"You are now going through the hardest part of your service – not the hardest physically (though physical hardship will never trouble you again; you now have its measure), but the hardest spiritually…" - Colonel Dubois, 'Starship Troopers'
"Even in his anguish, he seems so alive." – Aaron Doral, 'Battlestar Galactica'
Part 5: The Soul of a Hero
Chapter XIII: The Last Stage
"Stoppable-san?"
Ron knew that his reply had confused her, as the Phoenix hadn't used sixteen different styles during the course of the fight. His own count was the same as hers: at least twelve, maybe one or two more. In all honesty, he had no rational basis for his statement.
Except that he'd been able to anticipate its moves.
The fighting styles, the way it stringed moves together in sequences and combos, were all factors that he recognized from having sparred with Kim. There were many who fought in a similar way, namely Shego, but its actions had been so close to what hers had been.
'Well, at least I know she's alive. Dunno which she is, but…'
"But at least I know she's alive," he whispered aloud, and then turned to Yori. "Don't worry about it, Yori. I'll… explain when we get back. Right now, we need to finish here."
His voice sounded odd, as if there was something that he desperately wanted to distract himself from. His emotions were slowly catching up with what he suspsected had happened during the fight, and he didn't want to have to face that now. So he turned and began rooting through boxes.
"Of course, Stoppable-san," she agreed quietly, somehow suspecting what was on his mind. For the next few minutes they searched through the crates and boxes, finding a few more plans, some small arms and explosives, but little in terms of assembled technology.
Which wasn't surprising. Ron knew that most of Drakken's Legacy had taken the form of plans and designs, very few of which had actually been built before he'd scattered them to the four corners of the globe. Still, they had found a few assembled gadgets, including one that Ron recognized, and quickly stuck in his backpack.
The rest of the materials, the plans and the guns, they destroyed with the thermite charges.
"Stoppable-san, are you certain?" Yori asked. They were back at the embassy, and along with Ambassador Nakasumi were seated around a table in one of the briefing rooms. Ron had just finished explaining what he'd realized at the warehouse.
"As certain as I can be," Ron said tiredly. "Yori, you have to understand, I spent the past few years training with Kim, not to mention all the missions we'd had before. I know how she fights, and the Phoenix fought in almost exactly the same way."
"Almost?" Yori asked again
"The whole 'trying-to-kill-us' thing was, you know, a bit different…"
"Do you believe that it was Ms. Possible, Stoppable-kun?" Nakasumi asked.
Ron stared at his hands for a moment, uncertainty etched on his face.
"Yes, I do," he said finally. "At least, I think I do. I'd thought that… Karen… but now…"
He paused briefly, struggling to find the words.
"Now we've got one person who has Kim's voice and face and body, and another who has her skill, but none of her, and… and I just don't now for sure what's going on."
Ron punctuated the last statement by grabbing the sides of his head in frustration, and leaning his face towards the table. The last motion was to hide his eyes from the other two, as they were beginning to fill with tears. The dance with Karen, the fight with Phoenix, it was just too much for him to take in, and he was nearly overwhelmed.
Yori, of course, noticed them nonetheless. As well s the fact that he was contradicting himself.
"Stoppable-san," she said gently, "perhaps you should go to sleep. You have had a long day."
"What about you?"
"It will be our honor," she said, glancing at Nakasumi-san, "to plan while you rest. Please, Stoppable-san, go to bed."
Ron looked as if he was about to argue, but then the will to do so left him, and he simply shrugged and bid them goodnight, and then left the room. He was lost in his own thoughts, so he did not notice the concern in Yori's eyes as she watched him leave, nor did he see the look of guilt in Nakasumi's. Their eyes followed him as he left, and they remained silent for several moments after the door had closed.
"You should not have left him alone with the girl," Yori said, her voice kept neutral.
"I had no choice, Ms. Yori," Naksumi replied. "We could not let on to Lord DeLong our suspicions."
"But you see what it has done to him, Nakasumi-san!" Yori cried. "Just those few minutes are tearing him apart."
"I know, Ms. Yori," he replied sadly. "I owe my life and my position to him and Ms. Possible both, many times over, and if I could have spared him that, I would have. But, we have managed to confirm one thing."
"What?"
"I had his jacket examined after you left. Ms. Pellman left fingerprints."
"Readable?"
"We contacted Mr. Load in Germany," Nakasumi continued, "and he examined the results. Karen Pellman's fingerprints have been surgically altered and obscured."
Ron stumbled down the hallway, making his way towards his room in the embassy. With everything going through his mind, he had no idea how he was going to be able to sleep, but his body was tired enough that he knew he would find a way. The fight with Phoenix had drained him physically, and the new questions that fight raised had his mind running at breakneck speed.
'Kim tried to kill me.'
It was too much, and he was just too tired to process it all. He finally arrived at his room and didn't even bother changing before he collapsed face first on his bed. A moment later,the tears began flowing, and Ron Stoppable proceeded to cry himself to sleep.
Then he began to dream.
It was three days before they were able to make their move. Ron had wanted to charge into the DeLong estate the next morning, when Nakasumi had told him about the fingerprints, but was finally convinced that they needed time to strategize. So they gathered information and made plans. Wade had redirected a GJ satellite (this time with permission from Dr. Director) to observe the estate of Lord Richard DeLong. The thermal imaging had revealed a large underground complex beneath his holdings, and a brief reconnaissance mission by Yori had revealed an air vent that they could use for access.
More disturbingly, Nakasumi had compared DeLong's itinerary from his trip to Europe with the known locations of Concolor and Phoenix. They matched, perfectly. That and the fingerprints gave Ron something else to focus upon. It no longer mattered whether Kim was Karen, or Phoenix, or both; either way, she was in that state because Concolor had made her that way.
On the afternoon of the third day, Ron reflected that he would soon fulfill his purpose in coming to Europe: he would face Concolor, and learn the truth, even if he had to beat it out of him.
He had slept only fitfully, each attempt broken up by repeated dreams of that dark Parisian night. He wondered, even as he set about preparing his equipment, if he would ever stop reliving that deadly stroke. He feared he would not, but resolved that nightmares would be a small price to pay to be able to see Kim, the real Kim, again.
'Resolved? When did I start thinking like that?'
He shook his head and continued with his task. He was laying out his mission clothes on the bed in front him, carefully and even reverently, as an ancient samurai would have treated his armor and sword. Or, rather than a samurai, an English Knight of old, even as one from the Round Table of King Arthur, whose valor and resolve had been seen time and time again in the British people.
He had never done such a thing before; usually he would just throw on the clothes and hurry after Kim. But today, for this, he felt a certain degree of seriousness was in order. The shirt he laid at the head of the bed, unfolded, its sleeves outstretched by its side. At the ends of the sleeves he laid the gloves; at the bottom of the shirt he laid the cargo pants, belt, and shoes. As he placed each item in it's place, and stretched them out so there was neither fold nor crease along their surfaces, he could not help but remember the day that he and Kim had picked out the suits. They were still young, then, not yet in high school, but Ron had convinced her that they needed a trademark outfit.
Wisely, he'd left the design of the outfit up to her. Had it been up to him the uniforms would have been highly impractical, and have involved some sort of gaudy cape.
His remembrances ended and he stood there in the lonely room and survey the clothes, his armor, and thought back to every mission they'd been on, everything they'd done together while wearing those clothes. Their adventures, while wearing those clothes, had defined their lives. The adventures had brought them fame, but not fortune; allies, but also enemies; pain, but also love.
He removed his other clothes, the ones that were almost his personal trademark, stripping down to nothing but his boxers and socks. First he checked the bandages that covered his wounds from Paris, then he put on his mission clothes: pants first, then the shirt, then the shoes, then the belt, and finally the gloves. In the end, he had donned the visible part of the mark that Kim had placed upon his life.
But it wasn't the only mark that had been placed upon him. He'd begun the life of a hero as the goofy sidekick, but very little about him had been goofy lately. Since Kim had vanished, there hadn't been time for it; since Alfeld, there hadn't been much desire, on his part, for it. Her loss had changed him, at least for the moment, and Dr. Director had given him something to represent that change.
He walked over to his travel case and pulled out a gun holster. The upper edge attached to the side of his belt, and the lower end was secured against his thigh by a strap that was fixed just above his right knee. He then pulled from the case a Colt 1911 pistol. For a moment he just stared at it, thinking over just what had brought him to the point where he would carry a gun.
Then he banished all thought and placed the gun in the holster. Now was not the time for second thoughts; he'd do what he'd have to in order to find Kim again.
Now fully attired, he stepped out of the room and went to meet Yori. They had a job to do.
They'd arrived at the estate of Lord Richard DeLong well before sunset, so Ron and Yori spent the hours before nightfall huddled in the trees outside his property. They took advantage of the time to observe the security setup on the grounds. By the time night fell and the grounds were shrouded in darkness, they had obtained a working knowledge of the patrol patterns and locations of security cameras.
Twilight fell, the guard changed, and Ron and Yori departed the cover of the woods. They crept across the open field, using the darkening skies and the changing of the guard to disguise and hid their movements. They reached the vent after a few minutes, and confirmed that it was indeed wide enough to accommodate them. Yori quickly removed the grilling and then peered inside, illuminating it with a small penlight.
"It is not too deep, Stoppable-san," she said at last. "I believe we can use this to gain entrance."
She placed her hands on the side of the vent and was about to lift herself over the edge, but then Ron stopped her, and surprised her, by placing his right hand on hers.
"Yori…" he said quietly. "Just in case… I couldn't have made it this far without you. I… I just wanted to say… arigato."
They looked each other in the eyes.
"It was my honor, Stoppable-san," she replied with smile. He smiled and nodded back.
"Then it will be our honor to end this," he said at last. "Once and for all."
She nodded and then, one after the other, they raised themselves up over the edge and dropped into the blackness. They felt concealed and protected by the darkness, and believed that they had managed ingress without being discovered.
They did not know that they had been expected, and that many eyes had watched them from the moment they'd arrived on the property.
"Stoppable-san, I have found another grating."
They were crawling through the air vents, and had been doing so for nearly fifty feet.
"Great," he whispered, then passed the ronnunicator up to her. "There's some kind of optical sensor thingy on this; according to Wade it can fit through the grating."
Yori took the ronnunicator and quickly found the optical tendril. Of course, it wasn't solely an optical sensor; it also contained a miniaturized thermal and biometrical sensor suite, but just calling it an optical sensor took less time. In any case, Yori deployed the tendril through the grating, and watched the display on the ronnunicator's screen.
"We seem to be above the main area of the complex," she said at last. "No one is directly below us, though there are several people in the adjoining areas. However, I think we can enter here, if we are careful."
"Do it."
Yori retracted the tendril and passed the ronnunicator back to Ron. She then used a multi-tool to remove the grating, and carefully set it aside in the vent. She affixed a small anchor to the upper wall of the vent, and then used the line attached to it to lower herself to the floor. Ron followed suit, and then they were inside the Panther's lair.
Chapter XIV: The Darkest Corner
She was, at the moment, quite thoroughly confused. One minute Karen had been preparing to change into her pajamas, and then the next minute there was the sound of running feet outside her door. She stepped out of her room and made her way into the common area of the mansion, only to see a great many men that she did not know running around. They looked like they were preparing for an invasion of some sort.
She made her way down the stairs, intending to get some answers. She didn't get very far, as a hand quickly clamped around her mouth and drew her into a side room. The abductor waited for her to settle down, and then loosened his grip.
"Ms. Karen," Joseph the butler said quickly. "I need you to calm down and be quiet, okay?"
"Joseph," she hissed. "What is going on?"
"It's too complicated to explain," he said, then grabbed her arm and started leading her somewhere else. "Just come with me, and you'll get the answers."
She could have resisted, but curiosity overcame her misgivings, and Karen Pellman let Joseph drag her along.
"What is this place?" Ron asked aloud. He and Yori had wound up on opposite sides of the room, and Rufus had already climbed out of Ron's pocket and was poking around on his own. Not that there was much to poke around at.
The room itself seemed to be completely empty. The only features, aside from the flat walls, were a catwalk that covered the "front" wall and a third of the two sidewalls, and a series of protrusions along the remaining length of the sidewalls. Two stairs led from the floor to the ends the catwalk, and a door at the middle of the "front" wall seemed to be the only way in or out. There did appear to be a few discolored lines on the walls, but aside from that, the room was completely featureless.
Overhead was the ventilation system that they had used to get in, as well as a series of lights. The lights looked as if they were running at about half power, as the room seemed far too dimly lit for the probable wattage involved.
Yori was at the back of the room, examining the strange lines. Ron was as the front, looking up at the catwalk.
"Do you think we need to go up there?" he asked aloud.
"I do not see what else we can do," Yori replied.
"Actually," came a voice from nowhere, "the both of you have the option of raising your hands and surrendering."
Ron and Yori looked up in surprise, but then the lights flared to their full brightness, and the sudden increase in illumination forced them to squint and turn away. In that moment of distraction, several hidden doors, which had been disguised as part of the walls, appearing almost seamless, opened and disgorged a great many Panther Enforcers. Yori and Ron and found themselves surrounded and cut off from each other, and then another thirty Enforcers marched out the door and took up positions on the catwalk, ten to each section. There were only two Enforcers around Ron, so this group aimed their weapons at him, while the rest of the ground team covered Yori.
Ron and Yori traded a look; the situation was impossible, but at least they could go out fighting. They made ready for one last blaze of glory, and then the voice came again. This time, they recognized it.
"Ah, Mr. Stoppable," it said. "I see you understood the meaning behind my offer."
Another figure now stepped from the doorway onto the catwalk. He wore a one-piece purple jumpsuit, black gloves, and black boots. He was girded with a belt that strapped over his left shoulder, and a holster that was secured to his right leg. His face was concealed in shadow, but Ron and Yori recognized the voice.
Lord Richard DeLong. Concolor.
"Yeah, I got the offer," Ron confirmed. He had, in a way, understood DeLong's veiled statement from the reception. "I also understand the metric system."
The room became completely quiet (even Yori looked at him strangely), and then DeLong began to laugh.
"You are a most interesting person, Mr. Stoppable," Lord Richard DeLong, known as Concolor, replied as he stepped up to the railing. "Your ability to utilize a buffoonic non sequiteur as a strangely brilliant rejoinder is unparalleled, and quite amusing.
"Please," he said teasingly. "Do not bother going for the gun, Mr. Stoppable. These men up here would shoot you at a moment's notice were you to draw on me. Besides, I doubt that killing me or getting yourself shot dead are among the reasons you came here, am I right?"
"Why don't you come down here, and we can talk about it?"
"Ah, boldness," DeLong replied, sounding almost pleased. He then allowed the shadows to leave his face, as there was no need to conceal his identity, and that aspect of the Art of the Haldamëoi required a degree of concentration to function. Then he turned and walked behind his men, heading towards the stairs on the right-hand side of the catwalk.
"Of course, I already know what you came here for, Mr. Stoppable. Heinrich told me in Spain, just a few weeks before he died. A pity, really; he may have been a self-possessed idiot with a fetish for loud noises, but he was useful, in his own way. Unfortunately, he wound up in a no-win scenario: I needed him to pass you just a little bit more information, but knew that he would be killed by my men if he did so. Ah, well, that is the good thing about useful idiots: one can always find more."
"Wait a minute," Ron interrupted, "you mean you wanted us to find you?"
"Of course," DeLong said as he began to walk down the stairs. "We each have a great many roles to play in this drama, Mr. Stoppable. In my case, I am the villain, and the predator. In your case, you are the hero, and the prey. I believe it is considered couth for the villain to take the time to explain himself to the hero, and I am nothing if not couth; it is how a terrorist manages to survive undetected amongst Britain's elite. Therefore, then, I had to arrange a suitable meeting. The only surprise was in how long it took you to show up; I was expecting you two three days ago, after you ran afoul of my Phoenix.
"But enough of that," DeLong said as he walked past Ron. "If my earlier words, Mr. Stoppable, imparted to you any belief that I actually care why you are here, then I would ask you to please disabuse yourself of such a notion, for I care not about your motivations. This conversation is all about me, Mr. Stoppable, and soon the whole world will be all about me."
He then stopped talking, much to Ron and Yori's relief, and motioned to one of the Enforcers. That one then touched a control board he had strapped to his wrist, and there came the sudden whirring of machinery, and the hiss of escaping air, and the then protrusions opened and revealed their contents.
Synthodrones. Hundreds of them, encased inanimate within tubes of a clear fluid.
"Do you recognize them, Mr. Stoppable? They are copies of real people."
"No," Ron said slowly, "I can't say that I do."
"Of course you don't," DeLong explained. "Nor should you. Understand, Mr. Stoppable, that the synthodrone technology developed by Dr. Drakken, the technology that he used against you and Ms. Possible in the form of 'Erik', was an offshoot of his earlier cloning technology. Before you shut him down he had managed to combine his ability to produce a believable artificial personality with his ability create a genetically identical duplicate, thus allowing him, and now Panther, to produce a clone that is a perfect copy, both in genetics and in personality.
"These before you," he said grandly, "are copies of the doctors and dentists of the world's leaders. There, on your right and five down, is a clone of the personal physician to the President of the United States. Next to him is the dentist of the Australian Prime Minister, and so on and so forth. These are men who have close, personal contact with presidents and prime ministers, dictators and congressmen, tyrants and technocrats, generals and churchmen. These are men who have direct and unrestricted access to the DNA of your political leadership.
"At least, they will be once we replace the originals with these synthodrone copies. And then…"
"And then you will have access to the DNA of those in power," Yori said quietly, figuring it out. "Who will then be replaced with synthodrone copies loyal to you."
"Bravo, Ms. Yori. It will take time, of course; I will not be able to insert all of these replacements in a day, and it will undoubtedly be a few years before we are able to replace the heads of government, since a fully functional personality takes a while to develop. But I am a patient man, and I have all the time in the world. For the prize is worth it: the entire world bent solely to my will."
Yori suddenly shot forward, intending to strike at DeLong and end the whole thing, but she got no more than a few feet before one particularly burly guard grabbed her by the arms and stopped her cold.
"Please, Ms. Yori," DeLong said with a cold chuckle, "let's not do that again, yes? For the moment I wish to keep you alive, as I intend to create a synthodrone copy of you with which to infiltrate Yamanouchi, but I will have you shot if you try that again."
Yori struggled against the Enforcer's grip, but to no avail. DeLong simply laughed and then turned back to Ron, intending to continue with his monologue. Ron spoke first, though.
"'All the time in the world?'" Ron said incredulously. "Dude, you look like you're pushing fifty or something. I don't think you're going to live forever."
"Actually, I am fifty-eight," DeLong said lightly. "Chronologically, at least; my family has always appeared younger than our years. Tell me, have you ever heard of the 'juvenator'?"
"No…"
"It was an invention of Dr. Drakken's," DeLong explained. "I found the notes for it amongst the rest of his legacy. It seems he had teamed up with Lord Fiske and Duff Killigan to try and overcome yourself and Ms. Possible, utilizing some bizarre statue that worked on Mystical Monkey Power. Naturally, they were defeated, and the plan came to naught. However, Drakken had invented something called the 'juvenator' as part of this plan; of course, it was not used, and he wound up cannibalizing it for parts.
"The fool did not know what he had invented," DeLong said with a shake of his head. "The very secret to immortality was there in his grasp. Not just immortality, which can be eternity as a dotard, if you believe Jonathan Swift, but the secret to eternal youth. With the juvenator I can become and remain not a day older than thirty. I will have everlasting life, youth, and virility, along with governments who will surrender their sovereignty to me as soon as I ask. Drakken had no idea what he had invented, what he had scattered to the four corners of the earth in his Legacy. If the man had been able to think strategically, before the end, then his devices would have allowed him to rule the world."
There was silence for a moment.
"You're nuts," Ron said after a time. "Dude, nobody is just going to stand by and let their governments turn everything over to you. They'll stand up to you, and you won't succeed."
"If you are referring to Global Justice, Mr. Stoppable, then I ask you to consider the case of Europe. Please, I know of Dr. Director's purge of my men there, but do remember the ease with which I gained control of that branch. If you are referring to your military, well, I will soon be able to make copies of most of your senior commanders, and the Legacy has equipment and plans that will enable me to deal with the rest. Personal shields, for instance, as well as mechanical armor and wide area death rays. Such a fight would only be a matter of time."
"Dude, I didn't mean them at all. There are six billion people on this planet; I doubt that they'll just roll over for ya, and I seriously doubt that Drakken invented enough firepower to kill them all."
"Ah, yes, the power of the People," DeLong said with a derisive snort. "How American in concept. Yes, I am quite certain that a great many people in this world will try to stand against me. Nor do I doubt that many of them, in your country and even here in England, would be willing to fight me to the bitter end. Nonetheless…
"Nonetheless," he said coldly, "when I use the mega weather generator to withhold the rains from their farmland and flood their cities and towns, when they watch as their children die of hunger and are washed away in the flood, when they watch their infants cry out from thirst as they lie baking in the hot sun upon the parched earth, then I suspect that all fight will leave the heart of even the most valiant, and they will come and beg me for mercy.
"They will fight, and they will fail, and then the rest of the world, for love of their children, will become wholly pacified. The sentimentality of man shall used against them, and they will all submit to me, for none will able to bear the thought of what will happen if they do not."
Ron looked at him, remembering their first meeting. While he had originally thought the man somewhat stern, he had figured that there was a possibility of kindness. Now, he saw nothing but cruelty for cruelty's sake, and a desire for power simply for power's sake. One who would do such things, for such a small thing as domination of the world… it was made worse for Ron because he knew the true provenance of the mega weather generator.
He wanted to move, to attack the monster before him, but he was well aware of the rifles that were aimed in his direction.
"Sorry, man," he said with a shake of his head, suddenly remembering. "I just busted that idea a few days ago. We burned down the warehouse that had the plans for the MWG."
"Oh please," DeLong replied. "Don't insult me like that, Mr. Stoppable. You burned up a copy of the plans. Another resides in the computers here; still others reside in other storage facilities all over the world. The originals are still where I found them, and I can recover them whenever I wish. Honestly, do you not think that the man who did away with Kim Possible would plan better than that?"
Ron's eyes narrowed, DeLong's invocation of Kim's name reminding him of his original purpose. DeLong smiled slyly.
"Of course, she was your purpose in coming here, wasn't she? You want to know what really happened that night in America, don't you?"
He then saw the unconscious longing in Ron's eyes, and Richard DeLong laughed cruelly.
"Really, Mr. Stoppable, you should have waited. In another month or so I would have sent you a synthodrone version of Ms. Possible. A fake, of course, and programmed to turn on you when my plan came to fruition, but it would have looked the same, talked the same, acted the same, felt the same. Indeed, you would have been able to do whatever you wanted with her: date her, court her, marry her, bed her.
"Indeed, with the last," DeLong said quietly with an evil leer, "though you wouldn't know it, I can personally attest that the synthodrone would have felt exactly the same as the original."
Ron did not reply to DeLong's statement, though he caught the implication. His face hid the rage that stirred in him, but only for a moment, for soon his features contorted in anger, and he lashed out at the guards to his left and right, blows from stiffened fingers collapsing their throats. As they fell to ground he whirled and drew the Colt 1911 that Dr. Director had given him, leveling it at Richard DeLong. At the same time, all the other guards, sans the ones restraining Yori, leveled their rifles at him, but held their fire at a signal from DeLong.
"I've made you angry, Mr. Stoppable?" DeLong said quietly, his arms outstretched at his side. "You want to shoot me?"
"Yes," Ron hissed through gritted teeth, his cheeks stained with sudden tears.
"Then why don't you?" DeLong asked quietly.
'I should. After everything you've done…'
'And then what?' came another thought. 'You're here to find Kim, not to kill Concolor.'
'But, what he said…'
'So, you're going to kill him because he's made you angry?'
'I'd feel better.'
'Why did you come here? Churros? Bueno Nacho? Revenge? Everything thing you've done, everyone you've hurt, the man you killed, the people you've seen killed in front of you, all the nightmares and dreams, everything that's happened, has brought you here, to this moment, so you can find Kim. DeLong is the only one who knows what happened to her; he's your only chance to see her again, and will you throw that away just because you're angry?'
'So what do I do? This has to end.'
'Yes, it does. You need to channel your anger. Channel it into your fists and into your feet, the ways you know how to fight. Control your rage and wield it like a sword. Fight him, but do so on your terms, not his.'
Ron was still looking at DeLong, his hands shaking with anger, the options still warring within him. Then his face changed, becoming blank, almost peaceful, and his hand steadied. When there had been unbridled hate in his eyes, there came in its place something imperceptible. He sighted down the barrel, aiming the gun at DeLong's head.
Then he moved his finger off of the trigger, and depressed the thumb switch that ejected the magazine, which he kicked away before it hit the ground.
"So you can control your emotions," DeLong said. "So much the better."
"Whatever," Ron said lightly. "You know, I'd just as soon kill you as look at you, but the gat has never really been my style."
He bent towards the ground and set the gun on the floor. DeLong actually smiled.
"But I figure it's more yours," Ron continued as he straightened to his full height. "So, I've got a little challenge for ya. You, me, right here, right now. You win; you get to use the gun. I win…"
He shrugged.
"I win, you tell me exactly what you did with Kim."
"Are you challenging me to a fight, Mr. Stoppable?" DeLong asked incredulously, and then laughed.
"Ah, Mr. Stoppable," he said with delight. "I cannot tell if you are again indulging in your customary buffoonery, or are simply audacious to a brobdingnagian degree. I will go with the later, for I prefer audacity in my opponents."
DeLong removed his own firearm from its holster and handed it off.
"You are indeed a worthy opponent, Mr. Stoppable," DeLong said as he adopted a fighting stance. "I will enjoy breaking you nearly as much as I did Ms. Possible, though obviously beating you won't bring the same side benefits." He grinned maliciously as he finished that statement.
Ron ignored the attempt to bait him.
"Panther-dude," he said as he took his own stance, "you are goin' down."
Chapter XV: Dawn's Carriage
Ron felt a bit selfish, really, as he and DeLong faced each other. He knew that he should be doing this more for the sake of the world than for Kim, but… finding Kim required beating DeLong, which would accomplish the same object, no matter his motivation. Besides, after all they'd been through, maniacs proclaiming their intent to subjugate the world in brutal ways had become somewhat old-hat. While this particular plot was a bit more extreme than most, it still was just another conquer the world plan by a psycho. He was actually used to that.
The ruthlessness of the plan had made him mad, but what DeLong had said about KP was what had pushed him over the brink.
Ron and DeLong sized each other up for a moment, letting their eyes and instincts gain them each a feel for their foe. Then DeLong chose to seize the initiative, and charged. Ron watched him draw near.
'This guy took out KP,' he remembered. He could see that DeLong was moving with the speed and agility of a much younger man, probably having used some variant of the juvenator already. Ron watched and waited, readying his defense and trying hard to keep his fear in check.
DeLong drew closer.
'I dunno if I can beat this guy… KP, I could really use your help now.'
'Ron, I love you. Never forget that, no matter what.' The memory of her voice, those few words, came to him unbidden. He smiled at the memory of her voice, and closed his eyes to the approaching enemy.
She said that to him just after she'd kissed him, for what might have been the last time. Again he found himself in that moment, just before the attack on the warehouse. There was so much that he could have said, but that the moment and foresight hadn't allowed him to say. So much...
'So long as you remember her, Stoppable-san, as she was in your life, she will never be gone.' He remembered Yori's words, spoken to him in Paris. Wise words, words that he now felt were intended for just this moment.
Then it seemed as if she was beside him again, one hand on his shoulder or around his arm, another simply brushing through his hair; her flaming hair ruslting in an unsourced wind, and her emerald eyes burning with the passion and fire he'd always admired in her. She smiled at him, and he felt his heart grow ready.
'KP… you're in my heart; there, we'll always be together. So long as we're together...'
He opened his eyes and smirked at DeLong, who was now only three feet away from the gun.
'We can do anything.'
Ron suddenly dropped to the ground, stretched out but not quite flat on his back. Somehow he managed through this move to actually propel himself across the floor, coming to a stop just in front of the gun. DeLong was in the process of reaching for the gun, apparently wishing to end the fight quickly instead of letting drag out.
Perhaps he had something better to do.
Ron's right foot kicked out and sent the gun skidding away, and then he brought his left leg up, planting his left foot in DeLong's stomach and then thrusting up and towards his head, changing DeLong's grab for the gun into a graceless dive towards the front wall. The older man sailed over Ron's head and then crashed into the wall, even as he did so Ron leapt to his feet and again put the gun between himself and DeLong.
DeLong picked himself up off the floor and popped his neck, giving Ron an appreciative look in the process.
"So you are serious."
"Note. Serious. Face."
For some reason, Joseph had seen fit to engage in some form of skullduggery as he pulled Karen towards wherever it was he was taking her. Admittedly she found all the sneaking around and hiding in shadows to be fun, even somewhat exciting, but she really wished that he would just tell her where they were going. She didn't ask, though, as he'd indicated that it would not be wise to speak, and if he wanted to be all secretive about it, then that was just fine with her.
Again he pressed her against a wall as several of the strange men (who seemed to have guns) walked past. He looked down the corridor, making sure it was absolutely clear, and then he pulled her three doors down and into the library, at which point he let her go and closed the door.
"And what was that all about?" she demanded as he walked towards one of the bookcases and began looking for something. "Joseph, just tell me what's going on. Who are those people? Where's Uncle Richard?"
"Hush, Ms. Karen," he said absently, still searching the bookshelf. Then he found what he was looking for, a copy of '1984', and pulled it, not off the shelf, but rather at an angle. Then he stepped back, and Karen looked on in surprise as the shelf swung outward, revealing a dimly lit stairwell that angled downward.
"Ms. Karen, the answers you want are down that passageway. Go, now."
She looked at him in surprise, and then surprised herself by acting on his words and moving towards the stairs. She stopped at the edge of the door. It looked very dark down there, but was some light on the stairwell.
"Joseph…"
"Now, ma'am. Just trust me, please."
She nodded, swallowed hard, and then started down the stairs that led into darkness. When she had passed beyond his sight and earshot, Joseph moved the book back into place and let the door close. He leaned against the faux-bookcase and shuddered.
He'd seen Stoppable and the other girl entering the base, as had DeLong and everyone else. They'd all headed down, preparing for the confrontation, and DeLong had ordered Joseph to remain above, and keep Karen out of trouble. Instead, he sent her into trouble, for he'd recognized, as she walked down that staircase, his last chance to help undo what had been done.
"Okay, kid," he whispered, dropping his faked accent. "Now it's time for you to see… eh."
He walked out of the library, as if nothing had happened. He hadn't made it ten feet down the corridor when the butt end of a rifle smashed into the back of his head.
DeLong again made for the gun, and again Ron kept him away from it, this time with a simple trip instead of a flashy slide move. It worked all the same, for again DeLong skidded along the floor, finally realizing that there would be no quick end to the fight. So he changed tactics.
The Colt was forgotten as DeLong attacked Ron directly, aiming a pair of kicks, first right then left, at Ron's torso. Ron dodged the first kick and caught the second, holding the leg in place with his left arm and wrapping his right around the thigh, hoping to pop the hip joint. That didn't work, for DeLong flexed at his waist, braced himself on the floor with his hands, and kicked Ron in the head.
Ron let go of the leg and staggered back, shaking his head to clear it, giving DeLong just enough time to get to his feet. However it wasn't enough time for him to mount a defense, for Ron quickly recovered and launched to the attack, striking the man's abdomen twice with his fists and then delivering an uppercut to the chin.
DeLong replied by punching Ron in the mouth.
The fight continued along those lines, with the two combatants trading blow for blow and barely attempting to block the attacks of the other. Most of the time their defensive moves consisted of attacks that coincidentally moved them around the other's attack, their momentum, both angular and linear, carrying them past the other's blows.. They kicked and punched, grappled and threw, but the fight quickly became a stalemate, each contestant gaining many bruises and shedding even more blood, but neither could overcome.
Then Ron gained the mastery.
It happened quickly and unexpectedly. DeLong had aimed a kick for Ron's left kneecap, intending to shatter the patella, but Ron twisted away. The kick had upset DeLong's balance, so Ron had little trouble sweeping his legs out from under him and dropping the man to the floor. He went down hard, that time, the grace of the cat clearly out for lunch, and lay there for a moment, stunned.
In that moment Ron had swooped upon him and picked him up by the collar of his jumpsuit, which he grasped in his left hand. He held Richard DeLong, Concolor, murderer and terrorist, his enemy, in the air before him, his legs dangling. Ron began to draw his right arm back, cocking and stretching his muscles for maximum force. His shoulder reached the optimum angle and amount of strain, and then he clenched his right hand into a fist, causing the muscles on his forearm to bulge. Then he began the punch, his arm and fist flying forward, aimed straight at the side of DeLong's head. At the last moment he released DeLong, and let his waist twist into the punch and his feet carry him forward, adding just that much more force as he drove his fist into DeLong's head.
DeLong's feet never touched the ground. He flew through the air and slammed into a wall, and it was a long moment before he moved again.
"That… that's enough, Mr. Stoppable," he gasped. "I'll tell you what you want to know. In fact, I'll do one better. I'll give her back to you."
His heart leapt. Could it be true, was it finally over? Had he actually won?
'KP, I guess I didn't loose you after all.'
DeLong noted the hopeful tears that had sprung up in Ron's eyes. He said nothing, but got to his feet and headed towards a section of the wall. He'd built the facility for ease of concealment; all the equipment that the main room contained was housed in seamless recesses in the walls. One only had to know where to touch in order to open the bays, but there was enough wall space that it would be very hard for a random snooper to find anything.
DeLong knew where to look; he placed his right hand on a section of wall, and there came a hissing sound as a large drawer extended from the wall. He reached in, pulled out something, and then threw it at Ron's feet.
It was Kim's battle suit, burnt, torn, and bloodied.
"What… the hell…" Ron whispered, his face changing in the blink of an eye from hopefulness to something terrible and full of rage.
"I said I was going to give her back to you," DeLong replied. "That blood is all that remains."
Then the rage left his face, despair claimed him, and he dropped to his knees and gathered the suit up in his arms.
"KP…" he whispered, fighting back tears and not succeeding. Hope left him.
"So this is what it look likes when hope dies," he heard DeLong whisper. "I find that I do enjoy the sight of it."
There was the sound of footfalls, and then Ron felt the barrel of a gun pressing against his head. He looked up, knowing already what he was going to see.
DeLong had recovered the gun from the floor, and was now aiming it at Ron.
'Please,' he prayed desperately. 'I've not come this far just to fail.'
"Interesting weapon," DeLong said absently. "Colt .45, likely the ubiquitous pistol, yet I wonder how you obtained it here… ah, of course: the seal of Global Justice, along with their special transponder granting passage for any firearm through any airport in the world. I assume this was a gift from Dr. Director?"
Ron just looked at him, the despair in his eyes yielding to the dark angel in his heart. Hope had been what had held it back, now there was none, just a bloody rag of clothing that he grasped in his hands. He stared at DeLong in defiance; Kim was gone, be he could fight, still, and knew just how to do it, how to attack around the gun and tear Concolor limb from-
"Still you are defiant," DeLong said with wonder. "So much the better that you retain some spirit, for it makes the final end more satisfying, knowing that I have broken a truly worthy foe. However, while like unto the cats that I have named my organization after, I do so enjoy playing with my prey - did I not call myself the predator, earlier? - I am not without some compassion.
"If it will ease your mind in your final moments, then know this. She never gave up fighting me. Even as I dragged her away from a burning warehouse and stuffed her in a car, even as she was bound and gagged and drugged and placed on my private jet and brought here, she never ceased to struggle. She was defiant and valiant to the end, Mr. Stoppable; even up to the point when I did away with her, in this very room, she never gave up hope.
"Of course," he added lightly, "what she hoped was that you would come in through that door there and save her. She never gave up on that, claiming it even as she ceased to be, and now here you are. A few weeks too late, of course, but here you are. No matter, really: even though I'd set up the nuclear weapon just to lure the two of you there and rid myself the danger of Kim Possible, she was just another nuisance to me."
"She was my life," Ron whispered defiantly, and look upon DeLong in anger, and prepared to spring.
DeLong simply smiled.
"Goodbye, Mr. Stoppable."
"Uncle!" came a shocked cry from the catwalk. Ron and DeLong both looked up, and saw young Karen looking down at them, her eyes widened in shock and fear.
In that moment something awoke in Ron, something he'd thought was dead. It came from the lower most recesses of his heart, it bubbled up like an overflowing and endless flood, and then the broken pieces of his hope compelled him to speak. There was no logic, no rational reasoning involved. He simply saw, and hoped, and believed.
"KP!" he cried, the words coming of their own volition and without conscious effort. "Help, sidekick in trouble! KP, help!"
Karen gasped.
DeLong simply laughed. He didn't know how she'd gotten down there, but he would make the best of it, and shoot Joseph later.
"Ah, this has worked better than I'd hoped," he said loudly. "Please, Mr. Stoppable, don't even bother. She's gone from you, and you cannot undo what has been done. But now… I won't kill you."
He smiled evilly.
"I'll let her do it instead. Phoenix," he ordered, "awake."
She did not hear him.
Why here, why now?
The dream came to her again, as she'd stared at the terrible sight of her uncle holding a gun to the head of the young man from the dance. That young man, Ron Stoppable, had called out to her with words that she didn't understand, but they had drawn her back to the corridor.
She was again denuded, again amongst the wardrobes, only now she could see them better. The pine did not appear to be the original woodwork; instead it now looked like panels that had been affixed to the original structure. After a moment, though, she gave them no further mind, and set off towards the grander wardrobe, as always.
Again, as always, the great bird appeared in front of her, the flames it brought denying her access to the wardrobe.
This time, though, there were two differences. The first was in the eyes of the bird. In earlier times they had been natural, almost kind. Now they were nothing but black coals, and regarded her with unabashed malice.
The second change was this: Ron Stoppable was standing within the fire. He looked out at her and smiled.
"KP."
"Why are you calling me that?"
"It's who you are. Please, KP, there isn't much time. Come here."
She looked at him as if he were crazy. Come to him? Walk through the flames?
"Are you crazy? I can't walk through fire, I'll get burned."
"KP, don't you remember? You're the girl who can do anything."
"Not walk through fire!"
She hugged her arms around her, not so much to cover herself but to protected her body from the heat. The bird would flare again, and then the dream would end and she would wake up…
Ron simply reached out towards her with his right hand.
"KP… I'll help you, then. Together, we can do anything. Even walk through fire."
She did not know why she believed him. For whatever reason, as she stared at his dream form, she reached out and took his hand and let him pull her to him, into an embrace within the flames.
Then the bird gave a great cry, and there was no more fire and no more heat, just a pile of ash lying in the corridor. She looked up at the figure of Ron Stoppable, who smiled at her with love.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"A memory," he said, then dissolved into mist and reappeared behind her. "Go to the wardrobe."
She'd never gotten this close before, and now she could pick out the detail on the paneling. There were carved images of a girl and a boy engaged in combat with many foes: another girl, a man with a scar, a Scotsman armed with golf clubs, and a man who looked like a monkey, among others. At the top of the wardrobe, at its very crest, was a sigil formed of a stylized and entwined K and P.
The doors had no glass, they were all oak, and so she could not see inside. She tried the handle, and the door easily opened.
The other wardrobes had been packed full of clothes, yet this one contained but a single set. A sleeved black crop top, olive cargo pants, gray gloves, a utility belt, and sneakers were all hung upon a single improbable looking hangar. She turned and looked at Ron quizzically.
"Put them on," he said with a smile. She reached into the wardrobe and pulled the hangar off the rack.
It dissolved into many tiny lights, which swirled around her. Then the lights coalesced, and the clothes were on her, and she was no longer naked. Light was streaming from the wardrobe, surrounding her and filling the corridor; the ashes of the phoenix were swept away by the light, and the false paneling from the other wardrobes fell away, revealing other engravings like the ones on the grand wardrobe, again with the same boy and girl.
Then she knew, and remembered, and saw; and the young woman stepped forward into the light, and the dream ended.
A soul cannot be destroyed, at least not by the devices of man. It can be masked, or walled off from the centers of memory, either by the actions of man or by accidental damage to the brain. Memories can be lost and the surface personality changed, but the soul always remains, for it is eternal. Many forget this simple, basic truth.
The masks that are placed on the soul can take many forms. Like cheap Halloween masks they can be obvious and ill fitting, held on by only a tiny piece of string. Other, more sophisticated masks, mimic the form and shape of the soul on their inner edge, but the outer surface is designed to hide, or even render grotesque, the underlying features. The best masks, though, not only mimic the contours of the soul on the inside, but also partially mimic them on the outside, thus hiding the underlying person in a manner worthy of Poe.
These masks are the best because, with such fidelity to the underlying features, they are easy to secure to the person, and thusly can maintain the masquerade throughout ever-harsher conditions, even as they hide in plain sight. Sometimes more than one mask must be used, each designed to highlight and hide different aspects of the person. These masks are tricky to uncover, for their mutable nature renders them hard to track. A person covered in multiple masks can be sweet and kind one moment, and then turn into a killing automaton the next, all at the command and wish of the one who placed the mask.
Yet, though it all, the soul remains, and no binding material is ever permanent.
The reason for the above ruminations is simply this: a soul can only be masked, never destroyed.
And a mask can always come off.
The firebird leapt from the catwalk and flipped in the air, landing in a crouch between Ron and DeLong. Ron got to his feet, intending to defend himself for as long as possible, but knowing that he would ultimately fail, for there was no way he could bring himself to hurt her. Not with that face, those eyes, green as grass, which were even now looking at him… almost as they always had.
The firebird attacked twice in rapid succession, first with a simple straight kick and then with a roundhouse kick. Her first attack knocked the gun from Lord Richard DeLong's hand; her second attack connected with his head and knocked the man across the room. She ended facing him, at a ready stance, her breathing deep and enraged.
"Karen… Phoenix!" he cried in shock
"My name," the firebird growled, at last in her right mind, "is Kim Possible."
End Part 5