The Bonds of Earth

by Daring Dan

The clouds of war are gathering, and even sunny Cape Suzette's skies are darkening. Baloo and Kit are caught up in the storm, and old secrets are uncovered in the process.

3. Back to the Future

                            THE BONDS OF EARTH

PART III

THE CONCLUSION

Kit stared at the spotted paw that gripped his own. tightly, warmly - and felt himself being drawn into a wave of shock.  How many more of these revelations could there be?  Wasn't he ever going to be allowed to just have a normal life?  He forced his gaze to the leopard's face.  "My mother - she's - she-"

"What's all this about, smart-guy?  Ain't the kid been through enough already?" Baloo was angry now.

"Baloo - let him finish!" Rebecca admonished.  There was something in the man's manner, his tone - she could sense that he felt this was incredibly important.

Kit took a deep breath and pulled his hand away, gently.  "Sir, my mother is d-dead.  She died along with my father - killed by air pirates.  What more could you possibly have that I need to know than that?" He sobbed softly and Baloo wrapped his arm more tightly around his shoulder.

The cheetah stared intently at Kit.  "Those eyes - it's incredible!  I feel like I've gone back in time... Son, I know what happened to your father -  I wasn't sure you did - but that was not your mother that died with him.  That was your stepmother."

"What?" Rebecca blurted out in surprise.

"It's true, Miss Cunningham.  The boy's father was married twice - and his second wife was with him when they - when they died."

"This is all too much!" Kit said, burying his face in his hands.  "I don't wanna hear any more!"

"I don't understand, Mikey." Baloo said angrily as he consoled Kit.  "Why the heck are you tellin' us all this, if it's so hush-hush that yer sayin' you won't even admit you told us?"

The leopard sighed, a gesture that was filled with deep regret.  "Because I loved her, Baloo - I loved her with all my heart and soul like I've never loved anyone."  He looked back at Kit, who was struggling hard to control his emotions.  "And because I loved her, Kit, I love you too - I see her in you, in every gesture and every expression.  I love you, even though I haven't seen you in ten years - longer.  I love you because she's in you.  And I think you deserve to know the truth."

Kit breathed deeply, slowly.  He wiped a single tear away and sat back in his chair, eyes closed.  Rebecca could sense that he'd crossed some kind of internal barrier - he was ready to believe what the man was telling him.  He opened his eyes and started resolutely at the leopard.  "Tell me." he said simply.

"Her name was Angela - Angela Crosswhyte.  She was a wonderful woman., a pioneer, a great pilot.  There weren't many female pilots then."

"She - she was a pilot?" the cub asked.

The cat smiled.  "A hell of a pilot, Kit.  Your father was, too.  They loved to fly.  Your father was an engineer as well, a terrific designer.  Your mother, she - well, she was what we called a sleeper.  She started flying covert missions for the government, whenever they'd call her. She had unique abilities, talents.  She did great service to Usland.

That's how I met her, Kit.  We both - worked in the same business, shall we say.  She worked secretly, in the field.  I worked in an office.  When we met, it was - I don't know.  There was a special magic between us, from the beginning.  She was still married to your father then.  I'm truly, truly sorry that I ever got involved with her, but I did.  We were in love.  She was drifting apart from your father by then, but I live with the shame, every day."

The leopard paused for moment to gather himself.  Kit stared raptly at the man, seemingly overwhelmed.  After a moment he continued.  "Every day I live with it.  But the biggest shame is that I'd do it again."  He sighed again.  "When your parents divorced, your father was already close to your stepmother.  I didn't know her well, but she was a wonderful woman, a pilot too - and they were very happy.  She loved you as if you were her son, Kit, I can promise you that.

In any case, your parents decided that, given the nature of your mother's - occupation - that you should be with your father and stepmother - that they would give you a more stable home.  She was, by trade, a surveyor, and was frequently gone on long missions, and there was always the possibility that, at any moment, she would be - called, for something dangerous.  It ate at her, deep inside, but she did it because she thought it would be best for you.

When your father and stepmother - when they died....she was devastated.  She was in the midst of something very important.  It was a mission that was so secret that it was never acknowledged....but I'm getting ahead of myself, I see.  When your father died, your mother planned to give up her responsibilities and collect you.  But there was one more mission she had to fly - she was uniquely qualified and trained, and she knew it's importance.  It would have been her last mission in any case..."

"L-last mission?" Kit gasped.

The leopard buried his head in his hands.  He took a deep breath and continued.  "Given the tragedy, she would have been taken off duty permanently.  That was the plan.  But she flew the last mission.  She never returned.

It was never acknowledged, by the government.  No search parties were sent.  She filed a flight plan - a false one of course - and motions were gone through.  But she was never actively searched for - that would have been a tacit admission that they - we - were not willing to make.  She was never seen nor heard from again."  The leopard cried, quietly, tears rolling down his cheeks, the weight of his professional detachment finally having been lifted for a few moments.

"She-disappeared?" Kit asked in a daze.  "Then - she could still be alive..."

"Oh Kit - that isn't why I'm telling you this..."

"Why _are_ you?" Rebecca gently prodded.

"Yeah - Whyd'ya hafta to come in here and upset the kid?  Can't you see he's been through enough already?  Let 'im get on with his life!"

"I wanted him to know the truth.  That's all.  I wanted him to know he had a mother who loved him.  I wanted him to know that he could be proud of her - that she was a wonderful aviator, a wonderful patriot - and a wonderful woman.  I've been keeping secrets for nineteen years.  The boy deserves to know."

Kit walked over to the easy chair and sat, chin in hands.  "This is  - I don't know what to think.  I just can't believe it.  It never seems to end."

Baloo followed the cub and grabbed his shoulders.  "L'il Britches - even if what this guy says is true - it don't change anything.  Your life is till here - with us.  With me.  We're still your family."

Kit stood and hugged Baloo tightly.  "I know.  But every time I think I've finally... gotten on top of it, there's something else!  Why, Papa Bear?"

"I dunno Kid, that's just the way life is sometimes." he answered, hugging the boy to him..

"Tell me!" Kit said suddenly, to the leopard.  "Tell me where she went!  You can't just come in here and give me bits and pieces, and not tell me everything you know!  It's not fair!"

The leopard looked sadly at Kit.  "There are things even I don't know, Son -and others that I can't tell you.  I'm sorry."

"That's not fair!" the boy yelled, storming over to him.  "What kind of person are you - what about the truth?  What about loving me?  How can any of that matter to you if you won't even tell me where she went - how I can find her!  She's my mother!"

"Kit...." Baloo put a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"She's gone, Kit." the leopard sighed.  "It's been a long time.  She's gone."

Rebecca had been silent for a long time.  She felt she could be silent no longer.  "Michael - I  have to ask you the same thing Kit did - what kind of person are you?  What kind of man drops a bombshell on a child like that and then won't finish what he started?  Don't tell me any sob stories about the truth, or love - this was all about cleansing your conscience, wasn't it?  You felt guilty - guilty about breaking up a marriage, guilty about hiding the truth from Kit for ten years, guilty for God knows what else you've done.  What kind of commitment to the truth is that?  Be a man and finish what you started here!  Let the poor child get on with his life once and for all!"

There was heavy silence in the room.  The leopard stared at Kit, a haunted look in his eyes.  Kit breathed heavy, ragged breaths, and Baloo stood behind him and held him to his chest.  Rebecca stood from the table and glared at the cat.

Finally, after a moment. Michael broke the spell.  "Very well.  I have forfeited my position merely by coming here today, should I ever be discovered.  Let the events of a decade past lie where they are - whatever happens will happen."  He grabbed Kit's hand.  "She was headed to Wahini Atoll.  The reason is unimportant.  She never arrived.  I do not know anything else, I swear it on my very soul.  And may I be forgiven for having kept it from you for this long."  He sank back into his chair and closed his eyes.

Baloo held Kit to him for a moment, and the boy turned, grabbed the big grey bear's hands.   They stared wordlessly at each other for a moment.  "I'm yer father, L'il Britches.  That's forever." the pilot whispered.

"Always." Kit said in reply.  He disappeared out the door. "I'll be back."

"Mr. Baloo." the leopard called weakly.  The pilot walked over to him, a mix of anger and sadness on his face.  "The events of the past week.  They have, as I told you, improved the situation.  Nevertheless, it is still very grim.  We are engaged in a race that we cannot win, even if we arrive at the finish line first.  There will only be degrees of loss."

"Why you telling me this, Mikey?"

The leopard opened his dark eyes.  "There are those, mostly young idealists, who believe that we are on a successful path of peace.  I've seen too much to believe it.  War is coming, Baloo.  War is coming, and we will be dragged into it, sooner or later.  And when it comes, it will dwarf even the last great war."

Baloo was rapt, unable to look away. A terrible somberness had gripped the big cat.  Rebecca's eyes as well were glued to him.

"This isn't like the last time, Baloo.  This is a fight that must be fought, but... we will see terrible things.  I fear that there will still be war in five years time - it will not be over and settled.  Kit - Kit will want to fight, Mr. Baloo. I know.  I can see it in his actions, in his spirit.  I know, because - because Angie would want to.  And she's in him.

I can't explain why things happen.  I can't change the past.  All I know is that Kit has found you - yourself and Miss Cunningham.  Maybe things happen for the best.  He's found happiness.  He's been through so much already - and his family has made their sacrifice - his family and himself as well.

I hold a position of considerable authority in the government, Mr. Baloo.  More, I think, than you can know.  I intend to make certain that there are no further sacrifices.  Kit would hate me for it, if he were ever to find out, but I can live with that.  It is grossly unfair - I can live with that.  What I cannot live with is the prospect that after he has finally found the happiness that he deserves, he forfeits his life, and that I could have prevented it.  There will be other contributions, other efforts to be made - here, at home.  He'll distinguish himself with honor and excellence.  He's his mother's son.  But there will be no more sacrifices, Baloo - no more.  His family has paid it's debt.  Maybe in some small way I can repay mine."

He stood, smiled weakly at Rebecca.  He grabbed Baloo by the shoulders and intently, almost pleadingly addressed him.  "I'm sorry, Baloo.  I'm sorry that I've let this go for so long, and I'm sorry that I've contributed to so much sorrow in Kit's life.  I love him, more than you can ever understand.  Thank God he has you, Baloo.  Don't let him down.  Be there for him.  He'll be as fine a son as you could ever hope for.  I know."

Baloo patted the cat's shoulder.  "Ya don't hafta worry about that Mikey.  We're a team.  I may be a lot o' things, but one thing I ain't is the guy that's ever gonna let that kid outta his life.  He's got a lot o' guardian angels out there."

Kit walked in, carrying an armload of aviation maps from the Sea Duck and a determined expression.  He saw Baloo and Michael in their half embrace and paused.

The cat disengaged from Baloo and shook his hand.  "Miss Cunningham - again, thank you." he said to Rebecca.

"You're leaving?"  Kit said in disbelief.  "But - there's so much I want to ask you-"

"No more." the cat said.  "I've told you all I can.  Live your life, now.  Do what you feel you must, keep your father close to your heart and live your life."  He placed a hand on the cub's cheek fondly.  "You _are_ her.  Incredible!  To see your face - it's a gift I shall never forget.  Good-bye."  His hand lingered on Kit's cheek for a moment, and his eyes drifted, seeing images only he could see.  Then, abruptly, he turned and was gone.

The leopard's second visit to Higher for Hire had, incredibly, upset the routine there more than even his first. Kit had been quiet and withdrawn since, mired in thoughts only he could understand.  Baloo, as he had been so often before, was left to watch, helplessly, and to allow the cub to face his past in his own way.

Rebecca, too, had been thrust into a familiar role - that of Baloo's sounding board, and his consolation.  She wasn't entirely comfortable in it, but it was clear that the big bear needed her. Every day with Kit was an adventure for him, sometimes a frightening one - and he had so little experience in the perils of parenthood that he found himself frustrated by his inability to control events - they always seemed to be one step ahead of him, no matter what he did.  And so, in his affable, roundabout way he turned to her.

She watched him from across the office, as he sat idly picking at a bunch of grapes at the table.  That was his way - when he needed to talk, he simply hovered close by, taking his sweet time in getting to the point and sometimes never getting there, but clearly needing simply to have the contact.  Rebecca wasn't sure that she understood Kit any better than the pilot did, but she was happy at least to soothe Baloo's anxiety, a little.

"Well, Beckers - at least we got to keep all that moolah, huh?  Least we can expect after the ride we got stuck on, I guess." he said affably, slurping in a grape.

"I suppose, Baloo.  It _will_ come in handy, there's no question about that.  We can finally get that new radio you've wanted for the Sea Duck, and I can certainly make some improvements around here.  None of this was in the manual on running an air cargo service, though, that's for sure.  What will you and Kit do with your money?"

"Oh, I dunno Beckers.  There's this flight jacket that I saw at Flap's Aviation Supply downtown - I think it'd be perfect fer L'il Britches.  I was thinkin' about gettin' it for him.  And as fer his money..." the pilot smiled fondly.  "You know Kit, Becky - he'll probably end up puttin' it in a savings bond or somethin' sensible like that.  Just once I'd like to see him do somethin' really dumb - like blowin' it on a new bike, or somethin'!"

Rebecca laughed.  "That doesn't sound like Kit!  You'll just have to be impractical enough for the both of you!"

"Can do!" Baloo answered with a wry chuckle.

Kit walked in, book bag slung over his shoulder.  He smiled at Rebecca and tossed his bag onto the table loudly.  "Hi Becky, hey Baloo.  What's up?"

Rebecca smiled at that - it was nice to hear the boy address her informally for once.  "Not much, Kit.  How was school?"

"Fine." the boy said distractedly, giving Baloo a quick slap on the back.  "Ummmm.  I need to talk to you guys, is now a good time?"

Rebecca and Baloo shared a look of mixed dread and anticipation.  "Sure, Kit.  Anytime is a good time." she smiled.

"Yeah, Kiddo, fire away." Baloo added.

The boy sat at the table next to Baloo and crossed his arms in front of him.  "I've been thinking about what Michael said - a lot.  And... I want to try to find my mother."

Baloo sighed.  He'd been expecting it, but that didn't make the moment any easier.  "L'il Britches - I know you want to, but be honest with yourself - what do you have to gain, really?  It's been ten years, more-"

"I know, Papa Bear.  I know.  But I couldn't live with myself, knowing there was any chance that - that she was alive, and I didn't try.  I _have_ to know, Baloo.  I've thought about it, long and hard.  I have to know."

Baloo grabbed the cub's paw and started intently at him, eye-to-eye.  "Kit- I hope and pray she's alive, as unlikely as it is.  But someone needs to ask - what _if_ she is?  What then?"

Kit smiled.  "I'm your son, Baloo.  I always will be - that will never change, I promise you, no matter what happens.  I don't want to be anything else.  That's not why I have to do this.  I just have to."

Baloo shook his head in doubt.  "Kid, I don't-"

"Baloo - I don't wanna do this without you.  I can't face this without you.  I need you with me.  I need you with me for this - and afterwards.  I don't know what I'll find out.  But I want to find it together, with you.  Please!" he pleaded.

Baloo looked down at the table, shaking his head.  "Kit - I just don't know.  I dunno what to do..."

"Kit-" Rebecca interrupted the pilot's pained ramblings.  "What exactly did you have in mind?  How are you planning to go about this?  She's been missing for ten years, there's no flight plan.  How do you expect to find her?"

Kit frowned.  "I have some ideas...  I can do some research - he said she was a fairly well-known aviator.  Someone must have had some idea about her flight plan.  I know where she was going to end up.   I can talk to people-"

"Kit, Wahini Atoll is in the middle of one of the most trackless stretches of ocean this side of the Bearmuda Trapezoid!" Baloo protested.  "She could've ended up anywhere!"

"I know - but you're the best pilot in the skies - and I'm the best navigator.  Maybe no one's ever really looked.  If she was as good as Michael said, maybe she found a way to make land, somewhere..."  The boy turned to Rebecca, serious purpose in his visage.  "I know this is my problem, Miz Cunningham.  If Baloo will go, I'll find a way to pay the company back for the gas, for the air miles.  I have some money from the idiot runs, and you can hold back my wages until it's paid off-"

"Kit!" she sighed, walking over to the boy.  She knelt and placed her hands on his shoulders.  "I would never ask you to do that.  We're doing just fine.  This is a family business - the accent is on the family.  If this is something you need to do then I'll support it any way that I can.  I just wonder if you aren't exposing yourself to a lot of heartache that you don't need.  If it's what you want, I'll support you."

"Thanks, Miz Cunningham!" Kit said gratefully, and they hugged.

Baloo took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair absently.  "Kit - if this is what you want - what you truly want - I'll help you.  We'll face it together, just like everything else.  I just hope that you're sure - that you're prepared to be - disappointed."

"I can take anything, Baloo - as long as you're there." The bear and cub embraced, Kit resting his head on the pilot's shoulder, a grateful expression on his face.  Baloo held him, and his eyes met Rebecca's.  She smiled reassuringly at him, and he shook his head ruefully.

The brown cub wheeled his bike up to the Cape Suzette Public Library and locked it to the rack.  He entered, realizing as he did that it was the first time he'd ever been inside the building.  He chuckled to himself.  ~Baloo would probably be proud to hear that!~ he thought.

He walked over to the card catalog, and searched for anything on "Crosswhyte, Angela" by title, author and subject - nothing.  He frowned - now he wished he'd spent more time here - he'd know his way around the place a little better.  He walked over to the reference desk and approached the librarian, a stern looking elderly alligator dressed in black.  He took off his cap and nervously shuffled.  Why was that he could sneer at pirates and stuff like this still intimidated him?

"Ahem.  'Scuse, me m'amm - I need your help to find something..."

"Yes, young man?" she answered in a surprisingly gentle voice.

"Er, I need to see if there's any information about someone - Angela Crosswhyte.  She was a pilot.  I tried the card catalog, and there were no books-"

She smiled, leaned over the counter and pointed to a door.  "That's the periodicals room, young man.  If she's been mentioned in any newspapers or magazines that's where they'll be.  When you go in there you'll see a big book called "Usland Comprehensive Periodicals Reference."  Look her name up in there -it'll tell you what periodical she's been mentioned in.  The periodicals are in the boxes on the shelves, and the boxes are alphabetically sorted.  Good luck!"

"Thank you m'amm." He smiled.  That hadn't been so bad - can't judge a book by it's cover, he mused.  He replaced his cap and went through the door she'd indicated and found himself in a larger room than he'd expected.  There were two rows of shelves, four-high, and a huge hardbound book on a pedestal in the front.  He examined it- sure enough, it was the reference she'd told him about.

He leafed through the pages - it was the biggest book he'd ever seen.  He found the subject listings, and after a moment the "C"s.  "Let's see... Crandall, Creswell, Cromley..." he muttered to himself.  "Crosswhyte, Angela!"  To his surprise, there were three listings.  Heart racing in his chest, he grabbed a pencil and wrote the three listings down, and headed for the stacks.

The first listing was for "Flyboy Magazine", June, 1926, page 23.  He found the "F"s, then the boxes of Flyboy Magazine.  He found the 1926's and grabbed June.  Breathlessly he leafed to page 23.

"Aviation news: Thirty year-old Angela Crosswhtye became the first female pilot to fly solo from Cape Suzette to San Flamingo last month.  She is one of only four female pilots registered in the San Flamingo Pilot's Guild."

That was all.  Disappointed, he returned the magazine to it's place and checked the next listing. At least he knew her age now - she'd be 42.  If she was alive.  He shuddered and cleared that thought out of his mind.

The next listing was for the "San Flamingo Sentinel", March 18, 1927, page 32.  He located the newspaper, but it was a much bigger job to find the one he needed - there were thousands of copies of the Sentinel, in dozens of boxes, all laid-out flat.  After ten minutes of searching he finally found what he was looking for.  Hands shaking, he opened the March 18 edition to page 32.  It was in the "Lifestyles" section, he noticed.  His heart leaped - there was an article - and a picture!

He stared long and hard at the grainy black and white photo, unable to tear his eyes away.  It showed a brown bearess, leaning against the wing of an old twin-engine Conwing L-10, wearing a tan flightsuit and scarf, a pair of goggles perched on her forehead and a jaunty smile on her lips. 

Kit couldn't look away - this was his mother!  Her eyes seemed to speak to him, from the flatness of the page.  They seemed alive.  She smiled, but there was a trace of sadness in her visage, too.  And she flew an L-10 - a Conwing, just like him!  A classic plane, a legend... and those eyes...

He remembered himself and forced his eyes to look down at the text.  There was a small headline - "LOCAL PILOT BUCKS (DOE-S?) THE ODDS".  He scanned down to the text, and read it softly aloud

"Angela Crosswhyte - Angie to her friends - isn't your typical San Flamingo housewife.   For fun, this brown-eyed beauty takes to the skies and leaves her cares behind.  But  this lovely lady doesn't jump on a blimp or balloon - she's a fully licensed pilot, and a  respected free-lance mapper and surveyor.  She even served in the army in the great war.

How does she keep looking so beautiful when she works so hard?  "I just do what I  love." the Lindyesque lovely says.  Indeed, our local gal loves to fly - her former husband is a pilot too.  How does it feel to be one of only four ladies in the San Flamingo Pilot's Guild?  "I don't think about it." Angie says.  "One day women pilots will be as commonplace as male pilots.  I'm just a few years ahead."

             Her longtime navigator, Harry "Props" McDowd, is quick to praise his partner's skill.

 "She's as good as any man when it comes to piloting." Props says.  "She can hold her own with any pilot in Usland."  She's a heck of a lot prettier, too!

That was all.  Harry McDowd - longtime navigator?  That was worth remembering.  Kit's eyes stole back to the picture, and her eyes.  He looked down at his list again.  One more listing - the "Sentinel" again - November 29, 1927, page 23.  That date, November 29 - why did he remember it?  He found the newspaper, only a few months more recent that the last one, in a few moments.  He rifled through the pages, found page 23.

His heart sank.  He looked at the heading at the top of the page.  "OBITUARIES".

He closed his eyes for a long moment.  Steeling himself, he opened them and forced himself to keep reading.  Her name was about halfway down the page - no picture.

"Angela Crosswhyte, local aviator, aged 31.  Missing since November 4 and officially pronounced dead.  Crosswhyte disappeared on a routine flight from San Flamingo to East Patagalpa.  No trace of her aircraft has been found.  She leaves behind a son, Kit, aged 2."

There was no more.  Kit set the newspaper down, stared at it, re-read it.  "Officially pronounced dead."  He sobbed softly and a tear rolled down his cheek.

"Are you all right, child?" a voice asked from behind him.  He spun, startled - it was the reference librarian.

"Y-yes.  I'm sorry.  I'll put these back..."

"Did you know her?" the woman asked softly.

"No." the cub sobbed again.  "But she was my mother."

The librarian opened her mouth slightly in surprise.  "Oh dear." she whispered.  She shuffled over to Kit and looked over his shoulder.  "She was very beautiful.  You look very much like her."

Kit forced a smile.  "Y-yes, she was.  I'd never seen her before today.  Not that I could remember.  I...I-"

The librarian clearly didn't understand all that was going on, but she'd had children of her own and her instincts told her this one needed comfort.  "Would you like to have that photo?  And the article?"

Kit choked back a sob and looked up in surprise.  "Could I?  I'd - I'd like that.  Very much."

The woman smiled warmly.  "We don't get much call for ten year-old San Flamingo papers here.  I'll order another one from the publisher and I'm sure it won't be missed in the meantime.  I think it will mean more to you."

"Thank you." the cub said sincerely, grabbing the article and photo and hugging it to his chest.

"Is there anything else that I may help you find?"

The boy thought for a moment and composed himself.  "Yes - where do you keep the telephone directories?"

Kit had tried everything he could think of - The San Flamingo telephone directory, the Pilot's Guild, even the San Flamingo Sentinel itself - and no one had a number for Harry McDowd.  He banged his fist on the desk at Higher for Hire in frustration and scowled.

"I'm sorry, Kit.  It's been a long time, you know?" Rebecca said sympathetically as she browsed the file cabinet.  "Who knows where Mr. McDowd lives now?  Perhaps you could track him down, hire a service or an agency..."  She resumed her filing.

"I dunno, Miz Cunningham.  That could take forever, cost a fortune.  I don't want to wait.  I wanna talk to this guy now!"  He consulted his list of numbers, but there were no more.  "Only one thing I haven't tried..."

He picked up the phone and dialed several numbers.  "Hello, San Flamingo information?  I'm looking for McDowd, a residence.  Any McDowd, whatever you've got."  There was a pause, and the operator came back on the line.  "Margaret McDowd?  Yes, thank you."  He wrote down a number.

"Found something?"

"Probably not - but there is one McDowd listed - I'm gonna  give it a try, nothing to lose.  I'll pay you back for all these long distance calls Becky, - I promise!"

She laughed.  "That's fine, Kit!  If you want to.  I really don't care, you know.  As long as you find what you're looking for."

Kit knocked on the wooden desk and smiled at her, dialing the number.  After two rings a woman picked up.

"Hello?"

"Uh, yes, hello ma'am.  You don't know me, but I'm trying to locate Harry McDowd.  I was hoping that you knew him."

"Harry McDowd is my father." she answered, sounding surprised.  "May I ask what this is regarding?"

Kit's face lit up, which was not unnoticed by Rebecca.  She walked over and sat on the desk.  "Well - It's about Angela Crosswhyte - his old partner." the boy said nervously.

"I'm sorry."  The woman said coldly.  "My father is retired and he does not discuss his flight career.  So if-"

"Wait!  Please...  I - I need to talk to him - it's real important.  Angela Crosswhyte was my mother."

There was a silence at the other end of the line.  "Who is this?" the woman asked suspiciously after a moment.

Kit looked helplessly at Rebecca.  "I know it sounds weird but - I'm her son.  I saw your father's name in the paper at the library-"

"Is this Kit?" she asked in disbelief.

"Uh, yeah.  Kit Cloudkicker - that's me."

"My God...  Kit Cloudkicker - I can't believe it!  I used to baby-sit you, Kit!  When you were a year old, younger - while Angie was still married.  I was a teenager then.  I thought - well, we didn't think you knew about your mother, Kit."

"Well, I didn't, until just a few days ago.  I just - found out.  An' I went to the library, and I saw your father's name in a news story-"

"God!  That ludicrous story in the Sentinel!  Angie hated that...  Very flattering picture though.  Kit, why do you want to talk to my father?  What is this about?"

Kit balled his fist in frustration.  "I just want to ask him... about her.  Questions.  I just want to know about her."

"She was a wonderful lady, Kit.  I loved her like a mother."  There was a sigh on the other end of the line.  "Kit, my father's retired - he lives in Azirona now.  He doesn't like to talk about Angie, but I think he'll want to talk to you.  I'll call him, and tell him you - that you know.  If he's willing I'll have him call you.  What's your number?"

"It's CS-531, Ms. McDowd.  Cape Suzette.  And thanks - I really appreciate it."

"It was wonderful to hear your voice, Kit.  I hope he calls you, I really do.  Good-bye."

"Bye."  The cub hung up the phone.  "That's his daughter, Miz Cunningham!  She said he doesn't like to talk about Angie - my mother - but maybe he'll call..."

"I'm sure he'll call, Kit."

"I sure hope so..." the boy whispered, a faraway look in his eyes.

"So that's what happened, Baloo.  And every time the phone's rung all afternoon, he's been down here like a shot, hoping it was him.  It's one of the saddest things I've ever seen."

The pilot shook his head grimly.  "I dunno Beckers - maybe this is fer the best, but the kid's had his heart broken so many times - I don't know how much more he can take.  This just don't feel like a good thing to me."

"He's strong Baloo - you don't survive what he's been through without being strong.  And he didn't have you to support him before..."

"Us." Baloo said firmly.

Rebecca was strangely touched by the pilot's gruff reply.  "Didn't have _us _ to support him before.  I'm worried too - but if I were in his shoes, I'd want to find out as much as I could -wouldn't you?"

"Reckon yer right boss.  I'd just like to have one normal week as a father 'n son, y'know?  That don't seem like too much ta ask..."

Rebecca gathered her papers and stuffed them in her briefcase.  "I'm about done, Baloo.  I think I'll check in on Kit before I go.  Coming?"

The bear followed her up the stairs to the bedroom.  Kit was seated cross-legged on the bed.  When he heard them enter, he quickly shoved something behind his back.

"I'm leaving Kit.  I just wanted to say goodbye."

"Bye." the cub replied glumly.

"Kit, he'll call you if he wants to.  But it's not your decision.  You're going to have to live with the fact that he might just not want to talk about it."

"I know, I know..." he said in a frustrated growl.

Baloo sat on his bed.  "Watcha got there, L'il Britches?" he asked gently.

"Nothin'." the boy mumbled.

"Come on - together, remember?  No secrets."

Kit lowered his head and was silent for a moment.  With a sigh, he pulled the newspaper clipping from behind his back. 

"Well, pop my peepers!" Baloo whispered, looking at the picture.

"What is it?" Rebecca asked, joining them on Kit's small bed.

"This her, L'il Britches?" the pilot asked.  Kit nodded without raising his head.

Rebecca stared at the photo - a strikingly beautiful, dark-eyed bearess gazed back at her, leaning against her plane as if she owned the world.  "Kit - she's so beautiful..."

"Wow!  A Conwing L-10!  Great taste too!" Baloo whistled in appreciation. Kit still looked down, not meeting the his friends' eyes.

"Kit, I can't get over - her eyes, she looks so much like you.  It's uncanny." Rebecca gasped.  The boy closed his eyes tightly.

Baloo was reading the text of the article.  "Wow - sounds like she was a real ace, too!  Amazin'.  Never seen a woman pilot like that..."

Rebecca slid over to Kit and put an arm around his shoulder.  "I know this hurts - but it's what you want, isn't it?  Wouldn't you rather see her, know what she looks like, who she was?  That makes her more real - but it makes it hurt more, doesn't it?"

"Yeah." he rasped, leaning against her.  "I just - I don't know how to feel.  I just wanna keep asking 'why?'  But it doesn't do any good..."

Baloo hugged his arm around Kit and Rebecca, sandwiching the boy between them.  "Kiddo - It don't do no good to ask 'why?'.  Believe me, I know."  The two shared a look of understanding. 

"I asked that fer a long time, but all it does is make you crazy.  All you can do is count yer blessings and be thankful fer what you got.  And you can be happy she was such a great lady too - you can be proud of her.  And be grateful fer what you got."  He squeezed Kit and Rebecca tighter, and Rebecca did the same, forcing a reluctant giggle out of Kit, wedged between them.

"Thanks, you guys.  You're the best!" he said with a grin.  The phone rang, and he popped out of their midst like a champagne cork and bolted down the stairs at run, leaving Baloo and Rebecca leaning against each other to keep from falling over.  Rebecca laughed, and Baloo fell back on the bed.

"It's him!" Kit squeaked from the office.

By the time Rebecca and Baloo reached the bottom of the stairs, Kit was standing, leaning on the desk and listening to the receiver.  He sat down, then stood again, too excited to stay in one position for more than a few seconds.

Kit's head was spinning - this was his mother's friend, her partner - the mother he had never known! Harry McDowd's voice was gruff and gravelly, which set Kit back for a moment, but hearing the cub's voice perceptibly softened the man's tone.

"So you're Kit Cloudkicker, eh?" McDowd growled, but there was a friendly undertone now.

"Y-yes sir.  I'm sorry that I bothered you-"

"By golly - you'd have to be thirteen now, wouldn't you Sprig?"

"Yes sir." Kit replied, surprised by the nickname the man used.

"By golly.  Our little sprig is a teenager.  Don't that make me feel old.  Where are ya Kid?  What're you doing with yerself?  Stayin' out of trouble I hope, though that might be askin' too much o' Angie's boy."

Kit smiled at the man's banter.  It was like talking to his grandfather - or rather what he imagined that might be like.  "I live in Cape Suzette, sir-"

"Harry!  'Sir' don't sound right on a pilot's back."

Kit grinned again.  This fellow reminded him of Baloo.  "I live in Cape Suzette, Harry.  I was just adopted, a few weeks ago - by Baloo, he's a cargo pilot here."

"Adopted?  Why, that's terrific, Kid.  I'm really glad to hear that.  He treatin' you good?"

"Harry - he's the best.  He's my best friend.  And Becky - Miss Cunningham, she's my boss - they treat me great.  They're the best people in the world."  Baloo and Rebecca shared a smile, listening from a discreet distance.  "And Harry - guess what?  _I'm_ a navigator too!"

McDowd laughed - a big, hoarse roar that sounded like a car engine on a cold morning.  "That's great, Sprig!  A navigator already!  Ya wear yer hat backwards?  Yer supposed ta, ya know!"

Kit grinned broadly and reflexively rubbed his head.  "You bet Harry!  Baloo learned me, first thing."  The big grey bear chuckled softly from the foot of the stairs.

Harry laughed again.  "Kit, I gotta ask - how the heck didya find out about Angie?  Who told you?"

Kit shifted uncomfortably, stood again and leaned on the desk.  "An - old friend of her's, Harry.  He recognized me and put two and two together, and here I am."

"Old friend, huh?' McDowd said dubiously.  He seemed as though he was going to pursue that further but changed tack.  "Kit- it's great to hear from you - to know yer doing good.  I been thinkin' about you a lot over these last near eleven years.  But what exactly did you want to talk to me about?"

"Mr. McDowd, sir... Harry - I want to know what happened to my mother.  This old friend - he kinda led me to think that she wasn't really headed to East Patagalpa when she... dissapeared."

There was a long, awkward silence from the other end of the line.  "Sprig - it sounds like you got somethin' real good goin', where yer at.  Sound like you hooked up with some real nice folks there - yer even learnin' how to navigate and such.  Don't cause yerself any pain, Kid.  Let her go.  I can send you some photos, stuff o' hers, if ya like, but - "

"Yes, please!" the cub said.  "But Harry - I wondered my whole life what happened to my mother, then finally I thought I knew - but that turned out to be a lie, too.  I want to know, Harry.  I want to know what happened - I've got a real family now, and I can take whatever it is.  I just need to know."  He looked over at his friends thoughtfully.  "It's time for the truth."

"Kit - I don't know what you want me to tell you, but your mother disappeared on a flight from San Flamingo to East Patagalpa, and was never found.  That's what happened.  You can check the-"

"Harry!" Kit said, a note of pleading in his voice.  "You were her navigator - her best friend!  You can't tell me she didn't give you some idea of what she was really doing!  That story about East Patagalpa is a lie - we both know it.  _Please_, Mr. McDowd!  Tell me what you know!  She was my mother!"

There was another pause of silence on the line, and Kit could hear the man sobbing quietly on the other end.  "Sprig - yer right, she didn't go to East Patagalpa.  There were sometimes... flights  - times where I didn't go with her.  We didn't talk about it, but it was an unspoken agreement with us, that I wouldn't ask.  That last time was one of 'em.  I don't know where she was really goin'.  I didn't ask her and she wouldn'ta told me anyways.  But - she said... she told me she was stoppin' in Tortuga.  I asked her was she comin' back afters, and she said no, I got some other business after that.  I know she didn't go to Tortuga fer no turtle toss, kid - but that's all I know.  I never saw her again."

Kit ran it over in his mind.  Tortuga?  That was only a fifteen hundred miles from Wahini Atoll, and Wahini Atoll was so remote that fifteen hundred miles was a near-miss....it made sense...

"Sprig?"

"Yes, Mr. McDowd - Harry.  Thank you.  Thanks for everything.  If you ever come to Cape Suzette - if you ever, you know, just want to talk...  I sure would like it if you'd call me.  Or send me a card.  It's Higher for Hire, 15 Harbor Drive, Cape Suzette."

Harry laughed.  "Cute name!  Don't get out much, Kid.  Suzette's a pretty fair haul from Azirona.  But I'll tell you what - I'll keep tabs on you, Sprig, and send ya some o' Angie's stuff.  Don't screw up yer life or I'll kick yer tail!" Kit chuckled.  "Geez, sure was nice to hear from ya, Sprig. I'll call ya again.  Remember yer Mama, Kid, but she's gone.  Don't set yerself up fer a lot o' pain."

"Thanks, Harry." the boy said, choking back a tear.  "G'bye."

"Kid!"  McDowd called from the other end of the line.  "Sprig - you take care o' yerself."

"You too, Harry." he replied, and hung up the phone.

Kit looked up to see Baloo and Rebecca staring at him from the bottom of the stairs.  He smiled, and his eyes shone, though he was calm.  "What a nice man..."

"Did - did he tell ya anythin', L'il Britches?  About yer Mama - where she was goin', an' all?"

Kit sat on the desk.  "He told me something - that she was going to Tortuga the day before she disappeared.  That could be it, Baloo - maybe she was flying from there to Wahini, I don't know why..."

Rebecca sat next to him on the desk and smiled.  "You really seemed to hit it off, Kit!  Your face just lit up while you were talking to him.  What else did you talk about?"

Kit grinned.  "Miz. Cunningham - I can't explain it, but - it was like I was talking to her, somehow, too.  He's a part of her life, and he was right there on the phone!  He sounds like a neat guy.  We were talkin' about navigating, and other stuff.  I sure hope he keeps in touch!"

Baloo was lost in thought.  Tortuga held memories for him.  A cargo run, years ago... he had stopped at the turtle toss - lost all his money, naturally - and then left at dusk.  An engine failure... there was an airfield, in a little valley, he'd barely spotted it, there were so few lights, and it wasn't on the maps.  He'd radioed for clearance to land, and gotten no reply at all.  When he'd gone in for his approach, he'd been met with anti-aircraft fire from the ground - warning shots, or they could have taken out his crippled craft easily.  He'd had to ditch in the ocean and get himself towed to Tortuga airfield.  Weird day all around, he hadn't thought about it in years....

"Well, Baloo?" Rebecca called from across the room.

"Huh?" Baloo said, snapped out of his reverie.  He hadn't heard a word they'd been saying.

She frowned.  "Kit just asked if you'd like to go visit Mr. McDowd in Azirona sometime."

"Oh, sorry, L'il Britches, I was thinkin' about somethin', didn't hear ya... Sure, we can stop by, maybe visit Clementine when we're there, Wildcat'd like that-"

"YOU were _thinking_?" Rebecca chortled.

"Well, ha-ha, Miz smarty-pants!" the pilot countered.

Kit stared at Baloo.  "What?  What were you thinkin' about, Papa Bear?"

Baloo frowned and plopped down in the easy chair.  "I dunno kid.  It's just - I had a funny experience on Tortuga a few years back..."

"What kind of experience?" the cub asked sharply.

"Well - I stumbled on a little airfield, never woulda seen it except I was off course cause of mechanical problems.  Way in the middle o' nowhere, way off the standard flight paths, not on the maps... I got the feelin' they weren't welcomin' visitors, if ya know what I mean. Could be a coincidence..."

"But it might not be!" Kit said, excitement rising in his voice.  "If there's a government base on Tortuga, maybe she stopped there for fuel - or whatever -and then flew on to Wahini Atoll!"

"Slow down!" Rebecca admonished, grabbing his shoulders.  "You're moving way too fast here, Honey.  This is starting to sound like a spy movie!"

"No, Miz Cunningham!" the boy said, grabbing her arms.  "It makes sense - after all we've seen these last few weeks, how can you say that?"

Kid-" Baloo said, rising.  "Even if there's a connection, we're still lookin' at a needle in a haystack.  Tortuga's last call on the milk run - past there it's more'n a thousand miles o' empty seas to Wahini - and most of it's uncharted!  There's a lot o' blank map there!"

Kit walked over to the door and paced around the room.  "I know, I know.  But we're close - I can feel it!  This feel's right!  There must be some way, some way we can narrow this down."

Baloo started to speak, then stopped - that was a possibility... why not?  Couldn't hurt to ask.. "L'il Britches!  Run out to the Duck and get the maps fer Tortuga and points west."  Grinning, the boy ran out the door.

"What do you have in mind?" Rebecca asked curiously.

"Just thought of an old friend, Becky, who might be able to help us..."

"Is that you, Baloo?" the robust voice on the phone shouted  "Why you fantaviastic young pup - Ha-Haa!  How are you, Son?"

"Great, Whistlestop." Baloo said, smiling.  He sat at Rebecca's desk, which had been cleared, and several aviation maps were rolled out on it's surface.  "We sure miss ya round here!"

"I miss you young folks too, son.  How's that little navigator of your's?  And that feisty young Rebecca Cunningham?"

"They're great, Mr. Jackson.  I adopted Kit - he's my son now! I was hopin' ya could help me with a little project Kit 'n me are workin' on."

"Adopted, eh?  Why that just sounds terrific, Son - I'll be glad to help any ways I can.  But what do you need from a retired old war-horse like me?"

Baloo smiled.  "I need yer experience, Whistlestop.  You used to do a lot of surveyin' work and such, fer International Geographic, didn't ya?  After the war?"

Jackson laughed.  "Ha-Haa!  I sure did, Baloo!  I saw more uncharted territory in the 20's than any pilot alive - or dead, fer that matter."

"Well, here's the dope, Whistlestop - I wanna know about the ocean between Tortuga and Wahini Atoll."

Jackson whistled.  "That's pretty wild seas there, son.  There aren't more than a half dozen pilots as have ever flown that territory - and no one who's flown the whole length of it.  What do you want to know about that for?  There sure aren't any dollars to be made in the cargo business down there."

"We're doin' some research, Mr. Jackson.  Tryin' to find something - someone, who we think might have tried to make that flight."

There was a pause.  "Well, if they did they was sure crazy, Baloo!  There aren't but a few uninhabited islands -and a few you wish were uninhabited - in that stretch of water.  And the weather can be as unpredictable as a hungry tiger."

Baloo tapped the desk.  "Mr. Jackson - Whistlestop - we really want to try to find this person.  You've flown more down there than anybody - if you was gonna try to fly from Tortuga to Wahini, what route would ya take?"

"By golly, that's a peach."

"Do you wanna get some maps and look 'em over, maybe call me back?" Baloo asked.

"Ha-Haa!  Don't need no maps, Son - I know every inch of water I've flown over by heart.  And the maps for down that ways is useless anyways - half the islands aren't even on 'em.  I don't even know where to start, Son  First of all, there's the problem of fuel - even assuming there was some place to fill up on Wahini, you'd need to scrimp every ounce.  The South Pacific jetstream flows from the southeast down thataways.  If it were me, I'd take a northwesterly course on the outward leg - try to ride that as much as I could.  Fly out of Tortuga and head west, the pick up that highway and ride it all the way to Wahini.  Then on the inward leg-"

"We aren't too worried about the inward leg, Whistlestop."  Baloo interrupted, making notes on the maps.  "We don't think - we don't think they ever made it that far."

"Ha-Haa!  But it doesn't matter, son.  They were planning to!  And with the prevailing winds against 'em, there's no way they could fly the inward leg on a full tank, even if they did fill up on Wahini.  They couldn't carry enough either - too heavy.  They'd have had to drop fuel on the outward leg somewheres.  They wouldn't have parachuted fuel into the middle of the ocean, would they?  With the currents they'd have never found it.  They dropped fuel on an island - and if you can figure out which one you know the route they flew on the outward leg!"

"Well, I'll be..." Baloo muttered.  "Yer right, Whistlestop, you clever old dog!  There's only one problem - I don't see any islands that look like they's on the course you described."

"Like I told ya, son, those maps are useless.  I got a better one right here - in my head.  Now let me think...." there was silence on the line for a moment.  "There's one or two islands... sand bars is more like it.  But there is one - about twenty miles north o' the jet, maybe six hundred miles out from Tortuga. Maybe a mile square, no more - but pretty flat, some trees but some open stretches too.  Never got a second chance to check it out - spotted it in '25, never got back there.  No reason to.  Not on any of the maps either.  I don't have an exact location, didn't get a chance-"

"That's OK Whistlestop!" Baloo said.  "That's a big help - lemme see, six hundred miles out, twenty miles north of the jet..." the pilot made an 'X' on the map and circled it.  "I'm sure we can find it."

"Listen, son - there's a lot more to this than I've told you.  That island - that was about as far out as I've ever got.  I have no idea what's beyond there.  And the Wambizi Current runs right around there - that's some of the warmest water in the world.  You know what that means Baloo.  And when that bathtub water collides with that jetstream - crazy things can happen - and they can happen faster than you can predict 'em.  One bad decision and yer radioing for a ride - if you're lucky.  And the Coast Guard doesn't patrol that far out."

"Whistlestop, I know it sounds kinda nuts - but this is pretty important to someone I really care about - to my son.  So it's important to me.  We're gonna head down there and see what we can see."

Whistlestop chuckled.  "Well, Son - I don't really understand what your talkin' about, but it's obvious you're serious.  All I can tell you is - be careful.  You've got no margin for error that far out, Baloo.  Take it from an old barnstormer - surveying waters like that is more dangerous than stunt flying any day of the week.  Keep your head and, above everything else, keep your eye on your gas gauge!  You understand me, son?"

Baloo smiled grimly.  "Gotcha Whistlestop.  Thanks fer everything - take care of yerself, OK?"

"Ha-Haa!  You too, son.  Give my best to Rebecca and your son.  Nice to know the world's in good hands!  Clear skies!"

"Clear skies, Whistlestop."  Baloo hung up the phone and tapped his pencil on the desk

"Well, Baloo, I've cleared the schedule - we have no deliveries on Friday, Saturday or Sunday.  it's up to you now." Rebecca said, closing her appointment book with a sigh.  Kit and Baloo sat at the table, their maps spread out in front of them.

"Miz Cunningham - I dunno what to say.  You've been so great through all this-" Kit smiled.

"I'm lucky, Kit - I have a mother and father - I never had to wonder, to not know who they were, or where.  If I were in your shoes you'd do the same for me."

Baloo sat back with a weary sigh and crossed his arms behind his head.  "There's no more we can do here, L'il Britches.  We know as much as we're gonna know without goin' down there and seein' fer ourselves."

Kit studied the maps.  "Then let's pull chocks, first thing tomorrow morning.  What's the plan, Skipper?"

"We head to Tortuga, fill up the tanks like they never been filled before.  Then it's last gas, 1500 miles.  We bring some extra fuel, dump it at Whistlestop's island, assuming we can find it.  We radiate out from there, search any piece o' rock we see.  When we get low, we head back and fill up with the gas we dropped.  Then we head back to Tortuga, fill 'er up and try again.  Sorry, Kid, but there's no way I risk trying to fly all the way to Wahini - it's just too dangerous.  We'll just have to hope we spot somethin' within a couple hundred air miles of the drop point."

Kit frowned resolutely.  "Well, we'll just have to find her there, then.  Simple."

Rebecca sat at the table with them.  "Seems like I'm always seeing you off on a dangerous mission lately, Baloo.  My hair'll start going grey pretty soon at this rate."

"I wish you could come with us, Becky." Kit said sadly.  "I'd like for you to be there, when - when..."

"I wish I could too, Sweetie.  It's better than waiting around here.  But it's just not possible, you know, with Molly - and somebody's got to run the business."

"I know." he replied glumly.

"I'll be with you.  In spirit." she smiled.  He grabbed her paw and they sat in silence for a moment.

Baloo rolled the maps and stuffed them into his flight bag.  "Better get packed, Kiddo.  We could be gone a few days.  Better get to bed early, too - we gotta hit the clouds by daybreak - five hours to Tortuga."

"Roger, Skipper." the boy answered, standing and starting for the stairs. 

"Baloo, Kit - you boys be careful!" Rebecca said, grabbing her briefcase.  "Whatever happens, don't take any foolish risks - you're here, right now - alive and well.  That's a certainty.  And it's not worth jeopardizing over a possibility!"

"Don't worry, Beckers - ol' Baloo always brings the Duck home in one piece!"

"We'll be careful Miz Cunningham." Kit said, meeting her eyes.  "We'll see you in a few days."

"Good luck!" she whispered with a halfhearted smile, and was gone.

The Sea Duck lifted off from Tortuga airfield under a brilliant blue south Pacific sky, dotted here and there by friendly looking puffy clouds.  It was all very innocuous, and clashed with Baloo's mood, which was one of extreme nervous excitement and trepidation  There was also the fact that this far out into the south Pacific, weather like this was no predictor of weather in an hour - or even five minutes.  The vast expanses of warm salt water could summon storms up with devastating speed, and many an aviator had lost their life to overconfidence.

The cargo hold of the Sea Duck was barren - stripped of everything in order to save weight.  Everything, that is, except for two duffel bags, the tool kit, and six large drums which were filled with gasoline, three of which had parachutes strapped to them.  Baloo had filled them and the Sea Duck's tanks moments before - filled the tanks until the gasoline began to spill onto the tarmac, not wanting to underfill by a drop of precious fuel.

The pilot glanced over at Kit, who had been silent for the most part since they'd left Cape Suzette.  Understandably, Baloo figured - he had some serious issues on his mind.   Still, clarity of thought from the entire flight crew was going to be needed now.  "Still with me, Kid?" he asked gently.

The cub looked over and smiled.  "Still here, Baloo.  Just thinking about stuff."

Baloo frowned.  "Y'know, L'il Britches, these next couple o' days - this is when you really gotta earn yer stripes as a navigator.  Yer all I'm gonna have to go on out there - an' you gotta be one-hundred percent focused on yer job.  You got a lot on your mind, an' I understand - and you might get frustrated, or angry too.  Searching uncharted waters is hard work, and boring.  We may not find anything.  Your number one job is this plane - gettin' it out and back safe, and in one piece.  No matter what else happens, or doesn't happen - no matter how you feel about that.  Yer job comes first. Am I making myself clear?"

Kit seemed a little taken aback by Baloo's uncharacteristic seriousness for a moment.  "Don't worry, Papa Bear.  I won't forget my job."

"I don't mean ta bust yer chops, Kit.  But I just wanna make sure you understand.  This ain't no mango run, Kid - pilots have died doin' what we're doin'.  And most o' the time it's cause they forgot what was important - panicked, whatever.  We stay focused and we work as a team, we come home safe."  He smiled and tousled the boy's hair through his cap.  "Now let's go find us a missin' plane!"

"Roger that, Skipper!" the cub answered, squeezing Baloo's arm.   Ahead of them, the Pacific opened into an expanse that filled the horizon, unbroken in any direction.  The yellow seaplane was a tiny dot as it disappeared into that expanse of blue.

"Course shift - six degrees north." Kit said, intently studying the map on his lap.  He checked his compass and made a calculation.  "That should keep us on in line with the jet - on the same course Whistlestop said to take."

"Roger." Baloo, said, banking the plane into a gentle turn.  "He said the island was about twenty miles north of our projected course.  There's enough mist out there that we won't be able to see it unless we're practically right on top of it."

Kit frowned as he peered out the window.  "It's amazing, Papa Bear - I've never seen a stretch of ocean with so few islands!  It's totally unbroken, never changes.."

"That's the trap."  Baloo said grimly.  "Lull's ya to sleep - and then yer too far out to make it back on yer tank o' gas.  Then it's ditch and pray fer a pickup.  Or the weather can change in a heartbeat and bite ya."

They flew in silence for a time, Kit scanning the sea beneath them with his keen eyes, searching for any sign of land.  The seas continued, undaunted, for as far as the eye could see.  He consulted his map and compass every few minutes, making a calculation and marking a spot on the map.

At last, he saw what he had been looking for.  "Papa Bear, we're about six hundred miles out of Tortuga - and Whistlestop's island is out there-" he pointed to the north, where the sea was broken by wispy clouds of mist, "somewhere."

Baloo banked the plane into a turn and followed his navigator's lead.  "This is where it gets tough, Kid - if Whistlestop was right about that island being a square mile, it's gonna be pretty hard to spot."

"We'll find it." the boy said confidently.  They flew for a few moments, and Kit consulted his compass again.  "This should be it - it should be right in this area somewhere."

Baloo had kept the plane cruising at about 2000 feet - high enough, he hoped, to see a wide area but low enough not to be effected by the mist.  The wispy fog had become thicker, though, as they flew north. "I'm gonna take her down lower Kid, so we can see through this chuff a little better.  I'll fly a circle, and we'll expand outward, hope we spot something."  He banked the plane into a gentle turn and brought her closer to the surface of the water.

They circled for a few moments, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.  Kit scanned the horizon with binoculars, panning a wide arc across the water's surface.  Finally, he spotted something.  "There!" he said excitedly, pointing.

Baloo squinted.  "Don't see nuthin', Kid.  Lemme have them binoculars."

Kit handed them over.  "There, Baloo!  Two-o'clock!  I almost missed it, looked right past it at first.  A slightly darker patch of white, through the mist-"

"Bingo!  Good eye, L'il Britches.  That's land all right.  Looks like about three miles out.  Let's check out the party."

Baloo brought the plane down to 200 feet and as the island grew closer they were able to pick out a few details.  It was largely flat, with a couple of small hills towards the center, and ringed by sand around it's circumference.  Patches of green appeared, here and there - batches of scrub and low bush cover, with a few groves of palms scattered about.  It did indeed appear to be about a square mile in area, perhaps a bit more.

"Get as best a fix as you can , Kiddo.  We're gonna need to find this rock again.  Don't look like much of a place, but it should serve as our gas station.  First things first.  I'm gonna fly in low and look fer a likely spot to drop the fuel."  He flew around the outer edge of the atoll, following it's shoreline.  "There!.. That looks good."  He pointed to a small indentation, where the sea formed a lagoon.  "I should be able to land her in that lagoon, we'll shoot fer the beach right around there."

He eased the throttle and brought the plane down to 100 MPH, and flew a wide loop and started back towards the lagoon.  "You take the stick, Kid.  Keep her nice and slow and about 100 feet.  I'll drop three barrels, that oughta be enough to get us home today." He unbuckled and headed back to the hold.

"Roger." Kit barked and slid over to the pilot's seat.  He headed for the lagoon at a stately 100 MPH.

"Open the cargo hatch!" Baloo called up to the cockpit, and the cub complied.  They were almost over the lagoon now.  With a grunt, the pilot kicked aside the bricks that held the first barrel in place and rolled it out the back of the plane.  Without watching it's progress he hurriedly repeated the process with the next two barrels.  The chutes caught the wind and fluttered open, and the drums fell with a thump, separated by perhaps thirty yards of beach between them.

Baloo huffed back into the cockpit.  "Good work, Kid.  That oughta do the job to get as home, as long as we can find this little paradise again."

"Now it's my turn!" the boy said rising from the pilot's seat.  He took his airfoil out from underneath his sweater.  "Keep her real low, Baloo.  There's nothing sticking up on that island to run into, and I don't wanna miss anything."  He headed back into the hold.

"You be careful!" Baloo yelled back.  He glanced over his shoulder and saw the boy grab the tow rope and leap out through the cargo hold.  His heart still caught in his throat, just a little, every time he saw that - even after all this time.  He turned his attention forward, and headed into a low buzz of Whistlestop's Island.

Kit looped the tow rope around his foot and grabbed the binoculars in both hands, scanning the surface of the island for anything unnatural.  He saw the Sea Duck's three gas drums spaced out on the beach, bracketing the lagoon.  If his mother was as good a pilot as reported - and he felt in his heart that she was - then she would have spotted the same lagoon that Baloo had.  Of course, she'd been flying alone, so her accuracy would have been less than perfect - she'd have had to put the plane on autopilot when she dumped the barrels...

He scanned the area around the lagoon - nothing.  He signaled to Baloo to fly a loop, and the pilot began to circle the island.  He scanned the palm groves, hoping that they might be hiding something - wreckage, anything.  No luck.. The two small hills in the center of the island were nearly barren, and seemed incapable of hiding any secrets.  He looked among the brush and scrub - nothing.

His heart began to sink in his chest - if they found no traces of her fuel here, than Whistlestop's theory was unprovable, and they might be flying the entirely wrong course.  There HAD to be something...  To his dismay, he saw that they were almost back at the lagoon.

He slipped slightly on the airfoil as a gust of wind caught him, and flailed momentarily.  Baloo must have noticed - he saw the pilot look back with a scowl.  He was going to call Kit in soon, the boy knew.  There had to be something, there had to...

Then, in a flash, he saw it - nestled among the scrub dotted rocks perhaps fifty yards inland of the lagoon, the remnants of a parachute - bleached so white that it was almost impossible to see against the pale rocky backdrop.  He excitedly gestured for Baloo's attention and pointed straight down - he needed a closer look.

Baloo looped around and came in low, and Kit, knowing exactly where to look, was able to see exactly what he had found.  There were two drums, both attached to a single parachute, strewn amongst the boulders and scrub.  All color had been bleached out of the metal by the relentless tropical sun, but they drums appeared to be intact, if rusty.  He signalled for Baloo to pull him in.

As soon as he was in the hold, he dashed up to the cockpit.  "Didya see it, Papa Bear?"

The pilot grinned.  "Yup - that second pass, I got a good look.  Two drums, right?"

Kit huffed, catching his breath as he collapsed into his chair.  "Yeah - two drums, and a parachute! The drums looked like they were in good shape too.  It's her, Papa Bear!  It's gotta be!  Whistlestop was right!"

"Looks that way, Kit."  He checked the gas gauge.  "We got enough fuel to search for an hour, Kid, then we head back fer the island and fill up - and then Tortuga.  I'm not gonna cut it close, and I ain't countin' on no ten-year old barrels havin' fuel in em."

"She was here, Baloo!" Kit breathed.  "She was here.  She's out there somewhere, Baloo - maybe she found an island, maybe there was enough food growing there to survive - who knows?"

Baloo frowned and patted Kit's shoulder.  "Kid - anythin's possible.  But ya know that ain't likely, dontcha?  Don't set yerself up fer a big heartbreak... I'm beggin 'ya, Kiddo."

Kit was defiant.  "Whatever we find, we find, Baloo.  That's all.  At least we're on the right track.  Now, we've got searching to do!"

"You bet Kid.  If Whistlestop was right, as soon as she dropped the fuel shed've headed back to pick up the jetstream as quick as her wings could carry 'er.  What's the course?"

Kit checked his map.  "Eighty-two degrees - just north of due west.  That's gets us back on Whistlestop's ideal course in about forty miles."

They flew on that course for a quarter hour, Kit scanning the seas with the binoculars.  With the exception of couple of tiny sandbars, incapable of hiding any wreckage, the ocean surface was unbroken.  "Papa Bear - change heading, fifteen degrees north - that keeps us on the planned course." Kit called out.

"Roger." the pilot answered. 

The skies were still a brilliant blue, but now were more frequently pockmarked by grey clouds.  They flew, and still the Pacific yielded no secrets - no hidden atolls or tropical paradises - only mile after mile of unbroken blue water.

"Chop's startin' to pick up." Baloo muttered.  Kit turned the binoculars onto the sea beneath them and sure enough, whitecaps were beginning to appear on the water's surface.  It was a sure sign of weather ahead, somewhere.

Kit could feel the frustration starting to well up inside him as they flew on.  The clock was ticking and he knew it - if they didn't spot something soon they would have to abandon the search for the day.  He forced himself to concentrate, remembering Baloo's stern words of earlier in the day.  He slowly panned the binoculars side to side, looking for any sign of land near their flight path.  With a start, he noticed something strange, dead ahead in their course.  "What's _that_?" he whispered, a note of alarm in his voice.

"Huh?" Baloo asked, puzzled.  "Lemme have them binoculars."

Kit handed them over.  He squinted, his keen eyes trying to perceive unaided what he had just observed.  He could see a _discoloration_, a massive blot on the horizon.  It seemed to stretch as far as he could see.  Below, the waters began to roil more violently.

"Uh-oh!" Baloo said beside him.  "I don't like the looks o' that."

"What is it Baloo?" Kit asked, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Baloo looked through the binoculars for a moment more, then handed them back to Kit with a sigh.  "Whistlestop warned me about this.  It's the Wambizi current, kid - some real warm water, and that's where it flows right under the south Pacific jet stream.  When that air's a little colder, they get together and make some weather.  We're gonna have to get a little closer and see what we're dealin' with."

They flew closer to what appeared to be a massive wall of cloud, which extended from the very surface of the water all the way up to fierce-looking black clouds, thousands of feet higher than their present elevation.  Lightning lit the sky in the distance.  "That - that looks pretty bad, Papa Bear." Kit said in awe.

"And right in our course, too.  I'm not gonna risk flyin' through that with a half empty tank, L'il Britches."

Kit panned the binoculars along the storm front.  "I don't see any break, Papa Bear, in either direction.  Can we fly over?"

"No way kiddo.  Those storms are up there at 25,000 feet, minimum.  Not in our arsenal unless you wanna stay out here fer good."  He frowned and studied the horizon.  "We've got enough fuel to search on this side for a while.  Then we'll head back and try to fly around it tomorrow."

Baloo banked the plane to the east, and they began a wide arcing loop.  Kit studied the massive front behind him - it looked like an impenetrable barrier, as formidable as a mountain range.  There had been an inordinate number of those in his path in his short lifetime, he figured.  How would they ever get around it?

Baloo rolled the drums along the sand towards the Sea Duck, as Kit dashed along the rocks to investigate the old bleached barrels he'd spotted earlier.  The last half hour of searching had been fruitless - they'd seen no land of any kind, and that ominous wall of weather had hovered over them like a bad mood.  The rock they had come to call Whistlestop's Island was peaceful and tranquil by comparison - the setting sun turned the western horizon orange, while the sky was clear and blue overhead, dotted with seabirds.  Kit's psyche felt like he was still back under the shadow of that wall, however.

He located the drums and went to investigate.  They had nestled among some car sized boulders, and their surface had been bleached white by the burning sun of four thousand Pacific days.  They were dotted with rust. To his dismay, he saw that the oxidation had eaten a small hole in the base of the first barrel, and when he tapped it's surface he heard no liquid sloshing inside.  He tried the second barrel, and it was even worse - it had been punctured by a sharp rock and was clearly empty  He trudged back down the rocks to the lagoon.

Baloo was already siphoning the first drum's gas into the seaplane's tanks when he arrived back. The tradewinds blew, and it was a cool evening.  "Baloo!  There's no fuel in the barrels.  One of 'em didn't survive the drop, and the other one's been eaten through with rust."

Baloo wiped his brow.  "So even if she'd made it back here, she'd have been in trouble."

Kit sat wearily and twisted his cap in his hands.  "Why does this ocean have to be so _big_?  It's almost like they're not giving us a chance..."

Baloo smiled grimly.  "That's why people don't come out here much, Kid.  One false move and yer tougher to find than a cat in a doghouse."  He finished with the first drum and gave it a shove down the sand.  He rolled the second into place and began siphoning the gas.  "One good thing - we can drop the other three drums now, so we don't have to waste and time or fuel coming out here to do it tomorrow.  Gives us a little more chance to search at least."

Kit stared behind him, towards the now invisible wall of darkness out there on the water.  "Not much of one." he whispered, and put his face in his hands.

The mis-named "Tortuga Tropical Paradise Inn" sat across from the airfield amongst a strip of taverns and houses of ill repute.  It looked (and smelled) from the inside like a barn, more than anything else - rotting wooden rafters lined the ceiling and there was straw on the floor, employed, no doubt, to soak up the beer and other things spilled by it's rowdy crowd, mostly visiting pilots.

In a corner sat a large grey bear and his son, munching on hamburgers and looking at aviation maps spread on the table before them.  Baloo was unfazed by the decor - he'd spent more hours in pilot dives like this one than he'd care to admit.  Kit Cloudkicker wasn't paying much notice either.  His mind was still out on the water, circling in a yellow seaplane and searching an ocean that seemed impossibly big.

"C'mon, L'il Britches.  Nobody said this was gonna be easy.  Keep yer chin up.  We've still got tomorrow to search."

"I know Baloo." the cub said, taking a bite of his hamburger and grimacing.  "But I just keep seeing that storm out there - I've never seen anything like it before.  It didn't even seem to be moving.  It was like a wall someone built to keep us out."

Baloo grinned.  "That's the tropics kid.  Warm water likes to make trouble - especially when it gets together with cold air."

Kit furrowed his brow in thought.  "What's the date today, Baloo?"

Baloo was surprised at the question.  "November 3rd, Kid.  Whassa matter - ya missin' a dentist appointment or somethin'?"

Kit tapped the table.  "I was just thinkin', Baloo.  You know that newspaper, where it talks about my Mother, how she - how she-"

"Yeah." the pilot said gently.

"Yeah.  Well, I just remembered - she disappeared on the 4th of November. Tomorrow's the 4th, Baloo!"

Baloo frowned.  "I guess that _is_ a pretty weird coincidence, Kiddo, but-"

"No!  Don't you see?" the boy said, excitement creeping into his voice.  ""That's the same date - that means she was probably encountering the same weather conditions we were, Baloo!"

"Yeah, you could be right..." Baloo said, nodding slowly.

"Look, you said yourself - that current -Wabeezi, whatever it was - flows through there, warm water, all year round.  It doesn't change.  So it was there, eleven years ago, when Angie flew through there.  There's a good chance the upper air temperature was about the same too - it was the exact same date!  Which means that when she flew she probably ran into the same - wall, storm, whatever - that we did!"

Baloo nodded.  "Yeah, L'il Britches - you could be right.  But I still don't see where that helps us.  We still got no idea which course change she flew to get around it."

"But she didn't, Baloo!  She couldn't - she had to make it all the way to Wahini Atoll, remember?  You saw how massive that thing was!  She couldn't afford a hundred mile detour, each way, to fly around it!  She _must've_ gone straight through!"

"Now hold on, Kid!  Even if she did - which would be a pretty foolhardy thing to do - that don't mean we're gonna do that too.  It's too dangerous!"

"But Baloo!" the cub pleaded.  "We came all this way out here to find her!  What's the point of it all if we fly the wrong course?  You're the best there is Baloo - you can handle that storm!"

"No sale!" the pilot replied, crossing his arms stubbornly.  "There's chances and there's chances - and some chances shouldn't be took!  It's too risky."

"_Please_, Baloo!" Kit begged.  "We'll have more fuel - we won't have to detour to Whistlestop's island on the way.  How can I come this close and not at least try to find out what happened?  We've flown through storms before, lots o' times!  We have to try.  PLEASE!"

"That ain't no ordinary storm, Kid!  I ain't never seen nuthin' like it..."  He looked down at the boy, pleading eyes staring back up at him.  "All right - we'll take a look, but no promises!  We'll fly up close and see what it looks like, then decide-"

Kit bounded over and hugged him."Thanks, Papa Bear!" he whispered.  "I knew you'd try."

Baloo returned his embrace, then grabbed the boy's face in a massive paw.  "I still don't like this, L'il Britches!  We're takin' a chance that we shouldn't - it ain't no reason to celebrate."  He hugged the boy tightly to him again.  "I don't think I should be doin' this, Kid.  But if it means that much to you, we'll try.  Some responsible parent I turned out to be..."

From the moment they first saw it, the massive tower of ill weather was a damper on the mood in the Sea Duck's cockpit.  As they approached, the true depth and scope of it became apparent - it extended for at least fifty miles in either direction, without a break in sight. 

Baloo eased the stick forward.  "I'm gonna try takin' us through low - maybe less chance of gettin' hit by lightning that way."  The water churned beneath them as the approached the front.  Sheets of lightning lit the sky and a few drops of rain spattered the windshield.  As they flew closer Kit could see that the definitions of the bad weather were not so clearly defined as they'd appeared from a distance - there was a gradual deterioration of the conditions as they grew closer.

"Here we go." Baloo said quietly as a few more drops of wain fell and gusts of wind began to toss the seaplane, forcing Baloo make constant adjustments to the wheel.

Kit grabbed Baloo's arm nervously with one paw and studied his compass with the other.  "Stay this course - it's right on our projections.  That's what she would've tried to do!"

The wind howled outside the ship and sheets of rain began pounding the windows.  Claps of thunder could be heard over the roar of the engines, and shards of lightning split the increasingly dark sky.  "Lights!" Baloo said aloud, and Kit flicked the exterior lights on.

"Stay on this course!" Kit shouted over the rising din.  "Due northwest!"

"I'm _tryin'_ Kit!" Baloo shouted, as a bolt of lightning pierced the sky off the port side. Too close.  It was now dark as any night outside, and the winds tossed the seaplane about like a toy.

Suddenly, a noise like a thousand drums began to rattle the ship.  "What's that?" Kit yelled, alarmed.

"Hail!" Baloo shouted.  "This is gettin' worse, Kid!  Which way is out?"

"I dunno, Baloo!" the boy yelled, panic rising in his voice.  Lightning was all around them, and the hailstones were getting larger, creating a nerve-shattering din as they impacted the hull and windshield.  "My compass is all screwed up - it's the lightning!"

"The Googleschlocher!" the grey bear yelled, teeth clenched as he wrestled with the wind for control of the Sea Duck.

The boy looked at the large Googlescholcher Gyromcompass mounted on the dash - it was designed to function in any conditions.  The needle wavered, but he was able to take a reading. "We're being blown south, off our course!" he screamed over the din.  "Turn six degrees north!"

"But is that the fastest way out?" Baloo yelled, wrestling the plane.  "It's only a matter o' time before one o' those strikes catches up with us, Kid!"  The sky was lit constantly now by lightning.

"There!" the cub screamed, pointing to the north.  "One o'clock, Baloo!  I see blue sky!"

Baloo squinted through the hail and rain.  There was a small clear patch in the black clouds, far to their north.  The wind buffeted the plane wildly, but the pilot tacked across repeatedly to avoid the worst of it.  Gradually the conditions improved, and the patch of blue grew larger.

"We're gonna make it!" Kit shouted joyfully.

Baloo smiled, then his eyes drifted to the instrument panel.  "The oil pressure!"  He looked behind him - a thin trail of black smoke wafted back from the engine.  "Oh, great!  One of those hailstones or lightning strikes caught the oil line, Kid!"

"How bad, Baloo?"

They were now into a patch of light rain and scattered sun - the worst of the weather was behind them.  Baloo rolled down his window and stuck his upper body out to get a look at the engine.  He popped back in and shook his head, water flying everywhere.  "Looks like _two - leaks, believe it or not - small ones.  Must've been those hailbombs out there - they were like anti-aircraft flak!  We're gonna lose that engine if we don't get 'em plugged.  I think I can fix 'em, but we need to find a place to land - now!  It's either that or ditch in the middle of the ocean."

Kit grabbed the binoculars and began searching the horizon.  The irony of the situation was not lost on him.  "If we got two holes in the oil line, Baloo, who know what happened to Angie?  If she was flyin' an L-10 it might've come out even worse."

"Let's hope that's where the similarity stops." Baloo said grimly.  He checked the gauge again.  "I don't like the looks o' this pressure gauge, L'il Britches.  If that engine burns out on us we're in deep.  I can fix an oil leak but I can't fix a fried engine!  I'm gonna put down in the water and hope we can get to that engine."

"Baloo - wait!" Kit said, binoculars to his eyes..  "Sea birds!  There must be land somewhere, an island!  We haven't flown over anything close enough for those birds to get to, and there's no way birds are flyin' through that hurricane!"

"Better find it quick, Kid - five more minutes and that engine's runnin' dry."

"Turn forty degrees east, Baloo!  That's where I saw the birds!  There _must_ be an island!  If Angie was in trouble she'd have been looking for it too..."

"Damn!" Baloo muttered.  "Two minutes, Kit, I mean it!  If you don't spot land in two minutes I'm-"

"There!" the boy yelled.  "Eleven o'clock!"  He handed the binoculars to Baloo.

"Well, I'll be!" Baloo whispered.  He saw a small island a few miles off - it was rugged, and the rocks were a strange black variety - volcanic?  "I can reach that - maybe.  Hold onto yer eyeballs, Kid!"

Baloo banked the plane and descended as he approached - there wouldn't be time to be fancy or choosy about landing.  The island looked no more inviting close up - it was formed of a black rock that seemed to have been thrust up from the ocean floor.  There were numerous hills, and it appeared to be no more than a mile across.

He picked out a fairly level section of coast and aimed for it.  As the plane descend below 100 feet he caught a glimpse of something shining on a rise overlooking his landing spot.

"Did you see that?" Kit asked, turning to catch another look, but it was gone from view.

"I saw it." Baloo said grimly.  "First things first - let's get this baby down in one piece."  He brought the plane down on the ocean surface a hundred yards or so offshore, and taxied over, looking for a place to beach her.  There was a shelf of what looked like black sand - it was narrow and far from perfect, but it would have to do.

With a scraping sound the sea plane skimmed onto the sandy surface and Baloo killed the engines.  He leaped down to the island.  They appeared to be standing on what were actually small pebbles of the same black rock that seemed to constitute the island - not true sand.

He reached up and helped Kit down.  The cub immediately made as if to head for the rise, but Baloo grabbed him by the collar and held him.  "No sir!  No one goes anywhere til the engine's repaired, L'il Britches.  That's what gets us home.  And no going off by yourself, neither."

"But Baloo-" the boy pleaded.

"But nuthin'!" Baloo barked with uncharacteristic firmness.  "We fix the engine first and then we go searchin' together.  Period.  Understand?"

"Yes sir." Kit said glumly.

"Good.  Now go get me the tool box and keep yer fingers crossed."

Baloo emptied the last of the oil into the engine and wiped his grease-covered paws on his shirt.  "Good thing I carry a few quarts o' oil on board, L'il Britches, or we'd be swimmin' home.  Not to mention another minute and that engine woulda burned out like a firecracker.  We got some kinda guardian angel out here."

Kit took the tool box from Baloo and stowed it in the hold.  He jumped outside and Baloo was already staring up at the stand of rock which stood perhaps seventy feet in height.  He held out his hand to the cub.  "I guess it's time, Kid.  This is what we came here for."  Kit grabbed his hand and Baloo squeezed the cub's paw reassuringly.  The two bears stared up the rise.

They were near the top when Kit spotted the first small pieces of wreckage.  There were bits of glass, what looked liked small pieces of the fuselage.  Then he saw the wing -or what was left of it.

Baloo panted as he caught up with Kit.  The crest of the hill was ahead, and the was a small dip in between it and where they stood.  The boy stared down, where a large section of silver wing nestled in the bottom of the little valley.

"Looks like they was in worse shape then we were when they was landin'." Baloo said, then, seeing Kit wince, silently cursed himself for saying it.  They scurried down to look at the wing.  It had been neatly sheared near it's base - most likely by the crest of the hill above them.  They both knew what was likely to be on the other side.

Grunting with exertion they climbed the last hill, and sat to rest on the top.  Kit steeled himself, and looked over.  Ahead of him, he saw the body of the plane, the other wing still attached.  Small parts of the fuselage were scattered among the black rocks on the slope, shining silver in the bright sunlight.  "My God." he whispered.

Baloo joined him and put an arm around his shoulder.  "Wow. " he mumbled.  "Guess we better - Kit!"

The cub was racing down the hillside towards the remains of the plane.  By the time Baloo caught up with the boy he was already examining the fuselage.  "Careful!" Baloo yelled.  "That could be dangerous!"

"This isn't a Conwing L-10!" Kit said in a low voice.

Baloo stepped back to take a better look.  "Yer right, Kid - this ain't no Conwing." he said.

Kit threw his cap to the ground and put his face in his hands.  "It's not her!" he groaned.  "After all, that, and it's not her!"

"I ain't never seen a plane like this before." Baloo whispered.  "This is some kinda weird design... What's this metal?" he said, fingering a section of fuselage.   The entire design of the plane was strange.  The wings were too far forward, and they stuck out at a funny angle, the tail section was too long.  What _was_ this thing?

Kit morosely walked over to the cockpit and peered inside.  "Doesn't look like there's much in here." he said, trying the door, which didn't give.

Baloo examined the tail section - or what was left of it.  "This is weird!" he called.  "There's no registration number.  What the heck?"  He was starting to get a funny feeling about this....

Kit's grunting as he tried to open the cockpit door interrupted his thoughts.  Baloo walked over.  "Stand back." he ordered.  He reached out for the door and gave it a great heave.  With a scream of tortured metal it gave way, and he pulled it clear and tossed it with a clang to the rocks.

Kit crawled into the cockpit.  "Blood." he said, pointing to the seat.  "Not a lot, though, just a few drops.  Whoever this was they survived the impact."  The boy examined the controls.  "You're right -there's no identification at all.  This is weird, Papa Bear.  I've never seen a cockpit design like this - what are these?" he asked, pointing to a series of unmarked gauges on the panel.

Baloo examined.  "I dunno, Kiddo.  I never seen a cockpit like this - it ain't no aircraft manufacturer I've ever seen.  Let's check out the hold."

The cargo hold was barren - the roof had been ripped badly, and sunlight shone through.  The tail section had separated from the main fuselage.  It was a mess.  "What now?" the cub asked.

"I guess we look - look for whoever was flyin' this thing."  Baloo still had an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach.

They trudged down the hill towards the center of the island.  Because the black rocky surface absorbed the sun's energy, the island was uncomfortably hot, even by tropical standards.  The black rocks were spotted here and there by bird droppings - fishing birds, no doubt.  Baloo looked back, over his shoulder - he could see the wall of the storm front they had passed through, still hanging over them menacingly.  Did it ever rain here - on the island?

Kit trudged a few steps ahead of the pilot, looking about with the binoculars.  He was tired already - the oppressive heat was bad enough, but the surface was rocky, uneven - and the rocks were sharp-edged and pointy.  It made walking extremely uncomfortable.

Baloo put a hand on the cub's back.  "Rest a sec, Kid.  No rush now." he panted.  "Y'know, L'il Britches - that looked like some kinda test aircraft to me.  Maybe military.  That could be what all the hush-hush was about, somehow."

Kit frowned and shielded his eyes from the sun.  He wasn't sure whether to be encouraged or depressed by that theory.  "Then that could have been her plane... but this place - how could anyone-"

The boy stopped, as Baloo squeezed his shoulder tightly.  "Let's just keep on looking." He said with a thin smile.

They crested another small hill and slowly descended the far side.  They faced west, as the slowly setting sun now stared at them head on.  "I'm gonna check out that hollow." Kit said, pointing at a small depression a few dozen yards to their left.  Baloo thought to follow him, but his weariness won out.  He sat to rest.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash as the sunlight reflected off of something to his right.  He turned, looked at Kit and thought about calling him, but decided to check it out on his own.

There was a small bowl in the hillside, and as Baloo approached it he saw what appeared to be a man-sized piece of shiny silver metal propped up against a pile of rocks, forming a kind of overhang.  Stomach churning, he slowly approached, and walked around to peer underneath the slab of fuselage.

His heart leapt into his throat.  He stifled a cry, and crawled onto his hands and knees to examine the skeleton.  Clearly, it had been dead for a long time.  He breathed deeply and parted the rags of cloth that still ringed the bones.  There was a set of dog tags.

Fists clenched, he crawled backwards for a few yards and sat down, head in hands.  "What is it?" Kit's voice asked, from a few yards behind him.

Baloo turned, and the boy saw the expression on his face.  "What?!" he asked again sharply, and started to walk around the big grey bear.

Baloo grabbed Kit by the arms and pulled him into an embrace.  "No."

"What?" the cub said, straining at Baloo's arms wildly.

"No, L'il Britches.  Don't." the pilot said quietly, tears rolling down his cheeks.  The boy continued to struggle against his hold.  Baloo stroked the cub's hair - his hat must still be down by the plane, he thought idly.

"Lemme GO!" Kit bellowed.  "Baloo!  I have to see."  With a sigh, Baloo released the boy and buried his face in his hands.

There was silence - the only sound the wind whistling slightly as it blew through the crags.  A sea bird called, from somewhere on the island.  After a few moments Baloo turned and saw Kit standing stock still, staring at the scene before him. 

Finally, after an eternity passed in Baloo's perception, Kit slowly turned, a strange expression on his face - annoyance, it seemed to Baloo, more than anything else.  "Is... is..." the boy mumbled softly.

Baloo held out his hand, fist clenched.  Kit reached his paw out, and Baloo dropped the dog tags into his waiting palm.  Slowly, calmly, the boy lifted them and, shielding his eyes from the setting sun, read them.  He dropped them to the rocks, and closed his eyes tightly.

Baloo wiped tears from his eyes and looked at the boy.  Kit stood for a moment, eyes closed to the world.  He opened them, took two steps ahead and then looked sidelong at Baloo, as if he'd forgotten the bear was present.  Wordlessly, he dropped to his knees and held his arms out.  Baloo grabbed him and held him tightly.

Neither bear nor cub spoke - they simply sat, Kit's head on Baloo's chest.  The boy didn't cry - maybe he has no more tears left to give, Baloo thought to himself.  He simply laid his head on Baloo's chest and stared straight ahead, for five minutes, then ten.  Finally, he disengaged himself from Baloo, squeezed the pilot's arm and, pausing to pick up the dog tags, began walking down towards the wrecked aircraft.

Baloo stared at his back for a moment, then crawled back under the overhanging fuselage.  He rooted around in the rocks.  Scattered nearby were a few rusted tin cans, a few scraps of cloth, and a scorched depression where a fire had clearly burned.  He spotted a tattered khaki knapsack wedged under a boulder and picked it up.

He rooted around inside, and found three flares, unused.  An empty water bottle.  An aviation map, folded neatly.  And, wedged in a side pocket, an envelope.  It was yellowed and weather-beaten, but still, incredibly, sealed.  There was no address on the front, only a name: "Michael Smith".

Baloo found Kit seated on a rock a few yards away from the wrecked fuselage of the silver plane.  The boy did not look up or speak as Baloo approached.  Baloo stood, for a moment, catching his breath.  He reached down and picked up the red and blue baseball cap, which had blown a few feet and stuck against a boulder.  He placed it on Kit's head and turned the bill backwards.

"Thanks." the cub said, and stood.  Baloo grabbed his paw and they walked back to the Sea Duck.

Within a few moments they were airborne.  The repairs held - the engine was not leaking oil and the pressure held firm.  Baloo scanned the sky in front of him - he could see now that the wall of clouds was in fact moving.  The storms were forming as the paths of the Wambizi current and the South Pacific Jet merged, and ran parallel.  With the clarity of hindsight, Baloo knew for certain that when the two diverged again the storms would be carried north on the jet.  Clear skies would be closer to the south.  He flew to the outskirts of the ill weather and banked the plane in that direction.

He reached into his pocket and handed the envelope to Kit.  "I found this up there." He said quietly.

Kit looked at the envelope silently.  "What do we do with it?" he asked in a flat voice after a moment.

"I think you know who Michael Smith is, Kid."

The boy scowled.  "I guess this belongs to him, then." he said and handed it back to Baloo.

They were silent after that as Baloo continued south.  After about fifty miles breaks began to appear in the previously solid wall of storms, and Baloo turned to the east.

"Course correction." Kit said to his right, startling the pilot, who had almost forgotten the boy was there.  Kit had his maps spread out before him, and was making calculations.  "Eighty-two degrees east-northeast, Papa Bear.  That's a direct heading to our gas station.  Should be about sixty miles."

"Good work, navigator." Baloo said, patting Kit on the shoulder, and changing course.

Baloo stared across the bar at Kit, seated at the table absently stirring his drink with his straw.  "That's right, Beckers. " he said into the receiver.  "Be home by early afternoon, tomorrow."

"Well?  What happened?  Did you..."

"Yeah."

There was a pause.   "Was..."

"Yeah." Baloo said huskily.  "And Becky, give a call to our friend - you know who.  Call 'im collect.  Tell 'im we found a letter for 'im.  See you  tomorrow."

Baloo hung up the phone and headed back to the table.  Kit, he noticed, was wearing the dog tags.

Kit stared out the window at the sea beneath him - _his_ sea.  These were waters he knew.  They would be home in a few hours.

He could no longer hold back the thoughts that clamored for release - he had managed to suppress them for the most part, since yesterday, but he no longer could.  They demanded to be thought.

"Baloo - I wanna talk." he said to the pilot.

Baloo stared over at him with sad eyes.  "So talk, Kid.  Y'know I'll listen all day if I have to."

Kit smiled ruefully.  "Why, Papa Bear?  What was the point?"

Baloo sighed.  "Kit - I thought I already told you how I felt about that question..."

Kit shook his head.  "I just don't understand it.  I was perfectly happy.  Everything was fine.  How does this matter, to me?  Why did this have to happen?  Isn't there a _reason_ for things to happen?"

Baloo paused for  a moment.  "Y'know Kid, you can try to explain things like that yer whole life, and all ya ever get is more questions, and more heartache.  My Uncle Moe told me once, he said, 'Baloo, best thing that ever happened to me was goin' bust in the depression of the '80s.   Before, I never knew what a good meal tasted like - REALLY tasted like.  I never appreciated havin' a warm bed on a cold night.  I never understood how good it felt to look at somebody you love's face after you give 'em something, something they really want.  I did all those things, but I may as well've been fallin' off a log as little as I appreciated 'em at the time.

Now, Baloo, every day I wake up with a shaboozie in my pocket and a warm blanket is a joy.  Every time I buy you a comic book is a pleasure.  Every ice cream sundae I eat tastes like Nirvana itself.  Cause I know what all those things mean, Baloo.  If I haddana gone bust I'da gone through my whole life and never truly enjoyed anything.  That depression was the greatest gift I ever got.'

Now Kid, I had to think about that fer a while, but then that was true with a lot o' what ol' Moe said.  But when I thought about it, 'specially as I got older, it made sense.  If I haddana lost my Mama, when I was five - if I haddana lost my brother...  Now Kid, I wish I still had those people, don't get me wrong.  But L'il Britches - if I haddana gone through that - if I didn't know what it felt like, if I haddana been a solo pilot for near twenty years...  Kid, when you flew into Louie's and landed on my belly would I have offered you a ride?  Would I have seen you for who you were 'stead o' what you was pretendin' to be?

Kit - if I haddana known what it felt like - really felt like, all those years - would I know now how much.... I love you - how much I love havin' you as a son, as my best friend?  Would I understand how empty my life was before, and how empty it'd still be if you weren't in it?  Kiddo - If my brother, hadnt't... if he hadn't... well - would I've understood how much you needed somebody to be there, for you?  How much ya needed _me_ to be there, and not let you down?  Ever?  I guess I'm just tryin' to say - you gotta stop and think about the ways yer really lucky - and then when bad stuff happens you'll appreciate that even more.  Does that make any sense, L'il Britches?"

Kit stared up at Baloo.  The big bear, even now, had the ability to surprise him.  It was hard to sit here, next to him in the Sea Duck, and _not_ feel lucky.  He smiled.  "I don't really understand all of it, Papa Bear.  But I sure am lucky to have you to explain it to me."

Baloo smiled awkwardly.  "Thanks.  I guess."  He unbuckled and stood.  "Now, wingman - fly us home."

Kit met his eyes.  "All the way home?"

"All the way home." Baloo said with a smile.  Kit unbuckled, stood and hugged the pilot quickly.  He strapped in and checked the instruments.  "OK... altitude 4400 feet, airspeed 177 MPH.  Heading 22 degrees east-northeast..."

The cliffs grew larger in the window as Kit guided the Sea Duck home.  Baloo reached over and picked up the mike, and handed it to him.  Kit grinned sheepishly and pressed the transmit button.  "Harbor Patrol - this is Sea Duck, approaching one mile out, request permission to enter the Cape." he said in what he hoped was a mature voice.

There was crackle of static on the other end.  "That you, Baloo?" a puzzled voice asked.

Kit grinned over at his partner.  "Negative.  It's Kit - Kit Cloudkicker.  Baloo's my wingman today."

"Huh." the voice answered.  "Ain't that a kick.  Roger, Cloudkicker, yer cleared.  Huh!"

"Roger, Cloudkicker out!"  He looked at Baloo and laughed.  "I guess we gave him his coffee break story for today!"

"Those guys need a little shakin' up these days.  Not enough pirate attacks to keep 'em busy."

Kit aimed the Duck at the opening in the cliffs and eased the throttle back.  He had rehearsed this moment in his mind, so many times, but now he felt no nervousness at all.  This was in his blood, in his heart.  It pumped through his veins with every beat.  Calmly he fell in line behind a Khan cargo plane and eased the Duck through the gap and into Cape Suzette.

The city spread out beneath him.  Memories of Freeburg, Port Wallaby, San Flamingo played out in his mind.  Would he appreciate - truly appreciate - this incredible wonderland if he hadn't lived on the streets and orphanages of those grey towns?

            "There it is, Kiddo!  Cape Suzette!  Whaddaya think?"

He flew a wide, graceful, arc, past the glimmering, colorful skyscrapers downtown, past the homes built into the very mountains around the city.  He flew out over the park, it's verdant expanse spreading out beneath the plane.  He flew finally back to the harbor, the airplanes and ships busily delivering goods to and picking up goods from home - _his_ home.  And he flew to Higher for Hire, it's crow's next sticking up jauntily atop the building and seemingly trying to reach into the mountains behind it.

He brought the plane in confidently and touched the pontoons to the harbor at 90 MPH, and cut the engines.  The plane slowed and gracefully skated to a stop alongside the dock, where Wildcat waved cheerily.

They were home.

Baloo and Rebecca framed Kit on one side of the booth at Levinson's Diner.  Kit looked at his watch and smiled at Rebecca.  "Thanks for coming - Miz - Becky.  I sure appreciate it."

Rebecca smiled, stirring her coffee absently.  "I wouldn't have missed it Kit.  You know that."

Kit looked at his watch again.  "He said seven, right?"

"Don't worry L'il Britches.   He'll be here." Baloo said.  "These types are real prompt."  He noisily slurped his soda."

Kit absently took a sip of his and looked at the clock.  Sure enough, at 6:59 the leopard walked in, dressed in a dark suit and black hat.  He tapped his brim and sat at the booth.

"Hello, all of you.  I somehow suspected I'd be seeing you again."

"H'lo." Baloo said curtly.

"How are things in Myopia?  Lasoapsia?" Rebecca asked with a bitter smile.

The cat stared at her.  "Very well, thank you."

"Dee-lightful." Baloo mumbled.

"Well - Miss Cunningham informed me that you had a letter addressed to me.  From Angie.  Since I so rudely refused to answer so many of your questions before, I'll do you the courtesy of not asking how you came into possession of it.  Frankly I think it would be better if I didn't know in any case."

Without a word Kit reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter.  The man took it, dark eyes shining.  He studied the yellowed envelope and smiled sadly.  "I was supposed to meet her, you know.  I was supposed to see her off, the day she left.  There was a blowup, a crisis.  I had to deal with it.  It's not important.  I never made it.  I imagine she was rather cross."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a letter opener.  With a tearing sound he ripped the old envelope open.  Two pieces of paper fell out.  He glanced at one quickly, looked away as quickly, then read the other.  His dark eyes glistened, and a tear rolled down his cheek.

With a deep breath, he folded the second piece of yellowed paper and stuffed it into a pocket.  "It - it seems that I have yet another reason to apologize to you, young man.  This is yours, and you should have received it years ago."  He stood and handed the first letter to Kit.  "I hope you can forgive me -and I hope you will understand, whatever happens.  You are needed, Kit.  Always remember that."  He touched Kit's cheek briefly and quickly left the restaurant, leaving a stunned Rebecca and Baloo staring, slack-jawed.

Kit looked at the letter, folded and unfolded it in his hands.  He set it on the table and stared at it.

"You... wanna be alone, Kiddo?" Baloo asked gently.

Kit smiled and patted his arm.  "Please, stay.  Please."

Rebecca squeezed his hand reassuringly.  "Whenever you're ready.  We're not going anywhere."

Kit blew out a breath and picked up the paper.  He unfolded it and began reading it aloud.

            "Dear Kit;

How strange this is!  To be writing a letter, and considering my words so carefully, and yet hoping you will never read it!  How strange we all are, people.

If you're reading this, it means I am gone.  I hope you can forgive me for leaving you.  If it will make you feel any better, I love you more than anything.  I always have and always will.  I've made mistakes in my life, and paid for them , as we all do.  If I've left you it was my greatest mistake of all.

I wonder what kind of person you are.  They all tell me that you look just like me.  In my selfish way I hope it's true!  I hope you are happy, and I hope you have parents who take good care of you and feed your imagination, like mine did.  I hope they teach you to soar.

I wonder if you like to fly!  Again, in my selfish way, I hope that you do.  I sure do.  It's the greatest thing in my life, after you.  The best thing is when you can just fly - not because you have a job, or a task, but just because you want to.  The more I think about it, the more I think that's the greatest gift I could give you - because it's the greatest gift fate ever gave me. I hope that from me you got the urge to fly - to shuck the bonds of earth and be    free, among the clouds and the birds, and touch the sky.  The only thing greater than that,Kit, is to be able to share all of those things with someone you love.  I hope fate has given you that gift, too.

I guess that's about all - except to say again, I'm sorry that I'm not around.  I never really was cut out for this mothering thing, and if you're reading this that means that I really   screwed it up.  The only part I was really good at was loving you.  I was great at that.  Always will be!

I hope that you think of me, some day, when you're flying. But even if you don't decide that's what you want to do, I hope you think of me anyways.  I'll be thinking about you.

            With love,

            Angie

Kit set the letter down on the table and sat back in the booth.  Rebecca was crying quietly, and Baloo had taken off his hat and was staring down at it as he held it in his lap.  No one said anything for a moment.

Kit folded the letter carefully and put it in his pocket.  He closed his eyes and began to cry, gently at first, but then the sobs began to come uncontrollably, prompting a few curious stares from the other tables.  He could feel Baloo and Rebecca holding him, gently squeezing him between their embraces as they sat in the booth.  It was strange - almost as if he were looking at himself, sitting there crying.  He thought objectively that it was good, something that he needed to do.  There were questions of course - but they seemed unimportant to him now.  There would be time for them later - or not.  And as he thought those things he realized that it felt good to cry, and to think about his mother.  It was something he'd needed to do for a long time.  Now, at last, he could mourn a real person.

He reached his arms out and hugged Baloo and Rebecca closer.  That felt good too.  No matter where he went he always seemed to end up right back here - squeezed right in between Baloo and Rebecca.  That felt the best of all.

"S.S.T.I.S.D.D.!" the postman shouted cheerfully as he knocked on the door of Higher for Hire.

"Goodness!" Rebecca said, rising to answer it. "What could that be?"

Kit and Molly sat on the floor, playing with one of his models.  He guided it through the air with a buzzing sound, and bright it close to Molly's ear with a roar.

"Hey!" She squeaked.  "Cut it out!"

"So anyways, L'il Britches" Baloo said from the easy chair.  "They was sayin' they might wanna name it Kit Island, since you took the sighting."

"Naw." the cub said.  "It should be Whistlestop Island.  We would never have found it if it hadn't been for him."

Baloo grinned.  "Yeah, I kinda thought you'd feel that way - I do too.  Whatever ya call it, when the new Aviation Maps come out that island will be on 'em!"

"Besides," Kit said, playfully wrestling with Molly, "I'm gonna discover plenty o' islands, and that name's already reserved for the second one I find."

"Second?  What's the first one gonna be, L'il Britches?"  The cub smiled at him and said nothing. 

"Aw, shucks, Kid..." Baloo mumbled, blushing, as Kit grinned back at him.

"Kit!" Rebecca called from the door.  "Come and sign this -it's for you."

Kit shot Baloo a puzzled look and walked over to the door.  He signed the receipt and the postman handed him a large envelope.  "It's from Props!"

"Who's Props?" Molly asked gaily.

Kit smiled.  "He's like my grampa, Molly."  He walked over to the table and opened the envelope.  He tipped it's contents out.  There were a few black and white photos, a pin, a separate, smaller envelope and a loose pink piece of paper which fell to the table.

Baloo stood.  "That looks like....."

Kit opened the smaller envelope excitedly and began reading.

            "Dear Kit,

Here's a few momentos of your Mom I thought you'd like.  She wasn't much of a collector but I had a few things.  There's one other thing, too.  After Angie left, her plane ended up with me, somehow.  They never told me where they found it.  Now, I can pilot a little but I'm a navigator and always will be.  Without my pilot I'm not much good up there.          But not you - you're Angies's son.  You'll be a helluva pilot or my name's not Props McDowd.

Now I'm pretty sure Angie would've wanted you to have her old plane, Sprig.  The Blue Eagle. Especially if she knew you were already an ace navigator like yer old Uncle Harry.  I hope you'll forgive me - I flown it a few times.  But I took real good care of it, Sprig.  It may be old but it's a great plane - it's seen more adventures that a squad of barnstormers.  When yer Daddy Baloo teaches you to fly she'll be waitin' for ya, and she'll start you off    right.  Maybe you'll even think of yer Mama and old Harry when you fly her.

Now I already went to my lawyer and made this all legal - she's your plane, Sprig, free and clear.  Should be arriving soon if it hasn't already.  Enjoy her, and love her like yer Mama did.  Maybe you'll fly her to Azirona and visit old Harry sometime.  When I see that old beauty soarin' down at me I'll feel eighteen again!

            That's it, Sprig!  Give my love to your family and see you soon.  Clear skies!

            Harry McDowd

Rebecca beamed at Baloo and the pilot laughed and grabbed her hands.  A plane splashed down on the water outside.

Kit set down the letter and picked up the pink piece of paper from the table.  "The pink slip!  Papa Bear, Becky - the pink slip!  'Conwing L-10, RJW-1976, Registry Cape Suzette, Owner Kit Cloudkicker!'  Wa-HOO!"  The boy ran across the room and jumped into Baloo's arms as the big pilot laughed.  There was a knock on the door.

Rebecca pulled it open.  A pilot, a lion in a brown leather jacket and goggles, stood outside.  "There a Kit Cloudkicker here?"

"That's me!" the cub yelled, sliding from Baloo's arms and running over to the door.

The lion beamed and held out a set of keys.  "These are yours son.  A Harry McDowd paid to have this little lady delivered here."  He gestured out to the dock.

Kit ran out, Baloo, Rebecca and Molly close behind.  Parked next to the Sea Duck was a sky blue and gold twin-engine Conwing L-10.  She was perhaps half the size of the Sea Duck, but had the same sleek, efficient lines.  Kit ran up to the cockpit door and opened it and crawled inside.

He sat in the pilot's chair of the plane - his mother's plane - _his_ plane - and slowly ran his fingers over the controls.  The interior was spotless - lovingly cared for and preserved - even the burgundy colored upholstery was free of blemishes.

Baloo and the other pilot walked over and peered inside.  "L'il Britches -she's gorgeous!  A real Beauty!"

The lion smiled.  "I hafta admit kid - when my partner and I drew this assigment-" he pointed to another plane parked a few dozen yards away, "I didn't wanna fly this bird - I'm used to something a little more modern.  But I'll tell, she's a honey!  Smooth as silk and soft as butter, with a real kick too!  I think I drew the plumb assignment.  Enjoy her, Kid."  He patted the cub on the shoulder and Kit smiled gratefully.  He walked over to the other plane with a wave and they departed.

Kit closed his eyes and smelled the interior - _his_ plane.  When he opened them Baloo was leaning in the window, grinning a mile wide, and Rebecca held Molly up to peek in.  He looked at the panel.  In the corner, a grainy photo had been taped.  It showed a bearess holding a small toddler, and a large tiger holding a map and compass.  All were smiling happily.

"Thanks, Harry!" Kit whispered, closing his eyes.

"L'il Britches!  C'mon down and have some breakfast!" Baloo called.

"Just a minute, be right down!" the boy answered, as he lay in bed reading the newspaper.

"Hurry up kid - ya know we're all goin' to Veronica Lake today.  If ya don't get down here soon I might change my mind about lettin' you fly us there!"

Kit scanned the newspaper for another moment.  The headline read "TENSIONS RISE IN EPORUE - WAR SOON?"  He read for a moment and then set the paper down.

He stood and slipped on his sweater, and walked over to the top of the stairs.  He glanced down - Molly was running around, holding one of his models, his old green sweater draped over her.  Rebecca, dressed in shorts and a floppy hat, watched her daughter with an occasional laugh.  Baloo sat at the table and popped a banana into his mouth, whole.  Kit grinned and walked back into the bedroom.

He walked over to the window and peered out.  The Sea Duck reclined, gleaming yellow and red in the morning sun.  Next to her, the Blue Eagle sat regally, seeming almost to merge with the blue water beneath it.  Wildcat sat atop the wing, happily polishing her.  Kit smiled to see them, side by side.

He walked over to the dresser, where his red and blue baseball cap sat, next to Angela Crosswhyte's dog tags.  He stared down at them for moment, side by side.  He picked up the dog tags and kissed them gently, then opened the top drawer and slid them inside.  He grabbed the cap, placed it on his head and spun it to face backwards.

He started for the door, paused and bent to pick the newspaper up off of the bed.  He glanced at it for a moment, then tucked it under his arm and headed downstairs.

"Thought you was never comin' down here, Britches!" Baloo scolded him jovially.

Kit smiled at him.  "It's just such a nice day, Baloo - I figured the faster I move through it, the faster it'll be over."

Baloo looked at him in surprise, then laughed, uproariously.  "C'mon Kiddo!  We got fish to catch.  Grab somethin' to eat an let's pull chocks."

Kit grabbed a donut and the four bears headed for the door.  Baloo tossed Kit the keys to the Sea Duck.  He caught them with a grin.  He stopped in the doorway, glanced at the newspaper briefly, and tossed it onto the pile next to the fireplace.

"Kit, can I take a ride in your plane soon?" Molly pleaded.

Kit smiled at her.  "Sure Button-nose, but what's your hurry?  There's plenty of time."  He smiled at Baloo.  "There's plenty of time."