The Bonds of Earth

by Daring Dan

The clouds of war are gathering, and even sunny Cape Suzette's skies are darkening. Baloo and Kit are caught up in the storm, and old secrets are uncovered in the process.

1. The First Visitor

                            THE BONDS OF EARTH

Author's note: This story takes place sometime in the days after the conclusion of "Thicker Than Water." 

"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 gray 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 it 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 ze 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 takeoff 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 pat on the 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, y'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' NO-body 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 2000 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 seeming 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.  The cub 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 fer 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, Kit, 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, Kit, 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, Kit - a house painter, ya know, did homes an' businesses and such.  It don't sound like much but he was 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, L'il Britches.  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 his 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 stitch if we blow this contract.  Pretty soon Higher for Hire will have enough money to make some real improvements, and you and me have 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 crates 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 crates 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....

To be continued.....