Chapter 12

A pirates' night in

On a beautiful, sunny day on a tropical island, far away from a world of troubles, Don Karnage stretched blissfully on a hammock hung between two tall palm trees, surrounded and pampered by young women wearing grass skirts, some fanning and shading him with big palm leaves, some standing by at his side to hand-feed him peeled grapes.

The air was just right, not to cool, not too warm; he closed eyes and just drifted away, lost in a lullaby whispered in girlish giggles and crystal blue waves lapping on white sand. Everything was perfect...

Until someone poked him in the shoulder. And, not to his surprise, this annoying disturbance was owed to the boy.

"Grmm... go away!" yelled Karnage.

"Why don't we switch seats and I'll take over?" asked Kit. "I can do it, ya know!"

"This is my spot," snapped Karnage. "Go poke a walrus!"

"Look, if I gotta make you wake up, you're not gonna like it," said Kit.

When Karnage opened his eyes, there was no warm paradise to greet him, but the hard steel of Khan's transport plane and all its mechanical gauges staring him in the face. He flinched and scanned the instruments, suddenly sitting upright, and checked the horizon. The sky was soft purple, a handful of stars beginning to glow in the east, and the last orange glint of the sunset slid under the ocean to the west.

"Easy," said Kit. "We didn't get off course, I checked already."

Karnage grumbled and slouched back in his seat. Ahead, a dark pillar of ash brewed over the water, a sign of an underwater volcano, and that was his cue to start descending. Pirate Island was not far.

"I didn't mean to let you nod off," yawned Kit, stretching his arms widely. "I fell asleep, too."

"Who was nodding?" scoffed Karnage. "I was only resting my eyes."

"You were drooling all over your shirt!" said Kit; with a cringe, he added, "I think your tongue was hanging out, too."

"Why don't you just erase the memory from that empty space between your ears."

"Yeah, I'm tryin'," Kit chuckled. "Yee-uck!"

Karnage brought the plane down low, skimming only a few dozen feet from the water, and threw on the landing light on the plane's nose and wings. They broke through a hazy bank of fog, where through drops of mist covering the windshield, jagged volcanic rocks began to appear jutting from the sea.

"What if the Iron Vulture's not there?" asked Kit. "What if the crew's all gone somewhere?"

"What if you had wheels?" replied Karnage snippely. "You could be a bicycle! No what-iffing allowed!"

"Okay, translated, you mean it's crossed your mind and you have no idea what you're going to do if it happens."

Karnage did not answer. He scanned between the rocks outside and the compass on the dash, and made a final course adjustment that would send them straight to the island in a matter of minutes.

The lack of reply, however, did not keep Kit from wondering out loud: "What if they crashed the ship somewhere and ― "

"I mean it, boy," interrupted Karnage. "Those blockheads... we will find out soon enough."

"But you promise, right? If we get the gold, I get a fair share?"

Karnage huffed an annoyed sigh and made a curt crossing gesture over his chest. "Have a little faith, you doubting dumbell."

Kit picked up the plane's radio receiver and began turning the dial to the frequency to that of the pirate's hideout and airship.

"What are you doing that for?" asked Karnage.

"We're in range. Wouldn't hurt to see if anyone picks up, would it?" Kit keyed the receiver and spoke into it with a deep, slow voice, "Hel-llo? Anybody there?"

A moment passed, no response. Kit was about to try again when a voice broke through the static: 'Quit playin' on the radio, mutton-face!'

"It's Ratchet," said Kit. "He wouldn't be there if the ship wasn't. You wanna talk to him?"

"Not until I can keelhaul him while I am at it," said Karnage. "All of them."

"You're still a little sore over them ditchin' you in the jungle, aren't you?"

"Oh... a little," snarled the wolf.

"Well, if it's all the same, when we land, I'm gonna stay low and out of everyone's way. I'm not sure those guys are gonna like seein' me again."

"Do not get soft with them, boy," warned Karnage. "They give you trouble, give them more trouble back!"

"Actually, I was thinkin' on getting a head start on the trouble," Kit said. He held the radio to his mouth and disguised his voice again with low tones: "Hello? Is Colonel Spigot there? Colonel Spigot?"

Ratchet fired back on the other end, 'What the ― I said, quit messin' around!'

Kit snickered and waited another moment, then continued over the air: "Yes, I need to speak to Colonel Spigot. Put him on, please."

'Shaddup!' yelled Ratchet.

"Would you please tell the Colonel to call me back?" Kit didn't give him a chance to respond next before shouting into the radio with a higher pitched, frantic voice: "Ratchet, Ratchet! Come in quick!"

'What?! What's the matter?'

"Emergency! There's something wrong with the lights!"

"What's wrong? I just tuned up the generator last week and it was fine!"

"I know! You touched it, and it's still workin'! I'm scared!"

"Oooh," winced Karnage, leaning his ear closer to the radio. "Can you can hear him exploding yet?"

As the radio traffic fell oddly silent on Ratchet's end, probably because he was boiling over so much he could not speak, Kit signaled Karnage to wait, then imitated the Scourge of Sausage Creek himself: "Thith is Colonel Thh-pigot! Did I get any meth-ages?"

Kit gesture with both hands like he was pushing down the bars on a TNT plunger box. On cue, Ratchet burst onto the radio: 'Aaauughh! When I find ya, wiseacre, I'm gonna pound your face with a wrench! Ya hear me!'

They did hear him, though it was not easy over all their guffaws.


Don Karnage taxied the plane into the cavern that made Pirate Island's rear entrance; without climbing the volcano to reach other gaping caverns at its heights, it was the only means inside the hideaway besides the main gates, which could not be opened from the outside, and even then, usually only to allow the Iron Vulture inside.

"Hurry up, boy," said Karnage, bursting from the plane first onto the dank, rocky ground. "We have much to do. I want my ship ready to leave before morning!"

With Kit at his heels, the wolf jotted through the tunnels, and he was more than ready to soar through the trap-laden obstacles set for intruders, until he came to a sudden halt at the lava pit, where on the far end, he saw missing the large, flat stone that was balanced over the thick stalagmite pillar, making it impossible to pass.

"What happened to my rock?" spat Karnage, his fists clenched with rage. "Who did that!"

Kit shrugged, feigning innocence. "I, uh... I wouldn't know."

"That makes me so angry!"

Kit tugged his coat and pulled him toward an adjacent tunnel. "Come on, let's just take the long way around. I'm sure whoever knocked it down fell in the pit with it."

"They had better," sulked Karnage, sweeping his feet away from the chasm. "It weighed five hundred pounds! These things are not easy to replace, you know."

Kit patted him on the back. "I know, I know. Life can be so cruel."


Eventually they came around to the massive cove where the Iron Vulture was anchored. The dread pirate flagship was dark and lonely, presently doing nothing but collecting dust. Pirates were scattered around the bay, lying lazily and despondently, and a stench of grog loomed about the air.

The first pirate they approached was Hal, who was lying flat on his back, half-asleep, an empty mug by his side. Karnage kicked him in the side, which was perhaps the most subtle way to wake him up among all the other means that came to his mind (if only he had a starved wolverine handy).

"Aaauugh!" Hal screamed as if he had seen a ghost, and, amazingly enough for a guy with such a hefty load on his gut, shot to his feet nearly instantaneously. "B-boss! Gazzooks, we saw ya fall, we thought...! We thought...!"

"That you were going to get rid of me?" asked Karnage suspiciously.

"No! A fall that high, we took ya for a goner, honest! How did ya...? How...?" Hal noticed Kit standing behind the captain; he frowned, scratched his head... "Is the brat s'posed to be followin' ya?"

"Never mind him," said Karnage. "If I was goner to you, who did you name in charge?"

"Well, Dumptruck for awhile ― I didn't vote for him! But he gave it up... we couldn't decide on anything, so we came back here a few days ago. Everyone's just been sittin' on their duff!"

Groggily, Dumptruck rose from a stupor and peered over a stack of crates. "Der captain? Is dat him?" Excited talk began to fill the bay, from pirate to pirate, and more pirates hurriedly gathered around to see. Dumptruck clapped once and threw his hands in the air. "Der captain is back! Wee!"

"Cap'n!" Mad Dog came running in full sprint and dove at Karnage's feet, hugging his ankle. "It was horrible! Horrible! Don't ever leave me alone with these ― !" He suddenly noticed Karnage was wearing suit pants. "Whoa, you been to a yard sale?"

"Get away from me!" shouted Karnage, kicking him off his leg. "You disgusting dunderbrains! You left me in that jungle! You are the most pathetic group of smelly, fish-faced, lily-livered imbecilicals I have ever turned my nose up on!"

By then, there was no question among the entire crew... Don Karnage was indeed home again. His tirade went on, his flourished name-calling accented here and there by a kick in the knee or an elbow in the gut. All the while, Kit rocked nervously on his feet, darting awkward glances among the crew, who many regarded him first with suspicion, then with some annoyance, and finally resigned acceptance; they were none pleased or impressed, and no one would dare to interrupt the captain's pep talk to gain the details, but they seemed to understand: the runt was back.

Karnage continued, "You do not even deserve to hear me say that I am about to make you wealthy beyond all your dimwitted dreams!"

Not that the pirates had never heard the captain say that in one way or another, but their interests were still piqued.

"We are going to plunder not a city, but a city of gold, treasure as far as your beady eyes can see!" cried Karnage. "I was there, I saw it! But first, to get the gold, we will have a... pest... to exterminate. Be ready to fight, tooth and tail! I want the Iron Vulture stocked, now! Guns, rockets, bombs, everything we have that goes ka-blooey! And... bacon, lots of bacon."

The pirates began to scramble to fulfill the captain's demands, but they all suddenly stopped and blinked dumbfounded at him.

"Bacon?" asked Hal.

"Yes, bacon," snarled Karnage. "We have bacon, no? Roast beef, chicken wings, anything we have, make sure it is on the ship!" He pointed to Ratchet, Gibber, and second mate Will. "You three, come with me! Boy, you prepare the charts! The rest of you, get to work!"

He went to make a point by swinging out his cutlass and raising it, but when he reached for where the hilt would have been sheathed, he had forgotten he had lost it. "And somebody get me a sword!"


After a long bubble bath, Don Karnage stepped from his quarters in the Iron Vulture and walked the halls renewed and refreshed, donning new threads that matched his usual swashbuckling outfit, boots, buttons, and cutlass hilt polished and glistening.

He looked down from a catwalk into the hangar, where the attack planes were being fueled and stocked with ammunition belts. Big crates of various supplies also filled the area, and the pirates were finally finishing loading their inventory of big artillery shells onto dollies, to be wheeled to the broadside guns, and even larger shells being taken to the ship's gigantic dual front cannons.

There he also saw Kit having a look around. The boy was rather astonished and puzzled, particularly at a rack of fat, military-grade aerial bombs that were never part of the pirates' arsenal before, and, of all things random, a big cage packed with dynamite on the inside and tied with uncooked meats of all sorts on the outside.

Kit cocked his head back, as if exasperatedly asking 'what next?', and happened to see Karnage smirking at him. Kit gave him a forced toothy grin and a thumbs-up, but through his teeth he muttered, 'Yep, we're all gonna die!'

Next Karnage checked the bridge, where Will and Ratchet had just opened a floor panel and were making adjustments to some wiring therein.

"Whew, holy baloney," cringed Will, and he gave Ratchet a sniff. "You tryin' to give Dumptruck competition?"

"Hey, you rig a side of beef to a pile of dynamite and see how you smell," fumed Ratchet.

Karnage looked around the room. "Did the boy do the maps yet?"

"He was doin' something up here, who knows," said Ratchet, gesturing at a table off to the side. "Jeez, boss, about that. After what he pulled last time ― heck, the last two times ― you sure about havin' him around?"

The captain checked the maps strewn over the table, and a complete course had been charted from Pirate Island to the gates of Rhamastan, a path which would take the airship far enough around the city of Alpacito and have a likely chance at avoiding detection by defending forces.

"Without the boy, you nearsighted ninny, we would not be about to plunder more gold than this ship will carry," said Karnage. He regarded the plotted course with approval, and in light of Ratchet's concern, a pleasant realization of how far Kit was committed to their marauding venture. "You could say, he had learn-ed better."


Well after midnight, the pirates' clamor had kicked up an awful lot of dust in the cove, though things were now settling down. Karnage left the Iron Vulture to grab a breath of fresh air before going to bed ― that was what he would have the crew assume, anyway. He was actually looking for somebody... he had not seen the boy around the ship for quite some time.

Kit had a place on the island where he liked to go when he preferred some distance from the others, a cavern that opened like a great window toward the open sky and ocean. Many a time Karnage had found him there in the afternoons with pilfered snacks from the galley, reading flying magazines or comic books he scavenged from looted planes.

The moon was full, bright, and waded low over the sea that night, and right where he had suspected, Karnage found Kit sitting on a long, flat stone near the mouth of the cavern. He was staring out to the ocean, his eyes full of excited thought, and his fingers rubbing together anxiously.

"Vision of plunder dancing through your head?" asked Karnage.

Kit jolted, a bit startled. "Wha'? No! Well... just a little, maybe."

"Oh?"

Like a bottle of soda shaken too much, Kit popped: "Okay, a brand new Thunderbuster! Have you seen the new models? Maybe five of 'em, all different colors! Oh, and with those new super-charged nitro boosts in the engines! Whoosh, three hundred awesome miles per hour on take-off...!" He took a pause to catch his breath. "Wow. I could probably have any plane I want."

"Pssh. Keep the gold, steal the planes," said Karnage. "You have the practice, yes-no?"

"I'll keep it in mind," grinned Kit.

"I might as well give this to you now," said Karnage, and he handed the boy a red kerchief. "This is yours. Start not looking like a muddy-stick-in-the-fuddy-duddy for a change."

Kit accepted it, sheepishly but pleased. "Why'd you carry it around?"

"Who carried what," replied Karnage. "I had a drawer full of them. That one, though, is yours. After you got it in your confuzzled speck of a mind to destroy my magnificent lighting gun, I found it on the floor."

"But you still kept it, somewhere," said Kit. He looked the scarf over and noticed the little familiar details, tiny scuffs and stains right where he remembered them to be.

"I am not so drastically disappointed that it has come in use again," shrugged Karnage.

Kit was hesitant to reply, and for a moment he just fidgeted with the scarf in his hands. "You want me to stay?"

"Well, for such a filthy flea, you can sometimes be tolerated," said Karnage.

"Come on," said Kit, "I wasn't exactly missed around here, right?"

"Like measles and chicken socks," said Karnage. He put his foot on the stone Kit sat on and crossed his arms over his knee. "Still, this is where you belong. How can you think you would be happy going back... there?"

"No offense, but I've been happy there," said Kit.

Karnage sighed, shaking his head. "You say that now, only because of Baloo-ser."

"Don't start," said Kit. "And I've got more friends than that, too. I've got a life in Cape Suzette, and it's a nice one."

"Of course it is!" said Karnage, beaming sarcastically. "Hauling rubber chickens from Hungi Kungi to Bada Bing, why you are living the dream! I thought you wanted to be rich."

"Well... who doesn't?" replied Kit.

"What happened to Cloudkicker? The boy who wanted to conquer the skies, a name to be famous and feared?"

"I... I could still be famous," said Kit quietly.

"Being locked up in school every day and doing homework every night... never for me. You?"

"No one likes homework," cringed Kit.

"How long until you have to wait for a pathetic pilot's license?" asked Karnage, and he pointed at the red scarf, gesturing for Kit to put it on.

Kit frowned as he thought about the eons it seemed to have to wait until he was sixteen. "Four more years."

"Who needs a piece of paper to tell you what you are allowed to do?" With much content, Karnage waited for Kit to bring the scarf around his shoulders, then he took over for him, making sure it was straight and tying a knot in the back. "One day, you might have your five Busting-thunders..."

"Thunderbusters," corrected Kit.

"And maybe those too," said Karnage. "But it is not an airplane you want, it is the freedom. To do what you want, go where you want, when you want. Who can have the world when they are walled in behind the Cape Suzette cliffs with all those pencil-pushing pinheads? We make our own destiny, our own way. And just think of what is best of all!"

Kit caressed the tip of his scarf, reminiscing that old familiar sight under his chin. "What?"

Karnage pointed at himself with his thumbs. "I am right here."

To the captain's chagrin, however, Kit's face fell dark; he slumped into a low droop, his shoulders stiff. Karnage recoiled a step, dismayed and confused... that was far from the reaction he expected.

"You... trust me, yes?" asked Karnage.

"Sure," Kit replied, half-heartedly.

Karnage frowned, and slowly turned away, for once unsure of himself. He glanced around, as if to make sure no one was watching, and sat down next to Kit on the stone. "Do you?"

"I... don't know," mumbled Kit, after a long pause.

Taking a deep breath, Karnage opened his mouth and gestured his hands around like he was about to get a lot off his chest, but he hesitated, and the words would not come. A cross expression washed over his face, but then he grinned.

"You know, it is a well known fact," he said, and as he spoke, he counted on his fingers as if making a list, "I am fabulous, ferocious, cunning, stunning, stupendous, spec-tac-ular..."

Kit rolled his eyes. "Been reading the dictionary?"

Karnage nudged him to get him to look at him. "You make me even better."

Kit did not reply, but cracked a bit of a smile.

"When I found you," said Karnage, "I saw a pint-sized hairball who was me when I was that small. You wanted to be just like me, and I wanted to be the hero-type to you. I did not always show it, but... I am a pirate, not a parent. What could I do."

"It's okay," said Kit. "It's not exactly like I wanted to be adopted."

"Still, I know now why you ran away."

"Nothin' we can really do about it... huh?"

"No," said Karnage, shaking his head solemnly, "Nothing can change what happened."

They slouched resignedly on the stone, watching the moon as if waiting for it to speak a word of wisdom. Memories glittered in the stars, and thoughts about what could have been. Don Karnage hunched over with one hand on his stomach like he was quelling an ulcer, and with the other he scratched his nose to hide his lips. "Sorry."

Kit's ears perked up, and he brightened considerably. He grabbed Karnage by the arm as if the wolf was about ready to keel over on his head. "You're not gonna pass out, are ya?"

"Have I told you to shut up lately?" sneered Karnage.

"Hey, no hard feelings, about anything," said Kit. "I guess I can say, thanks for savin' me."

"Pfft, more times than I can count," the wolf scoffed.

"I don't mean lately," said Kit, "I mean... before, when I didn't have anywhere to go. I probably woulda ended up roadkill somewhere if it wasn't for you."

Karnage shrugged. "Most definitely true," he said, and he made a show of admiring the shine on his claws. "I tell you, sometimes I am so generous it shames me."

"Yeah, and you oughta take up gardening, too," grinned Kit. "I've never seen anyone shovel a load of manure like you."

"Pushing your luck," said Karnage, though a rare twinkle was in his eye. He stood up in front of Kit, holding an arm behind his back in a gentlemanly fashion, and held the other out of Kit to shake. "Then bygones are going goodbye, yes?"

Kit stood up on the stone and slapped his palm firmly into Karnage's. "What are the odds you might start callin' me Kit?"

"Salud," replied Karnage, without a moment's thought. "And one hour until the Iron Vulture is off! Try to be on it, hm?"

"I thought we were waitin' 'til morning," said Kit.

Karnage patted him hard on the shoulder and headed back inside the cavern. "By the time we get there, it will be morning. Who wants to wait?"

Kit jumped off the stone and followed him. "What does 'saloo' mean?" he asked.

"Salud," replied the wolf. "Spanish for 'go burry your sneezing face in the sand'."

"But I didn't..." Kit stopped and thought about it, then resumed with a stomp in his step and a fist shaking in the air. "My name is not a sneeze!"


As preparations on board the Iron Vulture finally wound to a finish, the pirates began to file to their berths to catch half a night's sleep before the airship arrived over the coast of Alpacatan. Some would take turns at the helm bringing the ship to its destination overnight.

On a catwalk near the bridge, Kit knelt at the edge and looked down into the hangar, pondering the day ahead. The planes were poised for attack, cranes, winches, and lifts were lined by the bomb bay doors, and of course, there was the ample arsenal of explosives. Karnage had not brought quite as much fighting power along when he breached the cliffs of Cape Suzette, though Kit mused that, given the fashion of which Karnage had to hastily retreat from the Cape, the captain had learned to be better armed for anything.

Will was just leaving the bridge and saw him there. He lit up a cigar and joined him. "Well, well. The brat's back."

Kit backed away from him, suddenly alarmed.

"Relax," said Will, with a chuckle that made him choke on his own smoke. He coughed and wiped his eyes. "I ain't gonna deck ya. The boss says you're all right now... er, again... whatever it is."

"Whatever he said, I don't know how much that's gonna matter," said Kit. "Like, last time I was on this boat, I tied Dumptruck to a propeller. I don't think those kindsa memories are gonna go over well."

"Ha! It does for the rest of us," laughed Will. "A big ox like him, and what are you, eight or nine years old?"

"I'm twelve," said Kit, narrowing his eyes at him.

"Yeah, sure." The second mate took a long drag from his cigar and blew the smoke in a long cloud over his head. "Let me ask ya, brat, straight-out. You with us, or not?"

"Well... I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yeah, so jack else matters. They'll shine you on like always , but heck, you've busted Karnage's chops worse than anyone else's. If he ain't holdin' a grudge, don't think you gotta worry."

Will spied Dumptruck lumbering across the far end of the catwalk. "Speak of the ugly," he said, then shouted, "Hey, fat-head! Look who's back!"

"Hot whoopa-dee-doo," said Dumptruck, tired and deadpan. "Let me just do der little dance to celebrate." He whirled his fingers in the air as he turned the corner.

"Ya see?" said Will, flicking the tip of his cigar. "His tail almost wagged."

"Ri-ight," drawled Kit. He looked down into the hangar again, his chin just barely poking over the top of the railing. "Where'd you get those bombs?"

"Ain't they beauties?" said Will. "Surprise loot from a ship convoy we hit near Hounsland. Dumb mutts used civvy ships to try to sneak 'em out their country, no security. Dragon-schmagon, they're gonna hit the spot if that son of a gun rears its head outta the ground."

Kit blinked at the mention of the D-word, thinking he was unexpectedly knowledgeable for such speculation. "Who said that would happen?"

Will shrugged. "Captain says it was trying to break loose. You saw it, didn't you?"

Suddenly Kit felt sick to his stomach, remembering the bloodthirsty roar quaking the jungle, and the fury building from the depths of the old volcano there. "I saw it, all right," he said. He glanced over their explosives in a different regard... somehow they seemed like firecrackers now.


Kit was walking through a corridor to his old berth when the Iron Vulture prepared for takeoff. It was quiet and cold. Low sounding booms echoed in the halls as the airship's rotors were warmed one by one. Alarms sirens could faintly be heard from around the island, announcing that the great front gates were being opened. The floor began to roll gently as a tugboat started to pull the airship toward the open sea and a new promise of fortune... and certainly danger.

What would happen tomorrow... Kit wondered if anyone else had such fluttering in their stomach as he did. They others were dreaming of what would be waiting, but he had seen it.

It was déjà vu as he walked down the hall, and it would not go away. He found himself looking around like he was exploring the corridor for the first time, noticing the same spots of grime on the walls, the cracks between the metal plates on the floor, the way certain lights on the ceiling flickered, the mutters and cackles from the crew... it was eerie, like ghosts hiding behind every corner and shadow, whispering memories of the smallest detail of his very first night on board the Iron Vulture. Back then, he had no idea what to expect the next morning, either.

He came to a room and flipped the light switch; it was his old berth with his old bed. The lone lightbulb fixed on the ceiling, the green blanket loosely tucked under the mattress, a beat-up pillow, the rag tied to a slow leaking pipe by the top corner, even an old comic book and flight manual under the bed, it was exactly the same as when he left it, save for the clutter of some additional boxes stacked in the corner.

He stood at the doorway for a moment and looked at the bed; he remembered how he felt when he first laid eyes on it, when he had gone years sleeping in crates, under bridges, in hangars, wherever he could find cover from the night, and then to finally have had a real bed. After a rough week in the jungle wilderness, he felt much the same.

'Well... here I am,' he thought. Ready for a bit of sleep as he had ever been, he padded to the bed, spun around on his heel and jumped backward onto the mattress, and a cloud of dust sprang forth and consumed him. He coughed and frowned. Apparently, it would have just killed someone to have done a little housekeeping all year.

Grudgingly, he resigned himself to the dust and rolled over with his cheek on the pillow, stretched his toes, and buried the uncertainty of the morning ahead with a faith that Don Karnage was going to make everything work out fine. A chill ran down his back... that déjà vu, it was getting downright creepy…


It was nearly two years prior, when Kit was just shy of his eleventh birthday. By either sheer coincidence or unfolding destiny, he suddenly found himself on the Iron Vulture, and in the good graces of its captain.

Don Karnage was hardly known to take kindly to strangers on his ship, let alone children, but it was apparent to the crew that he had made an exception. He took a quick liking to the boy.

Regardless of being short and filthy, to Karnage the boy seemed quick, bright, and competent… a breath of fresh air from the 'ignoranimooses' he had to deal with on a daily basis. Karnage did not have to question to know he was homeless, but it was an aspect that appealed to him even more. By the way he handled Ratchet, he could see that this was a kid who could take care of himself… not one of those needy whelps who needed their mothers around to wipe their noses for them.

After discovering the boy stowed away on a plane, Karnage had offered Kit a meal, quite generously Kit thought. But all the airplanes, the secrets and wonders of real pirates got the better of Kit's curiosity, and they did not get close to the galley before Kit started asking questions: what was in that room and the next, what did they use that for, and so on.

At first, Kit followed somewhat timidly behind the captain and listened to him proudly explain various facts and tales about whatever part of the airship they wandered in. But before long, as Karnage spoke more to him, answering his questions and rousing his intrigue, Kit's confidence and fondness grew towards him. Soon it seemed debatable who was leading whom anymore… Kit would dash ahead of the captain, asking "What about in here?" and "What's this?"

For his part, Karnage was hospitable to a piratical fault. He did not at all mind taking the time to show the boy around, and taking the opportunity to brag heartily and tell fascinating stories about himself and the air pirates, for possibly nothing could have pleased him more than that Kit was listening with utmost attention at his every word.

Karnage saw in Kit's eyes, in every wonderous glance, daydreams of what could be.

They traversed many decks, corridors, and rooms, and once passing by the brig, where that pilot who unknowingly gave him a ride was being introduced to a grate and soapy tub to scrub the pirates' dirty laundry.

Down another hall Kit was about to take the liberty of opening one particular door himself, but Karnage promptly grabbed his shirt and yanked him back. "Ah-ah-ah, not in there," he said.

"Oh…" Kit faltered, suddenly scared he'd stepped on his toes. "I-I didn't mean anything, really."

Karnage looked at his hand and frowned; it was smudged with dirty residue from Kit's shirt. "Boy, do you realize what a flea-bag of filth you are?"

Kit stepped away from him, ashamed. "Sorry."

The captain pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped his hand clean. "If were to show you what was behind this door, you are to touch nothing, understand?"

That brought a smile to Kit's face. "Understood. What is it? Some sort of secret pirate weapon? A new secret plane?"

Karnage was amused by his imagination, and opened the door. "No… this!"

Kit squeezed through the doorway before it was even open all the way, ready to see something exciting. But after a few steps he stopped, arching his eyebrow. "Huh? Looks like a bedroom."

"Yes… mine," Karnage boasted, following him in.

Kit did not see anything exciting like he thought he might, but he was still impressed. The room was immaculate, with the steel walls glistening in the warm sunshine that beamed through the window. There was a dresser, full-length mirror, several trunks, a desk, and fancy rug on the floor, but the most eye-catching piece had to the bed; it was perfectly made, covered with a fluffy purple bedspread, and decorated with silk red curtains and a large cursive 'K' emblem hanging overhead. Don Karnage was the wealthiest person he had ever met.

"Wow… you actually live here? On the ship?" asked Kit.

"Most of the time," Karnage said. He stepped to his mirror and drew his cutlass, posing himself in various fencing positions, as he usually did when entering his quarters.

"Awesome," Kit breathed.

"How rrright you are!" Karnage replied, gazing at himself admirably. He did not realizing Kit was not speaking of his fencing flair.

Kit wondered if the "tour" was over, and started worrying. What was going to happen now? He watched for awhile as Karnage dashingly swiped his sword at imaginary opponents, then decided to speak up. "Uh… Mister, uh… Karnage?"

Karnage's arm came to a sudden halt in mid-swing. "Mister?" He turned towards Kit, apparently offended. "Am I looking like a mister to you, boy?" he asked, pointing his cutlass at him. "I am a pirate!"

Kit backpedaled, holding his hands up. "Whoa, easy! It wasn't an insult!"

The captain lowered his sword. "What is it?"

"Well, I think your ship's amazing and everything… but… how'm I gonna… I mean, where am I… you're not gonna throw me in the jail, are you?"

Karnage blinked, then laughed out loud. Kit didn't know if that was a good sign or a bad sign. "Perhaps you tell me, boy. What should I do with you? Hm?"

"Uh… give me a lift to the nearest city?" Kit asked.

"A lift? Do you think I am running a taxi-derby here?"

Kit lowered his eyes. "No sir..."

Karnage smirked. The boy was the boy was still cautious of the ferocious image he had earned, and he loved it. Karnage gestures for him to follow, and Kit trotted along behind him, curiously, out the room and down to another deck.

"Where we goin'?" asked Kit. Karnage was moving like he was in a hurry.

"You are still hungry, yes?"

"I could eat a gorilla bird," replied Kit, rather hopefully.

Karnage led him to the airship's large kitchen, which was cluttered with myriad of dirty pots, plates, and utensils stacked everywhere. Just before entering, the captain glanced around slyly, and leaned close to his ear, with his hand next to his mouth like he was telling a secret. "Listen, tomorrow we will arrive at our most secretive pirate hideout," he said. "Earn your keep here, and perhaps I give you a little to eat, and let you stick around to see it."

Kit perked up. "You mean I can stay here?" But then he paused, suddenly afraid. "Wha'... what do I hafa do?"

"Are you kidding? What do you see wrong with this room?"

"Uh... well... the dishes are dirty."

"Son of a gun, the boy is not blind!"

Kit frowned, looking a bit intimidated at the workload. "It's... it's a lot of dishes."

Karnage looked up thoughtfully. "Or, I could toss you off my ship and see how spectacular a splash a puny-type person like yourself makes in the middle of the ocean."

Very promptly, Kit rubbed his hands together. "Why don't I just get to work."

Karnage nodded approvingly, faintly showing a satisfied grin. "Not as estupid as you look, eh?"

Kit took a few steps into the kitchen, but stopped and looked back up at the wolf. "What about... after tomorrow?"

"Stop worrying, will you," said Karnage. "No, uno momento! There is one thing I want you to worry about now."

"What's that?"

Karnage pointed to the nearest sink. "Get over there and clean yourself, you stinky stooge. You are perfumating my ship!"

Much later that night, when the hour was close to midnight, the Iron Vulture had anchored off the shore of a small island to wait for dawnt. The usual commotion and clamor that echoed through the airship had winded down as the pirates eventually all dispersed into their respective beds.

Kit walked down the chilly iron hall that led to the berths, counting the doorways as he passed them. Some of the pirates shared the same room, a particularly large dormitory that furnished dozens of single-size beds, personal chests, and sinks. He stopped to peer inside as he came across it, taking a moment to watch the others as they hunkered down for sleep, and listen in on their gabbing about plunder, weapons, and women. They were an odd group, and dangerous, no doubt. Most of them had scars to give testament to their ugly demeanor.

For one ten-year-old boy, it was like swimming in a pool of big, deadly sharks and not getting bit. There was just something neat about that.

"Hey, move it or lose it, kid," said Hal from behind.

A bit startled, Kit quickly got out of the doorway and let him pass. "Uh, s-sorry."

"Yeah yeah yeah," the fat feline yawned, scratching himself in uncouth places as he headed for bed.

Kit yawned himself. He was getting quite tired. He walked down the hall further, toward the room he was told he could sleep in.

The day had proved unforgettable, to say the least. While he spent the afternoon sticking close to Karnage, following and observing him commanding the crew, the captain let him alone to explore more of the airship while he went about his own usual pirate business. Kit had only heard tales of the Iron Vulture before, how it was so big it could swallow the largest cargo planes, but he never fathomed just how big it actually was.

Most of the other pirates Kit came across paid him no special attention, more than less indifferent to his presence. They weren't the warmest bunch ― nor the cleanest nor brightest ― yet there was a sense of belonging among them, one that they perhaps never had before they were pirates. He knew what that was like. Going room to room, he observed them in their normal activities... ship maintenance, playing poker, telling dirty jokes... he heard a rumor somewhere along the way about cockroach races, but he'd have to see it to believe it. During the afternoon, he encountered a small group shooting dice ― which, from street experience, he knew something about ― and joined in. He ended up losing the ten dollars he had pickpocketed earlier at the airfield, but won a little camaraderie, if nothing else. He would see about a way to hustle his money back some other time.

When dinner time came around, he essentially 'followed the herd' to the ship's galley. It was a gigantic room, lined wall-to-wall with enough benches to seat hundreds of crewmen. The food was hot and decent, and though Kit was the last in line to get himself a plate, the captain made good on his promise, and before he left the room he was so stuffed he could barely walk.

His tattered blue sweatshirt was long burned away in the garbage furnace, as ordered by the captain earlier. Karnage had given him a clean white undershirt and a green woolen sweater from the pirates' spare wardrobe. The handful of short pirates that might have actually fit in the sweater would never have taken it; it looked far too civilian. Even Karnage agreed that for a fitting pirate look, the outfit left a little something to be desired.

Kit, however, was not so picky. The sweater seemed as good as new, except for a hole torn on the right elbow, but he could always patch that up later. The wool was warm and soft ― he loved it. Why the infamous scourge of the skies, Don Karnage, had treated him to such hospitality, he did not know. He didn't ask, either. Some things you just didn't question, lest they be jinxed.

Kit flipped the light switch on in the room he was told was his. It was not much to look at; bare walls plated with sheets of metal, a few pipes running along the walls, and a bunk bed with two old brown blankets and a small pillow on the bottom mattress. The top bunk was stripped. It wasn't exactly a fancy suite at the Ritz Crackerton, but it was a bed, blanket, and pillow nonetheless; they were luxuries compared to many of the places he had been sleeping before.

The room had one lone circular porthole window that stared out the airship's broadside into the black night, leaving nothing to view but a blurry shape of the yellow moon glowing in the haze of the far horizon. Kit had to stand on the bed to look out of it, and there the realization struck him that he literally had no idea where in the world he was. It left him with an odd feeling; so very uncertain of what was in store next, but yet not afraid.

The whole world had flipped over and stood on its head; that was practically all the sense he could make out of it. He woke up that very morning from spending the night behind the trash bins of an airfield, with no roof over his head or knowing where his next meal was coming from. Suddenly finding himself with a place to lay his head and a full stomach ― aboard a flying aircraft carrier, no less ― was almost too hard to believe...

He crawled into bed and curled up in the covers, but for a while his eyes were wide and he stared aimlessly, dreamily into space, for he now knew exactly who he wanted to be like when he was older.

He slept well that night.