Much later that night, Kit was allowed back to the barracks with the other cadets. He staggered inside and went straight for his bunk, his eyes barely open, and never noticing the silent shock the other boys gazed at him with from their bunks. They trusted that Dunder had spoken to him about leaving, but to see that he had refused and was willing to take more of what Spigot could dish out at him, that was one thing they did not expect.

Kit just threw himself face-first into bed, nuzzling his pillow like its threadbare softness was the most precious thing in the world to him... and, at least for the moment, it was.

"You look awful, Kit," said Bobbo, leaning his head from the top bunk. "But... you smell clean!"

"Thanks, Bobbo," mumbled Kit. "You're a real comfort."

"Don't worry, I'm gonna arrange for your escape," said Bobbo.

"No, but thanks anyway," said Kit. "That would be giving up..." As he spoke, a spark of defiance against Spigot rallied him enough energy to sit up and clench his fists at the thought of the Colonel's face. "... and I'm no quitter!"

"But they're torturing you," said Bobbo. "You must leave."

"Oh, I am, but I'm not sneaking out, I'm flying out." Kit rolled off the bed and went to the foot of the bunk, pulled the mattress up and took out the postcard he had written just before his joyriding escapade. "But first I'm gonna show everyone just what a great pilot I am!"

A sudden yawn caught him, and he slouched, seemingly sinking where he stood. He sat back down on the mattress and handed Bobbo the postcard. "But I don't think I'm gonna get a chance to send this off, not with him watching me. Could you, please?"

After some hesitation, Bobbo took it and nodded, with a mix of excitement and fear in his eyes. It was, after all, his first covert mission, and from what he could tell, he was perhaps learning a thing or two from a professional.

Kit did not exactly need a crystal ball to accurately predict that the next day would for him hold more of the same trying and laborious tasks. He was forced to skip breakfast, did more running, and, around midday, he was inside the barracks, scrubbing the floor on his hands and knees. Bobbo stole away from the mess hall to greet him.

"Hello, Kit!"

"Hiya, Bobbo," said Kit, in a soft, raspy voice. "What's new?"

"Well, today was new toothbrush day!"

Kit turned around and showed him with what he had been scrubbing the floor. "Yep. Got mine right here."

"Yikes," frowned Bobbo. "Sorry."

"Nah, no reason to be," said Kit. "I'm not."

"I got your postcard in the mail this morning," said Bobbo.

Kit gave him a smile and a thumbs-up. "Thanks, I owe ya one. How's class going?"

"More saluting," shrugged Bobbo.

Kit resumed scrubbing little soapy circles on the floor. "Sounds like I'm not missing much."

"We get our plane assignment tomorrow, for the air show," said Bobbo. "They're going to show us how to turn them on."

"I guess that's all you'll need to know," said Kit, not hiding so well some disdain in his tone.

Bobbo watched him scrub for a moment, contemplating all the work he was putting in to make it to the air show. "We saw you take off, Kit," he said, after a moment. "All the guys are talking about it. Well, when the Colonel's not around."

A smirk washed over Kit's face, and his ears perked. "Yeah?"

"Yeah! We all ran out to watch...!" Though he began excitedly, Bobbo's voice trailed off. "Then... we saw you crash."

"Crash, I — it wasn't fair!" cried Kit. "Stupid building was in my way!"

"Oh. You think you'll be coming back to class soon?"

"I don't know," said Kit. "I'll do whatever they say, just until Saturday. As long as I'm in the air show, that's all I want."

"But... you know they're not gonna let us fly, not for real."

"If I needed their permission, I'd ask for it," said Kit, flatly. As low as the temperature was outside, he was getting steamed under the collar at the mention of that ugly, doubting word 'but' being thrown about.

"But what if you get in more trouble?" asked Bobbo. Kit's back was turned to him, thus he could not really see the toothbrush grinding into the floor more than brushing it. With a rigid frown, Kit refused to answer such a question anymore, until Bobbo followed up with another query: "Or... worse?"

Kit threw down his toothbrush and jumped to his feet, suddenly glaring eye-to-eye with Bobbo. "What are you afraid of, Bobbo?" he snapped. "What do you think's gonna happen if you ever stand up for yourself? You let 'em lie to you, you let 'em push you around, and now you guys are gonna let them get you in an airplane and make it just as good as wearing puppet strings! Why can't you see what's wrong with that?"

Bobbo shrank back, stunned and silent. Kit was suddenly too ashamed to look him in the eye.

"I'm sorry," said Kit. "I didn't mean that. I'm so tired right now I can't even see straight." Sullenly, he got back down on the floor, hunched over the toothbrush, and continued his labor. "I don't even know what I'm thinking right now. It's just... this is my chance... I want to fly more than anything."

"I know you want to," said Bobbo. "I just don't know if you should."

"Well, thanks for your concern," said Kit. "But this is one bird that they're not gonna keep in a cage."

"But just because you can't do what you want, doesn't mean you're in a cage," said Bobbo.

"Look, no offense," said Kit, "but your whole country gets told what to eat for breakfast every day. What does it mean? It doesn't matter what you want around here, you never get a choice!"

Bobbo shrugged, and thought for a moment. "It means," he said, "no matter what, you can still always choose to do the right thing." He nodded, pleased, thinking to himself that he probably sounded quite profound.

Kit's floor scrubbing came to a slow halt. Bobbo's words, for once, struck him in such a way that a little tinge of conscience hissed at him louder than he could immediately hush away.

He came to Thembria with a promise, and all he really wanted to do was to see the promise kept. That was nothing to be ashamed about that, he thought... despite Baloo was no doubt left worrying back home... despite the plane he was going to fly away with was not his to take... despite that regardless of what an impressive acrobatic display he put the Thunderyak through, he was bound to be the cause of a lot of trouble for a lot of people once the air show was disrupted. He had already thought of all these things, but was doing a fine job of ignoring them with his big dream at long last within an arm's reach. For that moment, though, the right thing to do seemed an awful lot more complicated than it just did five minutes before.

Then Colonel Spigot stormed inside the room, and that little voice of conscience that was just previously whispering in Kit's thoughts suddenly bellowed, 'The heck with it!'

"What's going on here?" yelled Spigot, a question mostly aimed at Bobbo. "What do you think you're doing, talking to this troublemaker?"

"Bobbo was just telling me that I should learn to listen to you better, sir," said Kit, cutting in before Bobbo, growing week in the knees, passed out altogether.

"Scram!" said Spigot to Bobbo, who bolted from the room in a flash. Then Spigot smugly sauntered in a circle around Kit, eyeing him and his work with intense scrutiny. "Well, well," he said," don't we look tired. But what a fantastic job on the floor! Why, at this rate, it should only take you all week to finish. Hurry it up!"

"I'll finish it before the guys come back," said Kit, in a low tone.

At that, Spigot "accidentally" kicked over Kit's soapy pail as he walked past it. "Oops! Clumsy me!" he said, with snorts and snickers. "I hope that doesn't set you back much."

Kit set the pail upright again, calmly, without so much taking his eyes off the little area of floor he was currently working on. "It won't."

For the lack of a reaction, Spigot's teeth were clenched. "Get one thing thtraight, fly-boy, I'm in charge around here," he snarled. "What I thay goes, you do what I thay, when I thay it! And if you think its rough now... you don't know the half of what I can do."

There was a silence, and Kit was still except for a swallow, then he replied in a quiet growl, "Consider it straight."

Spigot mumbled to himself in angry breaths and stomped out of the room, saying, "I thought it might be a mistake to recruit outside of the country. What kind of bumpkins do you think we are? Only a kid like you would think we let twelve-year-olds fly in Thembria!"

As soon as Spigot slammed the door behind him, Kit's sight fell blurry with tears. He slumped to the floor in a weary heap, burying his face in his arms. Tired, doubtful, and frustrated hardly began to describe what he was feeling, and with the air show still two days away... it seemed like an eternity.

"What am I getting myself into," he muttered. "I can't put up with this anymore." Maybe Dunder was right, he thought; maybe there was no way to win against Spigot.

He took a deep breath and rested his eyes. He thought about the Thunderyak and remembered what it was like, for those few seconds, to have taken it airborne into the night, and even though the sky was blanketed in thick overcast, it would seem in his memory that the moon was crisp and bright, and the stars had cheered him on.

Such visions soon became haunted by the repeated echoes of Spigot's voice, slobbery lisp and all: 'Only a kid like you!'

What was worse, Baloo was saying it, too. 'Only a kid like you!'

Then, as browsing through an old photograph album, the visions of his thoughts turned back to the first time he had ever seen an airplane, though he had no longer a recollection of exactly how old he was at the time, and most of the details were fuzzy, but the sight of that airplane in the sky, that was crystal... he was sitting on grass, it was a sunny afternoon, and there were other children running around the yard, wearing the same gray, tattered clothes, as all the orphans wore.

He was looking at small flock of pigeons perched on top of a chain-link fence that surrounded the yard, and a buzzing sound from behind caught his attention. He blinked and squinted toward the bright sky... there was the strangest bird he had ever seen, and it was swooping low over the nearby hills. It was moving faster than anything he had ever thought possible, and it turned and approached his direction. With tremendously wide eyes, he realized it was a machine, and that someone was inside flying it, and his heart began to race.

In seconds, the shadow of the bi-wing plane sped over the orphanage, and the pilot waved to the children below. The sun sparkled from his goggles, and his neck scarf was like a flag caught high in the wind. Kit ran across the grass, chasing after it with an amazed smile leading the way, reaching up with both hands as if he could grab onto the end of the pilot's scarf... and then there was the fence, and the chase was no more.

All too quickly, the plane was so high and far that he could not see it anymore. He began to climb the links of the fence, but thought twice of it and stopped before he was caught and got in trouble; still, he stood there, dreamily staring at the horizon, and like a cup put under a waterfall his imagination was overflowing; to be in the sky and unfettered as a bird, where there were no fences.

One never heard about the troubles and woes of eagles and angels. The same could not be said of the children around him, the ones who had been in the orphanage for years and were getting too old to stay. When he ran away from the orphanage not many years later, as often as he could he stayed in the sky, a vagabond hiding in plane after plane, ever quick and ready to leave the sordid world on the ground for a new horizon...

The next thing Kit realized was Sergeant Dunder shaking him on the shoulder. "Kit, you better wake up!" he said. "You don't want the Colonel to see you asleep on the job."

Kit stirred groggily and blinked the Thembrian barracks back into focus, not without a momentary longing to trade the dull, grey and cold of his surroundings for the bright, blue and warm of his dream. "Sorry," he mumbled as he sat up. "Won't happen again."

"Good news!" declared Dunder. "I talked the Colonel into letting you rejoin your class tomorrow!"

"Swell," said Kit, cracking a bit of a smile, though that melted back into a frown with his next thought: "I guess he wants me working until then..."

"Nah, why don'tcha go catch up with the others," said Dunder, helping Kit to his feet.

"But, the Colonel..." said Kit.

"The High Marshal just put him in charge of Mrs. High Marshal's laundry," said Dunder. "So until he gets that sorted out, he'll be too busy to notice you. But you gotta cross your heart, no more tricks."

"Aye aye, Sergeant," said Kit, in a breath of relief. "Thanks."

"I think you should leave as soon as the air show's over," said Dunder. "He won't need you anymore after that."

"Way ahead of you," replied Kit. As he walked in front of Dunder, the Sergeant couldn't see the glint in his eye. "I got plans on how to get out of here."

Upon that Saturday, Baloo was exactly where he would have wanted to have been... at Louie's. That day, however, there was no dance in his step or laughter in his voice. He was reclusive and spoke with no one, sitting alone at a table until Louie joined him with a gift of a mango shake to lighten his spirit.

"Aw, I miss that kid, Louie," Baloo sulked, slouching over his drink.

"Don't worry, big fella," said Louie. "Kit's just gotta blow off a little steam."

"A little steam? He's been gone for a week!"

"Okay, a lot of steam," admitted Louie. "But he'll be back."

Baloo sighed, swirling his finger over the froth of his drink. "Becky says it ain't my fault. I don't know what I could've said different. It seems like every time I try to do somethin' for his own good, it all goes haywire."

"I'd ask if you ever let him take the stick once in awhile," said Louie, "but judgin' from that little joyride he took around my docks, I'm guessin' he's pretty comfortable at not waitin' for permission."

"That's just it!" said Baloo. "He's never done nothin' like that before, just takin' off on his own. What's he gonna pull next time?" Sullenly, he took a sip from his mango shake, and the whole fiasco with Kit and Daring Dan's Air Circus stank in his mind like old trash. "An' what can I do. Last time I tried to put my foot down, it went straight in my mouth, an' he was fixed to go away for good."

"Wait, he what, now?" asked Louie. "When was this?"

Baloo seemed not to hear the question, lost in his own worried thoughts as he stared at the nicks in the table. "If I can't stop 'im... and he ends up gettin' hurt... I don't know what I'm gonna do."

"So, do ya ever let him take the stick, then?" asked Louie. "Let 'im air it out of his system once in a while?"

"Once in a while, sure," replied Baloo. He took another sip from his shake, and the uneasy look on his face read that he was perhaps not being entirely honest. "Maybe... not for a while."

Louie tilted his head, waiting for an explanation.

"I don't know. I got it hard enough tryin' to keep him from gettin' too cocky with his cloud-surfin' stunts. He's a real smart kid, Louie, just... just..."

"Head stuck way in the clouds with no sane fear for his own hide," suggested Louie.

"Exactly!" said Baloo. "Liable to scare ya half to death sometimes."

Louie nodded, knowingly. "Yup. Sure does remind me of an old friend."

Baloo reared his head, with an expression of genuine shock. "Who? Me?"

"Don't 'who me' me, Cuz!" laughed Louie. "I've known ya for too long! You know, when Kit took your plane for a spin, I couldn't help but think that the acorn ain't rollin' too far from the tree."

"Now what's that supposed to mean?" asked Baloo.

"How many times have you wound up with your nose in the dirt 'cause your head was too big for your brains?"

Baloo blinked, then again, as if not one but several instances suddenly registered. "Why're we talkin' about me all the sudden? An' whose side are you on, anyway?"

"Ha! I'm on your side, Clyde!" said Louie, in between guffaws. "I'm just sayin', you got your work cut out for ya. But lucky for him, if there's one cat that's gotta know exactly how it feels to be twelve and ca-razy about airplanes, it's you! Put yourself in his shirt for a minute, and you'll figure somethin' out." He raised his mango shake to Baloo and took a sip from it, though it was more for hiding his lips as he finally muttered, "I hope."

Baloo groaned, and his chin fell into the palm of his hand. "I don't know what I'm gonna do. I'm just worried about him gettin' in a plane."

Just then, a postman making his rounds approached them. "Hey Louie!" he said. "Got a postcard care o' you for a Mr. Baloo!"

"That's me," said Baloo. He accepted the postcard and glanced over the cold, gloomy picture on the front. "Huh. Who 'n the world would send me mail here?"

"Someone that knows better," muttered Louie.

Baloo read aloud the back of the card, on which was written:

Dear Baloo,
Flying in the Big AirshowSaturday!
Gonna do a Baloo Corkscrew.
Wish you were here,
-Kit

"He's gonna do what?" cried Baloo. There was no reading it a second time, and no time for goodbyes. In a beat he was making a beeline out of the club, with a singular thought: "I gotta get that kid before he winds up with his nose in the dirt!"

There's no dirt in Thembria, mused Sergeant Dunder, so why did his mother always tell him to scrub underneath his fingernails? This, like many others, was a mystery for greater minds than his. And that had absolutely nothing to do with his present situation, which was getting through the air show without someone winding up in front of a firing squad, or worse.

The Thunderyaks were neatly posed on the glistening runway, each one bolted together in the perfect formation of the Great Flounder. Inside the planes' hangar, the cadets were lined up, Dunder with them, and he was quite fidgety as he tried to remember if he had secured all the bolts in place. He stuck his head out the hangar entrance to take another look at his fastened-together masterpiece, and saw at last the real pilot of the formation coming his way.

"Everyone, say 'hi!' to the great ace pilot, Major Tiny Bubbles!" said Dunder to the recruits.

And, from around Dunder's flank, stepped the Great Thembrian Ace himself... all three feet of him, postured straight, puffed, and proud in flight goggles and a highly decorated jacket that told of his amazing war escapades. Really, he was all tusks and medals.

"Hi," the cadets replied, with a level of enthusiasm that could be compared to, perhaps, that of a dead frog.

Major Bubbles greeted the cadets with the traditional Flounder Salute, which was returned in unison by each boy.

Then Dunder gestured for the recruits to begin marching out the hangar and take their places. "In your planes," he said, "and remember, start your engines, but leave the flying to the... er... the, uh..." He was looking at Major Bubbles, whose flourished swagger brought up the rear of the single-file line, and whose forehead barely reached the height of the Sergeant's belly button. "... grown-up?"

As the cadets hurried to their assigned planes, Kit paused and turned to Bobbo. "Hey, I almost forgot," he said, and pulled from his jacket a chocolate bar. "I got this for you."

With wide and grateful (and hungry) eyes, Bobbo accepted the gift. "Wo-ow! Where'd you get this?"

"Doesn't matter," grinned Kit. "Just don't let Spigot see."

Earlier, to ensure that his plane was at the formation's very tail, and thus one of the planes that was fastened to the rest of the formation by only a single bolt, Kit had arranged to trade planes with another cadet. He jumped into the open cockpit, and Bobbo was in the plane adjacent to him.

"Are you really gonna go through with this, Kit?" asked Bobbo.

"You bet your aileron!" replied Kit. "I'm gonna do a Baloo Corkscrew, and then coast all the way home!"

Bobbo nodded, and gave him a thumbs-up. To him, it still all seemed too dangerous, and still not exactly right, but undeniably he was a fan of his foreign friend, and there was a soft touch of sadness in his voice as he bid him farewell. "Good luck, bunkmate Kit," he said.

"Goodbye, bunkmate Bobbo," replied Kit. They closed their cockpit canopies, and did the rest of the cadets, and quickly, one by one, the propellers of the entire Thunderyak formation began to spin.

Nearby, and surrounding them, the airfield was lined with festive, fish-shaped floats which were to be driving down the runway at the same time of the Great Patriotic Flounder Flyby, as well as several polished tanks and scores of marching soldiers, all to make a grand parade past the High Marshal's seat.

Kit spied the High Marshal himself, and his wife, who, together in their lofty clothing and blob-like figures, were from a distance as indiscriminate in recognition as ogres in ball gowns. Their seating was upon a great pedestal that towered several stories above the runway, and there was a smaller figure with them, who was squirming as if nervously trying to explain something. That particular squirm, Kit noted, belonged to Colonel Spigot, and if he was already squirming... Kit cracked a mean smile and adjusted himself straight in his seat, entertaining the thought that in but a few moments Spigot was going to be using his tusks to burrow himself a hiding spot in the snow.

As the formation began to move, in perfect unison with every bolted-together wing firmly intact, there arouse a clamor over the radio, something about an unidentified plane approaching the airfield... Kit turned the volume of his radio down so he could concentrate on his plan.

He had been in hundreds - several hundreds - of takeoffs already, but as the formation accelerated and soon lifted its nose and became airborne, the rough quaking of the landing gear rolling on the pavement suddenly transforming into smooth glide caught in the wind... his heart raced. A dull, gray sky had never looked so awesome. It was to be his sky.

The High Marshal, Mrs. High Marshal, and Colonel Spigot commenced a one-legged Flounder salute as the formation passed them upon takeoff. Kit gave Spigot a salute of his own (for not everything he had learned as an air pirate was wasted) and bid him farewell.

Not a moment after the formation was airborne, the airfield's radio chatter spiked once again, this time about an intruder airplane wreaking havoc on the parade floats. Calls for the air guard reinforcements filled the static-laden airwaves, though it was all background noise to Kit's ears. His sights were set in front of him, firmly, as was set the smirk on his face.

Then, out of nowhere and to his shock, a bonafide UFO suddenly shot across the front of the formation! It was being followed, as if pursued, by a squadron of heavy military planes, and, for the brief glimpse Kit caught of it before it whisked overhead, it looked like... a plane with a big fish head on its nose?

Kit considered where he was, and a flying fish head just as suddenly seemed not to be such a mystery.

"Thembrians," he sighed.

The Great Flounder formation continued its ascent for a few miles beyond the airfield, and just as it leveled out and was near the point of turning back for the next fly-by, Kit set his plan into action. He pulled open his plane's canopy and with wrench in hand crawled out on its left wing, the wing that had been bolted to his neighbor. In short order, he unscrewed the bolt and tossed the wrench aside, not without some devilish hope that it would find Spigot's head upon landing.

"It's showtime," he cried, and quickly returned to the cockpit. His plane was free! He was free... but no sooner did he push the canopy shut than did the Thunerkyak begin to wobble erratically. Kit grasped the stick with both hands, to no avail, and as the plane split apart from the formation.

Kit yelped and wrestled with the flight stick with all his might, but it would not budge... it was stuck! The world spinning before his eyes in tight circles made him dizzy, and he was seeing double when the plane outright took a nosedive and veered back to the airfield.

"This... isn't... supposed to happen!" he grunted, the nose of his plane posed straight at the bewildered expression behind High Marshal's tusks. Desperately, Kit shook the flight stick with his entire body, as if throttling it, and he shut his eyes... he didn't know which way was up, anyway.

Upon a strong tug, the flight stick suddenly clicked and the plane's nose kicked up, but only to serve in flinging the plane in a new direction. The High Marshal and company dove to the floor, the Thunderyak's propeller just grazing the tip of the Thembrian dictator's blue tail.

Kit began to breathe again when he realized he and his plane were indeed not yet a fiery stain on the tarmac. Somehow the plane had achieved some semblance of level flight, and it darted over the vast snow dunes at great speed.

"Oh, man, this is harder than it looks," he gasped. "Just keep 'er straight... keep her straight!" The flight stick, however, was still not cooperating. He could not turn, he could not pull up or push down. The Thembrian warplanes that were formerly chasing the flying fish head were quickly on either side of his wings, issuing threats over the radio.

No matter what he tried, the plane simply would not work. Then he realized, with a chilling dread clasping his heart, that the age of the pilots was probably not the only reason the Thunderyaks needed to be bolted together.

It was time to panic. "Oh no," he muttered. "I wish Baloo were here!"

He jolted in his seat as that same damned fish-headed UFO zipped passed him again, and the military planes abandoned the Thunderyak in chase of the fish... Kit blinked repeatedly and conceded to himself that, on top of everything else, he was likely going crazy.

More urgent clamor was raised on the radio, but Kit was watching the instruments on the console with complete tunnel vision. He entirely missed the sight of all those military planes crashing into each other and spiraling down to the ground, each of them caught in the giant fish head as if snared in a net.

Kit kept glancing back and forth, back and forth at the instruments before him, sweat rolling down over his nose as he inwardly begged the beast he was in not to stray into the ground. In all his panic, a yellow blur caught the corner of his right eye, and over the buzzing of his Thunderyak's engine there was another mechanical hum that sounded quite familiar.

It was the Sea Duck. Kit could not believe his eyes, and he paid special attention to the detail that the plane beared absolutely no resemblance to a fish. And there was Baloo, signaling him with waves of his hand.

"Baloo!" cried Kit.

The gray bear pointed forward, guesturing for Kit to look, and before them stood a great icy mountain, with a peak that stretched far into the sky and slopes as sheer as canyon cliffs.

"Oh crud," gulped Kit. "That's a lousy place for mountain!"

"Pick up the mic, Lil' Britches!" said Baloo's voice, from the Thunderyak's radio speaker. Kit turned up the volume and grabbed his plane's microphone. Before he could cry for help, Baloo began speaking again, softly but intently, "Now, just do what I tell ya, Kit. It's gonna be all right! Now, you ease that wheel back... ease it back..."

The stick would not budge, for all of Kit's strength. "I... I can't do it, Baloo!"

"Ease that wheel back!" ordered Baloo, in a much stronger tone. From his view, flying alongside the Thunderyak, he could see Kit struggling desperately, and the mountain drew ever nearer, second-by-second. Baloo may have swallowed the lump in his throat had he had the mere second to spare, and instead abandoned any method of gently coaching Kit out of this predicament. "Pull back hard, Kit!" he cried. "HARD!"

With his feet braced against the console, Kit cried out and pulled on the stick, and it suddenly snapped free! Kit was sucked to the back of his seat as the Thunderyak flipped upward, its nose straight to the covered sun, and skimmed the sloped of the mountain until it veered backwards into a into a half-loop, where Kit was finally able to turn the plane right-side up. The flight stick was then responsive and made much easier to control, though there was little good news in Kit's mind about how embarrassed he was.

"Ya did it!" shouted Baloo.

Kit took a moment to catch his breath (as Baloo did as well), and picked up his radio to reply. His stomach sank at the incoming 'I told you so' and the massive amount of crow he was about to eat. "No I didn't," he muttered. "You did."

"Aw, don't say that, Li'l Britches," said Baloo. "You're gonna be a great pilot."

Well, that wasn't so bad, thought Kit. "You really think so?" he asked.

"I know so," chuckled Baloo. "But do me a favor and land so I can fly ya home!"

"Roger, Papa Bear!"

As the two planes swung back toward the airfield, the rest of the Great Flounder formation has already landed and the rest of the holiday's festivities were grounded. Bobbo, who had been listening to the radio traffic the entire time, stared at the Sea Duck and Thunderyak with much muse filling his thoughts... thoughts about choice, freedom, consequences... and ice shaving. "So long, Kit," he said. "I'll always remember you as the kid who flew a plane... sort of."

Meanwhile, with the Sea Duck fast at his side, Kit glided the Thunkeryak toward a smaller airstrip on the outskirts of the airfield, the plane's nose wobbling more than he would have liked Baloo to have seen. Kit's hands had a grip on the flight stick of the likes that he would have had handing on to a rope for dear life.

"You got it, kid," said Baloo over the radio. "Now, just relax. Ease the throttle back..."

Together they turned to a heading that was flush with the airstrip, and steadily began a descent to the ground. In a moment, Kit's plane edged ahead of the Sea Duck.

"A little slower," warned Baloo. "Just get yer nose up a bit. Kit? You hear?"

Kit let out a deep breath. "I got it," he said, to himself. The gray airstrip was coming in fast, and his eyes were fixed on it as a hawk spying a field mouse. His plane was drifting left, he nudged the stick to the right, then the plane was drifting too far right. "Shoot! I... got it!" he said again, through his teeth.

"Whoa, Kit, pull up! We'll start over!" said Baloo.

"I'm okay!" replied Kit. He had just crossed the threshold of the strip, cut the throttle all the way back, and the sight of the runway disappeared from beneath his windshield... and as the landing gear was a mere yard from touching down... he missed the runway.

Gliding just too far to the left, the Thunderyak's landing gear hit a pile of snow freshly plowed from the strip, and the pint-sized plane tumbled in mid-air, tail over propeller, twice, then landed back on its wheels, skidding in circles at speed until the rubber of the landing gear popped flat, and the plane slowed to a halt in the middle of the far end of the airstrip.

Baloo shouted Kit's name several times, but there was no response. The glass of the Thunderyak's cockpit was cracked in an opaque web. Baloo made a very hasty landing next to the Thunderyak, and burst from the Sea Duck, running to Kit's aid.

"Kit! Are you all right? Lil' Britches, speak to me!"

The Thunderyak's canopy popped open, and Kit jumped out. "Baloo! Did you see that? I did it! I landed the plane by myself!"

No sooner than his feet touched the cold concrete did the Thunderyak begin to make heavy creaking noises, and in a beat, its landing gear gave out entirely, the plane buckled belly-first to the ground, the propeller fell off, followed by the wings, and suddenly the plane burst open from every seam, until there was nothing left of it but scrap metal and a seat!

With unhinged jaws, Kit and Baloo stared at the wreckage, utterly speechless.

At length, Kit turned back to Baloo, rubbing the back of his neck. "Heh, almost in one piece, too."

For all of him that was ready to scold the boy, Baloo smiled instead, and opened his arms wide. Kit leapt at him and was caught in a big embrace.

"But are you in once piece?" asked Baloo.

"Yeah, I'm fine," said Kit.

"I sure did miss ya, kiddo."

"Me too. I'm glad you came. I needed you up there."

From the distance, Baloo saw soldiers beging to amass from the spectating crowd the other side of the airfield, and tanks began to show. "Uh-oh! You ready to get out of this giant snow-cone, or what?"

"You kidding? I thought I might stick around 'til winter, when it gets really cold!"

Kit hopped down from Baloo's shoulder and went back to the pile of rubbish that used to be the Thunderyak, and fished from the mess his airfoil and green sweater. After that, the soldiers and tanks approaching them, they jumped back into the Sea Duck and fled the airfield as hurriedly as two fugitives fleeing a prison.

Soon after, the Sea Duck had departed from the gray Thembrian sky and was bathed in the warm afternoon sun. Basking in the bright light, Kit sank in his navigator's seat, as if melting. "Oh, man... does that feel good."

Baloo chuckled. "Yep, spending a week in an icebox might make ya think so." Then he was quiet for a moment, his brow twitching as he thought. "Look, Lil' Britches, I didn't mean to get ya so steamed before."

"I know," said Kit. "It wasn't your fault. It's your plane. It's just that..."

Baloo interrupted him: "Four more years is a long time to wait for somethin' ya want more than anything."

Kit sighed. "Yeah. I really thought I could do it."

"Aw, you'll be there before you know it, trust me," said Baloo. "An' ya cant go wrong, takin' pointers from the best!"

"Sure," smiled Kit, though halfheartedly. Baloo read in his eyes what he was thinking, for he had lived the same thoughts: to be twelve and ca-razy about airplanes, as Louie had put it, begged more than just talk in the heart of a dreamer.

"Hey, I almost fergot!" said Baloo. "Somewhere in that mess back there, I got us a whole new case of sody-pop. Ya thirsty?"

"Yeah! I'll go get it," said Kit, and he was just about to hop out of his seat when Baloo stopped him.

"I got it, kid," he said. "Why don't ya hold her steady for a minute?"

"R-really?" said Kit, the corners of his mouth erupting into a wide grin. "Yeah, I can do that!"

Baloo got up and let Kit take the pilot's seat, and Kit eagerly assumed a vigilant posture while grabbing the flight yoke.

"Just steady," said Baloo. "Nice and easy, ya know?"

"What, no Baloo Corkscrews?" smirked Kit.

"Uh..."

"Kidding!" said Kit. "Steady, nice and easy. Got it!"

"All right, then," nodded Baloo, and he stepped into the Sea Duck's cargo hold.

"Hold it steady, no sweat..." said Kit. He checked all the gauges on the console, everything was in topnotch shape.

"Just steady..."

The purr of the Sea Duck's engines vibrated through the flight yoke and his hands, through his entire body and seemed to tickle his heart. He tugged the yoke back ever so slightly, and felt the plane gently, smoothly rise. The wind cutting over the plane's ailerons tingled on his fingers, and nowhere beyond the great, wide horizon was place he could not go.

He noted the needle on the speedometer, and that there was still plenty of room left for the needle to sway, much higher numbers for it to yet cross.

He wrapped his hand around the throttle.

"Maybe just a little faster..."

-fin