, so he could at least glide to a landing. He was already slowing down though, and losing altitude. A quick glance showed that the two Air Force F-22 Raptor fighters helping him with the chase mission were in the same boat, as was the 777. Then, just as suddenly as a they had gone down, everything came back up. In moments Ron had his engines restarted.
"What the hell was that?" one of the other chase pilots asked.
The shuttle commander said, "Houston, we had a power glitch up here, but we are up and running again."
"Roger that, Genesis," Houston replied. "We had a power glitch here as well. It seems to have been a world wide event."
"What caused it?"
"We don't know, and until we find out, we'd better play it safe and abort the mission."
"Roger Houston, aborting the mission."
On Genesis' flight deck, the co-pilot reached out to press the appropriate button to terminate the launch sequence. Then she pressed it again. And again.
"Houston, the program won't shut down. We are still counting down to ignition."
"Copy that, Genesis, we can't shut it down from the ground either. Looks like we're gonna have to go through with it no matter what."
The shuttle commander steeled himself. Hopefully, the program was the only glitch the electrical problem had caused. If not, it might be a very short flight.
"Coming up on automatic disengagement," the shuttle co-pilot intoned, "In three, two, one, mark."
They were expecting a sharp jolt.
They got a half hearted thunk, followed by a blaze of warning lights.
"Houston, we have a disengagement failure. Attempting manual release."
Another weak thunk.
On board the carrier the co-pilot, beginning to feel a little frantic, tried uncoupling the shuttle from that end, with similar results, as the remaining seconds ticked relentlessly away. The pilot of the 777 hit his intercom button and said, "We're still attached to the shuttle, and its engines are about to ignite. If you aren't already, strap yourselves in. And pray."
In the cabin behind him, Bonnie Rockwaller sucked in a sharp breath. She knew from reading the material in the press kit she'd been given that the three struts that held the shuttle on top of the jet were immensely strong, far stronger than they needed to be for what they were expected to do, as was the additional bracing within the jet itself. If they could climb high enough, into thin enough air, the struts might hold during the SRB burn. But when the main engines lit, they were sure to fail. And if they didn't all fail, at the exact same instant, unequal stress would tear the jet and the shuttle to bits. The odds against that happening were beyond astronomical.
So, she reasoned, they were all about to die.
"...three, two, one, ignition."
Smoke and flame exploded from the SRB's. In seconds the 777's vertical stabilizer was gone, melted by the fierce heat. NASA had added two more, at the tips of the horizontal stabilizers, but they were already smoldering, and probably wouldn't last long.
"She's pulling away," the lead chase pilot called, even as he, his wingman, and Ron advanced their throttles to keep up.
The programmed delay between SRB ignition and the main engines was sixty seconds, and Ron never knew a minute could go by so fast. The jet was climbing, and now even he could no longer follow it. Houston and the astronauts were working furiously to solve the problem, but nothing was working.
Suddenly, an air traffic controller broke in with, "An unidentified aircraft just entered your area."
Ron looked at his radar. Sure enough there was a pip at the edge of the display. Still, it was a hundred miles astern, and probably not an issue. "I see it," he said, and...
...his radar had a one second sweep cycle. On the next update, the pip was only ninety miles away. On the next one it was less than eighty. Math had never been Ron's strong suit, but it didn't take him long to realize, "My God, it's going six thousand miles an hour... and it's accelerating!"
Seconds later Houston warned that the main engines were about to ignite. Ron turned to see a huge plume of fire erupt from the shuttle. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a blue and red blur hurtle past him. Suddenly, he had trouble breathing.
Aboard the shuttle the crew were still trying to cut loose. They all knew space flight was risky, and accepted that fact, but they were understandably not keen on dying if they could help it.
A green light flashed to life on the control panel, and the crew gaped at it. It was one of the coupling lights, and indicated that one of them had just come undone, which was impossible since they were still alive. Then a second one lit, then the third, and then acceleration was slamming them back in their seats as the shuttle went rocketing toward space.
Aboard the jet it was still and quiet. Bonnie felt light, almost as if she was on that free fall ride in Las Vegas. This wasn't any fun though. In the cockpit the crew assessed their situation. The engines were dead, burned up from overspeeding. The rudder and elevators were non-functional, more than likely because they had been destroyed. The controls in the wings still worked, but with only them, landing was going to be extremely difficult. As they fell toward the Earth, the jet began to yaw, a sure sign the vertical stabilizers were gone. The pilot opened the speed brakes on the left wing a little to null it out. He tried to anyway, but the speed brake opened all the way, and wouldn't close, and the jet began to enter a flat spin, slowly at first, but with ever increasing speed. He tried the speed brake on the right wing, but it only opened a little before it too became unresponsive.
They were spinning ever faster, even as they plummeted Earthward, and the pilot knew it wouldn't be long before centrifugal force ripped the plane apart.
There was a violent lurch, and the spin slowed suddenly.
"We must have lost something," the pilot said. "Check the wing on your side," he told the co-pilot, even as he turned his own head to check the left wing.
The co-pilot craned his neck against the force of the spin. He caught a glimpse of the ring wing, and for a moment he thought he saw...something...at the very tip.
Then the wing broke off, and the spin came back with full fury.
They were plunging straight down now, the remaining wing spinning the fuselage around like a falling maple seed. When it broke off as well, the spin began to slow, and the pilot could see the were over the coast, above the San Francisco Bay area, the city of Oakland to be exact.
The pilot heaved a sigh. With the wings gone there was nothing left they could do. It was all over. Without taking his eyes off the cityscape rushing up at him he said, with remarkable calm, "At least it'll be quick."
The co-pilot responded with a laconic, "Yeah."
Then they found themselves hanging from the harnesses that kept them in their seats. In the cabin behind them, anything that wasn't nailed down went flying to the front bulkhead, while passengers pitched forward in their seats. Bonnie blinked in amazement. A steady, relentless force was pulling her against the belt across her lap.
A capacity crowded filled McAfee Coliseum in Oakland, watching their beloved A's take on their neighbors from across the bay, the San Francisco Giants. It was the top of the fourth, tied two-all, and Alberto Chavez, the A's star hitter this season, had just stepped up to bat. After a few practice swings he settled into his stance. The Giant's pitcher wound up and let fly. Alberto swung, connected, and spat a curse, for he knew, just by the feel of the bat, that he'd hit a high pop fly. Like everyone else in the stadium he craned his neck to follow the ball, then promptly forgot all about baseball as his eyes took in the wingless airliner headed straight for him.
Shock paralyzed everyone, keeping them from moving. Then shock turned to awe. In utter silence, the crowd watched the jet shudder to a halt just above the ground, halfway between home plate and the pitchers mound. Then silence continued as the remains of the plane tilted downward, to settle gently on the grassy expanse of the field. It was only when a lithe figure in red and blue detached itself from the crumpled nose of the craft and flew over to the crew access door that fifty thousand human voices erupted in a titanic cheer.
Within the jet, Bonnie and the others were trying, in a somewhat dazed manner, to figure out what had happened. They had some how fallen from the edge of space, a very, very violent and rapid fall, only end up sitting, level and alive, in what seemed to be a baseball stadium full of cheering people.
A new shudder ran through the plane and Bonnie felt a twinge of renewed panic, but it was only the hatchway opening...
Then she stepped into the cabin and everyone's breath caught in their throats.
"Is everyone alright?" the newcomer asked in the voice Bonnie knew so well from their old days of high school rivalry. Silent, dumbfounded nods answered her.
The newcomer smiled in relief, gave Bonnie a nod of acknowledgement, and said, "Well, I certainly hope this little incident hasn't put any of you off flying. Statistically speaking of course, it's still the safest way to travel."
When she turned to go Bonnie and her fellow reporters finally shook out of their stupor and began peppering her with questions, but she dismissed them with a smile and wave, and stepped back into the open hatchway.
The cheers of the crowd, which hadn't subsided, rose even higher. She felt her cheeks heat, the more so when she caught sight of her image on the stadium's Jumbotron display. Finally, afraid she'd break into tears if she lingered, she gathered herself and sprang upward, disappearing into the blue California sky.
She would have been considerably more embarrassed to know that the scene in the stadium was being played out all over the world.
In private homes, in bars, in offices, anywhere there were TV's, people where cheering, laughing, even weeping with joy.
She was back.
Kim Possible was back.
Superwoman had returned.