Chapter 13: What Goes Around, Comes Around
"I'm telling you, KP, Amy's up to something involving monkeys," Ron and Kim had just finished their morning sparring session. He had spent all day Sunday getting a grip on what he had experienced, only being willing to talk to Kim today.
"I believe you," Kim assured him. "It's not a matter of belief, it's a matter of figuring out what we can do about it, without revealing Yamanouchi or the MMP." Ron was forced to concede her point.
"Tell me, again, what happened," she requested.
"Okay, it's kind of hard to describe," Ron began. "I got sort of a glimpse into his mind, but monkeys don't think the same way that we do, so it isn't easy to make sense out of what happened."
"You've spent the better part of a day working it out in your mind," Kim prompted. "What have you come up with?"
"Well, I think that it's taking place either in South America or Central America, since it was a spider monkey that cried out. I didn't learn much about him, just his current sitch. He was a wild monkey that had been caught in a net trap. He was put in a cage and taken somewhere by truck. I didn't get any sense of travel by either plane or ship, so he wasn't taken overseas. Anyway, the last face he saw before some drugs took effect was Amy's. Sometime after he went out, something sort of altered his…essential monkeyness."
"Monkeyness?"
"KP, I don't have a word for it and I've never gotten better than a gentleman's C in Grammer."
"Okay Ron, I was just trying to joke a little bit, you know, keep you grounded this time," Kim frowned. "The question is, what does it all mean."
"To be honest, Amy doesn't concern me that much," Ron answered. "I mean, I want to stop whatever she's doing, but I don't know if what she's doing is 'take over the world' evil or something else. The real reason I want to track her down is Monty."
"Right," Kim agreed. "Like we said before, if we find Amy, we find Monty. Now, we've got to give Wade something more than 'somewhere in Central or South America.' That's an awful lot of area to search." She frowned. "Are you still in contact with this monkey?"
"No," Ron answered. "I only got that one burst, but that burst sort of dumped a lot of his memories into my brain. It hasn't been easy making sense of them, but I think that I've worked some more details out. First of all, he had to be from a spider monkey's native range, since I got a memory of fights with other bands of them."
"That's something," Kim conceded. "But how long was he on the truck? Ground transport could have taken him all the way to Argentina, the US, or even Canada."
"Monkeys don't have the same concept of time that we do," Ron informed her. "Since he was in an enclosed truck, he couldn't count the days…Wait a minute! He had no memory of being fed during the trip, and he wasn't terribly hungry when he was removed from the truck! That means he was on the truck for less than a day!"
"Nice going Ron, I'm going to have to start calling you Sherlock Stoppable," Kim mused. "I'll tell Wade that we received an anonymous tip and that we can't reveal any more. He respects privacy." She thought a moment, "Oh! You don't think that it's the same monkey that lived in your tree house, do you?"
"No, that monkey's female while this latest one is a male. I can kind of get a feel for what she's experiencing, if I really concentrate on it. It's hard to explain, but I've asked her to keep an eye out for him, in case he escapes."
"So you can communicate with monkeys from far away? Just like your sensei?"
"Well, I can sort of…share emotions with her. I think it's because I dealt with her before and because I helped her escape back to the wild. I can't just reach out and share emotions with a random monkey."
"How's she doing, or can you tell?"
"I don't really know, but I got the impression of her being content and being part of a group of monkeys. I couldn't tell anything more than that."
"I notice that you don't refer to them by name," Kim observed. "Why not?"
"Monkeys don't really use names," he answered. "It's complicated, but they use vocalizations and gestures to indicate rank in the band. Their position in the band is more important to them than personal identity. The female has taken a name, since she spent time with Fisk."
"Oh, what does she call herself?" Kim was surprised to find herself curious.
"AWIEEOUAIEEEE!" Ron screamed, startling Kim. He suddenly jumped backwards, pirouetting in midair and landing in a fighting crouch. Once on the ground, he rotated slowly, while pivoting his head.
"What is it?" Kim demanded, dropping into a fighting stance herself.
"Her name," Ron replied, standing up straight. "That shriek should have been a little higher, and I don't have a tail so I had to mimic some of the gestures by wiggling my butt."
"RON, if you ever scare me like that again, without a VERY good reason, I'm kicking your biscuit!" Kim's adrenaline level was still very high.
"Sorry, KP," he replied with a grin. "But you did ask."
"Eeeergh," she half snarled, half sighed. "Were you just playing me?"
"A little," he admitted. He reached over and started to massage her tense shoulders. She resisted, a little at first, then submitted to the relaxing caresses. "It's just been so serious that I wanted a little joke."
"You got me with it," she admitted. "Anyway, the workshop starts today, so I'd better head for the gym. Hey! I have an idea! Since I have a key to the gym, want to start doing our sparring there in the mornings? We're supposed to be having thunderstorms for the rest of the week, so your backyard is kind of out."
"Sounds good, I have some lawns to take care of this morning, then some dessert making to do this afternoon. Get together this evening? I'll bring some work home with me."
"You better believe it." She hesitated just a moment before asking him, "Ron, was that…brain flash thing you got from the monkey really that disorienting?
"It had me confused," Ron admitted. "Why do you ask?"
"Yesterday was the first time since the make-up prom that you spent the entire day away from me." She paused, "You called me in the morning, so I came by to check on you that afternoon and you were with Felix. I don't mind that you hang out with him and if you want some 'friends' time with just him, that's fine too. It just hurts me that you were going through some difficulties and didn't want me around."
"I…uh…wasn't exactly disoriented," Ron stated, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Oh, just what was going on?"
"Well, monkeys don't have coherent memories as much as they remember emotions."
"Okay, what does that have to do with it?" Some confusion was starting to overcome Kim's hurt feelings.
"Well," Ron was looking even more uncomfortable. "The other thing you have to know is how spider monkeys live. They form small bands and develop their own status system within that band, kind of like the high school food chain."
"Ron, it's getting time for you to make your point."
"Right, this monkey was the dominant male in his band, and the dominant male and dominant female have certain…privileges within the band." He looked at Kim, who was starting to blush. "The monkey was exercising that…privilege when he was caught. It might explain why he was caught, but it was also his last…emotional memory before being captured and it was very strong."
"I think I see where this is going," Kim couldn't bring herself to look directly in his eyes. "I take it that the memory sort of…imprinted on you and you were feeling…amorous?"
"Calling me amorous yesterday morning would be like saying I was a little jittery when Monty came after me with that sword. Trust me, if you were to add the …effect you tend to have on me with that…imprinting, I wouldn't have been very good company for you yesterday."
"I'll take your word for it," Kim assured him, blushing furiously. "So, you called Felix…"
"A couple hours of Zombie Mayhem, followed by a cold shower took care of it. Well, most of it. Anyway, I've got it under control now. I'm sorry if you're upset, but you wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere near me yesterday."
"You never know," Kim replied, with an impish expression. She ducked in for a quick kiss and scampered off.
"I'll see you this afternoon," she called over her shoulder, leaving a thoroughly perplexed Ron Stoppable in her wake.
"The Internet is a wonderful thing," Lord Montgomery Fisk decided. "As well as search engines and America's obsession with celebrities."
The nobleman came close to chiding himself for that last thought. After all, the citizens in his own homeland had as much of a fascination with the rich and famous as did the residents of this land. But, since kibitzing about the locals was one of the few luxuries left to him, he chose to indulge in it.
Ever since Amy had released him from his confinement, he had remained at her safe house in rural Wyoming. Amy wasn't present; she was working for some wealthy client at a secret location. Her absence wasn't a hardship for him; she had become rather aggressively fond of him and he found her affection to be…smothering. Still, he was profoundly grateful to her for rescuing him and providing him with secure accommodations. Here, far from the nearest neighbor, he could practice his Tai Sheng Pek Kwar on the extensive acreage, with no fear of being observed.
The home was far from luxurious but Fisk had endured much greater hardships during his archaeological career. He was honestly impressed with the level of technological capability she had hidden in this remote ranch. Although he didn't have a current use for the generator in the barn, or the laboratory in the basement, he could appreciate the effort needed to hide these items on the property. The home itself was small, but it was well built, had working utilities and, most importantly, had satellite communications with broadband Internet access. With this access, Fisk was able to study his adversary, which explained his gratitude towards the Internet and America's celebrity fetish.
After the various law-enforcement agencies had declassified the footage of Team Possible's struggle on Bueno Nacho's roof, numerous websites had started following the two teens. This was nothing unusual for Miss Possible, but Mr. Stoppable now had a surprisingly large fan base. As such, Fisk was able to gather some usable information, discretely.
First, the two teens, as well as Yamanouchi School officials, had reported that Team Possible had completed a month long cultural exchange program. Fisk snorted at that; he had a pretty good idea about the content of the 'instruction' the two teens received. This was important news, telling him that Stoppable and Possible would now be even more formidable. A few websites refused to believe the cultural exchange story and had developed an intense fascination with the teens' left hands and Possible's abdomen.
Secondly, he learned that the two were now 'dating exclusively.' This was news to Fisk, although he didn't find it surprising. While he had never experienced a romantic attraction, he supposed that his two tormentors would eventually explore such a relationship. He pondered if he could make use of this development and decided that he could not do so and maintain his honor. There was a fine line between 'giving' Possible to Lipsky and attacking her too injure Stoppable; but that line was the difference between honor and disgrace. Still, he would monitor the status of their relationship. If the new aspect of their relationship were to fail, Stoppable would probably be emotionally vulnerable.
Third, he learned that Stoppable had obtained Edward Lipsky's motorcycle. Again, he didn't see an immediate use for this information. While Lipsky would probably be willing to move against Stoppable in order to regain his vehicle, the man was in prison and Fisk didn't consider him worth the effort of rescuing. Still, any piece of information was potentially useful.
Fisk considered his options and concluded that his best course of action was to continue to train and monitor Stoppable. He also needed to remain hidden. He sighed about this; he missed Bates and his educated, monkey ninjas. Yet, he remained a realist. Since his escape, Bates was undoubtedly being watched and various agencies were probably monitoring the primate trade. With another sigh, he resigned himself to a rather lonely, near future and decided to check up on the villain community.
He noticed that Team Possible had recently captured Dementor. While Fisk didn't see an immediate use for the undersized scientist, anyone with a grudge against Team Possible was a potential ally. Drakken had been moved to Holland, so another potential ally was effectively beyond Fisk's reach. Shego was being held in an ultra-secure prison, awaiting trial. Fisk had a great deal of respect for the green-hued woman but was not about to attempt to rescue her from her current prison. Killigan, The Mathter, Aviarius, and Adrena Lynn were all unaccounted for at this time.
With a final sigh, Fisk left the computer and went outside to perform some katas. His opportunity would eventually present itself, and he would do well to prepare himself for that time.
"Well, General, this is certainly a surprise." Dr. Drakken remarked to his rather familiar visitor. "I doubt that you just happened to be in the neighborhood and dropped in to see me. So, what brings you to this side of the pond?"
"Tell me, Lipsky, how well do you know a would be tyrant named Professor Dementor?" The General leaned back and waited for a response.
"Well, I've heard of him, of course, but why are you interested?"
"Just humor me, Lipsky, after all, talking to me is a break in your monotony."
"True enough," Drakken favored the man with an insolent smile. "Dementor is a pretender. He's tried to upstage me as a world conqueror for years now. He hasn't even come close! The only thing he's ever managed to do was steal the pan dimensional vortex inducer, and he didn't even have a good plan to utilize. While I've won the 'Most Likely to Inflict Immeasurable Misery on the World' award, at the Villain's Convention, four years running. Did you know that when you win that award you get free airfare the following year?"
"Nice piece of information, Lipsky, but you didn't really answer my question," the General persisted. "How well do you know him? Have you had any interactions with him in the past?"
Drakken's smile grew even more insolent. "Well, since you have no real authority here in Holland, I may as well talk. We've traded both equipment and data on occasion. He's actually a trustworthy sort, as far as villains go. He's really quite capable but he's more obsessed with alternate realities that dominating the world; otherwise he would be a much greater competitor in my profession."
"So, the two of you might have a better idea than most about where the other's hidden assets may be located?"
"Now, now, General. This is true but I'm not about to rat the poor, little man out. He has enough problems and it wasn't part of our deal."
"True enough," the General admitted, with an unreadable expression. "On a different topic, do you know anything about an abandoned silver mine in Montana, up near the international border?"
"Why should I?" Drakken's expression was very smug.
"Dementor had moved into it, and was making use of a fairly well equipped lab inside of it," the General informed the prisoner. "You see, the lab had the type of equipment that you tend to collect and the mines ownership is a confusing jumble of front companies and property management firms. It's so convoluted that it may take us months to sort it out and find out who really owns the mine."
"Is that so, General? Well, my mind has been slipping as of late, you know, preoccupied with trying to take over the world? You can hardly expect me to recall every piece of property upon which I stored equipment. Even if I own that mine, and I'm not saying that I do, what good will it do you? Even if you feel betrayed and the US courts choose to sentence me to death, I'm serving a life sentence here in Holland, where there is no death penalty."
"Yeah, Lipsky, I guess you got me," the General looked up at the prisoner, whose expression was so smug that it was downright insolent. "By the way," the military man continued. "Your lawyer had wanted you moved to Mexico, why did you insist on a European prison?"
"The treatment of course! European prisons are safer, more comfortable and the food is much better." Drakken's smile had grown even wider.
"Yeah, Dutch extradition treaties are more liberal, as well." Now the General's face showed the beginnings of a smile.
"Meh?"
"You see, Lipsky, Mexico will never extradite a prisoner if he could face the death penalty where they send him. Holland works a little bit differently. Let's just say, hypothetically of course, that we somehow trace that mine's ownership to you. Now let's assume that several US Federal Prosecutors get ticked off about you holding out on your deal and manage to get you sentenced to death, in absentia. Now, let's say that that convoluted mass of front companies and management firms wind up facing conspiracy charges. At least one of them might want to call you to the witness stand."
"In such an obviously hypothetical situation, Mexico would never allow your extradition," the General informed Drakken. "But Holland works a little bit differently. They have no problem with extraditing one of their prisoners, so that said prisoner can take the witness stand. Then, they really don't have a problem with that prisoner facing punishment for any crimes committed in that other nation, just so long as he's returned to Holland to finish his sentence."
"So you see, Lipsky," now the General was looking very smug, while Drakken had broken out in a sweat. "If these hypothetical situations were to come true, the US could still put you in the chair or stick you with a needle. As long as the US returns your ashes to Holland, the Dutch will be satisfied." Now the General got to his feet. "You should have listened to your lawyer. Tell you what, I'll do you a favor and call him for you. I think you need to have a talk with him."
With that, the General walked out of the visiting room and guards showed up to return Drakken to his cell.
"I'm running out of time," he thought. "What's taking Shego so long?"
Shego walked down the corridor, her two guards a respectful distance behind her. It was time for her half-hour outside recreation and exercise time. "Outside," she thought. "More like a moderately large cavern." She didn't know how far underground she was being held, but she hadn't seen the sun for weeks. She idly wondered how Drew was faring after taking so much of the blame upon himself. She knew the drill; Drew claims responsibility, she gets a lighter sentence, she tracks him down and breaks him out. She just wished that things would move faster so that she could get on with it. Her body was essentially on autopilot as she reached the security door and waited for it to open.
She nearly jumped out of her skin at a sudden flash of light, followed immediately by a loud, arcing pop. Carefully honed reaction kicked in; she spun around, putting her back to the door, dropped into a fighting crouch and looked around for the disturbance's source. She had just noted that two security cameras were emitting smoke when one of the guards' distracted her.
"Prisoner, halt!" The voice sounded male, but Shego couldn't see through the helmet's darkened visor to confirm this. She was more interested in the two barrels lined up on her.
"HALT!" The voice sounded different, and Shego didn't know what was going on. She hadn't moved a muscle after spinning around.
"Stop or I'll shoot!" It was the first voice again, and a note of panic had crept into it. Shego stifled her first response, which was to make a caustic remark. She wasn't moving, where the guards drunk or someth-. Realization came to her too late. Of course, it probably wouldn't have made any difference if she had been expecting what was happening.
Both guards fired a controlled burst; one caught her low on the abdomen while the other hit her right shoulder. The impacts knocked her back against the door. There was no pain, just a feeling of weakness. She tried to remain standing to meet her end with a little defiance, but she inevitably slumped to the floor. She couldn't help but grin a little bit in admiration of what the guards had just pulled off.
It was so clear to her; they had rigged some sort of voltage spike for the camera system and would probably claim that one of her plasma discharges caused the problem. Their conversations were all probably recorded, so they sounded like a couple of scared guards facing an attack. Prison officials would investigate the event and find all evidence pointing towards a justified shooting.
Shego was now seated on the floor, leaning back against the door. Her vision was narrowing but she could see one of the guards hand the other his weapon, then press a button on his belt. The disarmed guard stepped forward, pulling a small device, like a pill from a pouch. He placed this device on one of her ceramic mittens, then stepped back. A moment later, the device flared into brilliant light, burning through her confining mitten and injuring the hand inside it. Shego didn't even have enough energy left to snort at that thought. A hand injury was the least of her worries. Of course, she really didn't have any worries anymore.
The disarmed guard stepped forward again, ripped her tunic off and applied pressure bandages to her bullet wounds. Again, Shego found herself admiring the planning they had performed. The cover story was almost perfect: They would claim that she somehow melted one of her mittens and that the EMP from this effort had taken out the cameras. They, of course, ordered her to stop. She didn't, so they shot her. The swarm of guards and support staff, undoubtedly converging on her location right now, would find the two guards dutifully administering first aid, attempting to save her life after shooting her in self defense.
With her vision starting to dim and narrow, Shego accepted that she was about to die. She wasn't angry about it; rather she was surprised that her end came at the hands of military guards with a righteous vendetta against her. She had always thought that she would die at the hands of a hero, a rival super-villain, or an exploding, take-over-the-world device. Instead, two guards, ordinary humans, had fired six bullets.
As her vision darkened further, she wondered if anyone would truly miss her. Sure, Drakken probably would, but he had been a techno-villain before he met her and would probably try to go about being one again. Ed would probably drink a beer in her memory, then pinch the barmaid's butt. Her brothers would probably put together a memorial service for the 'fallen heroine,' then go back to protecting their beloved Go City. Princess and the Dork would probably attend that service, then go back to beating up on Dementor and helping old ladies cross the street.
She sighed out one last breath. Somehow, despite everything she could do and everything she had done, she hadn't managed to make any sort of lasting mark on the world. She felt an intense melancholy as her vision faded to black
A/N: Before anything else, I must offer an apology. After my last update, I managed to hit a wrong button on my email page and refuse messages from the FanFiction site. As a result, after the first couple of reviews, I didn't get additional review alerts in my email. While I have gone back, looked over the reviews, and sent a PM thank you to the other reviewers, I apologize to anybody I may have missed. I really appreciate and look forward to the reviews and private messages I receive.
Again, my fondest thanks go to Joe Stoppinghem for his beta reading services and his suggestions.
Until my next update,
Best Wishes
daccu65