Usual Legal Junk:

As always, K.P. and company are the sole property of the Disney Corporation, as is anything associated with them. The only thing here that I own is the story idea itself, so don't even bother trying to make an issue of it. Any and all inquiries can be directed to my attorney at the law offices of Swindahl, Steel, Sosumi, Dolittle & Stahl.

And now, on with the show…

- Chapter One -

Narrowed eyes stared intently at the complex assemblage of equipment before them, carefully monitoring each and every component, watching for even the slightest hint that things were not as they should be. Irises contracted with focus as the intense gaze shifted between beakers, vessels, vacuum jars and test tubes, darting quickly to follow the intricate tangle of tubing as it wound its way through the labyrinth, bobbing and weaving amongst a forest of condenser coils and holding tanks.

The harsh glare of fluorescent lights was augmented by the warm glow of Bunsen burners as the complex matrix of equipment did its work, merrily simmering, vaporizing, condensing, filtering and processing its charge, performing the bidding of its creator, bringing his ultimate goal closer to fruition.

From his vantage point just a scant few inches away, the inventor of this veritable plumbing jungle looked on with glee, rubbing his hands and bearing a grin that threatened to split his face in two. From behind protective goggles, his eyes continued to dart about, to and fro, scarcely able to contain the excitement that was now building within him. He marveled at the subtle motions and ministrations of his creation, noting how it all seemed to breathe and flow with a sublime rhythm, much like that of a living organism. In a sense, this was his baby: He had given birth to it, and in just a few short moments his progeny would reach maturity, providing him with the one thing he desired above all else at this moment.

His heart nearly leapt out of his chest when the distinct sound of a nearby egg timer indicated that the process was complete. Excitedly he dashed around to the end of the table, nearly tripping over an equipment crate in the process, and pressed his nose against the Pyrex cylinder that would soon contain the results of all his labors.

If it was possible for his grin to become any wider, it now did so as a stream of viscous, yellow fluid slowly oozed from the end of a glass tube and dropped into the waiting vessel, faint tendrils of steam wafting from its surface. The steam rose slowly up and dissipated, dispensing a distinctive aroma throughout the confined space in the process. For the master of this machine, this was all he had been waiting for.

"At long-last, I've done it! My dream is fulfilled!" he shouted, ripping the goggles from his face and throwing his head back in a bout of maniacal laughter. "They all may have doubted me, but I have created the ultimate nacho cheese blend! Booyah-ha-ha-ha-ha!"

"Amp down, Ron." Kim chided from her vantage point on the far side of Ron's garage. "It's just another cholesterol-laden, processed cheese topping."

"As if!" Ron replied defensively, grabbing the beaker from the table and tucking it tightly against himself like a parent protecting a small child. "With its superior viscosity and neutral pH factor, this is a major step in the war against clumping. Why the structure of the fat matrix alone is totally award-worthy!"

"Great, I'll have Wade call Stockholm and notify the Nobel committee." Kim said with a roll of her eyes. "They'll love to hear this, coming from a guy who flunked high school chem. Twice."

"Mock if you want, K.P." Ron indignantly replied. "But mark my words, you have just witnessed history being made!" He thrust his finger skyward for emphasis as Rufus emerged from his pocket and quickly took up a position on Ron's left shoulder, placing a tiny paw over his heart and humming the opening bars of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic."

"Let it be recorded that on this day, a great blow was struck in the name of all those who cherish Tex-Mex cuisine." He loftily continued. "With this monumental achievement, we advance our cause, not for ourselves, but for all those who share the vision: A vision of a world free from the perils of unwanted coagulation and inconsistent temperature. A world where the legacy the taco and all of its well-seasoned cousins can not only survive, but thrive, showing us the path to the ultimate goal of culinary nirvana."

Kim simply rolled her eyes once again and groaned. Past experience had taught her that once Ron got on a roll like this, there was no stopping him. He was like a freight train running down hill: The most one could do was simply ride it out, and hope for the best.

Ron was preparing to launch himself into round two of his oration when the Kimmunicator mercifully beeped out its distinctive four-tone alert.

"Saved by the Wade." Kim silently thought to herself as she activated the device.

"Hey Kim." Wade jovially greeted the moment his image appeared in the tiny screen. "How goes it with the quest for the perfect cheese topping?"

"Houston, we have queso!" Ron cried out from the background, obviously still reveling in his success.

"No way! You really did it?" was Wade's astonished and enthusiastic reply.

"Check it, dude! Six ounces of gelatinous joy!" Ron responded, thrusting the beaker into the Kimmunicator's field of view. Wade simply stared wide-eyed at the object before him, his jaw agape. He acted as if he was staring at the Holy Grail itself.

"I never thought I'd actually see it." He gasped. "My life is now officially complete."

"Wade," Kim suddenly broke in, "tell me there's something more to this call."

"Huh… Oh yeah, right." Wade sputtered, quickly turning his attention back to more business-like matters. "I just got a lead from Global Justice. Surveillance satellites are picking up some strange energy signatures in the southern Caribbean Sea." He professionally informed.

"Any idea what that means?" Kim asked, quickly swinging her mind into "Mission Mode."

"Not yet, but I do know who it means." Wade replied. "What's blue and green and annoying all over?"

"Ugh! Drakken and Shego again?" Kim moaned. "Why do I feel like my life is stuck in some kind of film loop?"

"So what's the status of our favorite gruesome twosome?" Ron inquired, sliding up behind Kim and abandoning his "mad scientist" vibe for a much more professional demeanor.

"Business as usual." Wade replied. "From the looks of things, they don't know they're being scanned."

"Okay, then we're on the job." Kim stated, putting on her game face. "What's the sitch, ride-wise?"

"Your brothers are still working on the Sloth's transmission, and Ron's bird is" still down for an engine overhaul." Wade informed. "Fortunately I've been able to make other arrangements, however. Can you be at the airport in twenty minutes?"

"Easier done than said, Wade." Kim replied enthusiastically. "We'll check in once we're there."

"Roger that! Wade out." The young webmaster replied with a salute as he severed the connection, plunging the Kimmunicator's screen back into darkness.

"Game time, Ron. The quest for ultimate cheesy-ness will have to wait." Kim stated as she turned and began to stalk out of the garage.

"Ah man! But I was just about to start testing for possible fondue applications." Ron whined as he dutifully followed his girlfriend. "The potential for this to revolutionize the world of hors d'oeuvres is simply mind-blowing!"

From his position, he couldn't see the mega-eye roll that Kim flashed.

Whoever said you can't go home again?

Walking through the halls of his newly rebuilt Caribbean lair, the Doctor Drakken couldn't help but smile. The damage done by the Lowardian walkers had now been fully repaired, and life was finally returning to the normal routine he had always enjoyed. The A/C was humming, the henchmen were milling about, occupying themselves with the normal list of everyday tasks, and he had another foolproof scheme for global domination.

Satisfied that all was well with the world once again, Drakken strode in to the lair's central chamber with his head held high, searching for the one person with whom he could gloat about the brilliance of his latest plot.

"Shego!" he called out, his coarse voice echoing through the cavernous space. He shouted several more times, but silence remained the only answer.

"Yeah, just like old times." He lamented as he stalked off to another part of the lair. It was a good twenty minutes of searching before he finally located his objective.

"What are you? My babysitter?" Shego snarked when the good doctor finally tracked her down.

"I'm just saying that a friendly 'heads-up' would be nice." Drakken defensively pleaded. "It's a big lair and sometimes it can be hard to find someone."

"So you want me to keep you notified of my whereabouts at all times."

"Um, yeah… If it's not too much trouble."

"It is!"

"Well… um… in that case… never mind, then." Drakken stammered, quickly looking for an escape hatch from the conversation.

"So what did you want to see me about?" Shego finally sighed, figuring that the blue-hued scientist had learned his lesson.

"Ah, yes… Well, I just wanted you to feast your beautiful green eyes on this!" he suddenly shouted, reaching into his trademark trench coat and producing a small object which he held between his forefinger and thumb.

Startled by the sudden outburst, the green villainess took a half step back, then leaned forward once again to inspect the offered item.

"Oh-kaaaaay…" she panned. "Just what am I supposed to be looking at here?"

"My latest and greatest, Shego." The doctor sing-songed. "The Synaptic Enhancement Transducer Chip!"

"Wait… Isn't that the Neural Compliance Chip that you had me boost from that Cyrus Bottleneck guy, or whatever the heck his name was?"

"In its original format, yes." Drakken grinned.

"So I'm guessing this means that you've taken the initiative and tricked it out somehow."

"You know me all to well, Shego."

"Yeah, four years as a live-in employee will do that to a gal. So what sorts of wacky add-ons have you added on?"

"Well I don't mean to brag or anything, but for starters, I've installed a neural-impulse amplification module."

"Okay, for the record, there are words coming out of your mouth that have no meaning to me."

"Oh, sorry. It means I can exponentially increase the strength of whomever is wearing this little ditty."

Shego arched an eyebrow in curiosity as she regarded the good doctor. Although she was loath to admit it, Drakken actually seemed to be having a good idea here... so far.

"All right… You have my attention." She stated flatly.

"Secondly, there's an synaptic acceleration sub-routine as well."

"Meaning?"

"Improved reflexes and reaction times."

"Natch. And it still makes them completely obedient to your commands?"

"Of course. So, are we duly impressed, then?"

"Impressed? Not quite yet." Shego admitted. "I'm gonna have to see some results before I'll qualify as impressed. However, I would classify myself as 'interested.'"

"Interested?" Drakken asked quizzically. "Well I guess that's a start then, isn't it?"

"That is affirmative." His green-clad partner in crime admitted. Then, her expression suddenly turned to something much more sinister. In a flash, she grabbed Drakken by the lapels of his coat and yanked his nose to within an inch of her own.

"But if you even think of using that thing on me again…" she growled through clenched teeth.

"I'll be in for a world of owie." Drakken completed, his voice little more than a strained squeak.

"You got that right, buster!" Shego replied, unceremoniously dropping her employer to the floor and turning to walk away. With Drakken, she reasoned, it was always a good idea to establish the ground rules in a way he was sure to understand.

"Thanks for the lift, Mister Abernathy!" Kim shouted above the roar of the engines.

"Don't mention it, Kim! It's the least we could do after you helped us out of that jam back in Miami!"

"Meh, it was really no big! Helping people is what we do, after all!"

"Well these hurricane relief supplies are certainly going to help a lot of people! I don't have to tell you, we were sweating bullets when our regular pilot suddenly came down sick!"

"Yeah! Chicken pox… at his age… who would have thought!"

"You need anything else from us?"

"Nah! We're good! I'm just gonna go check in with our substitute captain, if that's okay!"

"Well be careful up there! This old bird may be solid, but she can still be a bit of a rough ride from time to time!"

"Will do! And thanks again!" Kim shouted as she turned and made the short climb to the flight deck. With her natural grace and athletic ability it didn't take but a few moments for her to ascend the ladder and drop herself into the co-pilot's seat.

"So how's it going up here, sweetie?" she asked once she had gotten herself situated.

"Well it's noisy, bumpy, cramped, and the controls are as stiff as an over-starched shirt, but other than that it's not too bad."

"Chill out, Ron." Kim replied. "It may not be an F-14, but it'll get us to where we're going."

Ron simply grunted his acquiescence. At nearly 70-years old, the plane he now controlled was nearly as old as his grandparents. Built in an era before modern electronics or materials, it was without such basic comforts as sound insulation, power-assisted controls, GPS receivers or even air conditioning. It was rough-running, drafty, and had a cruising speed slower than that of many cars, but it was his ship for this day, and he was obligated to see it through to its destination.

Yes, the aging PBY-5 Catalina was a curious relic by any stretch of the imagination. With its large, parasol-like wing, radial engines and oversized tail, it was easy to see why aircrews had long ago nicknamed these planes "Gooney Birds." But still, the airframe wasn't without its benefits. Nearly the same size as a B-17 Flying Fortress, the Catalina possessed a cargo capacity that was impressive even by modern standards, and its ultra-long range meant that it could easily make the trek between even the remotest islands of the Caribbean. Furthermore, its distinction as an "amphibian" meant that it was ideally suited to life in this environment, equally capable of landing either at a traditional airport, or on the barren vastness of the open sea. It could take off, fly 1,200 miles through bad weather, land on a deserted beach, dispense its cargo and return without ever really breaking a sweat. It was the perfect plane for this sort of back-country flying.

Taking a final reading from the compass, Ron reached up and eased back on the two throttles that hung from the center of the cockpit's roof. Feeling the RPM slow, he adjusted the prop pitch and elevator trims before gently dipping the nose of this lumbering behemoth into a shallow descent path. His eyes never deviated from their straight-ahead position as the massive flying boat passed through a low-lying cloudbank and emerged into scene of pure blue sky and deep turquoise sea. To his right he could see their destination for the day, and he gently dipped one wing, beginning the turn into his approach.

After leveling out his flight path once again, he made another throttle adjustment and deployed the wing floats from their recessed positions beneath the glider-like wing tips. Easing the plane lower still, he took special care in keeping his nose up, as seaplanes were known for a propensity to dig into the surf and dive on landing. If one thing was for certain it was that airplanes, even the amphibious ones, made lousy submarines.

Kim suddenly found herself cringing and digging her fingernails into the armrests of her seat as the entire airframe shuddered and lurched twice, its massive hull bounding across the waves before settling in to become one with the gentle rolling of the ocean swells. Once it was over, she turned to see the image of her boyfriend smiling slyly back at her.

"Not… one… word." She grumbled.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it."

"Fair enough."

And with that, Ron nudged the throttles forward and taxied to the nearby island, dropping the planes wheels and coaxing the enormous airframe up onto the beaching ramp once they had arrived.

"You know, I gotta admit, I'm liking what they've done with this place. Their use of color is pretty original"

"Yeah, it's a regular candidate for 'Better Lairs & Villainy.' Now can we please focus on the mission?"

"Oh, yeah… Roger that." Ron replied, snapping out of his interior design mode. Infiltrating Drakken's newly rebuilt lair was proving to be rather distracting for him, as the multitude of changes seemed to grab his attention at every turn.

"Okay then." Kim continued, stopping at a "T" shaped split in the corridor they were now exploring. "These hallways seem to all be new, so we should probably split up and scout around. When it comes time to confront them, we don't want any surprises. You ready for this?"

"Isn't crown molding supposed to be painted the same color as the ceiling?"

"Ron!"

"Yeah, gotcha! Splitting up. Which way do I go?"

"The left side will do nicely, please and thank you."

"Check that… I'm on it!"

"Oh, and Ron…"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful."

Ron simply smiled and nodded before turning to disappear into the shadows of the dimly-lit corridor. Kim took a deep breath as she watched his receding form, then turned to continue her own exploration. Somehow, in a way that she couldn't explain, she sensed that something wasn't right. An unidentifiable voice in the back of her mind was screaming, and it was telling her that this sitch was about to go terribly wrong.

Just how wrong was something that she could never have imagined.

Author's Notes:

Okay… I've seriously got to stop taking the train.

Another day, another trip to Sacramento, another plot bunny and another story… Maybe it's something to do with the combination of the train's rocking motion and the sandwiches they serve in the dining car, but in any case, I think I'm starting to see a pattern forming here.

Anyhooooo, I should probably apologize for the lack of action in this chapter. When I originally started writing this, I anticipated a simple one-shot. However, things quickly got out of hand, and the darn thing grew to be just a little too big for a single chapter. (You see… This is what happens when the train is late!) I can assure you, however, that the next installment will be packing plenty of heat in the action and drama departments.

And as for the technical mumbo-jumbo…

Consolidated PBY-5 Catalina: Built by the Consolidated Aircraft Company, (the same friendly people who brought you the B-24 Liberator), the Catalina was one of the most widely used aircraft of the Second World War. Rugged, adaptable and easily maintained, the Catalina served with every branch of the American Armed Services, as well as with many of America's allies. From Europe, to North Africa, to the Pacific… Catalinas flew in every theater of combat, flying bombing and attack missions, tactical reconnaissance, supply and transport, and medical evacuation.

First placed into service in October of 1936, the PBY-5 quickly became indispensable to the United States Navy, allowing them the ability to supply and maintain garrisons throughout the many islands that made up the South Pacific Ocean. It seemed they could truly go anywhere and do anything, and their value could not be underestimated. When the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on the morning of December 7, 1941, Catalinas parked at the seaplane base on Ford Island were some of the first casualties.

Today, 52 years after their retirement from the military, many Catalinas remain in service. The versatility and rugged dependability that defined them is still a valuable asset, and is highly sought after by professional and recreational pilots alike.

Well I guess that pretty well covers things for now. Tune in next time to see just what the looming disaster is that has Kim so worked up.

Read… review… and rewind!

Nutzkie…