Hopes and Schemes
part 1

TaleSpin and its characters are property of Disney. All other characters are mine and cannot be used without permission.

Riversidle, Californea
October 1936
Twilight

In the living room of a modest, white, two-story house located in the middle of a modest residential area in the growing metropolis of Riversidle, five-year-old Molly Cunningham was perched on the arm of the couch, turning the radio knob in an attempt to find her favorite program.

The little yellow bearess paused when she heard an announcer say, "...brought to you by Gloss-O-Matic. When your floor has lost that showroom sheen, buy..."

"...a new romantic, dramatic, comedic, action-packed cinematic epic starring Kitten Kaboodle as..."

"...Broadcast Sally," said a velvety voiced woman, "playing all your favorites on this beautiful Wednesday evening. Next up is Rosebeary Clooney singing..."

"...bottom of the 7th of the Series," a deep voice said. "Sox leading the Pirates 3-1. Two men out. Grover Bearenson at bat. There's the windup, the pitch and..." Crack! "It's..."

"...Faster than a speeding airship. More powerful than a turbine. Able to leap city blocks in a single bound. It's Danger Woman!"

"Yay!" Molly shouted. With an excited bounce that caused her red blanket 'cape' to flap, she settled herself on the couch, rescued her colander 'helmet' from sliding off her head, and picked up Lucy, her favorite doll.

"In this week's episode," the announcer continued, "Danger Woman encounters the evil Dr. Nematoda whose dirty schemes bury the city in grime. Can our heroine worm her way out of this one? But first, these messages..."

"Molly, turn it down!" Rebecca Cunningham shouted from the next room. "Mommy can't hear herself think."

"Aw..." Molly grumbled, but complied. Since a commercial was still playing, she said to Lucy, "I'm counting on you to tell me when Danger Woman comes back on, trusty sidekick." She saluted her doll, hopped off the couch, and skipped into the den where her mother was sitting at her desk. "Now can you hear yourself think?" she asked with childish candor.

"Yes, Pumpkin." Rebecca's smile dissolved into a sigh as she swivelled in her chair, turning her attention back to the bank statement in her hand. "Almost $20,000 saved, and if we sell the house..."

Tears threatened to veil her large brown eyes at the thought of parting with the home she had come to as a bride. For a while, her gaze lingered on a framed photograph of her deceased husband that was sitting on the corner of her desk. Then, she swivelled in her chair to look around the comfortable den. Opposite her was her husband's desk, which was identical to hers. There once was a time when his cluttered desktop had driven her to distraction, but now it was empty, devoid of even a single piece of paper. One by one, she looked at all of the pictures that she and her husband had hung together, at their framed MBA diplomas, at all of the mementos that they had accrued over the years. Even the smallest thing held a special memory. Finally, she turned back to her desk and looked past the lacy curtains to the trailing trumpet vine clinging to the trellis beside the window. The hummingbirds that were sipping from the delicate pink flowers were so close that if she opened the window, she could have touched them. Beyond that was the radiant sunset flooding the world in its yellow and orange beauty.

"Is everything okay, Mom?" Molly whispered, perceptive beyond her tender age.

"Yes, honey," the petite brown bearess said, rousing herself from her bittersweet reverie. She scooped up her daughter, gave her a warm hug, and set her on her lap. "Where was I? Oh, yes. If we sell the house, we'll have..." she punched the keys on the adding machine, "over $50,000."

"Fifty thousand dollars?" Molly cried, twisting around to look up at her mother's face. "We could buy lots of Frosty Pep with that."

"Or a business, which is what we're going to do. Won't that be fun, having our own business?"

"What kind of business?"

"I'm not sure yet." Rebecca's eyes fell on the neat mountain of books, maps, and magazines on her desk. On the topmost magazine, a tiger's visage - handsome, strong, with a hint of arrogant complacency - was framed with the caption: Shere Khan Named Fortune 5000's Wealthiest Man for the Ninth Consecutive Year. She had looked through them countless times, but nothing had appealed to her. The ideas in them all seemed so mundane. She wanted to have a business that was new, exciting, and would make a big profit in a small amount of time.

"I know!" Molly exclaimed. "How about an ice cream stand?"

Rebecca chuckled. "I was thinking of something a little bigger than an ice cream stand." She returned to examining the bank statements.

"Okay. Then how about an ice cream factory?"

"No, and you're not getting any more ice cream today, young lady."

Molly was disappointed, but she knew not to press her luck when her mother spoke in that stern tone. She crawled on top of the desk and started to rifle through the books and magazines haphazardly. Suddenly, she said, "Can we buy an airplane?"

"An airplane?" Rebecca exclaimed, her hand suspended in mid-air over the adding machine.

"Yeah! It'd be fun to have an airplane and fly wherever we wanted to," Molly said, holding up a Fortune 5000 with a sleek silver airplane streaking across the front.

"Speaking of going places, you need to get your bath and get ready for bed, young lady."

"Aw, Mom, but Danger Woman's still on."

"Okay. After Danger Woman," she said, kissing her daughter on the cheek.

After Molly had scrambled down from the desk and had skipped into the living room, Rebecca picked up the magazine that the little girl had dropped on the floor. The caption on the front read: Air Cargo - Fab or Fad? She had never considered the air cargo business before...

Meanwhile..
Baloo's Air Service
Cape Suzette

Fifty miles southwest of Riversidle, on the outskirts of the coastal city of Cape Suzette, a houseboat constructed of mismatched airplane parts was moored to the dock near a rundown lighthouse-like structure that served as both the office and living quarters of the proprietor of Baloo's Air Service.

Inside the small houseboat, a wiry lion wearing grease-spattered overalls and an orange visor was fiddling with a radio that had seen better days. The tip of his tongue protruded from his mouth in concentration as he turned the radio's knobs. However, he couldn't get it to make a sound.

"What's wrong with you, Gladys?" the lion wondered, wiggling a wire gently. "Cat got your transistor?"

After checking every wire and connection, the mechanic got the biggest hammer out of his toolbox. He considered the radio for a while, then gave it a good whack on the top of its worn wooden cabinet. With a snap, crackle and loud pop, an announcer said, "...top of the 8th in the Series. Sox still leading the Pirates 4-1..."

"Wildcat! Hey, Wildcat, where are ya?"

The lion mechanic put his ear to the radio's speaker. "I didn't know Baloo was on the radio. You never tell me anything, Gladys."

A big grey bear in a faded yellow button-down shirt and red pilot's cap bellowed, "Wildcat!" as he poked his head in the doorway. Seeing the very person he was searching for, he lowered his voice. "Oh, there ya are."

"How'd you get out of the radio and all the way across the room without me seeing you, Baloo?" the mechanic wondered.

"Huh?" Baloo scratched his head. "Aw, never mind." Deciphering Wildcat's convoluted thought processes would take too much time and energy. "I'm headin' to Louie's to grab some grub, an' wanted to know if..." Hearing someone else speaking besides him, he turned towards the radio. "Whatcha listenin' to?"

"The Series. The Sox are beating the pants off of the Pirates. At least that's what Gladys tells..."

Baloo interrupted impatiently. "So, are you gonna come with me or not?"

"Nah, I think I'll stay here, listen to the game, and make jellybean omelets. They're my favorite brain food."

"Then you'd better eat lots of 'em. You need all the help you can get," Baloo said derisively.

"Oh, hey, Baloo, I just remembered. I, like, don't have any jellybeans or eggs, 'cause I, like, don't have any money."

"When's the last time I paid ya?" the pilot asked, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully.

"Um...four weeks ago or last month. I can't remember which."

Baloo tossed Wildcat a couple of dollars and some coins. "There ya go, pal. That's all I got on me. I'll give ya some more when I fly my next job."

"When will that be?"

"I dunno," Baloo said with an unconcerned shrug as he turned to head to his seaplane, which was moored at the far end of the dock, beside the arching sign that said 'Baloo's Air Service' in faded lettering. "Whenever Louie starts makin' me pay dough every time I go."

"Hey, Baloo!" Wildcat said, rushing to the door. "Before I almost forget again, the man from the bank called. Said he wanted to talk to you about something real important."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Bankers always got somethin' they think is real important to jaw about, but the Big Guy is tellin' me that right now findin' some food is more important." The big bear patted his large stomach.

"All right, Baloo," Wildcat said quietly with a shrug of his thin shoulders. Who was he to argue with his boss? After all, the Sea Duck wasn't his plane. He just fixed it when it was 'sick'. The mechanic stood in the doorway, watching the overweight pilot hurry down the dock and climb into the seaplane. As he listened to the twin Superflight 100 engines start up, a smile of satisfaction crossed his lean leonine features. "Fit as a banjo." After the Sea Duck had vanished between the cliff opening, he went back into his houseboat, asking, "What did I miss, Gladys?"

Meanwhile...
Pirate Island

One hundred sixty degrees southeast of Cape Suzette, a mist-enshrouded volcanic archipelago arose from the placid Pacific Ocean. The volcanoes' harsh, craggy dull brown were a severe contrast to the sparkling blue ocean surrounding it, but the ugliness didn't matter to the fierce band of air pirates who had made this desolate spot their hideout.

Inside the largest volcano, there was a large harbor concealed from prying eyes by two massive stone doors. There, the pirates' behemoth mothership, the Iron Vulture, was moored. In the gloom and shadow of the cave, it appeared to be a sleeping purple and black bird with its yellow beak floating on the dark water. However, the inside of this large ship of the air was teeming with activity.

At that moment, the pirates were gathered around the long tables in the Iron Vulture's dining room, eating dinner and listening to the Series on a stolen radio.

Kit Cloudkicker, the smallest and youngest pirate, was crammed on a bench between Dumptruck and Gibber. The eleven-year-old bear cub was hunched over his plate in order to protect his food from the others. His ears strained to listen to the game amid the chomping, slurping, gulping, and smacking of the uncouth pirates.

The radio announcer was saying, "...Sox ahead 4-1. Lou Growling of the Pirates up to bat..."

Dumptruck, a grey canine named so due to his massive size, ripped a chunk out of his roll. "Are der Pirates losing?"

From across the table, Hal, a rotund orange feline, replied, "Yeah, but they're pirates. They'll do something sneaky and get ahead."

A lanky ferret with long, limp moustaches called Mad Dog stealthily purloined a loin from Hal's plate before remarking, "Like steal some bases. Pirates are good at stealing."

The pirates all vociferously voiced their agreement, except Dumptruck, who was busy eyeing Kit's chicken leg.

"Don't even think about it," Kit growled as his hand closed over it. He had had to fight tooth and nail to get that chicken leg.

Sneering, Dumptruck drew a pistol from his coat and pointed it at Kit.

"Okay, okay, take it," the boy snapped, flinging it on the other pirate's plate.

Dumptruck popped it - bone and all - into his mouth.

Under his breath, Kit muttered, "I hope you choke on it."

Dumptruck spit the chicken bone onto his plate. In a thick Swedish accent, he asked suspiciously, "Did you say someting, little meatball?"

Despite the fact that Dumptruck could have killed Kit with one blow of his meaty fist, the boy stood up on the bench, looked him unflinchingly in the eye, and defiantly retorted, "Yeah, I said..."

Just then, their leader and captain, Don Karnage, strutted into the room and turned off the radio.

"Aw, Captain, we were listening to the Pirates," Mad Dog whined.

"From now on, you will listen to this pirate!" the ruggedly handsome brown wolf said as he made his way to the head of the table. "I, Don Karnage, pirate extraordinaire, have come up with another stupendous plan to plunder Cape Suzette."

"Another one?" Mad Dog whined.

Dumptruck stopped picking his teeth with his fingernail to ask, "Will dis one vork, Captain?"

Mad Dog added, "Yeah, I'm getting tired of getting shot at by those cliff guns."

"It came from my wonderfully brilliant mind, so of course it will work!" Karnage shouted. He repeatedly thumped the table with his fist for emphasis, causing the dishes and cutlery to dance.

His curiosity piqued, Kit peered around his comrades and asked, "Well, what is it, Captain?"

Karnage's face lit up. "I am so glad you have asked that, my boy." His voice took on a mysterious tone as he described his plan. "Under the coverlet of darkness, we will fly towards Cape Suzette without any lights on. The gunners will not shoot what they cannot see. It is brilliant, yes-no?"

On both sides of the table, the skeptical pirates nodded and murmured their reluctant approval. In the back of their minds lurked the many previous failed attempts to plunder Cape Suzette.

Kit thought, It'll never work. The gunners will hear the Vulture for sure.

Don Karnage, who was not satisfied with his loyal lackeys' less-than-enthusiastic response, menacingly drew his sword from its sheath. "Well...?"

Intimidated by their commander's fierce expression and the fact that he was a master of torture, the pirates wildly applauded, cheered, and stomped their feet. Even Kit whistled half-heartedly.

Karnage beamed. "Thank you, thank you. No, stop it, you are too kind."

Immediately, there was silence. The dim-witted pirates were merely following orders to 'stop it'.

With a sigh of exasperation, Karnage said, "You didn't have to stop so soon."

The cheering recommenced, louder this time.

"Ah...that is more like it," the pirate captain said, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

That Night
Iron Vulture

The night was as black as coal as the hulking Iron Vulture flew towards Cape Suzette like a shark stealthily gliding towards its prey. It seemed that even Mother Nature was cooperating with Don Karnage in his plan to sneak by the cliff gunners unnoticed, for the cloud cover was heavy, blocking even the slightest trace of the moon or stars.

The pirates scurried around the huge hangar as they prepared to attack. Don Karnage paced the upper deck above them, impatiently watching the reddish glow in the sky over the city grow steadily closer. Also on the upper deck was first mate Gibber.

Mad Dog snapped the barrel of his pistol shut. "Remember when the captain had us paint the ship blue so we would be invisible?"

"But then it rained," Hal reminded them as he handed out gunny sacks, "and all of the paint washed off and the guns shot at us."

With a coil of rope slung over one muscular shoulder and a rifle slung over the other, Dumptruck remarked, "And den he dressed da ship up like a boat and tried to sail it between the cliffs."

"Oh, yeah," Mad Dog said. He slipped his pistol and a handful of extra bullets into his pockets. "But we hit a reef and the disguise fell off."

"And the guns shot at us," Hal added.

"Shut up with the tripping down memory lane, you flea brains!" Karnage shouted, leaning over the bannister, causing all of the pirates to stop in their tracks. "This time there is no paint, and there is no rain to wash the paint away."

"Und ve don't have to vear dose skimpy bathing suits," Dumptruck said in a not-so-quiet aside to Mad Dog.

Mad Dog winced. "That thing chafed."

"That plan would have been very successful if it had succeeded." Breathing heavily with rage, the Captain clenched his hands around the railing and glared down at his minions.

Kit, who had climbed the ladder to the upper deck in order to get a better look at where they were going, ventured quietly, "Uh, Captain, why don't we try to plunder a different city? One that doesn't have cliff guns?"

Karnage whirled around, ready to vent his anger on the handiest target. "Because Cape Suzette is the most spectaculous city around here. The trading hubcap of Usland. It is the center of everything there is to be in the center of. When we plunder Cape Suzette, we will have hit the jack-in-the-pot, the bulls in the eye. And it is the closest, you estupide, little, no-nothing boy!"

"Yeah, but it seems that..."

"Are you the captain?" the wolf asked, giving the boy a rough poke in the chest with his forefinger.

"No, but...!" To Kit, it seemed pointless to continue their futile quest to try to plunder a city as well-fortified as Cape Suzette. It was as stupid as repeatedly knocking your head against a wall.

"Who is the captain?" As he waited for the obvious answer, Karnage polished his fingernails against his immaculate jacket.

Kit sighed in resignation. It was frustrating to be right, yet know that he couldn't win. "You are."

"Of course I am!" Karnage drew his sword and swung it through the air to emphasize each 'I'. Kit had to duck in order to keep his head intact. "I am the captain. I make the decisions. And right now, I am deciding that we need to turn off all the lights."

All over the Iron Vulture switches were flipped, plunging them into total darkness, save for one small lightbulb at the far end of the hangar.

"If anyone so much as utters one pipping-squeak, he will suffer the wrath of the dreadful pirate, Don Karnage!" At the top of his lungs, he commanded, "Turn off that light!"

"Yes, sir, Captain," Hacksaw said, flipping a switch.

Ka-boom! went a cannon as it exploded from the Iron Vulture's prow and flew towards the cliffs.

"Oopsy!" Hacksaw whimpered. "Wrong switch."

Suddenly, there was a multitude of ear-splitting explosions all around them. The Cape Suzette cannoneers were returning fire with a vengeance, trying to blast the pirates out of the sky or at least drive them away from the city. The behemoth airship rocked from side to side as firework-like bombs pierced its skin and knocked out its topside propellers. Chaos ensued as the pirates hurried to extinguish fires and repair electrical damage.

"HACKSAW!" Karnage roared.

"B-but, Captain, I-I thought it was the light switch. Honest."

"I will deal with you later," Karnage said between clenched teeth. "But for now...retreat!"

As the wounded airship turned around, the pirate captain took one last look at Cape Suzette. "I will get in somehow if it is the last thing I do," he muttered determinedly under his breath.

Khan Towers
Downtown Cape Suzette
The Next Day

Sunlight poured through powderpuff-like clouds onto the city of Cape Suzette, warming the harbor, dancing on rooftops, and glinting off windows. The largest window in the city was located at the top of ninety-story Khan Towers; it allowed the wealthiest man in the world, Shere Khan, a magnificent view of both the city and the cliffs protecting it.

At that moment, however, Khan was not paying the slightest attention to the beautiful weather outside. Instead, the intimidating tiger, impeccably clad in an expensive suit, sat behind his claw-marked mahogany desk, his back to the window, perusing the latest Fortune 5000 magazine.

"Khan Industries worth 3.3 billion dollars," he read. "Miniversal Corporation worth a mere 2.9 billion dollars. Better luck next year, Mr. Sultan."

A trace of a smug smile was on his normally impassive face. He had been number one ever since Fortune 5000 Magazine had started their annual 'wealthiest man in the world' feature.

The man who prided himself on being completely emotionless gloated to himself as he read the article, which confirmed what he already knew: whomever had the most money had the most power. Power to make more money. More importantly, power to spread his business to every corner of the globe from Aridia to Zilbaldo, even communist Thembria. Already, Khan Industries surpassed its competitors in a vast variety of commodities from spices to military equipment to energy resources. Little by little, Khan Industries was buying up the world and gaining control over the global market. That was this ruthless businessman's one goal in life. After all, he lived by the golden rule: 'He who has the gold, makes the rules'.

Buzz! went the interoffice intercom.

At any other time, this unscheduled interruption would have irritated him, but because he was in a good mood, he wasn't even mildly annoyed. He pressed the 'transmit' button. "Yes, Mrs. Snarly?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but Dr. Debolt insists upon seeing you despite the fact that his appointment isn't until 2:30 next Thursday."

"It's all right, Mrs. Snarly. Show him in." He closed the magazine, folded his hands over it, and calmly turned his attention towards the elevator at the far end of the room.

A moment later, a small apricot-colored rabbit with a shock of grey hair bounced out of the elevator into the office, his lab coat flapping. In his hands was a small blue treasure chest, edged with gold plate and decorated with yellow suns. In a shrill, excited voice, the scientist squeaked, "Success, Mr. Khan! Success! We were able to create the sub-electron amplifier. According to my calculations, I knew it would work in theory, but putting it into effect was a different..."

Shere Khan cut short his long-winded rambling by asking pointedly, "How many were you able to produce?"

"Only one, sir. Here it is." He proudly set the treasure chest on the desk and opened the lid. Lying on a bed of black velvet was something that resembled a large ruby.

Khan reached for it, but before he could touch it, Dr. Debolt said, "I wouldn't touch it barehanded if I were you. You might get a nasty shock. Here. Wear this." The scientist dug a black rubber glove out of his lab coat pocket and handed it to his employer.

The businessman donned the glove and carefully picked up the stone. As he turned it in his hand, sunlight gleamed off its many facets. "I thought you said you'd be able to produce an unlimited amount."

Shrinking under the businessman's piercing gaze, Dr. Debolt stammered, "Yes, but that was before we..."

"How much energy will this one produce?"

"Enough to run all of your businesses," Dr. Debolt said, nervously pushing his glasses up on his nose, "I think..."

"You think?" Khan quirked an eyebrow. If there was one thing he didn't like, it was unanswered questions. "I want to know." He gently returned the stone to the box and removed the glove. He pushed both towards the scientist.

"We will after we run more tests and..."

"Fine," Khan said, pulling a sheet of his personal stationary from his desk drawer. He scribbled a memo and signed his name with a flourish. "Get one of my pilots to transport it to my power plant in the NoSmokey Mountains."

"But if it needs more adjustments, it'll have to be transported back here to the lab."

"Do whatever is necessary. I want a report no later than Friday of next week," Khan commanded, handing the note over the desk to the scientist.

"Yes, sir." Dr. Debolt shoved the note and glove into his lab coat pocket, picked up the box, and bounced out of the room as fast as he had bounced into it.

When the elevator had swallowed up the scientist, Shere Khan smiled to himself. Resting his elbows on his desk, he pressed his fingertips together. The sub-electron amplifier, which his scientists had been working on for over a year, was coming along ahead of schedule. It was, perhaps, the most important invention of the century. Better still, it was his company's invention. An invention that would save him money and make him money in the process. He looked down at the magazine.

"Wealthiest man in the world ten years in a row..."

End of part 1