Impetuous Acumen
A Penguins of Madagascar/Portal Crossover

Part I

"THERE'S NOTHING LEFT TO LEARN, PRIVATE."

Kowalski sat on top of the artificial ice floe with his smaller and younger teammate, swishing his webbed feet through the water. The Central Park Zoo was closed for the evening, and as such the sun was setting. The tall office buildings visible just over the walls of the zoo cast long shadows over the two birds like looming giants.

Private shifted in his place a bit as though he was trying to get a better look at Kowalski. "You can't say that," he argued. "There's no being on the Earth who knows everything."

"I agree," the intellectual responded, "though that is not what I'm trying to convey. Our universe is massive, and though there are ninety-one stable elements to experiment in addition to an unknown number of unstable ones, there are only so many ways to put things together. Physics and chemistry can only go so far. There's only so many inventions to design, only so many devices to build."

"You're telling me that you've already invented every possible contraption in the world?" the smaller bird wondered.

"Not just me, Private. Everyone, animal and human alike, has been experimenting and building new contrivances for thousands of years. Perhaps I have not implemented every design on my own, but someone has."

"That doesn't mean you can't improve on their designs and make them better," the shorter bird replied.

Kowalski looked in the direction of a honked car horn before sighing. "I've tried doing just that, but each time I contrive an idea I either achieve identical efficiency or less. That doesn't include the times where my inventions attempt to kill us, either."

Private smiled. "We've had some close calls." A moment of silence, filled only by the gentle sloshing of the water up against the concrete ice floe. "Hey, what about that time you successfully invented a time machine? That's something that's never been done before."

"Tearing apertures in the space-time fabric is something that shouldn't be done, Private. You know that the use of that device nearly resulted in catastrophe. Just one of those limits imposed by physics and chemistry."

"Maybe you could find another way about it, then? Like, what if you could get around the whole time-rippy part?" Private pondered.

"Impossible," Kowalski remarked with a dismissive wave of his flipper. "Just another one of the many insurmountable barriers I've come across in the last few years. Do you remember the Next-O-Skeleton?"
The other penguin nodded.

"The first rendition was too top heavy. Steel plating and weaponry attached to it in a form similar to the penguin anatomy were the reason. In the second rendition, when I attempted to attach more plating to the feet of the suit to balance it out, it became too much for the power supply to move, and the loss of jump jets made it almost useless. The third rendition had far too little armor and weaponry cut out to remove that weight problem and the fuel supply was minuscule. The universe has far too many limits to allow for such creations to be practical."

Private arched his brow slightly. "That doesn't sound like the Kowalski I know."
"What do you mean?" questioned the scientist.

"The Kowalski I know would be pushing forward to try to break those limits and prove that many things can be possible with the right tools. That's how you discovered how to tear the space-time thingy in the first place, right? You threw that light-saw thing and where it hit the wall it made a little rip?"

Kowalski nodded solemnly. "You are correct. However I've come to know that these occurrences are of another nature, something that doesn't belong in our universe. That's why such danger exists around them, and many of our problems have been created by them."

"Only a few of our problems have been created by your inventions," the other penguin encouraged. "Hey, what about the Space Squid? How do you explain how he was basically able to teleport?"

"Molecular reatomization isn't hard, Private. Long ago I was able to implement a teleporter to transport an apple from one side of the room to the other in the blink of an eye. The fact of the matter is that the more complex an item being transported becomes, the greater the risk of failure. Squids are far simpler beings than penguins."

Private looked confused, so Kowalski said, "Think of what would happen if your body turned inside-out like the apple did on approximately three-point-sixty-five percent of the tests."

Private shuttered. "I don't really want to imagine what that would be like."

"Exactly," Kowalski affirmed.

Private looked a little upset for a few moments as another moment of silence passed between the two. When he spoke again he looked a bit more happy. "You know, they have a saying about this kind of things on the Lunacorns."

Kowalski glanced at Private like he was already doubting the significance of a quote uttered on the penguin's favorite television show. Knowing he should at least hear his smaller friend out he offered a halfhearted, "What?"

"They always say, 'Open your mind and heart and you'll see that there is much more to the world than meets the eye.' Maybe you should try that some time."

Kowalski did nothing other than snort. What could Private possibly mean by quoting something so irrelevant and vague? Did the small bird mean that he needed to open his brain via surgery just to understand more about the universe? Preposterous, to say the least.

The intellectual didn't even see his younger teammate's downcast look. It had been only a snort; a gesture that could have been interpreted in many ways. The round bird distinguished it as though Kowalski was simply ignoring the statement entirely. Before the bird could say another word, however, Skipper's commanding bark was heard from the fishbowl hatch.

"Last time I checked, being five minutes late for briefing resulted in double maintenance duty for a month. I'll overlook this small mistake if you double-time it down here."

Kowalski heard the fishbowl lid click behind him. He had been dreading this evening for some time now. Skipper's paranoia was in overdrive and he was about to send them on a cross-country rampage for no solid reason. What upset the tall penguin even more was how he was planning on doing it.

"C'mon, K'walski," Private beckoned from the fishbowl.

The tall bird emitted a low groan as he pushed himself up from where he was sitting, then made his way down into the HQ. There Skipper and Rico were already sitting around their card table. Private pushed up a fourth chair as Skipper gestured to the remaining, empty one.

"Now that we're all here," Skipper began with a slightly opprobrious tone, making Kowalski frown and cross his flippers. "Let's discuss exactly what's going to be going down tonight."

The flat-headed leader gestured to the map that laid out on the table in front of him. "Now, as you boys are aware, we have sufficient evidence to believe that Blowhole has moved his base of operations from Coney Island to Ceder Bluff in western Kansas. Kowalski, explain it to me again."

The tall bird nodded before producing a clipboard from under the table and flipping through a few pages. "We always knew the dolphin would eventually need more room to develop his weapons without detection from the humans. Thanks to that lobster that we interrogated yesterday I feel that we've pinpointed where he's setting up base. The fish hatchery in Ceder Bluff provides him with a massive food supply and the reservoir there supports his need for a water source."

"Right," Skipper confirmed, "and with that kind of space, food, and privacy there's no telling what he'll be able to create. We need to hit him while he's weak," Skipper paused for a moment to signify his point by pounding his flippers together menacingly, "and that means that we'll be leaving tonight."

Private looked a little startled by this statement. "How are we supposed to get all the way to Kansas in one night, Skippah?"
The buff penguin smiled as though he was waiting to answer that question for a long while. "We're going to try something we haven't done since France, boys; we're going to hijack a plane."

Kowalski cleared his throat. "May I remind you, sir, that hijacking a plane full of humans is too risky and that it would be much safer to stow away in the cargo hold?"
The leader looked disappointed. "Unfortunately for us, you're right. I can still call it hijacking if I want to, though."

"Is the plane going to land nearby the destination?" Private asked.

"No," the leader responded quickly but smiled again. "For that part I'll let Kowalski explain."

Kowalski nodded and requested a moment to grab what he had been developing for the last two weeks from his lab. He pushed the door open and turned the light on, grimacing on how messy the place was. Normally he would always keep his chemicals tidy and his tools clean and put away, but lately he had let the place fall into disrepair. He didn't like it; it made it hard to work and even harder to find things when he was looking for them.

After a minute he found what he was looking for underneath a rather disorderly pile of papers. He picked up the four tightly bundled packs and put two under each wing. It wasn't hard to replicate the humans' basic structure for a parachute, but Skipper had requested a better way for them to steer themselves on the way down. For that reason he implemented two wings for each of them, not unlike the ones they used when they propelled themselves into the sky with soda.

The other modification that Kowalski had made, this time without Skipper's recommendation, were safety ties between each parachute. Since they would be plummeting from a plane moving upwards of five hundred miles per hour in pure darkness, Kowalski knew that they would have to keep track of each other somehow. What better way then simply tying each each parachute to the next one?

Testing had proven useless. The highest thing they had to jump off of without being noticed by the humans was the zoo's clock tower, and that barely gave room for the parachutes to open before they hit the ground. From what Kowalski had seen, however, the wings were unable to overcome the drag force of the parachute and steer them and the ties never came into use.

That was just another limit he had to face. Physics and chemistry just couldn't be overcome by innovation. Ideas such as the wings and the ties weren't practical. Despite the fact that he spent so much work designing the parachutes, Kowalski didn't feel connected to them in any other way than the fact that they were simple objects as he exited his lab and returned to the briefing.

He set one parachute in front of each penguin and then sat back down. "We will be jumping from the aforementioned aircraft mid-flight when we near our destination of Wakeeney, Kansas. These will prevent us from plummeting to our dooms, and when we are on the ground it should be a simple scouting mission to locate Blowhole's new lair."

"Excellent, Kowalski," Skipper remarked. "What do you call these modified parachutes?"
Kowalski frowned. "Parachutes?"

"Yeah, what do you call them?"

The intellectual sighed. "Parachutes. I call them ordinary parachutes."

"Didn't you make the modifications I requested?" the leader pestered.

"Of course."

"Then why don't you have some creative name for these?"

The tall bird shrugged. "They're just parachutes. The only special thing about them is the fact that they are penguin-sized."

Skipper arched a brow, sensing the disinterest in Kowalski's words. Kowalski was just about to push the meeting forward to avoid his leader's gaze when Private said, "Let's call them 'angel wings'."

The flat-headed penguin turned to his recruit and smiled. "That's what I'm talking about," he praised. "Now, Kowalski," he said, turning back to the strategist. "Are we clear to jump tonight?"
Kowalski nodded. He flipped to another page on his clipboard and set it over the map, showing everyone the meteorological patterns he had drawn. "We should have smooth sailing all the way to our destination."

"That's what I like to see," Skipper said, then turned to his explosives expert. "Rico, are we armed and dangerous?"

Rico tapped his stomach and made a sound like cocking a gun. "Uh-huh," he wheezed.

Skipper grabbed his parachute from the table and strapped it on his back. "Our flight leaves in an hour. Operation Housewarming-Party is a-go!"

Kowalski frowned as he picked up his own pair of what were now dubbed angel wings and saw the other two penguins smile excitedly at their own. Such a simple item, a parachute. Why were they impressed?

"I've got movement," Kowalski said into his radio that Rico had given him. He was sitting in a potted plant at John F Kennedy Airport watching two security guards lazily stroll down the terminal. He peered through its leaves, holding his binoculars with one flipper. "You've got two blue jays on your left, stay down. I repeat, stay down. Over."

"Rodger that, over," came Skipper's voice.

"Hold position," Kowalski instructed as the two security guards took a seat on one of the benches there. Besides them, they had an opening to sneak through to the luggage handling area of the airport. When they got there it would be a simple task to get onto their plane. The opportunity they had was closing, however, as a family of humans rounded a corner and started heading their way. Kowalski glanced back to the security guards and realized they weren't planning on moving anytime soon.

"Skipper, we're going to need a smokescreen at the north end, over."

"Affirmative. Rico, sleep time, over."

A quite sound of hacking was heard over the radio and then mere seconds later a small canister bounced into the terminal from under a bench. It immediately grabbed the attention of all of security guards and the family coming. They all approached it but before they had time to inspect it, it promptly emitted pink gas. The humans coughed and sputtered and tried to run away from it but it didn't help anything. It was Kowalski's special concoction; less than a microgram of the stuff entered their bloodstream and they instantly hit the ground snoring.

"Great work," Skipper congratulated, "now let's get going. Momma Bird isn't going to be in the nest much longer, over."

"Rodger, over," Kowalski responded then left the cover of his plant.

After they regrouped just inside the baggage handling area of the plane the penguins made their way for a cart that was making its way out onto the tarmac. Following Skipper's orders, they lunged from a nearby conveyer belt and landed safely inside the stack of suitcases before drawing the attention of any of the employees.

"Which bird is Momma Bird?" Skipper questioned his lieutenant as the impatient cart driver carelessly let several suitcases fall to the concrete in his hurry to get them delivered to the proper plane.

Kowalski glanced around, looking for the Airbus he had located upon their first arrival. He located it not far from where they were and noted the fact that the cart they were on was transporting them directly to it. "Twelve o'clock," he responded.

"Holy mackerel, this was far easier than I thought it would be," Skipper commented, leaning back against the suitcases and putting his flippers behind his head. "Remember how difficult it was to hijack that ship we took to Antarctica? We should use a plane the next time we want to go there." He shot up to glare at Private. "And not use the submarine to come rescue teammates from leopard seals."

"Err, is this time really appropriate?" Private responded awkwardly.

"All times are appropriate to reprimand your private, Private," Skipper explained, settling back down into the suitcases. At that moment the cart they were riding made a sharp left turn and all of the penguins became aware of the fact that they were no longer on a direct course to their destination.

The leader penguin was already prepared to vault over the edge of the cart and without any vocal communication the other three followed him. Not wasting their forward momentum the penguins slid forward across the tarmac towards their destination. Their only cover from being seen by the humans at this point was their agility. Before long they reached the back of the plane and managed to slip in just before the cargo door automatically shut.

"I should have known that it wouldn't be so easy," Skipper huffed when they were safely concealed once again. "Those humans are just too unpredictable. Does everyone have their angel wings?"
Kowalski pulled the straps of his parachute a bit tighter. The straps themselves were of a strange design. A little something Kowalski had designed because typical human backpacks didn't quite fit penguin anatomy. The straps were closer together and were still supported on their backs despite the fact that they lacked shoulders. It wasn't special, but without it they'd never be able to wear such a vital component to their operation.

"Affirmative," he responded after he had finished inspecting the straps for damages from sliding. Private and Rico gave their confirmations as well.

"Good. Let's get this bird in the air!" Skipper commanded, fist-pumping into the air. Nobody moved, and instead the four glanced at eachother awkwardly.

"Uh, Skipper," Kowalski announced after a moment. "We're not actually in control of the plane this time."

"Blast!" the leader cursed. "So what do we do while we wait for Momma Bird to take us to the drop zone?"

"We could sing the Lunacorn theme song," suggested Private.

"No!" The other three birds shouted in unison.

It didn't take long for Kowalski to grow bored. He usually found himself in this sort of predicament when they ventured on missions that required an extended period of waiting. Without his lab to entertain him, even though it hadn't really been doing so lately, he found nothing better to do but sit on a suitcase and mentally prepare himself for the jump ahead.

It hadn't occurred to him until they boarded the plane that they were actually jumping from around thirty-thousand feet; twice the maximum proven safe height. The air would probably be dangerously thin and icy cold at that altitude. He cursed himself under his breath for not thinking about that sooner. Perhaps he had been too preoccupied with the angel wings themselves to worry about oxygen tanks and insulation.

"What do you think about the plane, K'walski?" Private asked, jarring the tall bird from his musing. Kowalski hadn't seen his round friend take a seat on a suitcase next to him and acknowledged him with a simple nod.

"What about it?" he questioned.

"I mean, it's a pretty amazing feat of science and engineering, isn't it?" Private speculated.

"It uses forward velocity to force air currents under its wings and push it upwards, Private. It's not that incredible."

"Maybe not to you," the small bird responded, "but to someone who never saw anything like it in their lives it would be amazing. They'd be like, 'it must way a bazillion tons, how is it staying up there?'"

Kowalski looked away from the bird's hopeful looking face and towards Rico, who was going over a variety of weapons with Skipper. Perhaps it was an incredible thing for a thirty-five thousand pound plane full of people to be lifted into the air with such ease. Surely when it was invented, nobody thought it was possible. But that was just the problem.

"There are many inventions in our world to attempt to make use of the limits we are given, Private. There are just no more limits to be discovered."

"I think we should always push limits," argued the small bird. "because usually you'll find that you can break them. Remember that quote from the Lunacorns?"

Kowalski pretended to look away, not wanting to reference that childish show again. He picked up his clipboard and pretended to be preoccupied for a moment by scrutinizing the map. "Oh, it seems that we are approaching our drop zone," he announced loud enough for Skipper and Rico to hear. Private looked a little downcast for a moment, but nodded solemnly and picked up his pair of angel wings.

"Hot dog!" Skipper exclaimed. "Let's move out!"

The four of them prepared their angel wings by slipping the flimsy wooden appendages over their flippers and strapping the packs tightly on their backs. Then they moved towards the cargo hatch, ready to plummet back down to the earth. "Alright, when we pop this thing some alarm is going to go off in the cockpit and the humans will be here in no time to investigate. We need to move like the wind. Am I understood?"
"Aye, sir," Kowalski responded with the others.

"Rico, commence operation: Peel the Can," the leader instructed. "Go, go, go!"

The heavyset bird wasted no time in regurgitating his favorite weapon of destruction and immediately put it to work on gnawing at the thin metal of the plane's hull. Sparks flew everywhere and the sound of Rico laughing hysterically was the only thing audible over the grinding of metal on metal. Seconds later Rico had made a hole big enough for them to jump through, and with one last kick he pushed the flimsy metal into the storm.

The storm? Kowalski immediately grabbed his clipboard and looked over his maps. The human's meteorology reports hadn't called for storms, and neither had his own calculations. There must have been something wrong; were they in the wrong place?"

Skipper had the same thing on his mind. "Kowalski, what's going on?" He was nearly inaudible over the sound of the thunder that was now rocking the entire plane. They were over the storm clouds—saving them from the rain—but they laid directly in their path of trajectory.

A few seconds of exhausting possibilities later and Kowalski knew he screwed up. They were passing directly over Ceder Bluff and in a few moments they would miss their opportunity. The storm was not predicted. He informed this to Skipper and was frightened at the depth of his scowl.

"When we get back, Kowalski, you are doing maintenance for a month. For now, we need to jump! I hope for your sake that you made these angel wings durable!"

Kowalski knew their chance was fading. If they didn't jump now they were going to end up in some city they weren't familiar with and they would be far from Blowhole, giving the diabolical dolphin more time to prepare. Without another word he took the retractable clip from the front of each of the pack and strapped them to each other, ensuring the quartet was not separated by the gale-force winds.

"Clear for takeoff, Skipper," the scientist lied.

The four of them lined up at the entrance to the plane. Kowalski's heart was racing, and he was sure his teammates' were as well. "On the count of three," Skipper instructed over a crack of thunder.

"One." Private shifted oddly in his place. Rico grunted

"Two." Kowalski mindlessly inspected the clip on the front of his pack again with his flipper. The material was thick and sturdy, but holding on by a thread... wait, that wasn't right.

"Three. Jump!" Skipper cried right as Kowalski looked down at the torn connector where he connected to Private.

"No!" He pleaded but it was too late. The momentum from the other three birds' jumps launched him into the frigid air, gravity pulling him back down to the surface of the earth.

The tall bird's vision was spinning but he barely managed to make out the shapes of three connected penguins above him. He reached for where he was still supposed to be clipped to Private and felt only a loose strand of fabric there.

"Kowalski!" Private screamed over the roar of the storm and the plane engine. "Kowalski, use your wings!"

The bird's warning was enough to snap Kowalski back into control of his limbs. He extended his wings to help slow his decent, but the jerk from the air resistance was unexpectedly strong. Kowalski's vision was jarred and he lost track of where his teammates were.

"Push it down, men! He's just below us!" Skipper barked. Kowalski looked above him to see his teammates closing in fast. He did as he had trained the others: extended his wings and feet as to slow his decent just a little further so the others could catch him.

"Almost there!" Private observed. The three birds, with their wings withdrawn and their bodies like pencils to help them fall faster. Kowalski saw Private at the same altitude now, shaking his wings slightly to help match Kowalski's speed. The small bird gently maneuvered forward, growing ever closer to Kowalski.

"We've got you," Private shouted. He extended his wing, and though the motion pushed him up further, Kowalski managed to grab hold of it.

When they were secure, Private extended his clip to his teammate once more and Kowalski gracefully accepted it. Right as he was about to try to find another place to clip it, however, they entered the storm clouds.

The sudden gust of wind was unexpected and ripped Private and Kowalski's flipper's apart. "Kowalski!" the scientist heard the small bird cry out, but they were already hopelessly separated and in the darkness of the clouds it was impossible for Kowalski to see anything.

He attempted to stabilize himself but that only resulted in him tumbling head over heals through the storm cloud. A lighting strike went off nearby him and the thunder crack deafened him. Unsure of what to do, he gently tried to stabilize his fall. Each time he managed to gain some control, however, a gust of wing send him spiraling once more.

Blast, why didn't I inspect the connections better? He thought. They're just parachutes, easy to inspect and maintain...

Another crack of thunder tore away his thoughts. He was below the clouds now and could see twinkling lights on the ground indicating that in a minute or so he was going to be a pancake instead of a bird. He was low enough that he could see the rain rising above him... no, that wasn't right. It was because he was descending faster than the rain, causing an illusion that it was actually falling in reverse...

A third, massive rumble of thunder got his mind back on the situation. He looked all around for his teammates but because of his tumbling and the dark rain he wasn't able to see anything. They could have been blown a mile away by now, he realized. He was on his own.

How low was he supposed to go before he pulled the cord to open the parachute? He was pretty sure that time had passed. But if he pulled it now it was likely that he would be struck by lighting, so he let himself plummet further before acting. Finally he managed to level himself, using his wings to slow his fall a little and had a good look at the ground.

Where should he land? A body of water would be ideal. From what he could see, there were nothing of the sort nearby; that meant he was a long ways from Ceder Bluff. The land below him looked like nothing but a bunch of farm fields and roads that were growing ever larger as his impending doom made itself known.

He tightened his flipper on his pull-cord, readying himself for the force that was sure to come from opening the parachute. He couldn't have been more than five-thousand feet from the ground, but he was going to push it even lower. If his parachute caught fire from a lightening strike he would be in a lot more trouble than hitting the ground a little harder than normal.

He managed to get a stable grip on the wind and when he was nearly close enough to the ground to make out some farmhouses, he pulled the cord. The material shot up into the air, immediately grabbing the wind with it and yanking Kowalski with such force that it made his head spin. Before he realized what happened he was already dangerously close to a field of wheat, ready to swallow up his compressed body when he hit the ground.

He pulled his legs up like he had shown the others when he finally reached the ground. It was not nearly as hard as he thought it would be but he still bounced a little bit. He immediately was pulled backward by his rouge parachute which was taking advantage of the wind gusts. He was sent into a roll, tangling himself up in the parachute cord while it threatened to pull him back off the ground.

Knowing he had to do something before he inevitably was, he reached for the emergency release and clicked it. Thankful to hear that it was still functional, the parachute spiraled into the air with the force of the wind as he was left in the mud, his heart racing, mind spinning, and flippers throbbing.

It was just a parachute, he thought. So easy to maintain.

A lightening strike nearby him reminded him that he wasn't completely safe yet. He glanced around him for shelter and before the light faded again he saw a little shack. It couldn't have been more than a tool shed, and it was the only thing he could see that might keep him safe from the storm.

He pushed through, the rain pelting his face, until he reached the flimsy metal shed. Kowalski had no idea how it was still standing but he was glad it was. He reached for the door was ecstatic that it opened. The scientist shoved it closed behind him, finally escaping from the rain and the wind.

He brushed some water off of his flippers and then looked around. It was dark, but he knew the shed was made of some flimsy scrap metal and wooden two-by-fours. How was it still standing against the wind that was raging outside? It didn't make any sense to him. He took a few steps forward to see if there was anything that could dry his feathers when his feet didn't hit the ground.

It was the kind of feeling he'd remember getting when he was walking down stairs and thought he was on the bottom stair when he really wasn't. Unexpected free fall. There was some type of dark hole in the ground, and it was deep. Kowalski was plummeting for the second time in only a few minutes, except this time it was into the bowels of the Earth and he didn't have his parachute.

But he still had his wings! Thinking quickly he extended them and slowed his decent just in time for him to emerge into what looked like a bottomless pit. At least for this fall he wasn't being shoved around by the wind, and he could make out his surroundings.

Below him were what looked like massive spheres, each one above the next one all the way down as far as he could see. Along the sides of the giant silo were catwalks, doors, windows, and functional lights. Kowalski suddenly realized that he fell into some kind of a facility or factory... but why would it be underground?
Snapping his mind back to the task at hand, he maneuvered forward and attempted to reach the first of the large spheres. Hoping he could use it's sloped surface to break his fall without doing excessive damage to his being, he slowed himself down the best he could and prepared to hold on for dear life when he hit the hard surface.

And it was hard. Harder than he expected, and he had been moving faster than he calculated. Immediately he heard the clang of his beak against the metal, felt pain, and saw black spots begin to cloud his vision. His flippers scrambled for something to hold on to, but they found nothing but smoothness. With his consciousness waning, Kowalski slipped off the side of the sphere and began his final plummet of the evening; this time surely resulting in a penguin-pancake.

The last thing Kowalski saw before he completely lost his cognitive abilities was a metal claw emerging from the shadows.