cloudmonet’s kim stories

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Kim Possible, Ron Stoppable, Rufus, Felix Renton, Wade Load, Dr. Drakken, Hank Perkins, and Lars are characters from the Kim Possible show, created by Mark McCorkle and Bob Schooley, owned and copyright © by the Walt Disney Company. The story takes place while Kim and Ron are going to college, a couple of years after “So the Drama,” and shortly after my earlier story, “Save the Whales.” This story © 2005 by cloudmonet.

Snow was falling on the streets around the sparkling glass and steel office building. In his spacious law office suite on the tenth floor, Hank Perkins leaned back in his blue suede desk chair holding a phone, his polished black shoes on the edge of the imposing but nearly empty chrome desktop in front of him.

“Yes, I think we can so something to alleviate your legal problems, Mr. Unron,” Hank said in his clipped, perky voice. “I have handled complex criminal matters pressed by the Securities and Exchange Commission before, and we can definitely wiggle our way around the bankruptcy by restructuring Unron Corp.”

Hector Unron made some response.

“I’m a positive thinker. I think I can find a white knight to buy you out,” said Hank.

Another response.

“Of course, we’ll protect your personal fortune,” Hank assured him. “When can you come by? This afternoon? Make it two o’clock.”

An elegant young woman with very pale blonde hair opened the door. “Mr. Perkins,” she said hesitantly. “It’s Lars, from ninth floor.”

“Send him in, Brigetta,” replied Hank.

Lars, a man with a scar on his head who might look more natural in a henchman’s uniform than a business suit, walked in and sat down.

“Score!” said Hank. “Hector Unron is all mine! By the time I keep his sorry self out of prison, the north slope oilfields, the laser drills, the pipelines will all be mine! This is the right way to take over the world, Lars, one corporation at a time.”

“Not as much fun as diablo robots, but more effective,” Lars replied.

“Not that giant robot warriors aren’t of some potential use,” Hank said, unlocking a desk drawer and pulling out a little red diablo toy.

“I thought they were all destroyed.”

“Every last one? Not likely! I have a couple of them, and a remote control that will beam the activation signal to make them grow into giant warriors.” Hank put it back in the desk and locked the drawer. “Have you had any luck locating Drakken, by the way? We haven’t been able to get our prototype cold fusion reactor to work properly, and Global Justice won’t let us have access to any of the lairs that still have functional reactors. We could make a lot of money licensing these.”

“He’s not at the lair in Peru where I left him,” said Lars.

“I was sure by now he’d try some inappropriate scheme that would get him caught. Guess he’s wising up. That’s good, but where is he?”

“I saw a news story about some Indians in Peru who claim that a blue skinned space alien from a Federation Starship crew helped them save the rain forest. Same area, so I think it’s Drakken, but he’s not there now.”

“There’s no money in saving the rain forest,” said Hank. “Well, tourism, maybe. There’s money in logging, but not enough to be worth the bad publicity and environmental lawsuits. Not interested in forests.”

At Northwestern State University, last night’s snow was melting into this morning’s slush. The campus sidewalks were a slippery mess. Kim and Ron were walking from art history class to the student union to get some lunch when the kimmunicator beeped.

“Let’s go inside,” said Kim, climbing the stairs and opening the door to the nearest building.

“Ew, it stinks,” said Ron. “Must be the chemistry building.”

“Phew!” said Rufus, poking his head out of Ron’s pocket and coughing.

“At least it’s warm,” Kim said, pulling the kimmunicator from her pocket. Wade appeared on the screen. “Wade, tell me I’m going somewhere warm.”

“Oh, sorry, Kim,” Wade said. “The trouble’s in northern Alaska. A pipeline repair crew is missing in a blizzard. They’ve got a vehicle, so there’s a chance they’re still alive, if you hurry.”

“And I can get there faster than a rescue crew from Alaska?”

“They’re not willing to go out till the blizzard’s over.”

“Then I guess it’s up to us,” said Kim, with a look of determination all too familiar to Ron. “Does the crew have some sort of tracking device?”

“Maybe. I can’t pick up a signal from any satellite or ground antenna, but the weather’s pretty disruptive.”

“Does the stealth bike have a snowmobile mode, by any chance?” Kim asked.

“The what?”

“The collapsible amphibious scooter. We call it the stealth bike cause it’s so quiet.”

“Oh, you know, I should have thought of snow, but let me see—” A wireframe blueprint of the scooter appeared on the kimmunicator’s screen, metamorphosing from jetski to bike and back again. “I think it’ll work fine on deep snow in jetski mode and if there’s less than six inches, try the bike.”

“The low temperatures won’t be a problem?”

“Let the motor idle for a couple of minutes; it’ll be fine,” said Wade.

“Do we have arctic gear packed on the jet?” asked Ron.

“We should, but I’ll check that,” said Kim.

“Should I get Felix?”

“To fly through a blizzard?” asked Kim. “He’s a good pilot, but he’s not as good as I am.”

“He’ll understand that,” said Ron. “He’s good backup. He could make the difference between life and death.”

“Is he bummed we didn’t take him to Australia?” asked Kim.


“He won’t be bummed to miss this one. Every minute counts. Let’s go.” Kim and Ron slid down the railing of the stairs, ran to Mathom House, pulled the tarp off the stealth bike, started it up, and whispered through the campus streets, through town, to the general aviation section of the airport. Kim pointed the kimmunicator at her small black jet, the ramp lowered automatically, and she and Ron pushed the bike up inside.

“Arctic gear, arctic gear,” Ron said, opening one storage compartment after another. Rufus darted in and out of each one.

“That one,” said Kim, pointing. Ron opened it up and there were two bright red parkas with matching snow pants, and a red Rufus-sized padded jumpsuit, which the little molerat immediately got into.

“These are the kind,” said Kim. “The very latest in polyarctic fiber. You’ll be so warm, you’ll think you’re snuggling in my arms.”

“Kim! Don’t say stuff like that when I gotta focus on the mission.”

She giggled. “Sorry, sorta kinda.” She looked quickly at the contents of every open compartment, closed them all, looked at few others, and said, “This’ll do. Let’s go for it.” She sat in the pilot’s seat and started flipping controls, then got Wade on the kimmunicator. “Clear me with the tower.”

“You made good time,” Wade replied. “You’re clear.”

“Buckle up, Ron.”

“Get in my pocket, buddy,” he told Rufus, who did. “Ready when you are, babe.”

The engines started, and the small black jet with “KP” monogrammed on the tailfin rolled down the runway and rose into the bumpy gray sky.

Snow blew incessantly in the Arctic night outside the creaking corrugated steel hangar that served as office and warehouse for the Unron oilfield.

“She’s on her way,” said Burl, a heavy-set, older man with pale skin and short gray hair. “Kim Possible.”

“What can anybody do to save Mike, Dave, and Tish?” asked Lisa, a round-faced young Inuit woman. “The blizzard’s supposed to last at least another three days. By then—”

“Mr. Load says Miss Possible will start the search as soon as she gets here, whatever the weather.”

“That beacon’s junk, you know that, Burl. You could be in the same room with it and not get a clear beep half the time. That tundra truck they’re in is worse junk. It needs a new motor, new trannie, new linkage, new suspension, new body, new—”

“Unron Corp is bankrupt, Lisa, you know that.”

“I know what it costs to pump oil out of here, and I know how much it pays,” Lisa said angrily. “We’re making a lot of money for Unron. It’s not our fault if they’re losing it somewhere else. We should have good enough equipment to keep our workers safe. We’re gonna lose three of our best because Unron won’t let us spend enough of our own profits to maintain the trucks. That’s just a few thousand dollars, maybe. A good beacon’s no more than a hundred. A hundred dollars, and this hero who’s coming in could at least get a signal.”

“It’s night,” said Ron, looking out the window at the moon and stars above the clouds.

“It won’t be anything but night,” said Kim. “It’s December, and we’re above the Arctic Circle.”

“How are we gonna find these guys?”

“Find the pipeline, fly low, if we don’t see anything or hear the beacon, try the stealth bike. I’ll wear night vision, you wear infrared.” Ron and Rufus searched for the right goggles. “Infrared, got ’em,” Ron said.

The jet dipped into the clouds and got buffeted by heavy winds, then a steadier wind and snow swirling in the dark.

“Can you see anything?” asked Ron. “What’s radar say about the ground?”

“I’m holding us at five hundred feet, forward radar clear. Can’t see anything but snow.”

Ron looked out one window, then the other, with and without the infrared goggles. “Can Wade get us a GPS lock?” he asked.

“Wade, where am I?” Kim asked.

“Turn east and slow down,” said Wade. “You’re forty miles west of the pipeline, and south of the Brooks Range. Better climb to at least a thousand feet.”

“Rising up to a thousand feet. Forward radar still clear.” Crosswinds buffeted the jet. Ron couldn’t see anything out the windows but blurry snow.

“Okay, turn toward the north and start rising, you should be over the pipeline in less than a minute,” said Wade.

“Forward radar shows mountains ahead, twenty miles, I’m rising,” said Kim.

“You’d see the pipeline out your right windows, if you can see it at all.”

“Oh yeah, I think I kinda do, through the infrared goggles,” said Ron. “It’s a long line, just a little bit glowy.”

“Slowing to minimum cruise speed,” said Kim. “Ron, if you see any spots or blotches off to the side of the pipeline that are a little bit glowy, that could be the target.”

“The ground below is about two thousand feet above sea level,” said Wade. “The crest is nearly six thousand feet.”

“I’ll cruise the pipeline till I’m close to the mountains, then circle back and loop up to five thousand feet above ground till I clear the crest. Guide me, okay? Ron, do you still see the pipeline?”

“I see a glowy thing right next to it!”

“Wade, is there a building there?” Kim asked.

“Yes, according to Unron’s map,” said Wade.

“So what I’m looking for is probably smaller and dimmer,” said Ron.

“Anything you see, I wanna know,” said Kim. “Mountains two miles ahead, starting turn. Try to keep the pipeline in view, Ron.”

The jet tilted to one side as it made a tight circle and rose steeply into the storm.

“Forward radar clear, ground five thousand feet,” said Kim. “I’m going over.”

“I see it again, I think. It’s pretty small now but getting closer.”

“Forward radar clear, ground two thousand feet,” said Kim. “This wind packs a wallop!”

“Be careful, Kim,” said Wade. “You’ve cleared the crest. It’s downhill all the way to the Arctic Ocean.”

“Ground seven hundred feet, eight hundred, I’m easing her down a little,” said Kim.

“The pipeline’s brighter over the mountains,” said Ron. “I’m seeing something like glowing beads on a string.”

“Those would be pumps,” said Wade.

“Whoa, what’s that? It’s kinda dim and off to the side maybe a quarter mile.”

“Shh, I’m turning up the antenna gain,” said Kim, but she heard nothing but static.

“You found them,” said Wade, and a sound wave appeared on the kimmunicator screen, very noisy and irregular, but there was a spike every 2.7 seconds that always looked the same.

“Talk me down, as close to the source as possible,” said Kim.

Mike, Tish, and Dave startled alert from their half-dazed, half-asleep consciousness to the totally dark bench seat of their tundra truck, where they were huddled together in their parkas. Something was louder than the blizzard still howling outside, something that sounded like the roar of jet engines.

“Shumwhun f-f-found ush,” said Tish.

“How cold is it outside?” asked Ron, putting jumpsuit-wearing Rufus in an inside pocket of his parka before putting it on.

“Just thirty below,” said Kim, putting on her ski mask and parka. “It’s usually much colder here in December, but the blizzard’s relatively warm. You don’t want to know about the wind-chill factor.”

“Let’s do it,” said Ron, pulling on his own ski mask and moving toward the door.

They opened the door to a blast of wind, rolled the bike down the ramp and converted it to the jetski. Kim closed the door with the kimmunicator, which she handed to Ron, then sat in the driver’s seat. Ron plugged the kimmunicator into a portable dish. The screen showed a soundwave of static, with those 2.7 second spikes much more prominent at a certain bearing.

Kim started the motor, which made no sound audible over the wind. Only the vibrations between her legs told her it was running.

“That way,” Ron said, loud enough to be heard.

“I hope this works,” said Kim, revving up the motor. Quite abruptly the jetski lurched into movement.

“Signal getting stronger,” Ron shouted out.

Suddenly Kim leaned to one side and veered a sharp turn, killing the motor, dumping them both onto the snow.

“We’re here,” said Kim, standing up next to a truck-shaped mound of snow and digging into it with her thermal gloves.

“Guess we didn’t need the jetski,” said Ron, righting it and pointing back at the still visible jet a couple hundred feet away.

“We will,” said Kim. “These people might not be able to walk.”

Ron got Wade on the kimmunicator screen. “We need to work out how to stop on snow,” he said.

“Now that I know exactly where I’m going, it won’t be a problem,” said Kim, still digging snow off the door on the tundra truck’s passenger’s side. “I’ll just coast to a stop, leaning the nose down.”

“That should work,” said Wade.

Ron put the kimmunicator in his pocket and helped Kim scoop off the snow. Inside the dark glass, someone was waving. Kim tried the door, and got the handle to move but the door was stuck.

“Can you push it?” Kim called out.

The person in the middle raised a leg over the person next to the door and kicked. The door creaked open.

“We’re Kim and Ron,” Kim said. “We’re here to save you.”

“I— Tish, uh, Mike, ud D-d-dave,” she stammered.

“Don’t try to talk. We gotcha,” said Ron, helping Kim lift the one who was probably Mike onto the jetski. Ron held him steady while Kim got on the driver’s seat, and put Mike’s arms around Kim’s waist. “Can you hold on?” Ron asked.

Kim eased the throttle gently till the jetski started moving, and slid at slightly better than walking speed back to the jet. By this time, Mike was conscious enough to climb the jet’s stairs. Kim helped him onto one of the passenger seats and buckled him in.

Tish was easier to move. Dave was in even worse shape than Mike, but smaller, so Ron was able to squeeze behind him on the jetski seat and they all went back to the jet together. After getting Dave into the seat beside Tish and Mike, Kim and Ron lowered the ramp, pushed the jetski into the plane, retracted the ramp, and closed the door. Kim pulled off her ski mask and parka and put the heater on high. Ron pulled off his own ski mask and thermal gloves and made hot chocolate.

Tish drank hers immediately. Mike was breathing hard but managed to sip his drink. Dave got help from Kim and Tish. “Red haired angel,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

“That’s sweet,” Kim said, smiling. “Glad to see you’re feeling a little better.”

“Well, he’s mustered enough energy to flirt,” said Tish.

“Sorry, but I’m engaged,” said Kim, pulling off her thermal gloves and showing Dave her diamond ring. She pulled a container of kissy girl lip gloss from a pocket in her snow pants.

“That’s real lip gloss, isn’t it?” asked Ron.

“Yes,” said Kim, but she opened it a good distance from anyone’s nose, just in case. She put some on her finger and rubbed it on Dave’s cracked, pale lips, then Mike’s, then Tish’s. “How’s Seattle sound to you? They’ve got good frostbite specialists, and the weather’s pretty good today, for December.”

The sky was cloudy over the Caribbean Sea. No planes or helicopters could be seen, but a small helicopter with advanced cloaking technology was flying over the water, heading toward Drakken’s private island. Lars, wearing a henchman’s uniform with mask, touched down on the landing pad, next to the Global Justice hover jet. He got out of the chopper, apparently stepping from a hole in the air, went to the door, aimed his plasma blaster, vaporized a hole, and stepped inside.

Inside the main cave at the bottom of the lair, two armed Global Justice agents, a tall black man and a short Chinese man, were playing a video game on the big screen television. In the three months since Drakken’s daring escape from Federal court, nothing had happened here, and it was beginning to seem like nothing ever would happen.

“You gentlemen are trespassing,” Lars bellowed from behind them. “Diablos, attack!”

Suddenly giant red diablo robots opened their hand claws and began blasting torrents of yellow flame toward the agents, who scrambled for their lives behind anything that might momentarily block the fire.

At the Seattle airport, after the orderlies unloaded Mike, Dave, and Tish into the waiting ambulance, the kimmunicator beeped with urgent news from Wade.

“There’s trouble at Drakken’s Caribbean lair,” he said. “Diablo robots have driven away the Global Justice guards.”

“So Drakken’s reverted to form,” said Kim.

“Told you so,” said Wade.

“How many diablo robots?” she asked.

“Maybe two or three. There’s some uncertainty.”

“And the activation signal?”

“Could be broadcast from a helicopter, for example. For just a couple of robots, even a remote control might work.”

“We need Felix,” said Ron. “No way can you fly all the way from here to Drakken’s lair after everything you’ve done already and arrive in condition to fight diablo robots.”

“You’re right,” said Kim. “Back to the university.”

A small black jet with “KP” monogrammed on the tail flew over the Caribbean Sea’s thinning twilight clouds. Felix’s cyber-robotic wheelchair was locked in position at the controls. He looked at the radar screen and turned on the cabin light.

“Kim, Ron, wake up! Five minutes to target,” he said.

Kim immediately sat up on the foldout bed, throwing off the blanket. She was wearing her white and blue battle suit, which somewhat enhanced her fighting abilities for emergencies like this.

“Uh, what, are we there already?” Ron mumbled. He was wearing a matching white and red jumpsuit. “In the pocket, buddy,” he told Rufus, who dove in. Kim pulled him up. “You need to be as alert and focused as you’ve ever been in your life. We’re talking diablo robots in Drakken’s lair. There’s probably trap doors, motion sensitive laser cannons, mutant guard animals, who knows? This is probably one of Drakken’s schemes to eliminate me first and conquer the world later.”

“So it’s a trap.”

“Gotta be,” Kim said, putting on her parasail and helmet. Ron put on his.

“This is odd,” said Felix. “This is Drakken’s island, no doubt about the coordinates, but it’s completely dark, except for something burning on the landing pad.”

“Oh yeah, it’s a trap,” said Ron, going to one of the storage compartments.

“What’s best for this, infrared or night vision?”

“Infrared,” said Kim. “The kimmunicator puts out an infrared beam for its remote control functions. It’ll work like a flashlight Drakken can’t see, unless he’s got infrared goggles too, which, come to think of it, he might.”

“Okay, here,” said Ron, passing one of the infrareds to her.

“Thanks. What about that fire, Felix? Can you tell what it is?”

“Looks like someone blew up a Global Justice hover jet.”

“We’d better drop to the other side of the island,” said Kim. “Are we in position?”

“Go ahead,” said Felix.

“We’re gone,” said Kim , opening the hatch and jumping out, with Ron right behind her.

They handed in front of the “Keep Out, Haunted” sign. As they circled around toward an entrance, a voice said, “Kim Possible.”

She immediately turned and dropped to a fighting stance.

“I’m from Global Justice,” said a tall black man in uniform. “Agent Steven Rasp.”

“I’m his partner, Agent George Wind,” said the short Chinese man, stepping from behind a boulder. “We sorta got taken by surprise.”

“By exactly what?” said Kim.

“Looked like one of Drakken’s henchmen and two diablo robots,” said Steven. “He said we were trespassing and made the diablos attack.”

“We know what that’s like,” said Ron.

“Are they still here?” asked Kim.

“We heard something like a helicopter leaving, but didn’t see anything, till our jet burst into flames,” said George.

“Sounds like a raid,” said Kim. “Somebody came here to take something, and now they’re gone. Let’s go back inside, and try to figure out what they took. Something from the lab, I’m guessing.”

After trying a number of lower entrances and finding them jammed, Kim, Ron, and the agents cautiously edged close to the burning wreckage of the hover jet. “That’s how he got in,” said Kim, pointing to the hole in the door. She put on her infrared goggles and cautiously climbed in, followed by the others.

“The lights don’t work,” said Steven, pushing the button.

George got out his flashlight. Kim went to the next door and strained, trying to spread the sliding doors.

“There’s a ventilator shaft that goes all the way from the roof to the lab,” said Ron. “Might be easier.”

“I think I got it,” said Kim, spreading the gap and pushing the doors open. “Just gotta push up a little to get them started before they slide. Where were you when the henchman set the diablos on you?”

“Okay, I’ll admit we were in the room with the big television,” said Steven.

“And he suddenly appeared, probably dropped in through a tube slide,” said Kim, “then took the diablo toys out of his pocket and enlarged and activated them with a remote control, taking you completely by surprise.”

“A tube slide?” asked George.

“You didn’t know about those?” Kim asked. “This lair has several and the Alpine one has even more.”

“Oh, you mean the trap doors? We locked all of those,” said Steven.

Kim lifted and pushed open the next set of sliding doors and pointed to a hole burned through the floor. “I see you locked that one,” she said. “You game to follow our thief?” She aimed her grappling hook gun at an I-beam supporting the ceiling and fired. “We’ll call up when we’re down. Use the rope to slow your fall.”

She wrapped her arm around Ron and dropped through the hole with him.

“Man, I wish she’d been with us a couple hours ago,” said Steven. “This girl can handle anything.”

In a few moments all four were in Drakken’s living room, and Rufus was scurrying around, looking for clues, not that these were hard to find. Half the furniture was burned, and there were black scorch marks all over the dark red walls.

“Follow Rufus,” said Ron.

The molerat scurried down the tunnel, which the diablos apparently enlarged, into the lab.

“That’s why the power’s out,” said Kim. “They took the cold fusion reactor.”

“Cold fusion reactor?” asked Steven. “I thought that was just some kind of big battery.”

“Something Drakken actually invented, though I guess he stole most of the parts,” said Kim. “He could have made a lot of money selling these, but instead he used them to power doomsday devices. That’s how Wade always found him. These cold fusion reactors give off a characteristic energy signature.”

“Wade’s hacking into the E Phase Hydra spy satellite system?” asked Steven.

“Did I say that? I didn’t say that,” said Kim.

“Wade probably has his own satellites,” said Ron.

“Anyway, when Drakken or whoever has the reactor starts it up, it should be easy to locate by remote sensing,” said Kim.

In a dusty plain on the Texas panhandle, Hank Perkins walked with Hector Unron to a corrugated steel hangar behind the main power plant. Inside were three clear tanks, two of them filled with bubbling green liquid, attached to the power grid with massive wires.

“What are they?” Mr. Unron asked with a Texas drawl. “They look like some kind of weird fuel cell.”

“These, Mr. Unron, are the future of Unron Corporation,” said Hank. “These are the cold fusion reactors invented by Dr. Drakken, to which I own the patent rights. The total output of this power plant is twice what it was before these reactors went on line.”

“That’s right impressive. What makes ’em go?”

“It’s a slow chemical reaction that regulates a slow nuclear fusion reaction. No radioactivity, no big boom, just clean, safe power at a bargain price.”

Kim and Ron were standing in line outside a movie theater, waiting to buy tickets for “The Freakish Five,” a movie based on a popular comic book about neurotic mutant superheroes, when the kimmunicator beeped.

“I’ve got someone named Lisa from Unron’s Alaskan oilfield, who wants to talk to you,” said Wade.

A pleasant young Inuit woman with straight black hair in bangs appeared onscreen. “Miss Possible,” she said. “I’m Lisa from the Unron oilfield. I just called to thank you for your amazing rescue of Mike, Dave, and Tish. They’re all okay. They’ll be coming back to work soon. The blizzard’s over, and another crew fixed the leak. The oil’s flowing again, and everything looks better. The new beacons we ordered from Load Tech at a very modest price are working perfectly.”

“I’m glad to hear that things are going better,” Kim said, taking a few steps forward as the line moved.

“Thanks to you, Kim Possible,” Lisa said, and Wade reappeared on screen.

“I see you got a little business out of this,” said Kim.

“A few thousand dollars. No big,” said Wade. “But speaking of Unron Corp, I think I found the missing cold fusion reactor. It’s hooked up to an Unron power plant in the Texas panhandle. It’s been running at least a few days, I think.”

“How’d it get there?” asked Kim, stepping forward again at Ron’s nudge.

“Do you know about Hector Unron’s troubles with the Securities and Exchange Commission?”

“That’s him, the energy speculator guy with the stock market thing? He’s the one whose workers I saved?”

“You could describe him that way. Guess who his defense lawyer is.”

“Hank Perkins?” asked Kim, stepping out of the line. “So Lars works for Hank, Lars was a henchman who played a significant role in the diablo robots affair, Lars probably is the thief.”

“Proving this is not gonna be easy,” said Wade.

“Are we going to the movie or not?” asked Ron at the ticket booth.

“I think we’re going to Texas,” said Kim.

“Oh, okay!” Ron said, walking over to her with Rufus in his hair, momentarily disappointed but eager for another adventure.

“Why would it hard to prove?” said Kim.

“Perkins may have legal rights to some or all of Drakken’s technology, “ said Wade. “He has a way of getting control of his clients’ assets. The Unron reactor could be a prototype built from Drakken’s engineering plans, and not the stolen one. Not that I believe this, but—”

“Perkins has diablo robots, somewhere,” said Kim. “Diablo robots are illegal, period, right?”

“Absolutely. They’re classified as a Z-12 military weapon,” said Wade. “But you can hide them in a desk drawer, the glove compartment of a car, or countless other places, and getting a search warrant on Perkins won’t be easy.”

The guard at the gate to the Unron power plant was not especially cooperative. “Global Justice?” he said, looking at the warrant. “We’re Americans here. I don’t know about any Global Justice. You won’t mind if I verify that you have jurisdiction. What are your names?”

“I’m Kim Possible, my partner Ron Stoppable, and agents Steven Rasp and George Wind of Global Justice.”

“Okay,” he said, and mumbled into his telephone. “What’s that? Really?” He turned to the four of them. “You the same Kim Possible who saved our pipeline boys in Alaska last week?”

“That’s me,” said Kim.

“And you just want to look at the new reactors?”

“That’s right.”

“No problem. Bill, here, he’ll show ’em to you.”

Bill, riding an electric scooter, let them to the corrugated steel hangar in back. Inside were three similar but not identical blender-shaped tanks filled with bubbling green fluid, attached to many large wires.

Steven and George examined each one carefully. Rufus followed them, dashing back and forth.

“If it’s any of these, it’s this one,” said George, pointing to the one with some darker scum around the bottom of the bubbling green liquid.

“But if so, they really did a job cleaning and buffing it up,” said Steven.

“So one of them’s been used for awhile,” said Ron.

“Did either of you take any pictures inside the lair?” asked Kim.

“Not us, but Global Justice did take pictures,” said George, pulling out his satellite video phone. “Headquarters. Need pix, Drakken Caribbean lair, we called it a ‘big fuel cell,’ but now it’s being characterized as a cold fusion reactor.” After about a minute, he had a picture clear enough to show the pattern of dark green scum.

“It’s exactly the same,” said Kim. “We got ’im!”

In a city thinly dusted with snow, on the tenth floor of the office building containing his law office, Hank Perkins was arguing with Dr. Betty Director of Global Justice about the legality and scope of the search warrants, threatening her with dire legal and political consequences while agents boxed the contents of every desk drawer and removed the hard drives from every computer.

On the ninth floor, Global Justice agents Steven Rasp and George Wind were having some trouble gaining entrance to Lars’s office suite, and were working on the reinforced door’s locks and hinges with their laser cutters, when suddenly a blast of flame knocked the door across the hallway.

Inside the room, Lars was standing with his back against the window, watching two kneeling giant diablo robots fire their flamethrowers through the doorway and laughing.

Outside, wearing her battle suit and a helmet, Kim fired her grappling hook gun. In a split moment she was crashing through the tempered glass window, knocking Lars down in a shower of rounded fragments. She stomped on his wrist, seized the remote control, and turned it off. The diablos immediately stopped firing their flamethrowers, stopped moving, and collapsed to harmless looking toys a few inches tall. The Global Justice agents charged into the room and handcuffed Lars.

“He did manage to destroy some evidence,” said Kim, stooping to pick up the two diablo toys. “But I doubt we’d find anything more incriminating than these.”

And Ron? He was up on the roof with Rufus, walking with his left arm outstretched, like a blind man feeling his way, and a bottle of soda in his right hand. He tripped over something, felt carefully, and then shook his soda, letting it spray all over the formerly invisible helicopter.

“You think you’re all that, Kim Possible, but how good is your attorney?” said Hank Perkins, from the back of the paddywagon. “I promise you, you’ll need one, by next week if not sooner. This isn’t over.”

Lars sat beside him, his suit coat and pants ripped by the glass, scowling and saying nothing.

“Deal with it dude, it’s over,” said Ron.

“Crime doesn’t pay, Hank,” said Kim, closing and latching the back door, then smiling at Ron. “Something about winning a good fight just makes me wanna snuggle in your arms. Let’s get some Bueno Nacho takeout and go back to the dorm.”

“I’m down with that,” said Ron, putting his arm around her waist as they walked back toward Kim’s stealth bike.

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