Allo minna! Wow, haven't written anything in freaking ages man. Well, that's a lie. I haven't typed anything in ages, I've been writing in notebooks in my spare time and I'm too lazy to transfer all such stuff. I've got all Thanksgiving break to write now though...okay, well, the first half. I've got to help my girlfriend move in too D

The Story of Jaclyn Rades
Chapter Two: Distant Sun

---&---&---&---

The response was almost immediate. She hadn't even left her chair when the message came through.

Excellent. Name the location and a privately owned plane will pick you up at 2:00pm tomorrow. Come unpacked. I will provide you with any necessary equipment for the job upon your arrival. Don't be late.

D.

Jaclyn sighed. With the adrenaline from her mental pep having worn off she was back to doubting herself again. With shaky fingers she named an airport about two hundred miles away, one of a dozen she'd picked as possible terminals for safe travel. The airfields fanned out in all directions, anywhere from thirty to three hundred miles away. She'd yet to use a terminal more than once. It made it harder to trace the elusive Jack Trades.

She pushed herself to her feet and grabbed her phone. She fluidly dialed a number and made her way to her bed. As she flopped heavily onto the mattress there was a click as the ringing was replaced by an answering machine.

"Hi this is Romy! Me and the guys have gone to pick up Rem and Buster at the station then it's off to the Locket! We'll be back around midnight. Leave us some love!"

Jaclyn frowned. She'd forgotten about Remy completely.

Remy Balfour was Romy's fraternal twin sister. Romy was the elder between the two but sadly her birth had caused complications for her younger sister. As a tragic result, Remy was born blind. Remy lived with the twins' older cousin, Dane, in a small city some several hours away. Every few months she'd come for a visit with Buster, her eight-year-old yellow Labrador she'd raised from a puppy to be her seeing-eye dog. Jaclyn loved to visit Remy and was sad she was going to miss her and their usual mischief at July's Locket, the town's only decent bar.

"Well, shit happens," she muttered to herself as the beep followed Romy's message and signaled the recorder. "Hey Rom," she said to the machine, "it's Tabby. I'm leaving tomorrow morning and wanted to know if you'd look after Snickers for me. I'm not sure when I'll be back, but I'll do my best to call. Tell Remy I said hi, and give Buster a Milkbone for me. Love you guys! See ya!"

Jaclyn cut off her phone and let all the false enthusiasm she'd injected for the message drop away. She tossed the phone onto the floor and pulled the cover of her bed up over her head, not even bothering to undress and turn out the light. All she wanted to do was sleep.

---&---&---&---

A black Jeep Wrangler pulled into Lakeland Airfield and screeched to a stop near the gate at exactly 1:58 pm. A very harried Jack Trades stumbled out of the driver's seat.

"Holy hell I made it!"

Her quick sleep attempt the previous night had caused Jaclyn to forget something very critical – setting her alarm clock. It was almost 10:30 when she finally woke up, forty-five minutes later than she'd originally intended. What followed was a number of traffic violations (among speeding and negligence, she was sure she'd fled the scene of an accident a few miles back...) as she flew down the highway to reach her destination on time.

She walked into the cabin designated 'Private Charter' and looked around. A few people lounged in chairs reading magazines off to her right. Two men walked past her, laughing to themselves. Near the back stood a man dressed in a long-sleeve red business shirt and black slacks. He was leaning against a wall, the door that led out back to the strip directly at his right. There was an emblem on the breast of his shirt, an intricately sewn Old English letter D.

Nodding to herself she approached the man. "Excuse me," she said, "but are you the pilot who'll be flying me today?"

He almost seemed to scoff at her. "I doubt it. I'm waiting for a passenger by the name of Jack Trades."

She couldn't help but give him a satisfied smirk. "That would be me. Are you going to get my car cleared for long-term parking or are we going to run late?"

The man glared at her for her arrogance but grunted and pushed himself off the wall. "Wait here," he muttered, and headed to check everything in with the airport personnel.

Jack settled herself on the arm of a nearby lounge chair and picked up a magazine. She flipped through the pages at random just to entertain herself, stopping only every few pages to glance through an article.

It wasn't long before the pilot came back and walked up to her and said in a gruff sounding voice, "Let's go."

She looked up from her magazine and smirked. "What, you mean now? But don't you want to find out about the most recent escapades of Bat Boy?" She flashed him the cover of her World Weekly News tabloid.

He rolled his eyes and headed toward the door to the runway. She set the magazine down and followed after him. "So," she asked as they walked out onto the strip, "everything set?"

"Yes."

"You set my car up for the parking?"

"Yes."

"How'd you know which one was mine?"

He stopped and whipped around so fast that Jack almost crashed straight into him. He glared down at her menacingly. "It was the jeep that was parked crooked right outside the door, you know, the black one with tire marks on the pavement behind it? Are you done asking stupid questions?"

She smiled at him. "Maybe so."

He growled and turned back around, stalking ever closer to a red and white Cessna Skyhawk. It was a small single engine airplane with a design much like the stereotype model of a privately owned flyer. It honestly looked like something she saw a neighbor kid flying with a remote control a few days ago.

"Get in," the man grunted as he climbed up into his seat. She nodded and got in on the passenger side but, upon noticing that the plane was a four-seater rather than a dual, quickly climbed into the back to further herself from her rather disagreeable aviator. He didn't say another word to Jack as he placed his headset over his ears and began working with the airplane. She pulled hers on also, though without the purpose of speaking to the pilot. Her only purpose for them was only to aid in blocking out the loud roar from the engine. As far as she was concerned the trip would be much more pleasant without having to hear from him.

He must've picked up on her thoughts because shortly after she'd set them on Jack heard a static crackling, followed by the rough man's condescending voice saying, "You may as well suck it up girl – you're going to be spending a lot of time with me. This is a five and a half hour flight."

"I'm thrilled," Jack deadpanned into her microphone.

But she was to be appeased – aside from the obnoxious noises from the plane the rest of the flight was in silence.

---&---&---&---

It was an hour from dusk when the Skyhawk touched down on a small concrete strip. Jack found herself standing on a small, privately owned island not unlike the type she'd seen in missions passed. Contrastingly, however, all that seemed to exist there was a house. No laboratory, no factory, no top-secret military base or scientific facility, just a nice, if large and ornate-looking, house. She blinked at the simple normality she witnessed, then scowled – normal people didn't live that lavishly, nor did they order hits on people.

She felt a shove in the middle of her back and stumbled forward. She spun around to glare at the pilot. He seemed undaunted. "Go on," he barked, "hurry up!"

And do what, she wondered. Was she really just going to go up and ring this guy's doorbell? It just seemed a little odd; after all, this wasn't your run-of-the-mill sort of drop in. She'd already had some preconceived idea about a meeting in a dark alley somewhere to talk to a man in a long trench coat with a 1940's style fedora hat lowered so far as to cover his face. Needless to say, Hollywood's perception of these kinds of things wasn't doing her any favors.

At length her adored pilot came up behind her and said in her ear, "You want to know how to get someone to come to the door?"

She turned around. "Yeah?"

"Knock."

"Fuck you," she snapped agitatedly. He smirked sardonically and she spun away from him, stomping toward the door. Exacerbated as she was, the man had had a point. With renewed purpose she approached the large, elegantly decorated door and knocked heavily four times. She stood with her hands in her pockets, anxiously sucking on her teeth and bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. She cast a look back toward the pilot. He was back in the Skyhawk, starting it up again with the intent of taxiing it further down the runway. She glared in his direction. He hadn't done anything, but it made her feel better.

She heard the door start to squeak open and whipped back around, throwing on her best cool demeanor. A slightly older man in a dress suit opened the door wide and waved his hand toward the interior as if to bade her welcome. "Please," he said with a smile, "do come in, Miss Trades. My employer asks that you meet him downstairs in his private study. Please follow me."

Downstairs? Wasn't she on ground floor? The butler closed the door behind her and led her across a spacious and stately foyer. She had to marvel at the beautiful construction of the house's interior. Brightly lit chandeliers dangled majestically from the ceiling. Four wide balconies seemed to float on air above her. Leading to them were gently sloping spiral staircases of white marble with hand-carved mahogany railings. Renaissance-style paintings and statues offset the room perfectly. Behind the balconies she could see rows and rows of books. For a man who kills people, she thought to herself, he had wonderful tastes in design.

The butler led her to a large door on the far end of the grand entrance hall and opened it for her. "Here you are, Miss," he said politely. "Just as the bottom of these stairs."

"Thank you," Jack answered. The butler smiled and shut the door behind her.

She couldn't see much going down the stairs as they, too, were spiraled. She did notice, however, that these were not nearly so handsome. These stairs were made of a blue-tinted cement. Cracks ran along the wall (constructed with the same color cement), signifying a lack of interest in up keeping. There were no decorations and the lighting was dim, though it did seem to get brighter as she descended.

As she reached the bottom of the staircase she located another door. It was a thickly cut wooden door like the kinds in most schoolrooms. It was left ajar and she could see brighter light radiating from within. Straitening her form to appear more professional Jack pushed open the door and walked inside.

She found herself in what seemed like a workroom for the technology aspiring. Large computers lined the walls. Chemicals and papers were scattered everywhere along with random gears and springs. All in all she felt like she'd walked into the lair of a madman, and for all she knew, she had.

"Thank you for coming," said a male voice from behind her. Jack whirled around, her defenses up and ready for attack, and gasped.

"Is it the blue skin?" he asked with a smile. "I get that a lot."

"Drakken!?"

Jack stared. Was this really her arch-nemesis of old? He seemed so much older than she'd last seen and more so than only five years. He wore his hair down outside his old ponytail. It had grown out a bit, she could tell. Also she could notice a patch of grey streaking back over his right eye. His manner seemed calmer and more friendly too, hardly threatening at all.

He blinked then laughed. "Oh, so you've heard of me, have you? Well I appreciate the recognition, I didn't know I was so popular."

She cursed inwardly. She shouldn't have said anything. Groping for a quick response she lied, "I did a report in high school on high-intensity crime. Your name came up."

He chuckled. "I imagine so, especially since I haven't used that name since my criminal days. Feel free to call me Drew."

"Uh, okay, Drew. So what got you out of crime? Pardon my curiosity."

"Eh, a number of things really. I guess what tipped it was my partner and I split ways."

Jack, though curious, was sure to feign naïveté. "Oh, that one girl...Shego, right?"

He physically tensed at the name, then took a deep breath and chuckled. "You remember much from your high school days. I wish I could. Yes, that's her. I was the brain, she was the brawn. Sadly there was an accident about..." he paused to think, "five years ago. Wow, was it really that long ago...anyway, we had a fight over it, and she picked up and left. Of course I wasn't ready to throw in the towel yet and set out to find a replacement. But then, the best thing in the world than can happen to a man happened to me."

"And that was?"

He smiled brightly at her. "Marriage, Miss Trades, marriage. I met the most wonderful woman, and we married almost on the spot. Because of her I stopped my criminal ways and turned into the respectable scientist I am today."

Jack bit her tongue. Respectable?

"I graduated with a high level degree in engineering you see, and rather than put that to work for evil, I decided to turn over a new leaf, so to speak. I wanted my family to be happy and safe. So I went to work, and have since created and marketed numerous new alloys of metal and steel that are much stronger and more durable than their predecessors. By marketed, I mean, sold them to credible buyers – construction companies, police forces, and the like. I didn't get involved in the military," he said with a small laugh, "because I knew then I'd just be causing more trouble."

Jack nodded. "Of course."

He smiled. "Joy was so proud of me too. It was wonderful."

"Joy?"

"My wife. She was a fine woman. Very artistic, very cultured...you may have noticed the different levels in décor from here in my study compared to the upstairs foyer. That was her doing. And she was so good at it. You should see my daughter's room."

Jack almost swallowed her tongue. Drakken a father? Or husband for that matter! He hardly seemed the family man type; at least that was true of the man she'd known. But yet here she stood, ever patiently waiting for the name of the man she'd escort to his divine maker. Not all had changed it seemed.

"Was?" she asked, adding emphasis on his word choice.

Suddenly the man's face grew very solemn. He turned his back to her and walked toward one of his many cluttered desks. As he drew closer to the table Jack noticed something strangely out of place there. Amongst the mass of papers there was a small stuffed animal – a white bunny rabbit to be precise. It sat upright with one ear flopped down over its face. She watched as the scientist very lightly brushed his fingers over the toy's fine fur.

"I got this for Lydia's fourth birthday. Joy insisted that we not spoil her and buy her heaps of toys as a child despite the wealth we'd amassed. She said that our daughter was going to grow up appreciating what she had. Heh, if it had been solely my choice I'd have spoiled her rotten, given her everything her little heart desired...but Joy was right...she always was..."

"What happened?" Jack asked. She wasn't sure if it had been a question out of curiosity or compassion, but either way was drawn into the story.

"You know, Lydia was born just three days after Joy's birthday. Joy deserved a present too. She loved the Caribbean, so I booked her a seven-day cruise. Lydia too." He laughed. "Joy could never stand to leave Lydia behind."

He paused to take a shaky breath. She could see he was trembling.

"But then, that...that bitch...she...she was there too. I know she was because I checked the passenger log and she was there! I know it was her fault! She did it just to spite me; she's always hated me! I know she sank that ship! Joy and Lydia...she...she took them away from me!"

He roared and slammed his fists down on the desk. Jack heard the crack of wood splitting reverberate off the walls. Then she heard a strangled sob, and then there was silence.

She said nothing. Vaguely she remembered a Caribbean cruise ship having sunk some six or eight months ago. She felt a deeply rooted pang of sympathy. He'd lost his family, all he loved, and wanted revenge...just like her.

The distraught man didn't move. Then in a low voice she heard him say, "I want her dead. She murdered my family...and I want you to kill her for me."

She could barely breathe. A tumult of pain and anguish engulfed the room and Jack felt torn. She wanted so much to cry, to scream, to die.

All the negativity she'd thrown at this man since she'd first received her mission, how she thought him a murderer and the scum of the earth...and very suddenly she realized that she'd become exactly like him.

"All right," she whispered.

"There's a room, prepared for you," he spoke slowly. "Head back to the lobby. Felix will lead you to, to your quarters. You make take this time to read the profile on your target."

She watched him for a moment to see if he was going to escort her to the door or give her some more instructions. He didn't. Slowly she turned and proceeded back up the stairs.

The butler from before, Felix, took her upstairs to her room. He informed her that supper would be served within the hour then left her to her business.

She spotted a small manila folder lying on the foot of her bed. After picking it up she moved to sit on the windowsill. From there she had a wonderful westward view out over the ocean. She opened the folder and as she looked at the picture of her intended target let a single name slip from her lips.

"Shego..."

And behind her a distant sun slipped beneath the waves.

---&---End Chapter Two---&---