Episode 17: The Long and Winding Road
I
"Don't worry about me, Jumba," Pleakley screamed into the communicator on his spacesuit's collar. "I'm nearly done dangling into the cold, empty void of space while mending the giant hole in your ship!"
He got no response, so he returned to welding the last replacement panel onto the ship's starboard side. Minutes later, just before he was done, Jumba answered.
"Were you saying something, Pleakley?"
Pleakley sighed. "No, Jumba. I didn't say anything."
"It was sounding like you were saying something."
"Well, if you were listening, you'd know, wouldn't you?"
"I am conducting important decoding of tracer signal. I am not having time to be listening to every little thing coming out of your two-tongued mouth."
"Well, I'm all finished, so will you 'be having time' to open the hatch and let me back in?"
"Yes, despite hurtful sarcasm. You know English is not being my first language."
"You don't actually care."
"Not really. Was cheeky attempt at making you feel bad."
Pleakley climbed around the ship's hull, shielding his eyes from the light of a shooting star in the distance. He slid into the open airlock, shutting one door behind him and opening another in front. He was ecstatic to return to the safe, oxygen-filled warmth of the ship, no longer chilled by a Gantu-sized hole into space. He was less enthused at the sight of Jumba still at his computer, his meaty fingers still clacking away at the keyboard. Worst of all, the dirty dishes from his brunch hadn't budged.
"I thought you said you were going to do your own dishes this time," Pleakley said.
"I did," Jumba said. "I said, 'I will.' This is still being true. Is still in future."
"Right. So even if you don't do your dishes until a hundred years from now-"
"Is still being true. Exactly. You are smarter than you look, Pleakley."
"I'll take that as a compliment." Pleakley reached past Jumba to retrieve his plate. As he did, he glanced across the lab to a wall-mounted storage pod. It had been left open since the break-in. An empty gumball-sized pedestal stared back at Pleakley.
"So," he said, "seeing as I've been doing all the clean-up from the mess Gantu left, you must've made some good progress."
"Patience, Pleakley," Jumba said. "Is nearly finished. Tracking device I slipped on giant shark-man's back is being scrambled. Dr. Hamsterviel is careful despite insanity and extensive criminal record. But descrambling process is nearly complete. All that is left now is the waiting."
"How long will it take?" Pleakley asked.
"Not much longer." Jumba pressed a button on his keyboard, bringing up bright blue text.
2 Transmissions Received:
-The Grand Councilwoman of the Galactic Federation: Concerning the Investigation into the Whereabouts of Dr. Jacques Hamsterviel by Agent Wendy Pleakley and Dr. Jumba Jookiba.
-Lilo Pelekai: Aloha!
"There's a message from the Grand Councilwoman," Pleakley said. "It could be important."
"Almost certainly," Jumba said as he opened the message from Lilo.
Aloha, Jumba and Pleakley. Hope you guys are staying safe up in space.
We're still looking for that new Experiment. Finder, Bonnie, and Clyde have been working non-stop, but it's tricky since 628 can change what he smells like. Yin and Yang had a run-in with him yesterday, but they're okay, and they think they know how we can find him. If they do, then Chopsuey says he has a plan to stop him. I hope he'll let us teach him to be good. I always feel bad for a cousin when they're still doing bad things. They seem really sad, and they don't have anyone to help them feel better. It reminds me of how Nani and I used to feel before we found Stitch. I think Stitch used to feel that way, too.
But there's been good stuff, too. We've been seeing a lot more of David's brother, Jason. We usually see him at Spooky's game nights. He loves playing cards. He's really nice, but he always wears a tie, even just for hanging out. But I guess it's not much different from Houdini always wearing her top hat. Also, Hammerface, Heat, Thresher, and Plasmoid came back to Hawaii to stay, and now they do shows with Stitch and Angel and the others. There's a video of their last concert in here. Plasmoid makes an awesome Frank Sinatra.
Do you guys think you'll be back to visit soon? Maybe for Christmas? The house feels really different without you. I know the Federation wants you guys to find Hamsterviel, and we hope you find him, too, but we still really miss you.
Anyway, take care. Say aloha to the Grand Councilwoman. And 625 if you see him.
Love, Lilo.
"Well," Jumba said with an unusual softness. "Isn't that being nice of her?" He opened the attached video file and was greeted with a view of Plasmoid, donning a black bow tie and trilby, pouring his heart out to an ecstatic crowd. Behind him, a beaming Hammerface accompanied him on piano.
"I didn't know Hammerface could play piano," Pleakley said.
"Nor I," Jumba said.
"He's really good."
"Yes..."
Plasmoid spun around, then started up again.
"Right now it may not seem like spring at all,
"We're drifting, and the laughs are few,
"But I've got rainbows planned for tomorrow,
"And all my tomorrows belong to you!"
Pleakley wiped his one giant eye. "And I didn't know Plasmoid could...Do that to my heartstrings."
"Again, nor I," Jumba said.
"Didn't you make those little monsters? How can there be anything you don't know about them?"
Jumba didn't answer. At first, it seemed like he was staring into space, but then Pleakley followed his gaze to the empty storage pod.
"What did you design 628 for, again?" He asked.
"Everything," Jumba said, suddenly perking back up to his usual excitable disposition. Pleakley always thought he seemed thrilled just to have someone listen to all his evil genius jargon. Sometimes he wondered if Jumba would go insane without someone to hear him. Other times, he wondered if he already had.
"If 627 is being Jumba's greatest hits, then 628 is being Jumba's Sergeant Pepper! He has powers of nearly every previous Experiment, from 300's shape-changing to 344's cloning to 601's incredible strength, but having none of weaknesses whatsoever! Is Jumba's finest work!"
"Right," Pleakley said. "But I more meant, what did you make him for?"
Jumba raised two of his four eyebrows. "I am not following meaning."
"Well, you made all the little monsters up until Stitch for Hamsterviel. Then you made Daniel to teach Stitch a lesson. So why did you make 628?"
Jumba leaned back in his rotating chair, his four eyes swaying between the video of Plasmoid and the empty storage pod like one of those strange metal ball things Earthlings put on their desks. He thought for a while before he answered.
"In case 627 was not being enough to smarten up 626."
"Right," Pleakley said. "You know they have real names now, right?"
Jumba's four eyes blinked one-after-another. "627 is Daniel and 626 is Stitch. I am sometimes forgetting that your tiny head is not having the same memory capacity as my much larger evil genius head."
"It's not that...I mean, I did almost flunk math in high school...My point is that they'd probably want you to use their new names instead."
Jumba looked as if he were about to say something, but he only turned back to the video of Plasmoid's performance.
"Anyway," Pleakley said. "You're gonna have to talk to 628 once Lilo and the others get a hold of him. He's gonna have a lot of questions for you."
"I am knowing."
"And you're gonna have to tell our ohana back home that you made 628 in the first place."
"I am knowing."
"And the Grand Councilwoman will want all this on record-"
"I am knowing, Pleakley!"
A suffocating silence followed. All five eyes in the room were wide and unblinking. Then, as if growing restless of the tension, the computer gave a mechanical chirp.
"There," Jumba said. "Signal is clear. Come now, into pod! Hamsterviel will not just sit and twiddle thumbs until we are finding him!"
The portly scientist darted about the room, retrieving any stray tool strewn about that he may or may not need. As he did, Pleakley raised a long finger. He hated whenever Jumba did this when he was trying to have a serious conversation with him, but he was always scared to put his foot down. He never knew what exactly scared him.
He opened his mouth, his eye narrowed in its most defiant glare.
"Alright. I'll drive."
He still didn't know what scared him.
II
Jumba's four eyes were locked on his laptop screen for the whole journey, but he barely took in the data it showed him. He only became aware of it again whenever Pleakley asked if he should keep going straight. He would check, answer with a curt 'yes,' and then return to untangling the knots of his mind.
It had recently occurred to Jumba that he was not a very good evil genius. In fact, he thought he may have only gotten increasingly worse at being an evil genius since his university days. He considered it statistically. He had made 628 Experiments who were supposed to be pure evil. Conquering planets, toppling governments, ruining lives, leaving CDs out of their cases, and any other delightfully malicious things of the sort. The last time he checked, more than two-thirds of them had been turned good. He remembered that, in university, anything below fifty percent was considered a failure. The math said it all.
He thought about each of his evil creations individually. The ones who were supposed to steal property were returning it. The one who was meant to spread disease was curing it. Even the one who Jumba had explicitly built to never, ever be good in a trillion years had done precisely that. A proper evil genius wouldn't make these kinds of amateurish mistakes. Yet, here Jumba was, reflecting on the 628 times and counting he had tried his absolute best to be an evil genius and failed miserably.
The only explanation was that he had kept getting something wrong. But what? It was the one knot he just couldn't get undone.
The laptop beeped.
"Wait!" Jumba exclaimed.
Pleakley slammed on the brakes. Their pod had stopped outside an asteroid hosting a long and rusty-looking building. Its roof bore a blindingly-lit sign reading, in colorful Uranian text; K'Z'R'T'X's Public 'Stroid. Tonite: Open Mic Karaoke.
"Gantu's here?" Pleakley asked as he slid into a parking space beside the building between two other ships, one shaped like a blue box and the other like a massive green insect.
"According to tracker, yes," Jumba said. "Perhaps Hamsterviel has sent him for take-out. Evil geniusing is being hungry work." He hopped out of the pod, making it shake.
"Come. With any luck, Gantu is being held up by lunch rush."
"You want me to go in there like this?" Pleakley gestured down to his navy blue Federation uniform as if it were some repulsive creature clinging to his torso.
"What is being problem?"
"I'll look so tacky."
"You are looking fine."
"I have a perfect top for a place like this back on the ship, but instead, I'm gonna look like a total bore going out in his work clothes-"
"Pleakley," Jumba snapped. "You are looking fine." His voice came out much softer than he thought it would.
Pleakley blinked as his cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink. "Well, if you say so."
The inside was the same combination of color and rust as the exterior. All manner of alien creatures chatted around tables surrounding a circular stage, where someone resembling a purple penguin was butchering the melody to an old Arrakian ballad. There were enough colors for it to qualify as a rainbow, albeit a dingy and pale one. Some people towered above Jumba and Pleakley, and others they had to avoid stepping on. Some had more eyes than Jumba or fewer eyes than Pleakley.
Even amid such a diverse clientele, Jumba thought Gantu would be easy to spot, yet the giant shark was nowhere in sight.
"Hm," Jumba pondered as he and Pleakley slid into an empty table.
"What's wrong?" Pleakley asked, leaning back in his seat and crossing two of his three legs, trying his hardest to look like he wasn't on the clock.
"I am beginning to think Gantu may have found tracker," Jumba said, "and placed it on unsuspecting diner."
"Ah...You sure? Maybe he's hiding upstairs or downstairs."
"Is very possible. Only question is getting there without nosy staff noticing."
"Well, you're the 'evil genius.' How do we do that?"
Jumba's four eyes scrutinized the boisterous, bustling place, but his brain barely absorbed the data they collected.
You're the evil genius. Jumba wasn't sure about the evil part. And, as smart as he felt, he was even less sure about the genius part. Even the way Pleakley had said it had been doubtful, like he was begrudgingly playing along with some childish roleplay of Jumba's. And it may as well have been. A proper evil genius would have something better to do than figuring out how to sneak into the Employees Only areas of a second-rate pub.
A new karaoke singer had replaced the purple penguin on the stage.
"She stood on the tracks, waving her arms,"
"Leading me to that third-rail shock,
"Quick as a wink, she changed her mind!"
Now Hamsterviel, there was a proper evil genius. He didn't waste time in dingy old pubs, or descrambling tracking device, or repairing space station hulls, or watching videos of his cousins singing Frank Sinatra. He never did, even back in school. He was completely and utterly dedicated to the meticulous craft of evil geniusing. When he set out to do something evil, he never let it accidentally become something good. It didn't always succeed, but that wasn't the point. After all, nobody with true passion ever followed it because it made them successful. They did it because there was some irresistible allure about it. And there was something definitely evil and undeniably alluring about Hamsterviel.
"She gave me a night, that's all it was,
"What will it take until I stop,
"Kidding myself, wasting my time?!"
And people made fun of Hamsterviel. Any good evil genius had to be made fun of. Jumba had received his fair share of playful insults. But they were always obscured by Stitch and Angel's hugs, Nani's thanks whenever he did the dishes, and the heartfelt letters Lilo sent him every other day.
Hamsterviel, on the other hand, had been getting all the Hamsterwheels and Gerbil-Boys and Overbites since university. They were practically his pseudonyms. Even Jumba had joined in with them. People had their laughs, but Jumba always saw through them. They had to make themselves laugh so they would forget how terrified they were. It wasn't the kind of fear brought on by a giant monster or a furious ex-wife armed with a rolling pin. It was a fear like when you're walking home at night and think you see a pair of eyes somewhere in the trees near your house. You keep telling yourself it's nothing, yet your mind can't help but torment you with all the nightmarish things that might be hiding there in the darkness.
Jumba knew all too well. He had felt it, even dreamed about it.
"There's nothing else I can do,
"'Cause I'm doing it all for Leyna!"
Jumba suddenly realized that he had heard that song before. He looked back at the stage and found that he recognized the singer as well.
"Don't want anyone new,
"'Cause I'm living it all for Leyna!"
And he should recognize him. He'd spent a good three weeks perfecting his super-strength and designing every inch of his portly, honey-mustard-colored body.
Actually, he seemed to have lost weight since Jumba last saw him.
"There's nothing in it for you,
"'Cause I'm giving it all to Leyna!"
"625!" Jumba called out.
625's black eyes swerved for a second in Jumba's direction. He then turned and began playing to the other side of the room. He held the microphone up high, singing into it as if he were taking a long swig from it.
"I'm failing at school, losing my friends,
"Making my family lose their minds!"
"Funny seeing him h-Woah!" Pleakley suddenly found himself being pulled by the arm across the room.
"Hey, what about your plan?"
"It can wait," Jumba said. "We will be knowing if Gantu moves. But 625..."
"I don't wanna eat, I don't wanna sleep,
"I only want Leyna one more time!"
The instant Jumba and Pleakley got a front-row view of 625, he spun around to slide to another end of the stage. Jumba raced to meet him there.
This time, 625 locked eyes with Jumba. His cadence went from bouncy and casual to something much more accusatory, as if he were a musical prosecutor.
"Now, I'm in my room, watching the tube,
"Tellin' myself she still may drop,
"Over to say she's changed her mind!"
Jumba blinked, and the pub changed. He imagined a whole troupe joining 625 on the stage; Angel on guitar, Hammerface on piano, a dance routine choreographed by Elastico. They all appeared crystal clear to Jumba, and 625 melted right in with them.
"So, I wait in the dark, listening for her,
"Instead of my old man saying stop,
"Kidding myself, wasting my time!"
The original blueprint for 625 hovered over Jumba's mind. Every blueprint he had ever designed was tattooed onto his brain. 625's had been one for a creature of immense strength driven by pure destructive rage. The singer in front of him was so far off that the blueprint might've served better as a napkin. He was, by every academic and scientific definition, a failure.
Jumba felt something like pride welling up in his gut, but something dragged it back down.
"There's nothing else I can do,
"'Cause I'm doing it all for Leyna,
"Don't want anyone new,
"'Cause I'm living it all for Leyna,
"There's nothing in it for you,
"'Cause I'm giving it all to Leyna!"
The music faded out, and what few patrons were paying attention offered their applause. 625 took a quick bow, passed the mic to the next singer, an android made entirely of cubes, then hopped down beside Jumba.
"Sheesh," he said, "could ya give me any less space?"
"Aloha, 625," Jumba said with a grin, hoping it would be returned. It wasn't.
"How'd ya guys even find me?"
"Actually," Pleakley said, jabbing his elbow into Jumba's arm. Jumba barely felt it.
"We're supposed to be here looking for Gantu."
At the mention of the name, 625 spun around, frantically scanning in every direction.
Jumba took out his laptop again. A red dot blinked further and further into the corner of the screen.
"Seems we have just missed him," he said.
Pleakley let out a sigh like an earthquake. 625 wiped his brow.
"Hey, be having chins up," Jumba said. "We still have tracker."
"Yes," Pleakley said, "but we didn't figure out for sure if Gantu put it on some poor innocent bystander or not!"
"I wouldn't count on that," 625 said. "Ol' fishface was a lotta things, but he wasn't the ripest banana in the bunch. You're probably still fine."
"See, Pleakley?" Jumba said. "We must be remaining optimistic."
"There ya go. And when ya find him, tell him I said 'good riddance.'" With that, 625 turned to leave, but Jumba was quick to block his path.
"Why don't you be joining us, 625? We can be, how they say, catching up. And then we can be taking you back to Hawaii."
"I was going there anyway," 625 said, "just the long way 'round."
"Long way 'round?"
"Yeah. Earth ain't goin' anywhere, right? So what's the rush? I just ain't ready for the whole 'one true place' bit yet. I wanna ride out the transitional period a little while longer."
"Then you may be riding it with your ohana," Jumba said.
At that, 625's face darkened in a way that seemed ill-suited to his face. Jumba found it strange because it would've been perfect for the face of his original blueprint.
The Experiment darted around Jumba, storming out of the exit.
"Odd," Jumba said. "Is usually working when Lilo does it."
"Well," Pleakley said, "you're not Lilo."
Jumba shrugged, then bolted after 625. He managed to catch up to him in the middle of the parking lot, nearly losing his breath for it.
"Please, 625, listen-"
"Actually," 625 spun around. His glare was both piercing and familiar to Jumba. Hamsterviel used to look at him just like that.
"Why don't you listen for a change? I never asked you to make me, and I never asked to be part of your family! My whole life has been nothin' but keepin' my head down, just so the people on your back, and your family's back, would stay off 'a mine! And I don't know if you've noticed, but a whoppin' zero 'a us have bought into the whole 'wanton destruction' plan ya shoved down our throats since before we were even born! We're all just tryin' to live the lives we wanna live, but we gotta keep puttin' up with you and everythin' you've saddled us with by association! You're the galaxy's worst inheritance! The gift that keeps on taking!"
625 stopped, now looking even more out of breath than Jumba, whose four eyes were watering.
Jumba could sense Pleakley standing behind him. He could sense his hesitance to intervene. He was remaining neutral. Jumba was fine with that; it was a stance he wished he had taken ages ago.
"I'm usually a pretty laid back guy, ya know," 625 said, running his palms along his scalp. "This is what ya do to your 'Experiments,' doc," he said the word as if it made him sick. "Ya make 'em into the worst things they can possibly be!"
Jumba felt something like a kettle screeching in his head. He tried to stop it, but it had already gotten control of his mouth. "And you have never done anything to hurt your cousins?"
625 folded his arms. "I didn't say that, man. I know what I've done. I just..." He ran an arm over his eyes. "I wasn't thinkin'...But I ain't talkin' about me! I'm talkin' about you!"
"Of course," Jumba said. "And I am trying to make things right for my ohana. That is including you. If I can find Hamsterviel, then all this pain we are feeling can stop."
"...Ya really think it's that easy?"
"No. Not that easy. But it is start, is it not? We can both put right what he have gotten wrong. Together." Jumba offered his hand. 625 regarded the gesture with a skeptical look. It was the kind of face one made when a rabid manglyoid had chased them to the edge of a cliff overlooking a stormy sea.
"Fine," 625 said. "But I'm doin' it for the others, not for you."
"Of course. I am doing it for others, too."
Jumba felt a breeze as if the air around them was sighing with relief.
"So," Pleakley said with a clap of his hands, "shall we go now, or should I grab some take-out first?"
III
Jumba's eyes bounced between the sea of stars in front of him and the blinking red light on the map screen. Behind him, Pleakley and 625's conversation about sandwich recipes was as lively as it had been an hour ago. Jumba couldn't believe it, but in all that time, he hadn't said a word. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gone so long without jabbing at Pleakley, monologuing to himself, or practicing his rendition of Heartbreak Hotel.
What he did remember was night after night lying awake in the dormitory as Hamsterviel mumbled his way through another all-nighter. Sometimes, a bright light would flash from his desk across the room, and he would let out a hypnotic, malevolent cackle. Jumba must have missed dozens of classes catching up on the sleep he missed while listening to Hamsterviel's every word. Today, he found it ironic that he couldn't remember what he had been going on about. He only remembered that the allure of his sinister voice. It was enough that, after a few weeks of it, Jumba began working at his own desk late at night, practicing mumbling and cackling and creating things that made blasts of light. But it was never enough to make Hamsterviel get up from his work and see what he was working on. He would have to actually create something, or at least begin to. He would have to do more research, even if it meant taking extra classes and losing more sleep. Bio-engineering seemed like the way to go. Fascinating, practical, and filled with possibilities for an aspiring evil genius.
"Wait," 625 said, "you mean that's a thing people do?"
"Of course," Pleakley said. "That's my favorite part of that weird week between Christmas and New Year's; the leftover sandwiches."
"And all this time I thought that was just a guilty pleasure of mine. Guess I've gotta find another one."
Perhaps Jumba should've done more research.
But would it have really made a difference? He could create Experiments, yes, but they were supposed to be evil Experiments. What was the missing ingredient? Or was that just it? Was it simply not possible to create something evil? Or was it that Jumba himself, despite his efforts, wasn't evil enough to create something evil? Had all his Experiments been pretending for him as much as he had pretended for Hamsterviel? All this time, he thought Lilo had been giving his Experiments something, something which convinced them to change. Had she actually been taking away the lie that Jumba had told them, leaving only what was left when Jumba was gone?
Ya make 'em into the worst things they can possibly be!
Jumba suddenly remembered the song that Daniel had played for him during one of their video calls.
Wonder if he'll ever know,
He's in the best-selling show.
He chuckled.
"Jumba...?"
He got it now.
"Jumba?!"
It was about him and-
"Wakey-wakey, doc! Ya might find this at least slightly interesting!"
Pleakley and 625's desperate cries shattered Jumba's thought process like a priceless porcelain vase. He jerked his head to the right and found a grey eye the size of a tank staring back at him. Jumba could see his reflection in the massive black pupil. He looked pale.
"Holy bologna," 625 said as he and Pleakley clung to one another.
"What is-" Pleakley began before Jumba shushed him.
A low, groaning noise, like a quaking yawn, shook the pod.
The eye blinked. As Jumba drew carefully closer to the window to study the eye, he felt as though he was being studied right back. It was a tingling sensation, like entering a sauna after a long walk in the snow.
Jumba reached for the dashboard, pressing a button beside the radio. He hoped he could still remember a few phrases.
He made a series of droning, bellowing noises with his mouth, aware of 625 and Pleakley now looking more terrified of him than the creature outside, but not particularly caring. He had meant to say, please don't eat us, we don't want to hurt you, but was worried he may have accidentally asked for directions to Saturn.
The pod shook again with another groaning noise. Jumba was almost positive that it meant, sorry, have a nice day, but was about fourteen percent sure that it could also have been, time for dessert.
Jumba clenched the wheel, ready to drive if he had to.
The eye vanished. Among the distant stars, Jumba saw a colossal whale-like creature swim to join a group of several others, each as large as several ocean liners.
He exhaled for what felt like the first time in months. He turned around to find 625 and Pleakley still frozen in each other's arms.
"What is being matter?" He asked. "Surely, you must have been seeing orcus galacticus before."
His companions separated as color returned to their faces.
"I didn't know you could do that," Pleakley said.
"I can be doing many things," Jumba said, "as I keep reminding you."
He had meant it as a lie. If he'd learned anything during his time working for the Galactic Federation, it was that there were a great many things he couldn't do. But when he'd said it, it hadn't felt like a lie.
The computer let out an affirmative buzz. Jumba looked at it to find their destination in sight; Gantu had led them to a planet.
"Oh no," he said.
"What?" Pleakley and 625 asked in unison.
"Jinx," 625 said.
"Drat."
Jumba looked through the windshield. He didn't need to look at the screen to find out what this dark, foggy, sea blue planet was called. He had memorized the sight of it from every astronomy book he had read from childhood to his university career.
"Seriously, though," 625 said, "where's ol' fishface led us?"
"This is Quelte Quan," Jumba said. "This is my home."
"What's the matter?" 625 asked. "Ya think Hamsterviel's got your folks?"
"No. Not being his style."
"Are you worried we're going to bump into your ex-wife?" Pleakley asked. "Because I think that's unlikely."
"No."
"Then what is it?"
"I am hoping I am wrong..."
Jumba hoped with every cell in his failed-evil-genius brain as he entered Quelte Quan's atmosphere. He hoped more and more as he passed the planet's teal falcons and soared over its rapier-like skyscrapers. But as he hoped, the ghostly image of Hamsterviel hovered in his mind's eye. He was grinning the same grin he'd grinned the night he finally looked over Jumba's shoulder to see what evil invention he'd been cooking up.
They finally arrived, and Jumba's hopeful efforts had been in vain. He could see Hamsterviel bursting into laughter, his cruel joke finally realized.
Jacques never could contain his laughter.
Jumba, Pleakley, and 625 stepped out of the pod and observed the building in front of them. It was tall, dark, and decrepit, untouched perhaps for years. Jumba and Pleakley were reminded of movie nights back in Hawaii and all the monsters who lived in dark castles on the edges of cliffs.
The place was decorated with tattered banners, shattered windows, cobwebs, and paint. It bore such messages as, NOT FOR MY KIDS, LUNACY 101: ENROLL NOW, and THANKS FOR THE MANIACS.
Jumba looked above the front doors, one of which dangled from its hinges. In his mind, he could see the banner reading, Quelte Quan Institute of Science and Technology. It was now covered in scorching red paint.
Evil Genius University.
IV
Back in Hawaii, Jumba would sometimes sneak downstairs in the dead of night for a snack. It was always a risky operation, as he knew being spotted would mean incurring Nani's wrath. He had to navigate the house with deathly silence and in total darkness. Familiar rooms were distorted into haunted chambers, masking their dark forms with the ghosts of Pleakley dusting, Lilo drawing, and Stitch practicing ukulele.
Navigating his abandoned alma mater invoked a superpowered version of that sensation. Jumba instinctively tilted his body to move between passing students that weren't there. He could hear the debate team down the hall, discussing the pros and cons of Quelte Quan splitting from the Federation. But there were only his group's footsteps on the cracked marble floor. The only light was that creeping in through the windows, but Jumba could move about the place as briskly as if he were running to his next class.
But there was more at stake now than whether Nani would deprive him of a bag of popcorn.
He hoped that Hamsterviel wouldn't find him.
But he was desperate to find Hamsterviel.
Desperate.
"You never told me much about your days at uni," Pleakley whispered, his eye transfixed by each ajar door they passed. Gazing into each shadowy classroom was like staring down the throat of some gigantic predator.
"I tell you some," Jumba said.
"Seems like you and Hamsterviel left quite an impression."
"Yes. Two students enter seemingly normal, law-abiding citizens, leave as evil geniuses causing destruction throughout galaxy. Not exactly inspiring trivia for new applicants."
"Did you know this had happened?"
"Yes. Remember hearing news while making 021...Or 120..."
"And you didn't tell us?"
"Look at this." Jumba gestured to the next hallway as they turned a corner. Up ahead, the ground was littered with trophies near a shattered case.
"I was not even trying to destroy this place, and yet I have done best possible job. I may not truly be evil genius, but I can destroy, even when I am not trying to...Think of what our ohana has been doing without me. Think of things they have fixed, lives they have saved, with me as far away as possible. Do you think this is coincidence?"
"Yes," Pleakley said. "I do."
Jumba blinked. He was certain Pleakley would hesitate, but his answer had been instant and firm.
"Not discussion for right now," Jumba said, carrying on down the hall. "Mission first."
He heard Pleakley mumble something behind him. It sounded like, you always do this. Jumba wanted to respond. He didn't.
"So," 625 whispered, "what happens once we find the guy?"
"I will try talking to him," Jumba said.
"That's it?"
"And while I am doing this, you two will go snooping, find what he is planning."
"Somethin' to do with roundin' me and my cousins up, for sure."
"Yes, but we must be knowing specifics."
A clicking noise sounded from a room beside them, giving them all a taste of a heart attack. The darkness therein was illuminated by a white light coating the furthest wall.
"What is it they are saying," Jumba said as he led the way inside. "Be asking, and you shall be receiving?"
It was a lecture hall. Empty seats stretched from the bottom up to where Jumba and his companions entered. He was reminded of the waves on the Hawaiian sea and what it was like to finally surf along the very top of one.
The white screen flickered into the image of a tall, thin blue creature with three piercing red eyes. He wore a crimson suit with coattails that nearly touched the floor, and even though he seemed to be looking straight at Jumba, he still felt like he was being looked down upon.
But the old dean simply had that effect on students.
"In this program," his voice boomed over the crackling speakers, putting the growls of the orcus galacticus to shame.
"You shall become imbued with the traits necessary to change the galaxy as we know it. For change is more than chemicals or even evolution. Change is what happens when you find what is hiding in plain sight and drag it kicking and screaming into the light."
And then, while the dean's mouth kept moving, another voice crept over his dialogue like a viper.
"I am saying that you must have vision! But what I actually mean is that you must share my vision! Any of you who possess the obedience and the cowardice to revolutionize within the boundaries I have set for you shall be grotesquely rewarded! I may even have the decency to offer you a job, so I may pay you to do what you have already been paying me to let you do! But for those of you seeking to create actual change, to you, I say, you are nothing!"
The screen rolled into the sight of a desk against a curtained window. A plaque on it read, Dean Gunther Freem. Behind it was the back of a revolving chair. Two long, silhouetted ears towered above it.
"He said that to me, you know. Not all of it...But I know he was thinking it! He did say the part about me being nothing. I had to work to get into this stupid place. I saved for years, working between space station construction and Moon Burger drive-thru, to have enough for tuition. Then, I finally get to propose my ideas. Entire mechanized, non-autonomous workforces and armies, leaving the galaxy's living beings to focus on the areas they neglect amid all the so very stupid parts of society! And I am called a lunatic for it! But we realized the truth, didn't we, Jumba? We had to pay them to study here, but..."
The screen became clouded with static.
"We never needed their permission!"
When it cleared, it showed a room filled with metal tanks, each fitted with a glass window, revealing their inhabitants.
"No," Jumba whispered. "My little ones..."
He could see their black eyes, staring as if they could see him through the screen. They seemed to either be saying, please, or asking, why? Most likely, it was both. Jumba felt sick looking at them, but he didn't dare look away.
It was the least he could do.
"All this time," the voice carried on, "I have been told that I am wrong, that I am insane, that I am nothing! Our very stupid dean told me that, the annoying Earth girl told me that, and even you, my old friend, have told me. Have I been wrong before? Of course. I did not see the error we made that allowed our Experiments to ignore their true purpose. I did not expect you to notice it, but I should have. Now I will correct this error, and my vision, the vision that has terrified everyone, the vision that I know is right, will finally come to fruition!"
The screen went black. Footsteps thundered from outside.
"Pleakley," Jumba said, "go contact Councilwoman. 625, go to Earth, find your cousins."
"Woah, woah, woah," 625 said.
"What about your plan?" Pleakley said.
"No need for snooping," Jumba said. "Too dangerous now. You must be going before Gantu and Hamsterviel arrive."
"I can't just leave you alone," Pleakley said.
"And I cannot be leaving my little ones. Not again."
"You don't know what he'll do-"
Jumba wanted to yell at him to shut up and do as he was told for once in his life. At the last minute, he changed his mind.
"Wendy," he said in his softest voice.
Pleakley's eye widened. He let out a sigh. "Okay."
"And 625?"
"I-I-I dunno, man," 625 said, clutching tufts of fur on his head. "I-I don't-"
"Go home, 625," Jumba said. "That is all I am asking."
625 looked up at him. His eyes were struggling to keep their tears captive.
"Okay," he said. "Anything's better than seein' fishface again."
They sprinted out of the lecture hall. Pleakley turned for a moment as if he wanted to say something, but then he kept running.
Jumba felt like a meteor had landed in his stomach. He wondered what Pleakley would've said. He hoped he would find out.
But look where hoping had gotten him.
He could feel the footsteps coming ever closer. They approached from behind the screen.
Jumba remembered how Lilo and Stitch would sing to keep themselves calm. He thought he would give it a try. He sang the first song that leaped into his mind.
"The long and winding road,
"That leads to your door,
"Will never disappear,
"I've seen that road before,
"It always leads me here,
"Lead me to your door..."
He could still feel the sting of his little ones' eyes. He wondered if 628's eyes felt the same way.
"Many times I've been alone,
"And many times I've cried,
"Anyway, you'll never know,
"The many ways I've tried..."
The daylight blinded him as the room was lifted like a lid. Squinting, he spotted a regrettably familiar shark-like face glaring down at him, accompanied by a hovering metal platform.
No half-decent evil genius walked when they could use a hovering platform. That was another problem; Jumba enjoyed walking.
"But still they lead me back,
"To the long winding road,
"You left me standing here,
"A long, long time ago..."
The platform descended until it was behind a desk at the base of the lecture hall. Its pilot stepped off; he was wearing a red, long-tailed suit. He looked up at Jumba in a way that seemed like he was looking down at him, and grinned.
Jumba could remember countless nights dreaming about this. He couldn't remember why.
"Don't keep me waiting here..."
That was a lie. He could remember why.
He was just ashamed of it.
"Lead me to your door..."