Chapter 4

'Baloo! Get up! Get ― up!'

Tandem with those last two words are an irritating poke of her finger thrust in his chest that makes him squirm. The boss is on his case again.

'All right, all right, I'm uppin'!'

He lifts his cap from over his eyes and sits up in his easy chair; she's already gone, probably stormed away in a huff.

'Boy, she's in a mood,' he mutters. Since he never left, he feels a silly about how good it feels to be home, even if it was back to being yelled at. 'Hey, Beckers, lemme tell ya about this dream I was havin'. I was in the future ― Becky? Ya there?' He scans the room. The typical Higher for Hire clutter. He sees and hears no one.

'Hey, where'd everybody go?'

Outside. They're outside, he thinks. He stands up, turns around. The door... someone moved it? He turns the other way. It's not there either. Turns around again, has he already check here?

He panics. He's trapped. Up the stairs! Get up the stairs! He turns, another wall. Which way are the stairs?

He hears the door click open. He can't find it. He can't see it. Small footsteps. Where are they? Somebody's in the room with him, behind him. No matter how many circles he turns, always behind him.

'What's the matter, Papa Bear?' asks Little Britches, 'Forget something?'

"Lil' Britches... Lil' Britch―where... where are ya?"

Baloo's knuckles thumped on the floor, the sound padded by the carpet, when his arm swung down the side of the bed. He woke up, on his stomach, his left shoulder hanging off the side of the mattress. His pillow and blanket were strewn about the corners of the bed, like a miniature tornado had wreaked disaster over his slumber. He lifted his head, blinked, smacked his lips, squinted at the new gray morning glowing through the curtains, the pane of the window clacking against the wind.

For but a brief second, he didn't recognize the room. Then he remembered everything. Everything, except ― he sat up, troubled ― the route from his easy chair to the front door of Higher for Hire. He shut his eyes tight, and with great concentration mentally charted out each step and turn, and finally, recalled which way the stupid door was. But that photo on Molly's wall of him and Kit fishing, he still couldn't remember that one. Now going loopy on something as easy as the front door, something was wrong. He knew he wasn't that forgetful.

What's the matter, Papa Bear? Forget something? Kit's voice echoed in his mind, hauntingly.

"Sure did," he murmured. He suddenly sniffed at the air. One thing twenty years had not changed was how wonderfully tasty was the smell of frying bacon. He yawned, pushed himself to his feet, and lumbered into the hall and down the stairs, following his nose and the sizzling sounds in the kitchen.

"Morning, sleepy-bear," greeted Molly, handling a sizzling pan on the stove. Bacon and eggs. "I thought the smell of breakfast might rouse you from your slumber."

"Mornin', Cupcake. Smells great." He noted she had probably already been up at it from a much earlier hour, for she was already dressed regular-like and had her hair in a neat pony tail; no trace of bed-head or sleepy eyes. She must have been one of those ― what do you call them? Morning people?

"There's orange juice in the fridge," she said. "Cups in the cupboard. Help yourself. Grab some forks, too, would you?"

"Sure." As Baloo opened the refrigerator and cupboard, a drawer for the silverware, set two glasses, two forks and a bottle of orange juice on the table, Molly noticed he was glancing around the kitchen, like he did last night when he first saw it. "I bet you're thinking exactly what I was thinking when I woke up," she said.

Baloo dragged a chair away from the table and sat down. "What's that?"

She smiled, sweetly, stepped away from the stove and poured him a glass of juice. "That here you are, and it wasn't all just a dream."

Baloo sighed. "Yep. Here I am." He took a drink from his glass, and watched Molly as she piled up hot fried eggs and bacon strip onto two plates, one with significantly larger portions. She was a good gal, he thought, too good to get roped up in any of this. "Listen, hon. Now that we slept on it, maybe ya should just stay here, an' I'll go―"

"Nope." She set the larger plate down in front of him.

"But, Cupcake..."

"I said no," she insisted, and Baloo started. That may as well have been Becky's voice coming out of her mouth. "Even if you had the money to rent your own plane, you wouldn't shake me if you tried."

"All right, suit yerself," shrugged Baloo. He dug into his plate and shoveled heaps of fried egg into his mouth.

"And now that we've slept on it," Molly said, throwing his phrase right back at him, "Are we going to look for Kit, or the time machine?"

Baloo looked at her like he was surprised she even asked, because there was not a second consideration in his mind. "Lil' Britches."

"Little Britches." Molly shook her head. "Oh, gosh, that's weird. You still think of him like that."

"He needs our help."

"He had help. He had me and Mom, who'd do anything for him. Nobody twisted his arm to become a monster. I'm just saying, Baloo, you don't know this, but I do. There's a time machine out there, and if he gets his hands on it ― I don't know what all he could do with it, but I don't want to find out. The whole world could be in big trouble."

"Whatever ya say, but no one knows 'cept you an' Louie, anyway."

"For now. If you and Kit meet, how are you going to explain you suddenly being here?"

Baloo dropped his fork in a puddle of yolk, a defensive anger scrunching his brow. "Hey, now wait a minute. You ever see him hurt anyone? With yer own eyes?"

"What are you talking about? He attacked this very city!"

"But you weren't there."

"Yeah, because he kidnapped ― ugh, why does it matter if I've personally seen him hurt anyone? Everyone knows."

"Not everyone."

Not you, thought Molly. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, taking a breath to collect her patience. "Only everyone who's been here for more than two days. I'm trying to protect you, believe it or not." Her look softened with sympathy, the same look Louie had given him, sympathy in which Baloo could just not comprehend. In fact, he was finding it a little irritating now. "I don't want to see you get hurt."

Baloo, hungry as ever, had wolfed down his breakfast in mere moments, chewed with full cheeks and swallowed the last of it down voraciously. "Aw, c'mon. What'n the world makes you think he'd do me any harm?"

And while the look he gave Molly was incredulous, her's was anything but. "You don't want to test that," she said coolly. It gave him pause, but not enough, she could tell. He smiled, slightly, like he just knew better. Irritated, she feared he was taking all she had said like some campfire ghost tale, something that might scare you if you thought about it but was ultimately nonsense. She wasted her breath no more about it while she hurried with her breakfast. A moment later, with a little more than an empty plate, she set her fork down. "All right, if it's what you want. Let's go get a plane."

Eagerly, Baloo followed her into the living room. "Any idea where to look?"

"Sort of. It's called Iron Cloud." Molly led him to a globe she had brought from her upstairs office and set on the coffee table. There was also a big cardboard box on the sofa. The room still smelled of last night's soot from the fireplace. She picked the globe up and drew a route with her finger, a quarter ways across the sphere. "It's an airship, a huge one. I'm not sure if its name is supposed to be some twisted homage to the Iron Vulture, but its Kit's biggest and meanest, and Charles says if Kit calls anywhere home, that'd be it. Last I heard in the news, it was somewhere here, passing over the Great Strait. That was two weeks ago, though. We'll have to look for it, maybe have to ask around. Once we get close enough, though, they'll probably find us before we find them."

"Can yer Charles guy help us out?"

"He might even be physically looking at it right now for all I know," she said. "He's running surveillance through next week, tracking pirate movements. Not always Iron Cloud, though. It takes him all over the place. But no, if he knew I was coming along, we'd never get past him."

"All right, so we'll do some lookin'."

"I'm not sure what you're expecting. You can't just knock on the front door of this thing."

"Why not? I did yours."

"Oh, you're impossible, you know that?"

"Yep!"

"Impossible, stubborn, impulsive, rash, and... and...!"

Baloo didn't care. He crossed his arms, smirking. "And?"

Molly stamped her foot down with a huff. "And absolutely wonderful."

Baloo nodded. "That's about right."

"I have a surprise for you, by the way." Molly had walked around the coffee table and put her hands on the closed flaps of the cardboard box. "Close your eyes."

"Really? What is it?"

"A surprise. Eyes closed. No peeking!"

Baloo complied, listening to the rustling of something being removed from the box, then felt something draped over his shoulders. He knew at once by the leathery scent what it was, his bomber-style jacket with the wool collar. "Hey! Where'd this come from?" He slipped his arms inside the sleeves; it fit as comfortably as his own skin.

"It didn't fit Kit, so Mom held onto it as a keepsake, and so did I." She stepped back and looked him over, with an absent, wistful grin. Vintage Baloo, right before her eyes. Her look was making him blush, and realizing that, so did she. "Well. We better get going." A coat-rack by the front door hung a dark blue overcoat and a white scarf. She bundled herself up in these and opened the door, icy wind swirling from the stoop and immediately invading the cozy warmth inside. She pulled her scarf over her chin. "It's going to be cold today."

"Gonna need to show me a pilot's license," the clerk behind the counter told them, a badger in horned glasses and hairdo resembling a mop. On the premises of the Cape Suzette airport, his company U-FLY rented airplanes for a sizable fee and deposit, which Molly had just covered with her checkbook. Baloo couldn't help but feel a little guilty watching her do so, so when it came to showing a pilot's license, he chivalrously squeezed in front of her at the counter and fished out his from his shirt pocket. Proudly, he showed it to the badger, who just frowned, not amused at all.

"This supposed to be some kind of joke?"

That wasn't the reaction Baloo was expecting. "Hey, the picture ain't that bad."

"Who cares about the picture? This license expired years ago."

Flinching, Baloo withdrew his hand and apprehensively glanced at the date on the license. "Oh! Well, I, uh... always meant to fix that. Somethin' was always comin' up, ya see."

Molly squeezed back in front of the counter. "Here," she said, laying down a pilot's license of her own. Baloo couldn't believe his eyes. "Where'd ya get that?"

"In a cereal box," she muttered dryly, without skipping a beat.

Satisfied, the clerk jotted down information from the license and slid it back to her over the counter, and also a key on a giant brass ring, which Baloo instinctively reached for but the boar evaded his hand and made sure he gave it to Molly. "All set. She's out back. Follow me." And while they followed him out the back door, and Baloo watched on incredulous, Molly whistled a random happy tune, twirling the key-ring on her finger.

Outside, the paved tarmac was still wet from last night's rain, and the fog thick enough to obscure the sight of the cliffs beyond the bay. A deafening roar erupted to their side that made Baloo start ― a jet airliner sped down the runway, lifted, and was lost in the fog in a matter of seconds, leaving the echo of its engines behind.

The plane waiting for them was a cramped vessel, or "cozy" as it was advertised. It was meant for small courier runs, mail bags and such. It had had a two-seat cockpit, an unpainted, bare metal finish ravaged with rust and dents and a number 3 painted on the wings and tail; it had three engines, one on the nose and one under each wing. It was parked near several others just like it, each with its own number. A fleet of flyin' junk, thought Baloo. He barely squeezed his rump through the cockpit door, and once he did, the pilot's seat was already occupied. "Hey!" he protested.

Molly turned her nose up at him. "Who is the legally licensed pilot here?"

"Aw, you gotta be kiddin' me."

"What, that I might know how to fly a plane, too?"

"Yeah, but―!" He hesitated, losing the argument before he could make one. Molly had paid for everything, she was licensed, and the last time he had an argument like this with a woman he ended up riding on top of a flying ice burg. Dejected and groaning miserably, he pushed himself through the narrow gap between the back of the pilot seat and the back of the cockpit.

"Oh, I'm teasing you," Molly said as he got as far as between the seats, and she slid into the navigator's. "Just don't do anything that'll get us pulled over."

"You got it, hon," said Baloo. He assumed the controls eagerly, but jumped out of his seat like he had sat on a tack. "Yikes!"

"Oh, by the way, the seats are little chilly." Bare metal and tattered vinyl with no cushion, yes they were.

"Ooh hoo..." mumbled Baloo, easing uncomfortably into his throne of ice. "That'll wake ya up." Once settled he wasted no time starting the plane. It was a different cockpit than he was used to, but he took to the orientation of the switches and levers at once, even found the parking brake with no trouble, but Molly put her hand up to stop him from releasing it.

"Ah ah! Hold your horses. You can't just barrel out of here anymore."

With the air of command, she pulled a clipboard from under the seat and ran her finger down a checklist. Baloo waited an impatient moment for her to do whatever it was she was going to do, but he knew he didn't need the help of a clipboard to get in the sky. Maybe she forgot who she was flying with. He was just about to protest when she picked up the radio microphone.

"U-Fly 3 to tower, ready for departure, requesting taxi to runway," she said into the mic.

Two seconds past, with her ear cocked to the radio speaker. A voice answered: 'U-Fly 3 ready for departure, taxi to holding point, runway 275E via A1, B2, D3.'

Molly acknowledged the instructions by repeating them back to the controller. Meanwhile, Baloo had a hand each on the brake and throttle, but looked at her, waiting... he thought that was some sort of clearance, but it would be nice if someone could translate it into English.

"You may proceed, captain," she smirked.

Baloo replied with a humph and set the plane in motion, rubbernecking to scout the taxi lanes before them and the landed aircraft putting along within them. The airport was certainly bigger than he ever remembered it, lots more planes. Half of them didn't even have propellers, and he wondered if he could ever get used to all these new fandangle jetplanes. He spied a route to the nearest runway and went for it. They moved about four yards before Molly yelled in his ear: "No! That way!" she said, pointing to a taxi lane off to their right. It made him jerk the yoke like he was avoiding a crash, and the plane wobbled. "You have to go the way they tell you."

"What? What who told me?"

"A1 to B2. They're taxi routes."

"No, those are vitamins."

"Just trust me and turn here."

Grumbling, Baloo followed her instructions, going down the length of the tarmac while other planes transited around them in the sky and on the ground. It was like being caught in a traffic jam, which was just flat-out wrong for a plane. Molly told him to turn here again, wait there, turn again, and told him to stop when they arrived shortly before the end of a long runway. Baloo ultimately surrendered entirely to her directions, having zig-zagged enough corners to not know where the heck he was anymore. He just wanted to get on that runway already and soar. Molly spoke again into the radio, in the same strange robotic language she spoke with before. The tower repeated her, she repeated the tower, and "Are we flyin' anytime today?" huffed Baloo.

"In a minute," she told him.

"A minute," he grumbled. A bunch of useless rules wastin' everyone's time, he thought. Not only did air operations in the Cape get loud and clustered, but they had gone and turned it into a maze and a game of Mother May I. He could have had this clunker half way to Port Largo by now. The runway was huge, wide, and empty. Sitting here was like waiting for a green light to turn greener. On an impulse, he was about to sneak on and just gun it, but there his hand only nudged on the throttle when a massive blur swept before his eyes, and he yelped. A hefty jetplane slammed into the runway before them, the slam of its great rubber wheels squealing into the pavement and showering U-Fly 3 with old rainfall. He watched the massive metal bird, round and fat as a Thanksgiving turkey, with wide eyes, knowing he would have gotten squished if he had made the move he was thinking about. There was chatter on the radio between Molly and the tower, but he was oblivious to it, until she tapped him on the shoulder. "Your turn."

He wasted no time, whipping the wobbly frame of the plane onto the runway and throwing the throttle to full blast. The three engines whirred and sputtered and the plane took off blasted by a gust of wind, leaving a few nuts and bolts behind. The runway was already nearly aligned with the parting of the cliffs in the foggy distance, and had the exit straight away, zooming over a city gray and soggy, over a bay bleak and pale, and finally, finally, between the cliffs and free for an open sky...

A stormy sky.

Baloo shuddered, he couldn't help it. It wasn't just the chill of the weather. It was the sudden deja vu of the countless times he had exited through cliffs in the Sea Duck, the familiar sights and sensations that were now yet so unfamiliar. A different plane, a different city, a different world. He tried to shake it off. About this point, it was nearly instinctive for him to turn to his navigator and get a heading for their destination. So instinctive that when he did, he was still jarred to see it wasn't Kit beside him.

Molly, having gathered supplies from a glove box, studied a map on her lap and compared it to a compass in her hand. She lifted her eyes to the windshield, pointing to their ten o'clock. "That way."

They got as far as Cardy's Port before having to stop for more fuel. There, the rising, duel rocky spires where which between the port's runway was situated were almost up to their peaks in thick, rolling fog that made the island below it invisible, and made the runway look almost ground level instead of hundreds of yards above the ocean. The wooden pier extended from the spires that made the makeshift runway was as rickety as ever when Baloo touched the plane down, familiar creaks and groans under his seat. Baloo found it comforting, as well as seeing Sally's Ally diner still off to the side of the runway, looking exactly the same.

They stepped out of the cockpit and Molly spoke briefly to an attendant, who began at once to grab the hose from a nearby fuel dispenser.

For once he felt back where he belonged. Here, the small buildings had not changed much noticeably. A little sunshine wouldn't have hurt, though, he thought as he pulled his jacket collar close to his neck.

Molly gestured at Sally's. "Should we grab something to eat while we wait?"

"Ooh, I like the way you think," smiled Baloo.

Inside there was a small crowd, some having a game around the pool table, some at booths scarfing down hamburgers and hot dogs, some at the bar stools watching ― wait. Baloo blinked. What. Was. That.

Behind the register, on a counter next to a stacking of clean dishes, a box with two long antennas arranged in a V-shape glowed with what looked like an oval-shaped miniature motion picture screen. Come to think of it, he saw a contraption similar to it in Molly's living room, but had no idea it could do that.

The little people in the black and white picture marred with interference lines, a man and a woman, were engaged in a heart-wrenching argument, whereby the woman had the back of her hand against her forehead as the man walked out the door. Dramatic music scratched from a small speaker underneath the screen.

One pilot at the bar began to sniffle over his tuna fish sandwich. "She's too good for him," he said.

"How could he be so cruel?" another agreed.

Baloo stepped up to the bar, transfixed. The screen blinked dark and there was suddenly an advertisement for laundry detergent, with little animated suds singing a jingle and prancing around the screen. The pilots at the bar groaned. "Aw, commercial," one complained. "It was just gettin' good."

Molly tugged him by the arm before he caused a scene with his dumbfounded trance. "It's a television," he said in his ear.

"It's amazin'," breathed Baloo. "Did ya see what just happened? You believe the nerve of that guy just walkin' out on that good lookin' lady?" He climbed upon the seat of the only empty bar stool on the end of the counter.

Molly, left without a seat to join him, incredulously tapped her foot behind him, clearing her throat, while Baloo, infatuated, watched with wide, eager eyes a commercial where a guy was demonstrating a toaster that took four slices of bread at a time. "Ooh, I need one of those," he mumbled, trance-like. "Four pieces at once. Four!"

Molly was going to have none of this. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled. He was going to get off the stool or fall off. Fortunately for him, he got off, but he gave her a dirty look. "Hey!"

"Sit down on the booth over here," she said, pointing at the empty one in the corner.

"Aw, but I wanna see what happens next," he pouted. He followed her to the booth, but sulked like a three-year-old who didn't get his toy. A waitress came by to take their order; Molly said she'd have a hamburger, and Baloo said he'd have six. They looked small, you see.

"You must be hungry," the waitress commented.

"Yeah. Feels like I haven't had lunch in twenty years." He eyed Molly, deadpan.

"That's not funny," mouthed Molly silently, as the waitress left.

"Nuh uh? Then how come you laughed?"

"I didn't."

"Well ya wanted to. It's not good to hold it in, ya know. Ya could explode. Here, where's that giggle button... ah!" Grinning, he reached over and pushed on her nose with his fingertip.

"Stop that," she laughed. He had done that to her when she was little, too, and it had the same effect. "You better serious up a little bit, mister. Iron Cloud isn't going to be some walk in the park. Before or after we find Kit."

"Hey, I got it under control," he assured, with an easy-going smile. He could turn it off and on like a light switch, thought Molly, no matter who he was trying to fool.

"You are so full of it," she said. "Never change. Honestly, I'm hoping a miracle will make him see the light."

From there, they huddled over the table and spoke about the next leg of their trip, never realizing that the utterance of Iron Cloud was overheard by the two customers sitting in the bench next to them, or how they had warranted their attention. When Baloo and Molly had eaten their hamburgers and left, they were met at their plane by two guys and suspicious stares. They blocked entrance to the cockpit. One was a fox, short and skinny as a rail, the other a burly black ox with a red bandanna wrapped and knotted around one horn. They wore clothing akin to a motorcycle gang, black jackets and jeans.

"Can we help you?" asked Molly.

"Yeah," hissed the fox menacingly, "Youse can tell us what's so hot about goin' to Iron Cloud."

The ox growled, in apparent agreement.

"Iron Cloud?" Molly turned her nose up at him. "I sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"I bet yas don't, 'cause we couldn't help but hear the two of youse makin' big plans," said the fox. "So what gives, mama? They got hotels there now? Lil' vacation getaways? Fun for the whole family? Joey, I think they got fun for the whole family on that bird now!"

The ox snorted. Then Baloo got between them and Molly, fists clenched. "Look, wise-guys, all you need to know is that if ya don't get outta my way, you an' yer pal are gonna be wearin' each other's arms for neckties."

"Oh! Joey, look! A comedian! Maybe somebody on ol' Iron Cloud's havin' a birthday party, so they're flyin' Mr. Funny Bones in! Well here's somethin' hilarious. Youse ain't goin' nowheres until we get to the bottom of this. Now I'll ask yas again. Why are youse―"

"Stop saying youse!" screamed Molly. Birds that had been gathered peacefully on the tarmac nearby took to the sky in alarm. She cleared her throat and regained a proper composure. "It's irritating."

Annoyed, the fox began again, "Why are the two'a you ―" He looked at Molly and waited for a nod of approval, which he got, "― lookin' for Cloudkicker?"

"None of yer beeswax," glared Baloo.

"Afraid it is," said the fox. The ox grunted in agreement.

"An' how's that?"

"'Cause we fly with the Red Wolf," smirked the fox, and he raised the lower flap of his jacket to reveal a belt buckle with a red insignia of a wolf's head. "The Red Wolf," the ox repeated reverently, in a deep baritone voice.

"Oh, no," groaned Molly, slouching where she stood. She obviously knew something that Baloo didn't.

"What? What's a red wolf?"

"This guy for real? It's a who," the fox corrected. "No wait, it is a what. A legend!"

"A legend," the ox agreed.

"It's Don Karnage," muttered Molly. It occurred to her that she probably made a mistake in explaining that; in Baloo's expression, a hot anger began to burn from his core, in seconds going from steaming to simmering to boiling. Gently but forcibly, he shoved Molly out of the way with a swipe of his arm. "Karny's guys, huh?" he growled through gritted teeth. His fists were clenched and ready to make both of them permanent fixtures in the pavement. "Got lotsa time on yer hands when yer not pickin' on lil' kids."

"The hell...?" the fox glanced up at the ox and both shrugged. "What lil' kids?"

Molly jumped in between them. "Wait, everyone just stop. This is a misunderstanding." Baloo recoiled, surprised at her, if not slightly stung with betrayal. Misunderstanding? "I'm Molly Cunningham. I knew Kit Cloudkicker when he was a boy. We can't tell you why we're looking for him, but you'd do well to believe us that it might ― help."

"Help Cloudkicker," the fox sneered.

"Help everyone," said Molly. "Isn't that what you want, too?" She began to explain who she was and that their intentions were noble, although she did not delve into the specifics. Listening to her, Baloo's head began to swim again, a sensation he was getting familiar with in the last two days. Why was she talking as if these guys were going door to door collecting donations for orphanages? Don Karnage loved to inflict misery on others, and so did any of his goons. "You need to just leave us alone," she told them.

"All right, toots, but ain't that easy," said the fox. He looked up at his partner. "Joey, better make a shout to Double D. One of 'ems that book-writin' lady. He oughtta check 'em out before we let'm go." The ox nodded, snorting. Then, back at Baloo and Molly, the fox pointed to a cargo seaplane on the other side of the tarmac, crimson painted. "While we're waitin', why don't youse two go 'head and step into our office."

Baloo stepped forward again, ready for a rumble if need be. "Buddy, ain't a thing you can do that's gonna make us stay here another minute." In response, the fox pulled his jacket flap further to the side, revealing the butt of a revolver, while the ox reached behind his right hip and produced a knife with a blade the size of Baloo's forearm.

"Oh," blinked Baloo. "Yeah, well, that might do it."

"It just doesn't make any grammatical sense," explained Molly to the fox. "You're, for example. It's a contraction of you are. Y'all is a contraction of you all. But youse, it doesn't mean anything! Where does the S come from after the you?"

"It just means youse," explained the fox, shrugging. He pointed to her and Baloo, respectively. "Like youse and youse!"

"But you don't refer to yourself as I's or me's!"

"Ya know, I never thought of that," he said, and through his brow furrowed deep in thought for a moment, it was lifted with the aura of an epiphany from the heavens. "Like I's got me's a couple'a smart-alack hostages? Hey, like the way it sounds!"

They sat in the cramped seats within the plane's cabin, and Baloo, in the back, grumbled miserably. The tight confines, the ridiculous conversation he was being forced to listen to, the wasted time waiting for some yahoo to come around and bless them with some sort of screwball clearance to leave ― this must have been a little taste of hell, he thought.

The sound of a plane could be heard pulling up beside theirs; it was a sleek design, narrow and lightweight, a propeller on the nose and an enclosed glass cockpit, carrying the scars of bullets and scruffs with a deteriorated crimson coat of paint. It also had machine guns under the wings. "Double-D's here," the fox announced, and the opened the side door. "Hola compadre!"

"Aw shaddup. This better be good," the hoarse, raspy voice outside complained. The fox stepped aside of the doorway, and the pilot who entered had his head and snout covered with a hooded winter jacket and red neckscarf. He was short of breath and breathed with a constant wheeze. He took one look at Molly and groaned. "Ahh, shoulda known you'd be up to something sooner or later. Now what's the story?"

From the shadows within the hood and scarf, beady eyes flickered that that made Baloo start. He knew those eyes, in the image of an unpleasant memory. He stood up at once, accidentally banging his head on the ceiling and making the plane shake.

Dan Dawson, Darning Dan, pulled the scarf from his nose. His snout was scarred with course burns. In his age and trials, his voice had lost its smooth, showman essence, resigning instead to the bitter and gravely-sounding soul that was always perpetually under the skin of the flamboyant showbiz persona. "Oh, that's the story," he muttered. "Aw, jeez Baloo. You know you're supposed to be dead, right?"

"Sorry," grumbled Baloo.

"Baloo?" The fox's ears perked. "Wai-wai-wait! That's Baloo? The real Baloo? He ain't dead? How come youse two didn't tell us before?" From there on, he stared at the big bear with star-struck fascination. "Wow! For an ol' timer, youse don't look half bad!"

Both Dan and Baloo took offense, but it was Dan who spoke, glowering over enough to make him shrink back. "Who's an ol' timer? He's about as old me." Dan's beady eyes scanned Baloo, like some style of inspection, which Baloo did not like one bit. Who did this jerk think he was now? "Or at least he used to be," said Dan. That was a day neither regarded fondly, for a stare-down ensued between the two. If they were dogs, they'd be snapping their teeth at each other.

"Well?" Dan stamped a boot on the floor. "Someone wanna tell me what's going on? How this guy's just popped out of the grave? How come he's not a day older?" He paused for several breaths, his eyes narrowed at Molly. "Or did you wanna play twenty questions?"

"It doesn't matter how," Molly insisted, standing to her feet. "But he's here, and maybe if he can get to Kit, he can ―"

"Cloudkicker," Dan interrupted, and gasped a breath. "Calling him Kit makes him seem like a... person."

Molly was undaunted, and made a point of it: "If he can get to Kit, maybe he can help him. The kind of help he needs."

"That's only the stupidest a stupid idea I've ever heard," Dan declared without losing a beat. "There's no helping that maniac."

Before Baloo could open his mouth to argue, Molly cut in, "Everyone thought that about Don Karnage, too." A sudden quiet befell their three captors.

"Maybe so," Dan wheezed at length. "Karnage is the one you gotta talk to, though. He's gotta know about ― this." He had jerked his thumb at Baloo. "Oh, he's gonna looove this." Then he addressed the fox and ox: "Change of plans. Take 'em to base."

"We don't have time to see Karnage," said Molly. "Look, I have a deposit on that plane out there, I can't just leave ―"

"Fugetaboutit, lady," interrupted the fox, in a tone that was trying to be helpful, not rude. "That plane ain't worth beans."

"Oh, easy for you to say, you didn't write the check!"

"You're going any way we gotta make ya," promised Dan. He turned to exit the plane. "So do it the easy way, rubes: siddown and shaddup. Joey, you fly. Felix, you keep that gun handy in case they get any second thoughts. Take 'em straight to base, and hurry, we're headed out at sunset."

"This is kidnapping," scoffed Molly indignantly. Behind her shoulder, Baloo rolled his eyes at her, coming just short of asking what gave her the first clue. Dan turned his head at her, a perfectly white, toothy smile of an eternal showman stretched and creased the burned patches of skin around his mouth. "Well, technically, we are outlaws, ya know."

Molly couldn't answer Baloo's questions about Darning Dan's involvement with Don Karnage, but it was no surprise, she explained. Lots of pilots in rebellion of Cloudkicker's tyranny had joined Karnage's cause. That cause was for the freedom of the skies, and despite how ironic it was, an end to sky piracy, on which Cloudkicker held the monopoly. Those burns on his face, seeping into his lungs, she surmised, were probably a result from one of the many aerial battles waged between the two sides. Beyond that, conversation was really minimal. It was a bit difficult when you had a gun pointed at you.

Felix, a few seats ahead of them with his arm extended over the back of the seat and a pistol pointed in their general direction, gazed at Baloo with amazed, fan-boy eyes.

"What?" Baloo finally asked him.

Felix flinched. He spoke to him! "Er, well, I mean... it's you, ain't it? Ace pilot Baloo."

"We know each other?"

"Nah, never met. But I always wanted to! I was a kid when you died ― didn't die, whatever. My pop was a pilot too, y'know. He told me all about the guy who's picture was pinned at the top of the board at Louie's ― y'know, back when it was Louie's. Man, every time he'd come back from that place, he'd have a story: 'Ya shoulda heard what ol' Baloo did this time!' He was just 'nother honest cargo hauler. He got hit up by the Cloudkicker's pirates some years ago. He put out mayday over the radio and said he was gonna try to outrum 'em. Bastards shot'm down."

"Sorry to hear," murmured Molly.

"S'okay. The Red Wolf's makin' it right."

Baloo, hunched in his seat, lifted his eyes at him with disbelief. "Karnage."

"Man, youse oughtta join up!" said Felix, brightened with the sudden excitement at the thought. "If yer as good as they say, we could use yas!"

"Oh, mercy. Now it's yas," cringed Molly, sinking her face into her palm.

"Me? Pick a side with Karny?" Baloo glowered at him. "How 'bout I just knock out his teeth?"

Felix recoiled at his sudden anger. "Hey, we ain't a buncha saints, but believe it or not, we're the good guys, buddy. Kinda like a Robin Hood, y'know? We're takin' from the rich an'... uh, maybe not exactly givin' to the poor, but we're usin' everything we got to stick it to that bastard and his thugs."

"Sounds like a pirate to me, just the same."

Felix shrugged, and was quiet for a moment. "He knows he's done wrong, y'know. When we finally finish business with Cloudkicker, he's gonna retire from it all. One last hurrah and he's gonna make it count. Never gonna pirate again."

"Oh, I bet," scoffed Molly.

"You'll see." Felix had a dreamy gleam about him. He was a believer. "One day soon, pilots all over the world are gonna be free in the sky again, never gonna hafta worry about pirates. The Red Wolf's gonna make it right. Oh, hey!" Suddenly the fox spied something on the floor, reached for it and picked it up. It was a ballpoint pen. With that in one hand and the pistol in the other, he approached the back of the plane. "Mr. Baloo, can I getta autograph? Whaddaya say?"

"Autograph?" Baloo glanced at Molly, who shrugged and nodded at him. He accepted the pen, numbly. Somehow he didn't feel quite the celebrity as he would have liked to. Felix smiled widely at him, cradling the pistol over his chest. Baloo waited. "Uh, ya got something to write on?"

"Oh!" blinked Felix. Then he carelessly scratched his head with the muzzle of his revolver, looking around the plane. He brightened when he spied an overhead compartment over the seats. "Ah! Betcha we got some paper in there! Here, hold this, will ya?" He handed Baloo the pistol ― to Baloo's utter shock ― and climbed on top of a seat open the compartment. He found it empty, and climbed back to the floor dejected. "Aw, nuts. Wait, I got it!" He pulled up his shirt and exposed his belly, pulling back the fur to show a line of pale skin underneath. "Here, just use the pen and kinda tattoo it right here. It's cool."

Baloo and Molly stared at the gun quivering in Baloo's hand. Holding one was panicking him and he wanted to drop it, but Molly grabbed his hand and extended his arm so that the muzzle of the gun was against the fox's chest. Only then did Felix realize his mistake, his ears and shoulders drooping.

"I don't s'pose I can have that back?"

"Sure!" smiled Molly. "Just as soon as we turn around and land back at Cardy's."

Felix bared teeth in a wide, nervous grin. "Uh-huh, I see. Yeah, that can be arranged. Lemme just, uh... check up front." With his hands open at his sides, he back-stepped until he was in the cockpit. Baloo forced a hard look on his face that he hoped to high heaven wouldn't betray that he was really scared to death. Felix briefly muttered to the ox what had happened. The ox then got up out of the seat, having Felix take the controls, and stomped fearlessly toward the back, partly crouching in the tight confines. Baloo raised the gun up shakily and warned the ox to stop, but it did him no good. The ox got inches from Baloo's face, snorting hot breath that made his fur curl. He extended one massive hand, palm up and open.

"Drop it," he growled. Baloo did, at once, while Molly peeked apprehensively over his shoulder at the big brute. "Sit," the ox then ordered. They did. Satisfied, he returned to the cockpit, gave Felix his gun back, and resuming flying. The fox sauntered back to where Baloo and Molly were sitting. "Yeah, sorry. Joey didn't feel like goin' all the way back to Cardy's."

Baloo looked out a window over the right wing when he felt the plane descend. The world was gray and it was snowing outside, white flakes zipping by. The sea now behind them, they had crossed over into a mountainous region, heavily forested in dark green conifers. Streaks of snow coated the slopes like drizzled frosting on a cinnamon role, and spotted on the trees like powered sugar ― Baloo was hungry again.

"Hey, no peekin'!" Felix ordered, puffing his chest with an air of authority and twirling his gun around his finger. "It's a top secret facility we're goin' to, y'know."

Annoyed, Baloo and Molly groaned and looked away from the windows, uninterested. Felix seemed disappointed. "A super top secret facility. No outsider eyes! I mean it! Could compromise the whole shabang! So youse better keep yer peepers averted."

"We heard ya the first time," sighed Baloo.

"Don't ya even wanna look?" Felix scratched his temple with the muzzle of his pistol. "I mean, I guess youse can take a little peek. Go 'head."

"You shouldn't do that," admonished Molly. "The gun could accidentally shoot."

"What? Oh. Nah, it's cool." To their sudden horror, the fox pressed the gun's muzzle against his head and pulled the trigger. The gun clicked, empty. "See? No bullets." He laughed at their shocked expressions and 'shot' the gun up at the ceiling, click click. "Ha! Fooled yas didn't―" BANG! The gun fired on the third pull, and Felix yelped and stumbled on his back. A new hole on the ceiling whistled with icy air. Joey the ox, with gritted teeth, turned and gave them all a threatening sidelong glare. Any kid, on a long car drive, riding backseat behind their parents would know that look: Don't make me pull over.

Felix quickly got to his feet and hastily tucked the gun in his waistband. "Uh, yeah. So let us never speak of this again, huh?"

The plane's nose tilted down in the midst of a steep valley, a river gray as the sky cutting down its center. Mechanical noises from under their feet told that the landing wheels were being lowered. Baloo looked out the window again, wiping away with his hand the fog his breath had left upon it. Here the area was hidden from the rest of the world by a circle of mountains and rising forested ridgelines; immediately adjacent to the river, a section of the basin was a canopy of treetops so thick that from an altitude they appeared as one giant green rug. The plane had leveled low and was following the river. Baloo saw there were trees, there were mountains, there was water, but there was no landing strip, unless the pilot intended to land on top of the treetops. He didn't know what to think when the plane actually turned for the trees, toward the basin where they were thickest.

Shifting his view toward the windshield, Baloo saw that the plane straightened and made for the river bank, headed into what looked like a wall of trees. He leaned forward, alarmed, and pointed at the cockpit. "Hey! Yer gonna crash!" He was about to jump up and race to wrestle the controls form the ox, but then a swath of trees suddenly disappeared, making a tunnel-like gap. It was a gate; the trees in which it was made were fake timber cutouts. A long, wide runway awaited within.

The landing was hard, the plane's wheels squealed and jolted over course pavement. Sentries armed with shotguns standing by the runway in tattered overcoats with red patches met their arrival with cold stares. Baloo noticed that the gray sky had suddenly become even dimmer. When they stepped out he saw why. The trees overhead were but camouflage mounted over the vast dome they were now inside. Long stripes of gray light streaked as the shape of pie slices from edge to center, showing how the dome was constructed in several massive segments. The facility it concealed was something like an airport. Once off the runway, the plane had parked upon a multi-acre dirt field brimming with other planes, the majority of which were smaller craft, which were all the same model and uniform in drab likeness. Sheet metal hangars sat on the fringe, rivets pounding and flames flashing with blowtorch sparks as workers hastily dismantled wrecked planes and salvaged their parts to make effective but scarred metal monstrosities that that Dr. Frankenstein would approve ― a tail from this plane, wings from that plane, a cockpit from yet another, anything that could fit with enough wielding, bolts and patches.

"It's cool, fellas," Felix announced to the sentries. His were the first feet to hit the dirt, followed by Molly and then Baloo. The ground seemed to shake when Joey the ox jumped out of the cockpit behind them. "Youse all won't be-lieve who we gots here to see el queso grande!"

"Youse all," muttered Molly. Her face ticked with an involuntary cringe.

Beyond the tarmac Baloo squinted in the distance, and bit his bottom lip at what he saw. A great circular reservoir had been cut out and flooded by the river, and there the unmistakable Iron Vulture was anchored. The iron airship was between two zeppelins, also anchored, hovering silently mere yards from the water's surface. One was dingy and unmarked, the other had its front quarter constructed into the shape of a wolf's head, black on the tip of the nose, a great, fanged snarl underneath, ferocious hunter's eyes and ears folded back. They were not for passengers or freight, but for war. Their giant oval shapes were spiked with gun turrets and hatches along the sides indicated broadside cannons.

Molly had joined Baloo in gawking at them, as did Felix, who seemed to forget about the top secret part of the bit. "Ain't them beauts somethin' else?" he said proudly. "Even just the Big V, I mean it's a classic, right?"

To Baloo, the first thing noticeable about the Vulture was its fin-shaped rudder, and not just because it towered as always like tall as a high-rise building; the crossed bones of the wolfish Jolly Rodger it once brandished had been painted away, and the wolf's head insignia left was painted over in blood red. The vibrancy of the red was strikingly contrasted by the rest of the airship, for it had clearly not escaped the curse of aging. Its infamous colors, black and purple, were faded to dull, pale shades, with blistered metal and weathered scratches that made it look entirely scoured from end to end. The windows of its bridge flashed with electrical mayhem from within, all sorts of colors like Christmas lights gone amok, and a floating bridge extended to its open prow where supplies were being wheeled in by drab figures pushing flatbed dollies.

Baloo was struck quiet, scanning their surroundings suspiciously. He couldn't fathom how Molly seemed to be relatively relaxed, just annoyed. After all, she had cared more about losing the deposit on the rental plane than being brought to the likes of Don Karnage.

Among the parked planes, aside from a dozen or so larger craft, the rest were small and identical, and countless at a glance (but precisely one hundred and eighty if you had the patience to count). Baloo thought he had seen planes like those somewhere... he dug into his memory, but couldn't quite tell. The nearest one was mere yards away, and he eyed it studiously, trying to remember. They were single-seaters, small ― quite small, in fact ― but made of heavy steel, a propeller at the tail on top of the rudder. Under their wings, they were fitted with stubby cannons that gave them an air of ferocity that forebode if they should ever be provoked to fight, they might seriously poke someone's eye out, or at least cause a nice bruise.

"Ol' Thunderyaks from Thembria," said Felix, noticing the big bear's fixation. "Ah, they don't look like much, but they take a lickin' and keep on tickin', baby!" To prove his point, he slapped his hand heartily against the wing of the nearest 'Yak; it broke off the plane and hit the ground with a metallic clank. "Oh. Ooh, that's not, uh..." Taking quick glances around to make sure no one was watching, the fox kicked the broken wing under the plane like no one would notice.

"Quit wreckin' the fleet!" snapped Dan Dawson from behind them in a raspy yell, followed by a gasp for air.

At the word fleet, Molly jolted, having seemed to just notice the sheer number of aircraft parked before them. "What are you guys going to do with all these little planes?"

Dan smirked, baring perfectly white teeth like a crescent moon behind gnarled lips. "We're gonna recruit a bunch'a little pilots to fly 'em."

Molly turned her heel at him, aghast, remembering from years back the scheme a certain Thembrain colonel had tried to pull for the sake of an air show. Her mouth quivered at the thought. "Kids? Are you insane?"

Dan scoffed at her. "Pfft. Kids. Yeah, that's what we're gonna do. Make a note for your next book."

"The flight school!" Baloo suddenly shouted, making everyone jolt. He, however, was beaming now that he remembered, and that was all he cared about. "Kids, Thembrians, Thunderyaks! Kit flew one'a these! He was about to crash, an' I got there just in time, an'... an'...!" He paused and hesitated, then lost his smile, grimacing instead with his hands cupping his head. "What happened then..." he muttered to himself, aimlessly scanning the ground like he would somehow read the answer somewhere.

"Good grief," snorted Dan. "Lose your marbles somewhere?"

"You shut your mouth," snapped Molly. "You have no idea what he's been through."

"Aw, big frickin' deal," he sneered, then burst into a coughing fit. When it subsided, he spat on the ground. "I sure as hell know what I've been through. Get 'em inside." With a flick a gloved hand, he gestured at the far end of the field, where a cave opening glowing with golden light bore into the foot of a mountain. Joey and Felix nodded, taking his meaning, and took position behind Baloo and Molly as to as to corral them to the cave. Baloo, however, refused to budge, instead staring at Dan with loathing.

"Maybe I am losin' some of my marbles, but not with you," he said gravely. "One thing I remember loud and clear is what you pulled with Kit."

Unabashedly, Dan stepped up to him, his gnarled face inches from Baloo's. "Yeah? And ya know what? He wasn't even the first brat I hired," he said calmly. It made Baloo seethe. Dan continued, "I got my share of regret. So's everybody else. Truth is, though, it's too bad that little hellion never fell off that cockamamie sky-surfin' board. The world woulda missed out on a whole lot of misery."

"An' I figured if I ever saw you again, I'd bust ya one right in the chops."

At that, Dan stepped back, letting out a halfhearted chuckle. He made a show out of sliding one hand into his jacket sleeve and peeling off the glove from the other, uncovering a hand that was entirely pink and scarred with burns. With that hand―to Baloo's further shock―he put his fingers in his mouth and pulled out his perfect, pearly white teeth. They were fake. The dilapidated shape left upon his sunken mouth matched gruesomely with the burned scars on his face. "He beat ya to it."

Baloo felt a gentle tugging on his arm. It was Molly. "There's no use to pick a fight right now," she said. "Let's go and get this over with." Reluctantly, Baloo complied, and with Dan stomping far ahead of the group, shoving is teeth back in his mouth. They followed him into the cave.

"Lemme get this straight," said Baloo quietly to Molly. "You think Karny's just gonna let us go?"

"I think he'll see the reason in it," replied Molly. "Twenty years is a long time, Baloo. He's not quite like you remember him. Since he intervened to save Cape Suzette, people believe in him, they root for him. They want him to win this fight."

"Against Kit," grimaced Baloo.

"Yes," admitted Molly.

"You root for him too?"

With just her slightest hesitation, Baloo concluded that he had his answer. He turned his head away from her, his hands clenched and pushed deep into the pockets of his jacket.

"It's not that simple," said Molly. "I know it must seem upside-down to you."

"No, upside-down don't begin to cover it."

Narrow passages between sheer rocky walls made the inside of the cave, the walls strung with electrical lights. Bridges of rope and plank sagged over chasm gaps. The air was heavy and smelled of smoke. They arrived at the end of the path where the caverns opened to a wide common space of sorts, and vertically there was no sign of a ceiling, just a stretch of darkness overhead. There were trash can fires lit, by the dozen, each surrounded by several people who warmed their bodies near the flames. They paid no heed to the new arrivals, seemingly having heavier thoughts on their minds. Their threadbare attire made them look akin to hobos, but in their assortment of goggles, scarfs, leather helmets, it was easy to tell that they were pilots. Men and women, cold, tired, apprehensive. They didn't have the menacing snarls and dangerous airs that Baloo knew of Karnage's crew. Pilots, not pirates, Baloo was realizing.

Tables and benches were set up around the edges of the space, heaping with feasts of canned foods. More crates of the same were stacked to the side, and, where countless electrical cords met together, gasoline generators powering the vast web of lighting hummed and smoked with puffy fingers of exhaust. A massive scaffolding went up to the shadowy heights of the cavern, providing winding square stairs all the way up. Dan had already started up these, Baloo and Molly not far behind him, and Joey and Felix behind them. Baloo cocked his head back at the height of the scaffolding, exasperated. "Sorry, elevator's out," joked Felix.

Just then, an attacking figure leapt from the scaffolding, making Baloo and Molly yelp and duck.

"Gotcha!" a girl's voice squealed in mid-air, then, with disappointment, muttered, "Aww..."

Baloo turned to look, and Joey had caught a young lady bear over his horned head. With a chuckle that contorted his stern visage, he set her down on her feet. "Next time," he grunted.

In a plain white shirt, jeans ripped at the knee, and a blue jacket that was several sizes too large for her, patched with the wolf's head insignia (red, of course) on the shoulders, she was a mere child growing into her teens. Her auburn pony tail swayed with split ends behind her shoulders, and she wore tennis shoes that were originally white but more dirt-colored than anything. She felt at her mouth with her hand and lifted her eyes up at the towering ox. "Uh-oh. A little help?"

Joey grumbled and ran his fingers over his right horn, cringing when he found a wad of pink bubble gum stuck to the end. He flicked it far away.

"Hey!" the girl protested, hands on her hips as if her angry posture would intimidate the ox. "I wasn't done with that!"

"Go get it," smirked Joey.

Sticking her tongue out at him, she fished another stick of gum from her pocket and promptly commenced chewing. Then she took notice of the two new faces, who regarded her like she had two heads. "Hey. You guys joinin' up?" she asked.

"How old are you?" was all Molly could say.

"Fourteen," the girl replied cockily. "How old are you?"

"Old enough to have a driver's license," frowned Molly.

"Well bully for you, your highness," said the girl, giving her a dirty look.

"Marty!" Dan's voiced wheezed from above. "Leave 'em alone. I'm takin' 'em to the Cap."

"He's gonna snap at ya if you do," the girl warned. "I just tried talkin' to him. He says 'I am deep in the thinking process of deep and deeper thoughts. Go away!'"

"Oh, he's gonna wanna see this," said Dan.

"Let's go then," the girl shrugged. With a burst of energy, she ran up the stairs, her footsteps hammering on the planks. The others followed with considerably less energy. While Baloo grumbled and pulled himself up step by weary step, Molly turned back at Felix. "What's someone her age doing here?" she demanded.

"Fightin' the good fight," said Felix. "That's all we're doin' here."

The scaffolding shook and footsteps clopped loudly as the group ascended. By the time they made the top, Baloo was climbing the stairs on all fours, and at the final landing collapsed chin-first to the floor. They had arrived in a large room made of stone, cut from the very mountain they were in. In this room, where bare light bulbs hung unceremoniously from the ceiling, two men and a woman stood around a table laid out with maps, moving different colored pegs along the latitudes of the world like they were playing some giant board game. The seriousness of their faces read that what was before them was no game. To their side, a large electronic device filled the room with a pale green glow; to Baloo it looked something like what Molly called a television, but the picture on its screen was stuck like a broken record, just a bright green line spinning in clockwise circles from the center like a clock with one hand.

Great hearths lined the semi-circular walls, cavities carved as heads of giant, horned beasts with their mouths wide and roaring, and between them ancient stone totems of grimacing visages rose high to the ceiling. Had the hearths been lit, the room would have glowed rich in an inferno to rival the hottest realms of Hades, but they were cold, dark, and smokeless. They looked like they had been dormant for a thousand years.

Of the three standing at the table, one gray wolf in an aged and threadbare Usland Air Corp jacket looked up from the map, one eye patched with a stitched scar drawn from it and deep down his cheek, the other a piercing blue, clear and attentive. His jaw hung loose when he saw who was coming. Dan Dawson, who arrived first up the stairs, smirked at him. "Told ya," he said.

The wolf approached Baloo with slow steps, as if gauging the reality of what he was seeing, just as Baloo was pulling himself to his feet and catching his breath. Molly had taken his shoulder to help him stand, and to both their surprise, the gray wolf took the other and did the same. "Thanks," huffed Baloo, but as his eyes met that one of piercing blue, which was unconformable close and studying him, he recoiled.

"Jiminey, Baloo," the wolf breathed. "Dan wasn't jokin'. You're not any older than when we last saw ya. What the heck happened to ya?"

Not that Baloo was exactly getting used to those types of incredulous stares, but they were at least from people he knew, and now seemed even more strange coming from a stranger.

"Ace London," said Molly, recognizing the pilot at once. "No one's heard from you in years."

"Ya got that right, doll." Smiling with weary bravado, the dimples on his cheek melded and folded grotesquely along his scar. "Even Cloudkicker don't know the hot-shot that put the finishing touches on his Storm Reaver zep last year. Ka-pow, ka-blooey, and a clean getaway, baby!" He turned to Baloo, who was still scrutinizing his face and working out his identity. "What's with the blank stare, Baloo-ey boy? The eye patch throw ya off?"

Ace London. Baloo felt like it should have rang a bell. It did, vaguely, like the answer to a trivia question that you knew you knew, but the exactness was just out of reach. The name and face were lost in a fog, one that Baloo could not shake. "Uh... how are ya?" said the bemused bear, at length.

"How am I," Ace repeated, dryly. "I'm a million bucks, pal. Livin' the dream. I always wanted to spend my retirement with one eye and holin' up in a frozen mountain. The important question is, how are you?"

"Fine, I guess," shrugged Baloo.

Ace groaned and turned around toward Dan. "You didn't tell Karns yet?"

"Well, didn't exactly name names," said Dan. "Told him we caught two trying to find Iron Cloud and it was worth looking into. He acted like he gave a damn and didn't bother to ask who. You wanna come with and watch the show?"

A gum bubble popped, and Marty squeezed herself in between Felix and Joey. "I don't get it, what's the big deal? Who are these yuppies?"

Felix answered her, "You don't know? That's Baloo, the pilot that took Cloudkicker in when he was a kid."

Marty eyed Baloo suspiciously, gum smacking loudly from the corner of her jaw. "I thought Cap took the worm in before he became a worm," she said. "So this guy was what, the next stop on the road to wormy-ness?" Felix took her aside and explained with fervor of an excited child the aviation exploits achieved by their visitor, while the other two from the map table, bickering between themselves and mostly oblivious to the rest in the room. They were on their way out.

One, a barrel-chested tiger in a pressed, highly decorated blue naval uniform, stopped just short of accidentally walking into Molly. His attire had all the fixings of a high military rank, flawlessly immaculate, golden lapels draped over his shoulders, medals and ribbons of mixed color pinned across the entirety of his chest.

"Dear me!" He fumbled to remove his hat. "I beg your pardon, my lady."

"Like I just told ya," his counterpart smirked, "Ya got an acute case of H.U.T., head-under-tail." She was plainly dressed in a maroon tee and jeans cut off above the knee, a blonde canine mutt with wavy, graying hair. "Believe me yet?"

The tiger harumphed at her, but smiled at Molly. Decades of proud service, trials and wisdom shone in the creases around his eyes. "Ah, Daniel, bringing in new recruits, I see, and one ever so lovely at that." He bowed, one hand holding his hand behind his back and the other held out for Molly to take. "Admiral Reginald Pomp ― formerly commander of Her Majesty's Feet, presently commander of the Sky Wolf most fierce, right hand of the Iron Vulture ― at your service."

Molly was taken aback by such an awkward tide of formality in such a place, but put her hand in his nonetheless. "Um, please to meet you," she said uncertainly, and he kissed her habnd daintily. Sky Wolf ― she thought of the battle zeppelin shaped in the likeness of a feral wolf.

"Aw, quit slobberin' on the kid," the gray-haired woman said.

Admiral Pomp straightened his back with a sidelong glance at her. "And this ― ahem, lady ― is Captain Marigold."

"Goldie, if we're doin' introductions," she said; then, raising an imaginary monocle to her eye, she imitated the Admiral's accent: "Former commander of Goldie's Bar back in Bowserville ― presently commander of Big Kazoo. And after listenin' to this guy talk strategy, presently in need of a stiff one."

"Ah yes, your ship," the Admiral sighed. "You can practically hear the panic struck in the enemy's heart when they speak of it. 'Look, the Kazoo approaches!'"

"Big Kazoo," she corrected. "Happens to be the finest run airship in ― well, whatever the hell ya call what we got ourselves."

"Ah-ha, just look at the gentleman's face!" said the Admiral, pointing at Baloo. "Look! Positively dumbfounded! Quite a natural reaction, I'd say. Big Kazoo, bah. How could you allow a vessel be christened such a thing?"

"I didn't," she argued. "The crew voted on the name after we snagged 'er."

"And they were quite celebratory in their cups as they did so, I suppose?"

Goldie shrugged. "Democracy rules, teabag."

"I know you," Molly said to the Admiral, remembering several past news articles all at once. "The commander of the Royal Navy... former commander, I guess. You fell in with Karnage?"

"Ah, not what I consider an ideal transition, I admit," said the Admiral. He smiled, stoically. "T'was an honorable station, yes. However, evil triumphs when good men do nothing. Her Majesty chooses to tolerate that devil Cloudkicker so long as he keeps off the Crown's soil. I aim to give him a proper thrashing."

"Not the way you wanna fight," offered Goldie.

"Gadzooks, woman, I believe I have some idea what I'm doing. I've fought two Great Wars, after all. What of you?"

"Two thousand bar brawls," said Goldie. "Any regular schmuck knows I'm right. Take the pokey-lookin' new guy here, he's about as regular a schmuck as they come." She was pointing at Baloo. "You! How do ya win a fight in one opening move? Do ya punch 'em in the nose so they can see it comin', or do or do ya kick 'em in the crotch when they don't expect it?"

Baloo grimaced nervously. "Uh... punch 'em?"

Obvious by her venomous glare at him, he had chosen poorly. "You schmuck," she said, and brushed through the group to exit. Admiral Pomp straightened his posture, said his goodbyes with an ambiguous smile and nod, and followed her down the scaffolding.

Dan and Ace led Baloo and Molly further into the cavernous room, where what looked like another cave opening was the entrance to another room. Inside, narrow, rectangular windows without glass opened to the cold air. It was somewhat furnished, a dresser, a chest, a writing desk, and a bed that struck in contrast to the ancient stone masonry with its fluffy, purple comforter with gold trimming and tassels on the corners. All was kept neat, save for corkboards attached to the stone walls, which were crowded and overlapped with architectural blue-prints and schematics ― a few of which, scaled variously to show as a whole what the others diagrammed in sections, showed as a giant airship. Another set of blueprints appeared to be of a complex floor plan, conspicuous by having dotted lines drawn through a path of corridors, leading to a red X, not unlike a treasure map. There were over a dozen more of the like scrolled up in cubed shelving.

Gray sunbeams poured in from the windows and glowed in the dusty air as shafts of light, so contrasted to the gloom and shadows that they seemed touchable. One of the beams touched down upon a figure sitting at a table against the wall, his back to them as he stared stolidly out the window with a steaming mug in his hand. The light gave an auratic glow lining his blue coat and red fur. For all the confusion Baloo was wrestling with lately, he at least knew Don Karnage when he saw him.

Dan Dawson spoke up as they approached. "Cap, these are two that were caught tryin' to find to Iron Cloud lookin' for you-know-who. Ya might wanna take a look."

Molly stepped in front of them with a bravery that took Baloo aback. "Don Karnage," she said, with an impatient air of formality, "we don't have time for this. The people who believe in you believe that you want the fighting to stop, and this just might be the best chance we've ever had at putting and end to it without more fighting. We have to see Kit. We can reach out to him in a way we couldn't before."

Don Karnage didn't bother turning around. Instead, he growled with irritation. "Why did you bring this bickering bookworm to my secret hideaway? What do I care if she talks to the boy? What is she going to do, write about it? Oh no, not that!" Suddenly he whisked from his seat, the chair falling over to the side. Huffing with an aged weariness, he snarled in Dan's face, spittle flying from his lips.

"But it's not 'cause of her," said Dan, shrinking back meekly, "Look!" He tipped his head to the side.

When Karnage turned and saw Baloo standing there, his expression was absolutely blank; and, seemingly frozen that way for a time. The same could not be said for Baloo, who's jaw hung limp as he regarded the features of his familiar nemesis. His eyebrows were gray and bushy (bushier, anyway), the corner of his eyes creased with wrinkles, his left ear was slashed away in half, and a scar parted his fur under the left side of his jaw and ran underneath his collar. His blue double-breasted coat, familiar and iconic, showed signs of stitching and patching in several places, and he still didn't button it on the top right.

They all waited on Karnage for a reaction. A look of surprise would have at least sufficed, but he did not give one. He gave nothing, though suddenly seemed more interested in the contents of his mug than the ghost standing before him. He picked it his mug, sniffed it suspiciously, and slowly, with arm extended, poured the contents onto the floor, then chucked it out the window. Then he stood at the window, leaning out on the stone sill and taking deep breaths. The tip of his right ear shook gently in the icy breeze, and his head and shoulders caught stray snowflakes.

Ace London scratched the back of his ear. "Well, that was a little, uh... what's a word...?"

"Anti-climatic," sighed Dan. "That's the word."

Chchck!

The sound had come from Karnage, with a jolt. A sneeze, they thought.

Chchck!

It was a laugh, evolving from a quiet snickering to a giggle attack, then into a louder chuckle. And chuckle he did, for a long moment seemingly lost to himself and whatever thought he found so hilarious.

"Still kinda nuts, huh?" muttered Baloo, wearily. Everyone else shrugged and nodded.

When Karnage turned around, he erupted into a boisterous guffaw, pointing at Baloo. He was laughing so hard he was practically convulsing, doubled over his knees. "I turned you into fish food," he giggled, catching a breath. "It's what he thought! And lookey here, poof, here you are!" In an instant, his laughing grin contorted into gritted teeth wrought with rage, and he grabbed Baloo by the collar of his jacket. "What was the rush?"

"Now this is more like it," Ace said to Dan, aside.

"Told ya he was in a mood," smirked Marty.

While Baloo stammered incoherent syllables, Karnage had him backpedaling, out the room and all the way to the middle of the larger room. "Untie your tongue, you deadbeat dingle-bear! You left him, made him think I killed you, and now you want to see him? Now you want him to know you live? Where have you been hiding your cowardly hide all this time?"

Baloo flinched at his words. Left? Cowardly? It was enough for him to quickly gather his mettle and push back, and suddenly Karnage was the one teetering backwards on his heels. "Hey, I never left nobody! An' what'd you care anyway, I was there when ya threw 'im away like a bag of trash! An' I know what ya did, ya hurt him an' left'm for dead! Just a kid! Nah, no one's got nothin' on you when it comes to bein' a coward!"

What struck Baloo then, seething as he was, was that he had actually made Karnage recoil, the wolf stung into a momentary speechlessness, right ear bend low, like a sting of guilt. It lasted for only a beat. "Everyone knows," he snarled back, with a clawed finger against Baloo's chest, and the teeter-totter of their stance pressed back to his favor. "I did what a pirate does! You were supposed to be the pirate-stopping piece of goody two feet!" He pivoted on his heel and showed Baloo nothing but his back, with the air of being too disgusted to look him in the eye any further. "He backstabbed me for you. He would have done anything for you, die for you. You, not me. What was it, Baloo? You won money? Some senorita tucked away somewhere? No more time for the kid and working for the annoying lady?"

"Hey, that's enough," said Molly to Karnage. "You don't know what happened."

"I know now that he pretended to disappear, and let the boy run into all sorts of amok-ness."

"I did no such thing!" argued Baloo. Karnage snorted at him.

"You're missin' somethin'," Dan interjected to Karnage quietly. "He's tellin' the truth. Look at him."

Karnage glared at the former stunt pilot like he had just suggested he stick his nose in a sewer drain. "Get him out of here. I have seen too much of his estupid expression."

"But how old would ya say he looks?" hinted Ace London.

Karnage considered that, blinking. Slowly he turned his head and regarded Baloo as if he were six feet and change of an optical illusion with shabby fur. After a good look, he glanced at Molly, who hid her face with a hand on her brow, then back at Baloo. He cleared his throat. "H'okay, I am listening."

"None of yer business," growled Baloo, arms folded stiff across his chest.

His defiance made Karnage tense up at once, and despite their height difference that Baloo favored head and shoulders above, the wolf stomped toward him like he were a giant about to do some crushing under his heel. "Try again," he warned. "I could make things very, very not comfortable for you."

"Hmph," was Baloo's reply, turning his nose up at him. If he was trying to make Karnage angrier, it worked.

"Fine! Throw this belligerent bear into the smallest, coldest, darkest hole in this pile of rocks!"

"Oh my gosh," said Molly in an exasperated groan. "We're wasting time. Even you have to agree that Baloo might be able to reach out to Kit like no one has before. He's here now, does it really matter how?"

"That is for me to decide," said Karnage. "What am I to think of it? Magic?"

"Space aliens?" mused Ace London aloud, stroking his chin between his thumb and forefinger.

A pink bubble popped from Marty's mouth. "Whoa, yeah! They do that, ya know. Beam people up in their spaceships and everything."

Dan scoffed at her. "Ugh, kid. Says who?"

"All the comic books," answered Marty, with an air of academic authority. Her eyes glanced at Baloo with wide, renewed interest. "Gosh. Ya think they mighta done any... tests... on him?"

"It wasn't space aliens," Baloo grumbled through his teeth. Karnage tapped his foot on the ground, waiting with growing impatience. He was met only with defiant silence from Baloo.

"Take him," the wolf snarled. Dutifully, Felix and Joey approached to do as instructed.

"We think it was a some sort of time machine," Molly admitted bluntly, treacherous to Baloo evidently by the way it made him start. Felix and Joey stopped just short of laying hands on him. "Baloo never meant to disappear. He just stumbled on it accidentally and... well, here he is."

Karnage stared at her, tired yellow eyes unblinking, an expression suspended somewhere between anger and disappointment. Ace and Dan shared a quiet chuckle over the thought. "A time machine," Karnage repeated, then shook his head. "That is the best you can do? Trust me, girl, stick to the non-friction when writing your next stinking book."

"I'm telling you the tr―wait a minute, stinking? When's the last time you even read a book?"

"Get them out of here," barked Karnage. That time Felix and Joey apprehended Baloo by his arms, the ox reaching out and grabbing Molly by the elbow as well and jerking her away from Karnage. In an instant they had them both marching in front of them toward the scaffolding.

"Wait! You can't keep us here," Molly pleaded. "I'm telling you the truth!"

"No she's not," insisted Baloo.

"Yes I―what? Baloo!" Molly's voice suddenly dropped to whisper, in her surprise louder than she meant it to be. "What are you doing?"

"What are you doin'?" he replied, in a whisper that was just as much barely a whisper as hers. "If ya really thought it was bad if Kit found out about it, what about this guy? Whaddaya think he's gonna do?"

"Not what Kit would do."

"Worse than Kit would―"

"Holdo stoppo!" ordered Don Karnage suddenly. Felix and Joey yanked back on their captives' arms like stopping two trotting horses by the reins. Karnage had heard that last exchange, as did everyone in the room, and stomped over to them, eyeing them back and forth in turn, judging their every blink and twitch and glance. He knew Baloo, despite being a dope, was sharp enough with his words to coolly fool the best of them... like himself. He never did quite get over falling for that one rubies hidden in the stawberry jam bit, for one thing. "A time machine," he repeated again, the words dripping incredulous on his lips. He suspected their loud whispers were on purpose, so he would think they were arguing about it. "If that were true, why tell me?"

"Yeah," Baloo said, scowling at Molly.

"Yeah," agreed Felix, who then shrank back at Molly's scowl. She then reflected Baloo's glare back at him.

"At this point, what story could we make up that explains it?" She then turned to Karnage. "All we want to do is get back on our way. I'm counting on that this Red Wolf the world hears about is what people say about him."

Marty, half of Molly's size, stepped up to her with a chest puffed indignantly. "You callin' us liars, princess?"

Karnage shushed her and brushed her away with a swipe of his arm. To Molly, he sneered. "Not if someone told you this wolf was a fool with the sheep pulled over his face. A time machine. Bah! If it's true, where would I find it? Hm?"

"You won't," said Baloo, icier than the snowy draft sifting through the stone windows.

Karnage bristled at that, the shape of veins building on his neck from under his collar. He eyed Molly angrily, an invitation for her to help her fat friend cooperate before they got themselves into trouble. She only ducked her head and shook it. "That's all I'm saying about it. Believe what you want but it's the truth. Let us go, so we can do what we need to do."

Karnage glared at them in turn, remained frozen in his fury, but while his henchmen waited he gave no further order to have them taken away. Meanwhile, Baloo's fists tightened at his waist. He expected Karnage to grab his cutlass and take a lunge at him. He was waiting for it, waiting for the pirate to give him one good opportunity to meet his knuckles. But the more Karnage stared at him, the more Karnage seemed to think... and the anger creasing his face softened. When Karnage finally made a move, it was to turn around and start pacing. "Time machine..." he muttered, then absently rambled under his breath, incoherent to the rest. His pacing stopped at the windows, where he stared hard into the bright gray. He cupped his head, rubbing his temples with his thumbs, bright eyed as if the ideas suddenly came flooding in. His rambling came to a pause with, "... mysterious ways, so she says."

"Gimme a break," scoffed Dan. "Time machine." He glanced at Ace London to share another chuckle over the notion, but found himself disappointed as Ace's brow knitted while giving it some serious consideration. "What if..." he mused. "I mean, look at him. He's gone, he's back... it works out. I think they're tellin' the truth."

Marty blinked at Ace; hearing him muse about it seemed to her to make it believable. "Whoa. Really think? Cool! That mean we could we go back in time to see the knights joust? Ooh, were there dragons back then? I wanna see dragons! That'd be so―!"

"You have work to do," snapped Don Karnage.

The young lady flinched at his tone, but was quick to adjust herself and made a face at him. "Do not!"

"Then go find some before I do," Karnage ordered. Then he pointed at Felix and Joey. "Same with you two. Go do something like you're getting paid for it!"

Felix brightened. "Are we gettin' paid for it?"

"No! Out, out, out!"

The three of them grumbled and slunk out the room, their loud stomps down the scaffold steps a protest against the boss' grouchiness. Dan and Ace stayed. Karnage paced until the sounds pounding of the footsteps rescinded, his eyes flickering in an aimless gaze upon the floor. When he addressed them again, he ignored Baloo and his glowering face and focused on Molly. "Time machine."

"Yes," replied Molly.

"Takes you back and forth, in time?"

"Supposedly. It goes forward, anyway."

"How far?"

"I don't know."

"It goes twenty years just like that, and this," Karnage jerked his thumb toward Baloo, "special delivery, one bozo bear, over-sized load."

"It wold appear so."

"If you will not tell me where it is, who would you tell? Him?"

There was no need for him to explain to her who him was. "Of course we won't," said Molly. "Even I know that could be disastrous. All we want to―"

Karnage stepped to her face abruptly, and his raised voice reverberated in the cavernous room, "You think he would not make you?"

Where Molly would have liked to make a retort, her mouth tightened instead. His point had hit its mark, sharp as a hand slap. "It might not matter," she said uncertainly. "It happened once to get Baloo here, and Baloo doesn't know how it worked. We don't know if it would even work again."

"Perhaps, but let's say it does and let's say I believe you," said Karnage. "Then this time machine is somewhere. I have read one or two comic books myself, I know what these things can do. If it can go back, it can make everything all not-the-same now. If I were the boy, the first thing I would do would be to use it to make me dead a long time ago."

Baloo spoke up, his voice like a growl, "What would you do with it?"

Don Karnage was taken aback by the question, his tongue frozen in an open mouth that had no answer. Baloo expected him to show a devious grin, an outward sign of a daydream of all he could do take advantage of loot and power, but what he saw was a solemness as Karnage considered it. "I would... change things," he said at length. "Try to." His face grew fierce again. "But I will not let you let him get his mangy mitts on such a thing. I would rather lock you up until the swallows go back to Crapistano. So?"

"No dice," said Baloo.

A flare of hot temper crinkled the wolf's face. A seething huff whistled out his nose. And though he threatened Baloo with the grave promises behind the stinkiest of stink eyes, Baloo turned his nose up at him. Molly saw what Baloo didn't, Karnage's left hand feel at the hilt of the cutlass at his hip, as if he were about to fling it into his right hand and start slashing away. She gasped and lunged at Baloo as to push him out of harm's way, but only succeeded in creating an awkward collision that left Baloo looking at her like he had lost her mind. Karnage had already stepped back.

"Hmph," snorted Karnage. "Twenty years ago, perhaps I would not have told my younger and slightly more handsome hunk of hot pirating self either. So, we appear to be at, what you call it, the stale-state."

"Stalemate," mumbled Molly.

"But, yours very truly Don Karrrnage is reasonable reasoner of reason. You scratch my itch, and maybe I scratch yours. Yes?"

"That... depends on what itches," said Molly.

"You want to find him, no? Then where are you going? Hm? What preciseably do you know about where he is? Right now?"

"You know?"

"Please, girl, I have scouts doing the scouty things all the time. I have to know where he is, so I know he does not know where I am. I could, if I wanted to, point a certain nosy nuisance in the right direction."

"Then you will let us go?"

"Perhaps. If you were to assist me in the particulars of a certain procedural."

"Such as...?"

Karnage looked up at Baloo, a gray brow cocked wryly. "You can still fly, no?"

"Pfft," scoffed Baloo. "Yer jokin', right?"

"Like you did when I chased you...? All those times I let you go, of course."

"Better than you'll ever dream of, chump."

Don Karnage smirked past that slight. "Showing up twenty years too late, Baloo. And yet, yes, I am thinking... just in time."

Hard and heavy footsteps raced up the scaffolding. The creature that burst into the room was a hulking white bear with a tall shock of hair standing on end, wearing black welding goggles, a blue t-shirt ravaged with tears and burn marks, suspenders and brown trousers likewise, and carrying a blowtorch in one hand and in the other a monkey wrench the size of a baseball bat. He also appeared to be smoking ― out of his ears.

He dropped his wrench on the floor and whisked away the goggles from his head, revealing two circles of clean white under a brow of sooty stains. His face ticked in shaky contortions ― he was either having a seizure, receiving an electric shock, or smiling. Maybe all of the above. "It works," he announced.