Chapter 5: Delays and Planning

"No, Mike, when you have an equation inside the parenthesis you have to multiply it by the number outside the parenthesis before you can add and subtract values." Felix demonstrated the concept, yet again, to the hulking behemoth he had wound up teaching.

Felix watched as the oversized student tried again, this time arriving at the correct answer. While Felix had been the valedictorian for his graduating class, the school district had somehow decided that since he had missed a few weeks, he needed to make them up before he received his diploma. Felix didn't understand this, since his work had been done, ahead of time, before he had left to undergo the controversial medical procedure. His summer of freedom had been delayed three weeks while he tutored summer school students, who had failed various math classes. Strangely, his mother had fully backed the school's decision.

Felix had first protested his duties, pointing out that he had obtained permission slips from all of his teachers, his principal and his mother, for his absence. He had turned in all of his assignments ahead of time. After all, he had argued, it was standard practice for students to miss classes for various, school-approved events. As long as they made up their work within an acceptable time, there were no negative consequences. After all, if a student could miss classes to attend a musical competition, why couldn't he miss time in order to undergo a medical procedure? Barkin had been unable to counter this argument but Dr. Renton had settled the dispute with one sentence:

"I'm your mother and I say you're going to do this."

Felix had swallowed his complaints and reported to Mr. Barkin's office the next morning. Less than an hour later, Felix Renton, the boy who had correctly calculated how much the pressure of sunlight would knock a space probe traveling to Mars off course, found himself helping slacker students figure out simple arithmetic, algebra and geometry. He sincerely hoped that nobody at MIT would ever hear about this.

While Felix first felt a great deal of disdain for his charges, he was surprised when his own attitude started to change. Big Mike, for instance, wanted to learn math but just didn't have much aptitude for the subject. Soon after Felix started teaching the class, he found out that Mike worked for a landscaper. Once the valedictorian wrote questions that forced Big Mike to calculate the number of truckloads of dirt, or the number of rolls of landscaping fabric, needed for a particular job, the oversized boy quickly showed more interest in the subject. While Big Mike would never be a mathlete, he had advanced a surprising amount under Felix's tutorage. Felix had tried the same tactic with his other charges, with similar results for most.

This afternoon, however, was Felix's last day. When the class time came to an end, he said some surprisingly fond good-byes to most of the remedial students. After the last of his charges left, Felix got up and ambled towards Mr. Barkin's office. The big Vice-Principal wanted to meet with him today and Felix only hoped that it wasn't to announce that he owed the school another several weeks of attendance.

Anybody who didn't know Felix, and saw him walking through the halls, would have assumed that he was either injured or intoxicated; Felix Renton was neither. A few weeks ago, the young man had regained the use of his lower body. Since the last time he had actually walked had been some twelve years in the past, he was still understandably clumsy. Warmonga's procedure had given him enough muscle to move his body around, but not the skill and experience of moving it around. Determined to reacquire this skill as quickly as possible, Felix walked almost everywhere.

Eventually, his unsteady stride carried him to the Vice-Principal's door. Felix knocked and was rewarded by Barkin's voice, gently bellowing for him to enter.

"Ah, Mr. Renton," the big man rumbled. "Close the door behind you and have a seat." Mr. Barkin put away the papers he had been working on while Felix complied.

"I'm not going to dally," Barkin informed Felix, once he was ready to speak. "I suspect that you are perfectly aware that the last three weeks you have spent here were not strictly some sort of attendance issue."

Felix nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Very well," Barkin continued. "While I am not one to dwell upon emotion, my superiors have charged me with the task of finding out what you were feeling as you went about your summer school duties."

"Sir?" Felix asked.

"How were you feeling," Barkin clarified. "Were you sad, angry, indignant or resentful?"

"I was mad at first," Felix admitted. "It seemed so unfair, why did I have to attend summer school when I had all of my work done? Granted, the reason I missed those weeks of school wasn't the reason I had claimed on my excuse slip, but I had still made up the work. Even with the fact that I had deceived everyone by claiming it was an internship, it seemed unfair. After all, Bonnie Rockwaller had dealt drugs and she wasn't in summer school. Why should the valedictorian make up an excused, if deceitful, attendance?"

"You seemed rather angry when you started," Barkin nodded. "What changed your attitude?"

"Working with my fellow students," Felix answered. "Don't get me wrong, I really don't care for some of them; mainly the guys who just sit there and refuse to do anything. Then there's guys like Big Mike. Once I showed him how he could make use of algebra to help with his job, he really started to try."

"Very well, Renton, I'm going to tell you why you really spent three weeks in summer school. It all has to do with some doubts you shared with Stoppable on graduation day."

"Yes," Felix agreed. "I found out, after waking up from the treatment, that the treatment instilled a…sense of entitlement…in previous patients. I'm scared to death that I'm going to start thinking that the world owes me a great job and a happy life."

"That's what all of this was about," Mr. Barkin admitted. "I will not say who, but several agencies were concerned that you may go down the same path that Warrick Loward and Amy Hall did. For this reason, these agencies directed this school district to require you to attend summer classes, something you would look at as an injustice. These agencies wanted to see if you would continue to bemoan your fate or if you would simply go forward with the curve ball life had thrown your way. I'm pleased to report that you adapted to and overcame the situation."

"So this was some kind of a test?"

"A test, some punishment, and hopefully a lesson all rolled into one," Mr. Barkin corrected the teen. "Your mother was more than upset with you, as I'm sure she made evident to you."

Felix flinched, remembering how incredibly angry his mother has been. Dr. Renton was usually a calm, reserved professional, even privately. After she had assured herself that her son was alive and well, she had shrieked like a harpy at him for several days.

"When she heard about these agencies' idea, she considered it to be an appropriate punishment." Mr. Barkin paused, then grinned slyly. "I suppose that Miss Tanaka also made you aware of her displeasure?"

"That's putting it mildly," Felix flinched again, even worse that when he remembered how his mother had reacted.

Yori had been there from the moment he had awoken. It had been her face he had seen when he opened his eyes. It had been her concerned expression that had comforted him when he panicked, realizing that he was under water. It was her eyes he watched as he recalled where he was and why he was there. She had held his hand as the machinery hoisted him out of the tank and onto a medical bed, where a team had examined him.

Later, after the team had declared him healthy, Yori had hugged him, whispering how frightened she had been that he would be gone forever. She had then slapped him, angry that he had frightened her so much. She had then kissed him, telling him how frightened she had been, thinking he would never awaken. Immediately after that she had slapped him again, demanding to know how he could think her so shallow that she would set him aside because of his handicap. Immediately after that, she kissed him again, apologizing for her behavior while he was still dazed and confused. Then she had slapped him again, berating him for his dishonor in worrying his mother. Fortunately, the GJ team insisted that he needed rest. Felix was disoriented, emotionally strained, and in danger of permanently staring forty-five degrees to the right of dead ahead from the slapping he had received.

"I see that you're recalling the event," Mr. Barkin chuckled, breaking Felix out of his reverie. "I won't intrude upon your privacy, but I will tell you that the various authorities observing your behavior, including me, are satisfied with you. I'm certain that you're nervously expecting another several weeks of summer school. This isn't the case. While numerous agencies will be contacting you in the weeks and months to follow, you are free of the shackles imposed by the Middleton Independent School District. I now release you to the tender mercies of your mother and girlfriend."

"Very funny, Mr. B." Felix flinched for the third time, predicting what the 'end of the punishment' discussion with his mother would be like. He had reconciled with Yori before she returned to Japan. In fact, the reconciliation had taken on a form that he was sure would prompt his mother to give him yet another lecture, if she ever found out.

"I rather thought so," Mr. Barkin favored the young man with one of his rare smiles. "I'm also informing you that the school's gymnasium is still available for your use. I've spoken to a couple of the representatives charged with observing your recovery and they all agree that athletic activity will be an excellent way to acquire full motor control."

"I appreciate it Mr. B, but would an additional question about this whole, complicated incident make all the good feelings everybody has about me go way?"

"It depends on the question."

"These agencies think that I've managed to avoid the superiority complex?"

"You'll be getting more information from your doctor and from various law enforcement officials," Barkin told him. "But the short answer is that you have a superiority complex, but your intelligence is able to compensate for it."

"One last question, Mr. B. What happened to Bonnie? I'm not trying to whine about her getting off light or anything like that. I just can't help but think that she got caught in a superiority complex of her own."

"The powers that be have decreed another way for Miss Rockwaller to pay her debt to the society she scorned," Mr. Barkin told his former student. "While I have no need to know the details, the Middleton Police have informed me that while her…punishment…might seem like a reward, it's going to be far from pleasant."

The contest was over, the congratulations had been given and received and the cheering had finally died down. The models and designers who hadn't won had already left. While most of the young women had offered sincere, best wishes to the winners, a few had lived up to the term 'catty'. Monique was surprised how quickly the backstage area had gone from a seething mass of humanity to an empty, echoing shell.

"You really did an incredible job," Bonnie told the designer. "I mean, the plan was for you to place highly, not come out and win the contest."

"Hey, I don't settle when I put the fashion together, y'know," Monique told the former cheerleader. After a pause, she continued, "I have to admit that you really put in the effort, as well. I thought that it would be hard working with you but you really helped. Thanks."

"I might have been hard to work with last year," Bonnie admitted. "Screwing up as bad as I did sort of puts things into perspective, you know?"

"I hope I never make as big a mess of my life as you did," Monique told her. "But I have to wonder if all the hard work you did was so you could get that Junior guy and all his money."

"Trust me, I don't want to hook up with Junior again," Bonnie shuddered. "I really don't know what I want out of life…okay, I want to be the number one girl that every other girl wants to be and every guy wants, but I don't want to be with Junior. Still, if winning his little contest helps GJ reign him in, and keeps me out of the slammer, I'll do it."

"You really don't have much choice anymore, do you?" Monique actually managed to drum up some sympathy for her best friend's rival.

"No," Bonnie shook her head sadly. "It's either try to win Junior or face up to what I've done. Neither really looks all that good right now, but Junior looks better than jail."

"Okay, I never thought I'd hear myself say this," Monique said, after a few more minutes of deep thought. "But if this thing with Junior doesn't work out for you, look me up. When we won this contest, it opened up a lot of doors for me and I intend to take advantage of them. To do that, I'll need a couple of good models and we made a really good team."

"We did, didn't we," a bit of Bonnie's old, superior smirk reappeared. "But I have to wonder why you'd want me back. I mean, you had Hope working with you before GJ talked you into picking me up, I'm sure Kim would model for you and Tara seems custom made for modeling. You're a whole lot closer to all of them than you are to me."

"You'd be surprised," Monique told Bonnie. "I'll still work with Hope, since she likes the work. Kim isn't really that good of model material, even though she's my best friend. She isn't available for the long fitting sessions. You never know when she's going to get called out on one of her missions. As for Tara, you'd be surprised by just how shy she really is."

"Tara, shy?" Bonnie was stunned. "I've been friends with her for years. A shy girl doesn't put on that cheerleader uniform and do the routines in front of the whole school."

"That's because she was wearing a flattering uniform to do something," Monique informed the former social queen. "She doesn't mind that, but the whole thought of putting on a hot little number and letting strangers stare at her gives her the willies."

"I can't believe it," Bonnie insisted. "I've know her to put on a rather revealing outfit and flirt with guys."

"Yeah, but she was targeting a particular guy," Monique insisted. "She doesn't mind getting a guy's attention. She doesn't mind dressing hot as part of a team effort. It's the idea of dressing hot and saying 'hey everyone, look at me' that backs her off."

"Well, even with Tara not feeling comfortable, I'm sure you could work around Kim's missions if the two of you really put your minds to it. For that matter, you could probably get Cindy to model, as well."

"Believe it or not, I talked to Cindy and she's actually interested," Monique answered. "She's serious about her journalism and she likes the idea of writing about the modeling experience from the inside. I made the big mistake of having Kim and Cindy bring Ron and Oscar along for a test shoot, sort of a 'two couples out on a double date background' type of thing. THAT was a mistake."

"Oh?" Bonnie was honestly confused. While Ron and Oscar weren't golden, they were both athletic enough that it should have worked, especially for a test shoot.

"Those two guys," Monique grumbled, shaking their head. "I'm serious about fashion but can they understand it? NOOooooo! The whole time they kept asking each other questions like: 'do these shoes bring out my eyes?' 'Does this hat make my butt look big?' Then Oscar asked Ron if his shorts made his arms look too long and Ron told him no, that it was his long arms that made his arms look too long. The one thing I will NOT put up with is people who don't take what I'm doing seriously. I chased them off and they went fishing." Monique paused a moment then, "Hey! Are you TRYING to talk me out of working with you?"

"Not really," Bonnie told her. "I just don't want to start working with you some day, only to have you tell me to take a hike after you've had enough of me."

"Okay, LMPIOTL," Monique told her model. After a few moments of Bonnie's confused look, Monique clarified, "let me put it on the line. You've put my friends down ever since I showed up at Middleton High and from what I've heard, you put them down for years before that. Still, we're out of high school now and you seem to be trying to turn over a new leaf. I'm willing to help out. Besides, you have the model look."

"I'm trying to straighten myself out," Bonnie assured her. Then after a moment, she agreed. "I do have the model's look, don't I?"

"This is something I just don't understand," Fiske told his bride-to-be.

"What's so hard to understand?" Shego asked. "This is the rehearsal. We show up at the church and the priest walks us through the ceremony. That way tomorrow, when it's for real and the few people that we can actually invite show up, we don't make complete fools out of ourselves. I'd really hate to waste everybody who sees me screwing something up, so it's better if we get it right."

"It's not the rehearsal that has me confused," Monty assured her. As a nobleman, he had suffered through many, seemingly endless weddings. He was thankful that this ceremony, being an underworld union, would be much shorter and private than the other affairs he had attended. "It may be hard for you to believe, but I don't really like looking like a fool, myself. No, what I find confusing is that we were able to find a priest to perform the ceremony so quickly while we have yet to track down a doctor willing to perform an in-vitro procedure."

At Shego's confused look, he expanded. "Aren't priests supposed to represent and promote the moral good, while doctors are supposed to treat their patients without regard to said patients' activities? Here we are; a pair of smugglers who regularly resort to extortion and intimidation. Ironically, we are capable of finding a priest to marry us on short notice but no doctor to help us reproduce."

"Monty, I'm the last person you want to discus comparative morality with," Shego giggled at him. "I've played both sides of the fence. The only thing I can say is that certain priests realize that the world isn't perfect and you do what you have to too make a living. These fertility doctors are a pretty specialized bunch and I don't think that the smuggling community has a big demand for their services."

"Ah, so when supply and demand meets morality, supply and demand wins?"

"Something like that," Shego smirked. "Hey, look at the bright side. If it takes us a little while to track down the specialist, it will give us a chance to get used to the whole idea."

"Shego, we've been cohabiting for almost a year now. I've grown accustomed to your presence."

"As a housemate, not a spouse," Shego pointed out. "Don't ask me to explain it, but once we had a plan, a lot of my urgency just sort of dried up. Now, everyone's here, let's get this over with. I'll be staying with Julia tonight, since it's bad luck for you to see me before the ceremony tomorrow."

Monty grumbled a little bit as they walked into the sanctuary, but it was mostly for appearance's sake rather than real irritation. He had become accustomed to having Shego in their home but he was willing to put up with her absence for one night in return for a lifetime together.

It just didn't work out! Warmonga wasn't a genius when it came to superpowers, but she wasn't completely in the dark. A cutting-edge geneticist, she understood that such powers had to have a genetic cause. She had been patient when Fiske had raved about the Mystical Monkey Power and when Drew had raved about Team Go's Go Powers. She understood a simple concept: such influences had altered the recipient's DNA, making them exhibit superhuman abilities. Somewhere in such individuals' DNA, the secret lurked. Once she isolated the proper genome and the proper supporting genomes, she would be able to splice genes and access such abilities.

So why, even with Shego and Stoppable's cells, couldn't she isolate the Go Power or Mystical Monkey Power sequences?

Warmonga leaned back in her oversized chair and looked over her makeshift laboratory. The term 'makeshift' was probably misleading, as it suggested primitive and barely functional. This was not the case. Over the past weeks, the giantess had seized control of Seattle's illicit drug market and used the profits to fund her research. Most people would be surprised to know how few questions came up when sophisticated, medical equipment changed hands, in exchange for money. The fact was that Warmonga had put together a laboratory and production facilities that would make most university research specialists drool with envy. In practice, she had access to better facilities than government or university researchers. After all, such researchers had to justify their expenditures to oversight and budget committees. Warmonga answered only to her own whims and her whims directed her to solve the genetic mysteries behind Mystical Monkey Power and Go Power.

So why hadn't she been able to do so?

Warmonga rubbed at her temples with a rare feeling of frustration. Back when DNAmy contented herself with creating living cuddlebuddies, her research had been much less irritating. She had her setbacks, but she was always moving towards her goal of creating stable, combined life forms. Whenever she experienced a failure, she had simply reviewed what she had gone wrong and had worked to correct it. Now, however, Warmonga was unable to get a theoretical toehold on the MMP and as for the Go Power, she only had the most limited understanding.

Warmonga reviewed her options. She was capable of creating Stoppable or Shego clones, from the cells she had collected, but that wasn't her goal. She wanted to isolate their energies and make use of them. She wanted to imbue herself with Shego's Go Power and Stoppable's Mystical Monkey Power and use them to crush both of her tormentors. Failing that, she wanted to create a life form with both powers. Such a being would be more than either Stoppable or the hussy could manage and Warmonga would have her revenge.

But that wouldn't happen until after she cracked the genetic mystery.

Warmonga leaned back and tried to think her way around the problem. Certainly, she could continue to batter her head against the figurative wall but that hadn't accomplished anything. She considered cloning again. While cloning was still a cutting edge procedure for so-called ethical scientists, it was yesterday's news for her. Free of the fetters of morality, she had mastered the technique back when she was still that…other woman. Still, she considered cloning an inelegant solution, similar the way that an artist would consider a photocopy. After all, what would she gain by cloning those two? Just miniature versions of themselves…

Warmonga jumped to her feet with a sudden, predatory smile on her face. Sometimes the inelegant solution was the best solution! She could clone both Shego and Stoppable. This would allow her to observe, first hand, their unique powers under laboratory conditions. She looked around her laboratory and realized that she didn't have any development vats, which would act as artificial wombs. Halfway trough making a list of items she would need to construct this equipment, she realized that she didn't need them.

She had devoted a great deal of time and money developing her production tanks, even though she had chosen to destroy her last collection at her old factory, rather than risk discovery by moving them to her new facilities. A few modifications and a couple of the tanks would contain the developing clones quite nicely. She could even raise the clones to become loyal members of her empire. She smiled at the irony of it all: Stoppable and that hussy would become the keys to their own downfall!

"Mr. Lipsky, I hate to interrupt, but I have a priority communication from your benefactor."

"Very well, Hank, patch it through," Drew Lipsky had barely enough time to compose himself before Dr. Director's stern visage appeared on his computer screen.

"Dr. Director!" The former Dr. Drakken exclaimed. "This is an unexpected honor! Now, I can assure you that the sonic diarrheic project I'm working on is temporary and has no side effects. I was intending on full disclosure during my next, scheduled progress report."

"I'm not interested in your current projects," Dr. Director informed him. "I have an immediate assignment for you. You still have at least one of your stealth hoverjets, don't you?"

"Well, ah," Drew stammered. "We never really discussed my transportation assets when I took this position and I…uh…"

"Drew!"

"Yes, I have…at least…one."

"Very well, I'm sending you a set of coordinates and an encrypted file. I don't want you to decrypt the file until you're in the air. I need you in place before noon tomorrow."

"I can make it, barely," Drakken agreed, estimating his flight time and the time he needed to reach the hidden aircraft.

"Take very formal attire," Dr. Director advised him. "You'll be representing Global Justice, although you won't mention the fact. Good luck."

Dr. Director was about to kill the communication link when her lips quirked in a tiny smile. "Have you really perfected a sonic diarrheic?"

"Well, so far it appears to be about ninety percent effective."

"The so-called brown note?" She asked.

"Not so much," Drew admitted. "That bit of theory relies on amplitude more than tone. I've managed to find a tone above the human audible range."

"What are you using as a delivery system?"

"Er…biologic," Drew muttered.

"Lipsky, come clean!" Director demanded.

"All right," Drew confessed. "I've been training songbirds to match the proper tones."

"Why songbirds?"

"Well…nobody's done it before, I wanted to see if it was possible."

"Drew, take care of your assignment. We'll talk about practicality when you get back."

"Yes ma'am," Drew agreed, then rushed off to pack a bag, not noticing Dr. Director's grumbled comment about the difference between men and boys.

A/N: Thanks again to everyone who's taken the time to read this story. I've really appreciated the supportive reviews and PM'd suggestions and comments.

As always, my fond thanks to Joe Stoppinghem for his beta work, even at the cost of his own writing time.

Until my next update, best wishes;

daccu65