CHAPTER TWO
"HANNAH"
Good Luck, kiddo. Tell Kim I'll be home sometime tomorrow—you know why. Well, on second thought, I'll tell her myself. Oh, man…are you sure about this, Han? Do you think she's ready?
The time has come for action, as you know, whether she agrees or not. Good luck, brother, and be careful.
Hah, you're the one walking into the tiger pit, alone I might add. Just like your mother.I smile. He always knows how to make me smile, even when I know his heart secretly breaks. He is more than a brother, something Kim has never been willing to accept. I know she loves Ron, but while she can do the impossible, believing the impossible is another matter. She almost divorced my brother, until my mother finally intervened. Kim lives like one of the stoneware pots she makes these days, strong and attractive to tourists, but with a crack under the surface, hidden beneath the glaze. She said she forgave my brother, though there was nothing to forgive. When she and Ron discovered that all their missions and accumulated injuries had damaged her ability to bear children, she refused any reparative surgery. Kim and Dr. Possible did not speak to each other for several months. She even refused to consider adoption. If she only knew the depths of my brother's love for her. A lesser man would have left her long ago.
I'm reading through one of her latest children's books when she walks into her living room, covered in clay.
"Hannah," she says, "I didn't hear you come in." She is about to hug me, then notices the grime on her work smock. "Oh, wait, let me get cleaned up first. I was about to make lunch. Make yourself…well, you know the routine. Ron left his junk all over your room again. I'll clean it up in a bit. I'm so glad to see you," she says. And she is. It is one of those perplexing enigmas of my brother's beloved, that her heart is as open and large as the ranch she and Ron bought here in New Mexico, yet closed in ways she herself cannot see or understand. They're just clothes, Kim, I don't mind. I stand up, grabbing her wrist before she disappears into her bedroom, and pull her into a long hug. There is just the briefest second of tension. Then she relaxes and returns the hug, wrapping her arms around me. She laughs at the muddy stains left on my cheek. "I tried to warn you," she says as she licks her finger and wipes my face clean.
We sit on the back deck of Kim and Ron's ranch house, eating gourmet cucumber, goat cheese and lox sandwiches. No one would believe that when she was a teenager, so my brother tells me, the only thing more dangerous than Kim on a mission was Kim in the kitchen. Now her culinary skills rival Ron's. Almost everything she makes is homegrown from her garden. She and Ron are not vegetarians, but they eat meat sparingly, almost always from animals on their ranch, yet another one of the strange contradictions in Kim Possible.
She tells me about the hassles with her agent and publisher over the draft of her latest collection of essays. "He keeps telling me no one's interested in my criticisms of the peace treaty with Lorwardians or my meditative musings on fossils on my ranch. 'You could be the next J. K. Rowlings,' he told me the other day. And would you believe this? Disney asked him if I'd be willing to be a character in a cartoon series. But the real money's in the peripheral stuff, like the new Disney psyche pod games and action figures. It's disgusting."
The psyche pods are the latest craze, I have observed, small neural transmitters that can be attached to the side of one's forehead. They allow people to download movies, television shows, just about anything into the visual receptors of the brain so that you can "see" yourself inside the show as if you were one of the three dimensional characters, like a ghost. The games allow a person to actually participate in the action. The Pods are available exclusively at any Smarty-Mart, where they have P-Pod piercing stations next to their ear-piercing booths in the jewelry department. In order for the gadgets to work, a person only has to buy into an initial 12-month download contract and get approved for a monthly prescription of pod pills, which allow the gadgets to work after they are attached. The P-Pods, media and games, and medication are manufactured and sold by Global Justice Industries, which takes an aggressive approach towards prosecuting any black market privateers. The P-Pod meds can be purchased at any Smarty-Mart pharmacy.
"So, what's the sitch, Hannah?"
"I need..."
"No! Ron tries to hide certain things about you, Hannah. I read about 'mishaps' at GJ factories and distribution centers around the world, missing information at Smarty-Mart headquarters. Their publicists cover up what's really happening. But I'm not stupid. I know the level of security around these places. Hell, I helped design their most advanced security system around some of their key buildings, LOL." But she is not laughing. "Not too long ago, after Shego separated from Dr. Drakken, she tripped the security matrix while trying to break into the GJ pharmaceutical refinery. It almost killed her. I thought she had turned her life around. She was teaching math again at Middleton High, and then she relapsed into a corporate thief. I had to use up practically all of my influence with Dr. Betty Director to convince them not to put Shego into a permanent detention hospital."
"I know, Kim."
"Of course, you know," she says. "And you also know that Ron and I had her moved into a private care institute near Rio Dosa and that I visit her every other weekend. Sometimes I think she remembers me, like when her eyes light up and her lips start to form her old sarcastic smirk. But most of the time, she just sits on the balcony, staring off into the desert. The next time I see her I'm bringing a paint set with me. Her therapist said an art project might spark her mind into working again."
I know that as well.
"But that's besides the point," continues Kim. I sometimes forget about Kim's rants. Once they get going, they are like avalanches, one thought bumping into a bigger one, until the whole hillside of mental boulders tumble out of her mouth before I can say anything. "Only someone with the ninja training of a Yamanouchi graduate, my old fighting skills, and a certain mystical monkey power, would have any chance of getting away with the things I hear about. I am so glad I convinced Ron to give up on Team Possible and pursue a career as a master chef. Yeah, I know you two can do your mental cell phone act. But now, if he's not at his restaurant, he's setting up subsidiary café's around the country. He's in Santa Barbara this weekend." She pauses for a moment. "I don't like what you do, Hannah. You know I'm not a fan or advocate for GJ—I dislike that organization for a lot of reasons. But being a vigilante isn't the way to improve society—I figured that out finally, Hannah. But you've taken things a step further. You're a bio-techno terrorist."
Ah, I sigh. At last we can start speaking the truth to each other. "Is that why you are always angry whenever I visit, Kim?"
"No…well, yes, I mean it's embarrassing that my husband's little sister has become the reincarnation of Shego. And you wouldn't tell me, and Ron lies for you, and I have to pretend to believe him. Yes, those things make me angry. And the fact that you're the spitting image of your birth mother doesn't help, but that's a separate issue. The real reason…" She stands up and clenches the balcony, her fingernails leaving indentions in the wood. A single tear falls on her cheek. "The real reason…after Mr. and Mrs. Stoppable retired, and by then Ron and I had been married a few years. You came to live with us. You've been like my little sister…I know what can happen to you if you get caught…if you were to get hurt."
Perhaps you understand how Ron always felt about you, I think to myself. For a second time that day, I wrap my arms around Kim. This time there's no stiff tension in her body. She's calm now. The avalanche is over, and she looks at me like I'm one of the small natural calamities that frequently occur in the desert, the desert that has become such an important part of her life. She spoke something bottled inside her; like a scientist, she assesses the damage, and accepts the truth of how things are…so she thinks.
"Can we visit your friend Shego?" I ask her.
"OK," she responds, her eyebrows raised in suspicion.
When we arrive at the convalescent center, Shego's nurse lets us into her room. She's sitting in her wheelchair, out on the balcony. Kim brushes her long black hair, now heavily streaked with gray, and talks about her latest pottery project, the health of her goats, and my need to upgrade my wardrobe, since we happen to be close to some upscale shopping centers. Shego's face is thin and drawn, barely hinting at the sensuous strength and beauty, like a panther's, that I saw the last time we had met. Her nurse brings a glass of water and a handful of pills. "Do you mind if I give these to Ms. Go?" I ask the nurse.
"That's fine. I'm so glad she has some company today. Sometimes she can get a little stubborn about her medicine, but she's usually a sweetie. Now you be a good girl for Mrs. Possible and her friend," the nurse says to Shego as she leaves the room.
I examine the pills closely, and then crush them in my hand and flush the broken bits down the toilet. "What the…," Kim starts to say, but I ignore her. I kneel in front of Shego and hold her head gently but firmly between my hands.
I close my eyes and concentrate. Ron, are you there?
After a few minutes, I hear his thoughts. Hey, Sis. What's up?
I need your help, and I visualize Shego for him. Ron doesn't say anything, but soon I feel a warm power emanating from deep within, both wild and familiar. Ron helps me focus the energy, glowing blue, towards my hands, into Shego. Kim often thinks Ron and I do a sort of Vulcan mind-meld with each other like she's seen on Ron's old Star Trek videos. It's nothing like that. Instead, I sense a crushing assault on Shego's thoughts, as if some armada were invading her soul, and the last vestige of her being were barely staving off the inevitable. Ron and I together visualize a hurricane, a great wind blowing away the armada. I finally remove my hands from Shego; in both my palms lie two tiny computer transistors that look exactly like the internal hardware for P-Pods. Thank you, brother.
My pleasure, Han, then he leaves.
"Oh dear God," Kim says as she takes the objects from my hands and examines the drops of blood on Shego's head. Kim cleans away the blood; there are no marks on the skin. I'm exhausted. Kim half carries me to the small couch in Shego's room, and then wheels in Shego.
Shego slowly opens her eyes; they seem much brighter than when we first entered the room. She sees Kim, and a hint of the old rivalry returns to her voice. "Hey Princess, where's that dorkhead husband of yours? He owes me one. And why am I strapped to this stupid wheelchair? I feel like I've been in a 24 hour Kim Possible Kung Fu marathon, not that you'd still be standing." Shego sees me; a pained expression passes over her face. "I remember you, Little Sister Dorkhead. How'd I do? I am so tired." Her head falls forward and she starts snoring. Kim picks her up and gently lays her on the bed.
She grabs my arm like a beartrap, "OK, Hannah Stoppable. You've got some 'splainin' to do."
"I know, but first we have to get her out of this place. Do you think you can arrange for some kind of house care?"
"I'll see what I can do."
I pack away the few clothes and toiletries I can find in Shego's room.
"All right," says Kim when she returns from the main office a few buildings over. "I pulled a few strings, what few I have left around here, and arranged for her to stay with us for the next week or so." She hands me some bottles of pills with Smarty Mart Pharmacy labels. "They were rather insistent about making sure I give these to Shego everyday. Funny, I don't recall any such requirements when I had her transferred here from the GJ infirmary."
We leave Shego in one of Kim's guest rooms. "Come with me," she says in her old I'm in charge mission voice. I follow her down a short hiking trail not far from her house, carrying a couple of lawn chairs. The trail ends at the edge of a small bluff, overlooking the desert valley settled between her ranch and a distant mountain range. "I call this my thinking place," Kim says. "It's where I go when I have a writing block, or when I'm mad at Ron…Time's up, Hannah. Spill."
"You know what you said about Shego breaking into the GJ research laboratories? She wasn't reverting back to her old ways. She was, uh, doing some private investigation work" (is she ready for this?) "for me and Ron."
Kim's eyes open wider, but she says nothing.
"Ron told me what happened to him just before Christmas during your senior year at Middleton. Do you remember?" She frowns, as if briefly reliving some painful memories. "He's never trusted Global Justice since then, and when GJ arranged an exchange of technology with the Lorwardians as part of an inter-planet peace treaty, he was suspicious. Kim, I know this will be hard for you to believe, but they have been planning another invasion, only this time they're being sneakier about it. Call me a terrorist if you want, but we're not. We're freedom fighters."
"We? Who is we?" Kim asks.
"We as in me, Ron. Yori. Ron's restaurant business, it's just a front. Wade works for GJ, but he's actually our inside man who feeds us information, helping us know what can be destroyed or compromised that will cause the most damage to the GJ corporation. Wade told us about a project GJ was working on that needed to be investigated. You were involved in, um, other things and seemed to be struggling through some issues, and Ron didn't want you to know he was involved in what you call techno-terrorism, especially since you made it clear to him to stay away from the old save-the-world missions. The problem was how to break into the GJ research building, especially after you had, you know, done such a great job at helping them design their security system. Ron was approached by Shego about getting involved with Team Possible; teaching high school math apparently bored her. I had planned on doing this mission myself, but Shego insisted on volunteering. She claimed she was still in top condition, and said she could outsmart any security system you designed. She was wrong, and I'm really sorry. It was my fault she was nearly…"
"Stop." Kim glares at me, and I have to look away. "Shego's a big girl, and if anyone deserves a self-incriminating 'I'm guilty' pity-fest, I do, not you. Just tell me one thing. What makes you think I can do any better than Shego?"
"Stand up," I tell her. Without any warning, I launch a tae kwon do style spinning kick. Kim blocks my foot and flips me by the ankle hard on the ground. "There are maybe two or three people in the world who could do that to me: my mother, my brother…and my teacher, who taught me everything I know." I bow to her.
Kim bows back. "I didn't teach you everything. I still have a few of Nana's moves I keep to myself." She grins; it has been a long time since she has smiled at me. "But," her frown returns, "one of us could have been hurt, pulling a stunt like that."
"I know you, beloved of my brother." I formally bow to her again. "I have seen your so-called 'barn.' You may keep some goats inside of it, but I know the signs of a martial arts training facility when I see one. You may not be as fast as you used to be…" Kim raises her eyebrows as a subtle challenge for me to find out. "But…I think I'll shut up now."
"I think we need to check on our guest. Also, how do you know I'd be willing to help you? If I didn't already know you, how do you know I wouldn't turn you into GJ right now?" Kim asks.
"Because I have read everything you've ever written. I think that like Ron's restaurant business façade, you have been keeping your own façade. I think you maintain the image of an ex-super hero, artist slash novelist in recluse in order to hide some of your own pain and disappointment. But in your books and essays, I still see your passionate love for your friends and family, your desire to help others, and your anger at the ones who hurt those you love and try to help."
"Well, maybe. You're overstating things a bit," she says, somewhat embarrassed.
The time arrives; I must know her answer. "Kim, do you not understand me yet, after all these years? I love and respect the memory of my legal mother; she and my legal father gave me my family name and a history and heritage that I am proud of; she gave me a home, and she gave me my brother. I also love my birth mother, whose natural gifts I inherited and whose sense of honor and courage I seek to emulate. But the mother who has been the model for everything I do and believe in, the woman who I wanted to be like growing up, the friend and sister who I love more than life itself, that mother is you, Kim…And now, I need your help." I stand in front of her; I am ashamed of the tears pouring down my face, of my weakness, of my audacity for telling her what has long been in my heart.
She holds my head up, her hand resting along my cheek. She wipes away my tears, and stares at the moisture on her fingertips with something like the awe she expresses whenever one of her animals gives birth. She looks at me with an expression I've not seen before, as if something hard and frozen within her has finally melted away, as though she finally understood something about herself…and me—her daughter!
She holds me in a tight hug I have missed for too many years and kisses me on the cheek. "I am so sorry, Hannah. Thank you. I love you, too…Oh, and another thing—count me in this sitch."