DISCLAIMER: Nothing belongs to me if you've seen it on TV. Soundtrack for this chapter: Mastermind III: Tragic Symphony by Mastermind, Neverwas, score by Philip Glass.
World-renowned neurosurgeon Anne Possible of Middleton, Colorado, who had once been intergalactic scout K'myrii K'alorn of Amryl in the Fifteenth Facet, stood outside her home, under the starry sky, deep in thought. Considering the days, the years, the light-years that had brought her to this place. Wondering.
"Can't sleep, hon?" Her husband stood beside her in the night.
"I – I'm worried, Jim. She checked herself out of the hospital. You know she's gone after Dementor. Without a word to us."
"Well, our little girl's a grown woman now – it's not like she needs our permission or anything." Not that she ever asked for it anyway, he thought. We were always on the outside of her missions, looking in. Memories of Drakken's brain-tap machine and Dementor's lethal acid pool flared up, reminding him of the reason Kim had never brought her crime-fighting career home. On the rare occasion the family did get involved, they had nearly always come to grief. "She'll be fine, Anne."
"On Hydraia she would be dedicating herself to solving one mystery, removing one obstacle, revealing one glory that had eluded the study of those with a normal lifespan. It's how we progress. The ones with her gift lead us. They teach each other as well. The wisdom of centuries, handed down on a personal level –" The woman frowned. "She's been avoiding me, you know."
"I know."
"Do you know why?"
"I think so." Stars twinkled in nocturnal silence, broken only by the faint sound of a distant train. "You're not going to like it."
"I haven't changed. I'm the same person I was before."
"Not to Kim. One day you were born in Kalamazoo and raised in a little Michigan town called Augusta, not far from Battle Creek. You left there to go to Upperton University in Colorado, and that's how we met. The next day you were an alien castaway from a planet orbiting Aldebaran, and I met you while dodging winged Plutonian space lobsters. That was a pretty big jump."
"Orbiting Or'roa." She purred the strange word. " Hydraia orbits Or'roa. 'Aldebaran' is a Terran noise. Barbaric."
"I remember you didn't care much for 'James Possible' the first time you heard it, either. 'Tuneless,' I believe you called it. 'Clunky.'"
Her hand found his. "It's sort of grown on me. Over the years."
He really wished he didn't have to spoil this moment. "We should have told the kids everything, a long time ago. The whole story. Your crash on Pluto, Harris' stupid practical joke –"
"I still think you're blaming Dr. Harris for something he didn't do."
"That doesn't matter. We should have spilled the beans. Told them all about it. If they'd grown up with it, instead of having it sprung on them –"
She was shocked. "We couldn't. You know that." All her deepest fears rose up before her: the concentration camps of Area 51 and District 9, the murderously xenophobic clandestine organizations Spectrum and SHADO, ruthless collectors like Van Statten and Henry Parker. All the traps of Earth, lying in wait for the unwary traveler. "Children can't be trusted with secrets. Not even Hydraian children. They blurt things out. They –"
"Kim's not a child. She's been mature enough to handle the truth for a long time. Don't you think she would have handled the gift a lot better if she had known her heritage?" He sadly shook his head. "It's my fault. I was afraid they'd fumble the ball, and I filled you with those worries. Now Kim's had enough run-ins with aliens to distrust them. The Lorwardians, the Septenant –"
"What?" There was disbelief in her eyes. "I'm not Warmonga. I'm not one of the Septenant. I'm her mother! She doesn't –"
"I told you that you wouldn't like it."
"I'm sorry, Jim. I - I just can't believe it. The boys aren't having any problem with it. They think it's great."
"Of course they do. They cut their teeth on rockets, robots and science fiction. They're the ones who watched Captain Constellation with me, not Kim. She hated the show. Remember? I couldn't even subliminally convince her to like it for long." As usual, he felt uncomfortable about trying that. It was one of the very, very few real betrayals of his position as Kim's father. He feared that keeping her mother's identity a secret had been another. Stifling the guilt, he continued. "Having an alien mom is almost an epiphany for our sons."
"Ah – Earth to James Possible," she said, slightly annoyed by the irony of that exclamation. "I'm talking about real life, not old television shows."
"So am I, K'myrii." She was startled; he very rarely used her real name. "What was the first thing Kim asked you? When she finally realized we weren't putting her on?"
"How I got to Pluto."
"No. After that. After you told her about your mission. Searching for habitable planets."
Immediately she recalled Kim's horrified expression, the question she'd exclaimed: "You were – invading Earth?"
At the time, it struck her as almost funny. Now it wasn't amusing at all.
She turned on her husband, an angry edge in her voice. "You're wrong. She's my daughter. I've watched her grow up. I've been there for her. When all she could get out of you was drivel about a cybertronic rodent monster, I was there for her."
His response remained even, measured. Reasonable. "Pinky Jo Curlytail was more than just a monster. The little guy had spirit. And I don't appreciate the blast, thank you."
Remorse swept her anger aside. "But I admitted we should have told her. I admitted it. I told her I was sorry. For keeping it secret. I – I – Jim, what have I done? What have we done?" Her eyes were filled with tears. "What if she doesn't come back?"
"She will. She's your daughter. And she's a Possible. A hundred Professor Dementors couldn't stop her." Please let that be true, he silently prayed, not knowing if there was anyone or anything out there to hear the prayer. As if in answer, a narrow arc of light stretched across the night sky. "A falling star," he said, gently.
Together they watched its silent course, in silence they made their wish.
The falling star continued to fall.
Dementor was still screaming his taunts of victory, but the dying young woman in his clutches could no longer hear them as words. They were just a muffled roar, a sound from a world she was leaving. Even retro-metabolism was failing her, its healing virtue drained off by Dementor's integrator suit before it could restore her strangled, suffocated cells. Still she flailed and kicked weakly in the behemoth's grip, barely clinging to consciousness, knowing only that she had to keep fighting. For the world. For Ron.
For her family. The tweebs. Her dad.
Her mom.
Suddenly there was a formless flare of green light and the crushing grip was gone. She fell to the floor, coughing, choking, but able to breathe. Laid there, gasping, the blue light of her gift growing from a weak flicker to a bright blue flame, and knew her strength was coming back to her, her senses were slowly returning. And the first words she heard and understood were not Dementor's, but another voice she knew very well. A voice insane with rage and pain. And what it screamed was this:
"You can't kill Kimmie. I won't let you. That's my job. Mine. Mine. Mine!"
Shego leaped on her fallen enemy, her claws slashing at his face. "Wouldn't you rather have the plasma?" she snarled.
The Bavarian scientist howled in agony.
She was a war machine, battering the giant unmercifully. Now the plasma fire flared again around her hands as she continued her brutal attack. "I don't know what you thought you did to me, but it didn't work. It couldn't work. If anyone ever kills Kim Possible, it'll be me. Me. ME!"
Pinned down despite his size advantage, Dementor gaped at the massive computer in astonishment. Crackling electrical arcs had bridged the torn cables on the massive electronic brain. Its storm-filled positron globe rumbled like a captive tornado; every meter on the device was pegged in the red. The access terminal's monitor flashed two words, over and over: OVERLOAD IMMINENT.
None of that meant anything to the emerald harlequin. She glared at the fallen giant, ignoring the waves of pain that were sweeping through her, and continued her devastating attack. "I was born to kill her." A bone-breaking kick. "Born to it." A shattering uppercut. "I won't rest until I see Kim Possible dead." Plasma blasts brought a tormented roar from her adversary. "And when I'm done with you, that machine, whatever it is, is next – next – next," she stammered uncontrollably.
"Shego –" Dr. D. began, fearing that his creation was disintegrating before his eyes.
"Shut up!" she shrieked, turning her attention from Dementor to glare at the man in the chair. "You built that to control me, but I can't be controlled." The smell of ozone and overheated circuitry filled the room. "I can't be commanded. I can't be –" Without warning the giant seized her, flung her across the room with all his might. She smashed into the wall, almost blacking out; deep within the computer something burst in a flash of white light.
The green harlequin lurched to her feet, gritting her teeth, momentarily closing her eyes to the pain ripping through her head. She was staggering. "When we're done, that thing's a slag heap."
"You are being zo wrong, robot. Zat thing's a slag heap NOW." Once again moving much too quickly for his size, Dementor grabbed the green woman's hands at the wrists and with a fierce twist, wrenched them completely off, flung them across the room. Too horrified to scream, Shego could only stare, not understanding or believing what she saw. Dark red fluid spurted briefly amidst the sparks and wires; Drakken had designed her to appear to bleed if wounded. To further the illusion. To keep anyone from learning the truth.
Because he had learned that no one thought twice about destroying machines, so she had to be human. But now she wasn't, and the destruction had begun.
As she stared in shock, her gargantuan enemy spun her around, pinning her arms behind her back so brutally that both her costume and her synthomesh flesh ripped at the shoulders, exposing the solenoids within. She made a noise; not a whimper of pain, but a growl of defiance. Unconcerned, Dementor marched her toward the computer, still venting his rage. "LOOK AT IT, ROBOT. Zhat machine is YOU. Zhis BODY is nothing but a VALDO, a ZATELLITE; your MIND, your HEART, your SOUL if you HAVE ONE, is right zhere before you."
Her eyes met Drakken's; they saw desperation in each other's faces. "Is – is it true?" creation asked creator, her tone begging him to deny it. "Why – why didn't you tell me?"
"Dementor, please," the blue man beseeched the colossus. "Have pity!"
If the madman heard, he gave no response. "Zat glass globe contains your memories und personality vectors, robot. If it is destroyed, even replacing it vill never bring you back. OBLIVION vill take you, machine, ONCE UND FOR ALL. And vhen I RESTORE you, you vill MINDLESSLY serve ME as weapon und enforcer." He lifted her above his head, even as she struggled. "Vith your OWN BODY I DESTROY YOU, SHEGO! For NONE may DEFY PROFESSOR DEMENTOR!"
Kim was finally able to stand; beyond the mammoth maniac she saw Ron dully shaking his head, slowly coming around.
"Do something!" Drakken implored them, but neither could act quickly enough to stop Dementor's next simple, savage act.
With all his monstrous strength he flung Shego at the globe.
