Chapter One:

Separated

"Where do you suppose Skippah went, K'walski?" Private chirped as he stumbled alongside the uniquely svelte penguin, waddling as fast as he could to keep up with him. The young penguin was still clutching tightly to the snow cone he had retrieved from the human vendor that was selling them in the park. It had become their post-practice ritual since arriving in New York for the two penguins to cool down by taking a stroll to the vendor and breaking into the small trailer that held the materials hostage.

"Well Private, according to my calculations he should still be in his normal post-drill status." The gaunt penguin quipped, taking a slip of his own chill-inducing snack.

"You mean curled up in the bunker, watching Julien dance in his habitat?"

"Indeed, but we can never let him know we know. His fantasies of annihilation are one of his few comforts in life."

"That and his mirror and mustache." The younger penguin quipped as he craned his head toward the older penguin, shaking his head. "I just don't understand why everything has to be about violence though. I think we could get a lot more done with diplomacy."

Kowalski paused for a moment as they reached the concrete barrier around their habitat, the rusted metal poles extending into the sky towards the heavens, hiding the pool of crystal clear water that lay behind it. "Perhaps, Private. But it's not the penguin way." He winked, propping his hands up for Private to spring over the wall. Private slurped down the last of his slushy, tossed it in the trash can, and sprinted full speed before flipping onto the penguins arm. Immediately, Kowalski pushed into the young ones feet, and with the momentum of a volleyball he flew over the barricade to his home. It felt fresh every time he felt the wind fly through his flippers, and finally crashed into the water with a sloppy splash that felt like a kiss from nature.

Kowalski followed behind, grabbing onto the rod that connected the bars at the top of the barrier, pulling himself up and over the wall, succumbing to the lure of his instinct. He sliced through the waters with cutting precision, slipping into a barrel roll before pushing off the side of the wall and jumping through the air. He landed next to Private on the small concrete platform that completed their "home", as far as any human was concerned. Flicking of the remaining drops of water that coated his feathers, he couldn't help but feel satisfied with a job well done. "Time for some well-deserved rest and relaxation," He huffed as he pushed aside the decoy food bowl, slipping down the ladder that led to the headquarters. Private followed behind slowly, waiting for the tall penguin to hit the floor of the base before sliding down into the heart of their command center. As he hit the pavement, he heard a grieved gasp slip from the beak of his comrade. He turned to see what had captured Kowalski's attention but was blocked by the elder penguin's size. "K'walski, what is it?" He asked, planting his wing into his shoulder blade. "What happened?" He asked, exasperated by his own lack of understanding.

"I… It's…" The penguin stumbled forward speechless at the spectacle, clearing Privates view of the object that lay in front of them. Private had to glare at the mangled black subject for several seconds before he even realized what, or rather who, was lying in front of them. "Skippah!" He howled, rushing to the side of the leader. He lay mangled, face turned downward with his flippers spread out as if he was hugging the concrete he had fallen on. Private turned his head towards himself and Kowalski, begging the leader for his attention.

"Skipper, say something, please," Private shook his body, but it was void of any true sort of life. His eyes were open, but were so far from the place they inhabited. It was if Skipper's eyes had been turned to glass and contained nothing more than black pearls that reflected Privates own features back to him. For several moments, the only movement between the two penguins who were perched in a kneeling position next to their leader was shallow, raspy breathing. It was as if time had stopped, and the only thing either of them could do was merely exist, trying to put the pieces of everything together quickly, too quickly to actually make sense of it.

"What's wrong with him Kowalski? Is he dead?" Private finally managed to whimper. The last three words were so strong and biting that they made the young penguins head spin. It was hard for the penguin, who was still so young and innocent to comprehend this horror, this event that could be so tragic and real. Was this what it was all about? All 0f the stories about Manfredi and Johnson, everything Skipper had told them, was this what it was always going to come to?

Kowalski struggled to choke down his own thoughts, fears, even tears as he turned to Private. "I… I don't know Private." For once, the intelligent bird was silenced by something that had entrenched him more than science, the unknown. Finally the penguin snapped out of his own dazed state, coming back to reality and doing the next logical step, like he should have done sooner. He leaned over Skipper, checking his neck for a pulse, assessing the damage done to the bird, and staring into those somber eyes that had taken his younger friend captive. He pulled back from the body and breathed in a sigh of relief, turning to the Private and giving him the hope he desperately desired, and in another way altogether, needed.

"He's not dead. All of his vital functions are performing as normal. His heart rate is elevated, but no more so than simple combat with any intruder would permit." Kowalski tilted his head sideways, looking for any other damages done to the leader, but nothing appeared bloodied, battered or bruised. "I don't understand why he looks so…" The penguin stopped short of saying the word, biting his beak. He couldn't even utter the word, let it set in when it was an exaggeration at best.

Private brightened instantly, his eyes glimmering in his normal naïve fashion that embodied his spirit in every way. "So he's going to be ok then?" He offered back.

Kowalski hesitated to say anything. He was a bird of science; matters of the heart were fragile and easily tore away at individuals with even the smaller shred of anguish. This was especially true for the young bird in front of him, who was holding his bruised heart, asking for bandage to cover the wound that lay in front of him. "I don't know, Private," he whispered, hanging his head. "I can't confidently confirm or deny any physical state until I thoroughly check him over. We need to get him on the table."

"We can do that," he offered, still hoping for his own battered organ to be recovered from the pile it lay in on the floor. Private grabbed a blanket and pillow of the bottom bunk, making a suitable resting place for the incapacitated leader. Together, the two of them managed to get their heavy-set leader on top of the cold metal table. Kowalski positioned him with his eyes, still open and haunted, face up, staring at the steel roof of their simple headquarters. His wings lay at his side, still and flat, without even a trace of movement.

Private fidgeted nervously, watching Kowalski as he busied himself looking over the casing of their beloved friend. He couldn't tell what the lean penguin was doing, except that he took great care in his every movement. Kowalski would gently lift one flipper, do a full sweep of one side of the white belly and return the flipper softly to its place of origin. He did this on the other side, then came to the front of the table, gently turning Skippers head one way, then the other, with movements that applied a certain amount of torture with their lack of quickness that he was accustomed to.

For the ten minutes Kowalski looked him over, Private wanted nothing more than to look away, to breathe in any sort of stimulation that wasn't the faint fishy breath of his commander or the meticulous penguin who now did this and that with his unresponsive body. At last, the moments of silence ended when Kowalski stepped backwards away from Skipper, surveying him from afar. He scratched his beak with his flipper, unsure how to proceed.

"Well, from what I can tell, I, uh…" The penguin stalled, not sure how to explain any of his observations to the stout penguin who eagerly anticipated his diagnosis.

"Kowalski, what is it?" Private seized his side, his flippers digging into the sides of the avian that towered over him.

"I have no clue." Kowalski shut his eyes, fighting back tears. "There's no explanation, Private. There's nothing I can do." He reopened his crystalline black orbs, which were welling in a way that he couldn't explain, couldn't express, no matter how much he wanted to think it or talk it or figure it away.

Private's flippers fell away from Kowalski, dumbfounded by the non-answer. He swallowed hard, unwilling to accept the answer that had been handed down. "Kowalski, how can we do nothing? There's got to be something—"

"Private, there is nothing, NOTHING, I can do for him!" Kowalski turned, his eyes glittered as he breathed in, trying to suffocate the drops that were begging to fall, though they were stubbornly being held in. It was the first time since the young penguin had met him that he had ever raised his voice at him, though it was frail and breaking.

The scientist turned, his one beloved truth failing him for the first time in his existence. "He's not there, Private. His body is there, but he's gone."