Kufu's Redemption
Written by Starflash
Part 1 – “Boxes or Briefcases?”
"In other news, the world renowned archaeologist,
Professor Arnold Ratbert, after many years of excavation in the country of
Kurumu, has uncovered the lost treasure of Prince Kufu. Part of this treasure includes
the legendary 'Box of Kufu,' which the natives of the ancient and cloistered
nation of Kurumu believe to possess strange and supernatural powers. The Professor has assured everyone that
these claims are merely superstition.
"Ratbert has not yet unlocked legendary box,
saying he has decided to leave that benefit to the box's new owner. Rather than
donate to museums, the Professor has invited the world to join him in Kurumu's
capital city, Kramou, to auction off the finds. As you may be aware, Kurumu has chosen to stay isolated from the
rest of the world for the last two hundred years. Professor Ratbert has
assured the world that Kurumu's leader, Czar Lionel Ruben, has given his
blessing to---"
Shere Khan switched off the radio. The broadcast was a repeat of the news that
had been in the headlines for the past week.
He, of course, would never stoop so low as to attend some over-hyped
auction for ancient junk with superstitious linkage. When you were the most successful businessman the world had ever
seen, it was best to avoid such…dalliances.
Instead, he would send someone to get it for him.
His intercom buzzed suddenly, and the
tinny, disembodied voice of his secretary, Mrs. Snarly, floated throughout the
room. "Mr. Khan, sir, Thompson is here," she informed him.
"Send her in," he said calmly.
"Yes sir."
Khan looked up as a statuesque cheetah walked into his
office. Actually, marched would be a better word.
She had the manner of a soldier; eyes trained forward and back rigidly
straight. She wore a conservative
pinstripe suit that accentuated her lack of curves, and hid the long,
well-built legs and sculpted muscles characteristic of her kind. Her flaxen hair was pulled back into a harsh
bun, making her look stern and far older than she actually was. It seemed she had done everything possible
to spoil her femininity. Khan
appreciated that. It showed dedication
to work. She stopped in front of his desk and
stood at attention.
He offered his large, powerful paw and shook her long, delicate one. “Please take a seat.”
Tara Thompson was admittedly very young, but her
record spoke for itself. He had plucked
her fresh out of graduate school, inexperienced but extremely gifted. She was a brilliant businesswoman, and
seemed to have an inborn intuition about stocks and bonds, as well as being an
expert in foreign affairs. So far she’d made Khan Industries a lot of money;
she was going to make quite the corporate killer some day.
Khan didn't bother with pleasantries. "Do you understand what I expect of
you?"
She looked him straight in the eye. "Yes sir." Her voice was low and
robotic. "I am to purchase the Box of Kufu by any means necessary, and no
one is to know that I am working for you."
"No one!"
he said sternly, stressing the two words.
If anyone were to find out he was interested in obtaining a potentially
mythological box, he would surely be the laughingstock of Cape Suzette. "Under no circumstances. Is that understood?"
Sensing the discussion was at an end, she nodded,
turned, and marched out. Thoughtfully, Khan watched her depart. She was interesting, that one. Tara Thompson was part of the
infamous Thompson Three, comprised of
her grandfather and his sons, her father, and his brother. Her grandfather, the
legendary Reginald Thompson, had helped found Cape Suzette, and each son who
followed had also been a great entrepreneur in his own right. Tara's father had been the least impressive
of the bunch, having never had to work for his money and only performed some
mediocre business transactions, preferring to save the heavy stuff for his
older brother. Luckily, his daughter had grown up to be nothing like him.
If she had been a boy, she would have inherited the
Thompson fortune. As it was, the
fortune was now going to her idiot cousin, who would undoubtedly be the ruin of
the Thompsons.
Khan allowed himself to feel pity for the young Miss
Thompson. Her father had obviously been
disappointed about siring a girl, and having been unsuccessful in producing
another offspring, he had neglected her.
At least she had inherited the Thompson business sense. Khan had employed her as soon as he could to
make sure she didn't go to work for the competition.
Khan reproached himself for his uncharacteristic
concern and went back to his papers.
She was his employee now. What
more could she possibly want?
* * *
Tara Thompson marched out of the building, eyes
trained forward. A few employees nodded
to her, but she provided no acknowledgment in return.
She had been waiting for this moment all her
life. A chance to use the skills she
had worked so hard to obtain, a chance to prove herself worthy of the Thompson
name, and she was going to do everything possible to see it succeed.
She stepped out of the lobby and into a waiting
limousine.
"Airport," she ordered the driver. As the limo pulled away from the curb and
prowled down the street, she gazed out the window, lost in thought. She had given up so much for this. In business school, she had barely come up
for air as she buried herself in her studies.
Tara never had time for a social life, but she had come to like it that
way. Certainly her father had never let her have any friends anyway.
A wave of anger rose up to her throat, but with a
practiced swallow, she closed her eyes and found her calm. She had long ago discovered that detached
indifference was the best way to deal with her father, and had proved
beneficial in most other situations as well. Tara had grown to find emotions
distasteful, a weakness, but she couldn't help feeling a sense of urgency to
fulfill her duty.
I'll show you,
Father, she thought. I'll prove how wrong
you were about me. An embittered
frown crept over her features without her realizing it.
* * *
Czar Lionel Ruben sighed deeply as he went through
another record. As he had expected, it
carried bad news. Kurumu's chief
export, sugarcane, had been hit once again by a devastating drought. Three
years in a row, and there seemed no chance of the plague relenting in the near
future. Ruben pushed his chair away
from his desk and forced himself to stand up as he tried to massage the kink
out of his neck. His large jackal ears perked up as he noticed a faint sound
outside the window, like waves crashing against a shore. Ruben peered between
the Venetian blinds and grimaced. The
people were revolting again. Probably
one of the local prophets had stirred them up with old wives' tales about the
Treasure of Kufu. This sort of thing had been happening more and more often
ever since Professor Ratbert had uncovered the artifact. He also noted that they seemed far more
angry, more focused than they ever had been before.
Ruben turned to see his aide approach.
The smaller dog had a
distinct look of anxiety in his eyes.
"I'm afraid we have a problem, sir."
The Czar looked at him wearily. "Something to do
with the Professor, I wager?"
"I'm afraid so, Your
Excellency. He's going on with
the auction."
"What?"
Ruben's fatigue deserted him, replaced by fuming rage. "When did this happen?"
His aide spread his hands in a hopeless
gesture. "He did it behind our
backs, Your Excellency. Contacted
them on his..." the aide had to pause to get his tongue around the strange
word. "…radio-broadcasting machine."
Ruben grew hotter under the collar. "Send him
in," he said
gruffly. The aide took off
quickly, and a few moments later an all-too-familiar smug, smarmy face appeared
behind the door. Ruben hated everything
about Arnold Ratbert, and the fact that he couldn't function without him
anymore only added insult to injury. Ratbert gave him the sly smile of
someone who knows they have the edge.
"Keeping your subjects happy, eh, Ruben?"
The weasel sauntered in and plopped himself casually into the chair in front of
Ruben’s desk.
Ruben exhaled sharply, fighting down the urge to snap
the little weasel's neck. "This mob is your doing,
Ratbert. You knew this would happen if
the auction took place. These are long-lost
religious artifacts! They belong with
my people, not sold off to some…foreigner!” He spat the word. “Ancient tradition states that---“
The weasel held up a silencing hand, his voice droning
as if reciting a very boring speech.
“…'in order for the values of Kurumu to stay uncorrupted, citizens are
to keep their transactions with outsiders to a minimum.’ You know you sound like a broken record
sometimes, Ruben?”
“This breach of values is unconscionable!”
Ratbert sat up a little straighter, his demeanour more
menacing. "And that's exactly the attitude that got you dumb
jackals into this mess in the first place!
Your economy was in shambles, your country about to collapse, but oh no!
You wouldn't dare ask for help!
That would go against all you hold dear." He
got out of his seat and leaned over Ruben's desk. "So instead you came to me! And didn't I solve all your problems?"
Ruben clenched his fists, feeling his
nails dig into his flesh. "No, you haven't! You still have not given me the complete amount we agreed
on."
"All in due time, Your Excellency," he sneered, pretending to inspect his
manicured claws for good measure.
"For now, you have enough money to keep your little country going
for a while longer, and as soon as I sell off the treasure, you'll get the
rest."
Unable to contain his rage any longer Ruben slammed
the desk with his palm, and was perversely satisfied to see Ratbert jump back a
little.
"That wasn't part of the deal! I may have agreed to let you give away our precious religious artifacts to outsiders, but I
said nothing about allowing the auction to be
held here in Kramou!"
"Do you think I'm going to haul all that junk out of your country just so you
can feel a little better about yourself?" Ratbert paused, letting the
statement sink in. "I'm not going
anywhere. You just make sure the
auction goes smoothly and that none of your fanatical
subjects tries to ruin it and you'll get your money, plus the pride in
knowing that no foreigners, other than myself,
discovered the shameful secret of Kurumu." He was already heading for the door, leaving the Czar gaping after him.
"Be seein' ya, Ruben," he said, slamming the door.
Ruben, shaking with fury,
looked around wildly and zeroed in on an unfortunate paperweight on his
desk. As the object shattered on
contact with the door, Ruben sank behind his desk
with his face buried in his hands, completely drained. Blast, he was a
fool. He should have known
better than to seek help from an outsider!
“This just proves all the more that they can’t be trusted,” he muttered
aloud.
At least they'd all be staying at the La Rosa. The hotel was kept in peak condition even
though the rest of Kurumu crumbled around it, the perfect cover-up to the
nation’s true state of ruin. As long as they didn't leave the hotel grounds, all would remain undisturbed.
Ruben sighed. He had sold his country to the foreign
devils, and now they were coming to defile it.
At the time, Professor Ratbert had been his only hope, since he had been too ashamed to plead
to some other country for aide. But now, in hindsight, it seemed that national
bankruptcy would have been a safer bet.
The sound of the unruly mob grew louder.
* * *
"…has assured the world that Kurumu is more than
happy to host the auction, which will be held in the capital city of Kramou at
the Hotel La Rosa…"
Rebecca Cunningham, owner of the shipping company
dubbed Higher For Hire, snapped off
the radio as she stood up from her desk.
She paused to stretch and smooth her thick brown hair, then called sweetly, "Baloo, I'm ready. Could you help me
with my bags?" she called sweetly.
There was no reply.
Rebecca muttered under her breath as she stomped up to the steps. "Baloo!" she shouted. "Get your lazy, pilot rump
down here now!"
She smiled when she saw her employee grumble as he
trudged down the steps; it was fun making him get up early.
"Hurry up Baloo, I don't want to be late,"
Rebecca scolded.
"Aw, don't get
your curls in a knot, Becky. The auction ain’t for another two days! Why do we have ta leave so doggoned
early?"
"Because I'm in
charge and I say so," she said smoothly.
Baloo already knew the reason why they were going, and he refused to
admit what a wonderful opportunity the auction was. Instead, Rebecca had found herself bribing Baloo into coming by
promising that she would do all the work while
he and Kit took a paid vacation. She would have liked their mechanic, Wildcat, to come along as well, but he had already taken his vacation
to go see his girlfriend Clementine-something-or-other. She found herself once again trying to
picture the type of woman who would be compatible with someone as…unusual as Wildcat before she turned her
attention back to the matter at hand.
"Think of what
that could do for Higher For Hire!" Rebecca added. There was a faraway look in her eyes as she
thought about it. "We can get more business internationally! I expect this little trip will at least triple our
business if I play my cards right."
Baloo snorted loudly, unimpressed.
Figures,
she thought.
Baloo just didn't have any business sense. Of course, if he did,
she wouldn't be owner and boss of Higher For Hire, so she wasn't
complaining. After all, he was a pilot. Probably one of the best, Rebecca had
to admit.
"And I'll get to see what kind of chance I have
in winning the bid for that Kufu box."
"Slim to
none," muttered Baloo.
"What was
that?"
"I said, sounds like fun! Where's Kit?"
“He was already up when
I got here.” She smirked. “You know,
you could really learn a thing or two about responsibility from him,
Baloo. Isn’t that right, Kit?” she
added as she saw him approaching.
Kit smiled. At fifteen, he was now as tall as Rebecca,
and had traded in his old, well-worn green sweater for his 'Cape Suzette High
School Track & Field' coat. And he
still had a lot more growing to do.
"If that’s true,
then I should be given more responsibility, like flying the Sea Duck home to
make sure it gets here on time,” he teased.
"Now,
don't get ahead of yourself, Li’l Britches."
Rebecca allowed herself
a smile at their repartee as she took a quick glance at her notepad to make
sure they weren't missing anything.
"Did you two
convert your money into Shaboozies? It's the only foreign currency they'll
accept there, you know," Rebecca warned.
"Yes," they droned
in unison.
"Okay, let's
see..." Rebecca mumbled, ticking off her checklist as she went. "Got
my suitcase... reservation... dropped Molly off at Linda's... what am I
missing?"
"Your ride over
there," Baloo joked as he made his way to the Sea Duck. "Hey, Kit, you wanna do the takeoff for
me?"
Kit's eyes lit up.
"You mean it?"
Rebecca frowned.
"Are you sure that's a good idea, Baloo?
I know he can do it, but still, he doesn't have a licence. If we get caught…"
"Oh,
Ree-becca! Who's gonna see us? It's a vacation! Let the kid have his fun."
"Well...all right." She jumped a little as
Kit whooped for joy. "---but just
this once, and Baloo takes over for the landing," she added.
"Sure thing, Miz Cunningham," Kit replied, more subdued.
* * *
Later, Rebecca wondered whether she had given in too
readily. Kit certainly had the
potential to be a good pilot, but he still lacked experience, and as the plane
took off a little too suddenly and the engine sputtered from the strain, she
had to bite her tongue not to take it back.
Neither Kit nor Baloo
noticed. "So what’s in Kurumu
besides this auction, Miss
Cunningham? I’ve never even heard of
the place before." In reality, Kit had little desire to go off to some
dusty old desert nation. He was just grateful for the excuse to fly, and
thought it would be polite to at least feign
enthusiasm.
“Well for one thing,
Kurumu is ancient. And I mean ancient. There’s stuff there that dates back to the beginnings of
civilization, Kit.” In spite her desire
not to, her eyes lingered on the plane’s console; the co-pilot controls were on
the fritz, and normally the Sea Duck wouldn't dare leave the ground without
back-up controls, but with Wildcat gone, they had to make do.
Which only made Rebecca even more nervous.
“So, they’re not
exactly modern-minded there, is that what you’re saying?” Kit groaned inwardly; they’d just better
have a pool at this hotel they were going to.
"That's right,
Kit," she answered, more to soothe her
uneasiness than a genuine interest in history.
"In fact, not many people have been inside Kurumu’s borders for
almost two hundred years. And don’t try to fool us into thinking you’re that excited over an ancient civilization. I know the real reason you want to go.”
But she smiled at him, taking the sting out of her words.
Baloo was even less
enthusiastic. He pulled his cap over his eyes to block the sun as he crossed
his massive arms. This was not how he
had wanted to spend his vacation, but at least this way he was getting paid for
it. It was just the company he was
dreading. Snooty business types really
blew his carbs. But so long as Rebecca dealt with them, Baloo figured he'd at
least be able to sleep through the whole thing.
"The place’ll
probably be crawlin' with lowlifes just waitin’ for some poor dumb tourists to
show up. Just keep an eye on your purse
there, Beckers."
"Oh, don't be so
paranoid, Baloo." She made a dismissive gesture. "This is a wonderful opportunity. Who knows? Maybe I'll even get the highest
bid on the box --- but I know that's unlikely."
Ya got that right, he thought. "Becky, people from every
corner of the continent are gonna be there.
Rich people!"
Again, Rebecca brushed
off his protests. "Oh, that
doesn't matter," she said easily.
"It's a keen mind and sharp business sense that win auctions."
Baloo rolled his eyes
and turned to watch Kit fly the plane.
Kit's eyes were focused out the windshield, his face taut with
concentration. The sunset ahead of them
bathed him in light, giving his brown fur a coppery shine. Every so often, Kit
gave the instrument panel a sideways glance, checking for readings. It was a
smooth flight.
Baloo's chest swelled with pride. Ever since he and Kit had
stumbled upon each other, they had become as close as a father and son. Baloo wouldn't change that for anything.
That's my boy, he thought. You're
doin’ your ol' Papa Bear proud. He smiled and settled down for a quick
snooze as they turned towards the horizon.
* * *
Mad Dog sniffed under
his armpit and absently scratched his gangly arm as he turned the wheel of the
giant pirate airship, the Iron Vulture,
slightly to correct their heading.
"But Cap'n, what
do you want with some rusty old box?" His voice came out whinier than
usual as he turned to look at Karnage, who was lounging casually in his
Captain's chair.
"Because, my
mindless minion…" The red wolf put down the newspaper he had been reading
to blink lazily at his lackey. "Imagine the world's reaction when I, Don
Karnage, come to bid at the auction with other
gentlemanly-business-types?"
Mad Dog could just
imagine. He didn't like this idea. Like
most pirates, he sneered at the thought of acting even remotely like a
gentleman. Getting things the honest way just made absolutely no sense to him.
"But aren't you afraid of getting arrested?"
The pirate captain
stretched and stood up, his fiery tail flicking absently. "Don't be suc a
fooligan, Mad Dog. You know very well that Kurumu doesn't recognize foreign outlaws. As long as we are behaving ourselves there,
no one can lay a finger on us."
"But Cap'n, why do
you want to buy the treasure? Why can't we just take it?"
Karnage was getting
annoyed. "Are you implying that I
cannot act like a gentleman, Mad Dog?"
Mad Dog winced. "Of course not, Cap'n. I just meant that it doesn't seem your
style." Realizing he had probably
said too much, he cringed and prepared himself for a smacking. Instead, Karnage seemed to contemplate Mad
Dog’s words as he put a finger to his chin.
"It is true, I am going against my naturalness, which has served me
so well up to this point." He
walked towards the giant observation window, his boots pounding noisily on the
metal deck of the bridge. The setting sun cast an elongated shadow of his silhouette across the room. "Perhaps I want to prove to myself that
I can obtain goods by honest means, just to see what it's like, for a
change." He whirled around.
"And this auction gives me the perfect chance!"
Mad Dog stayed silent for a while, unsure of how to
react to this rarely seen philosophical side of his Captain. "But what if you lose the
bidding?" he said finally.
"Simple. Then we steal it."
* * *
The crocodile chewed on his cigar, deep in thought as
he read the newspaper. He looked up in
annoyance as a stork with thick glasses warily entered his office. "What
do you want, Agarte?" he demanded. The stork swallowed nervously as he
tried to stop trembling.
"I apologize, Mr.
Crockopolis, but you wanted me to inform you when I was able to get
reservations at La Rosa."
"Ah, good. Put them on the table and ready my
plane." Agarte dropped the
reservations on the desk tip-toed out quickly, relieved to escape from his
dangerous employer.
Eldon Crockopolis,
known to the world simply as “Crocko,” shoved the reservation into his coat
pocket as he pushed the seat away from his desk. He heaved his extremely large girth up with some effort as he
stood. "Today is a good day," he said to himself. He looked around with pride at his
collection of one-of-a-kind artifacts.
Obtaining rarities was his life, and most of the
objects in his office had been obtained by less than honest methods, but that
didn't bother him in the least. He
smiled a toothy crocodile smile. Of
course, he had no intention of doing any differently in Kurumu, but it was wise
to at least pretend to be honest once
in a while.
He regarded the one
spot on his glass counter that was not filled. Soon I will have the Box of Kufu, and then…the greatest collection of
artifacts in the world. I will be richest man alive!
* * *
Rebecca opened her eyes
wearily the next morning as she stood up from the bunk and attempted to smooth
her rumpled clothing. She frowned at
herself for falling asleep without changing first.
She washed her face in
the sink and combed her hair casually as she gazed out one of the Sea Duck’s
portholes. The sky was just turning a fresh,
clean blue and clouds that resembled cotton candy whizzed lazily past. Below
her was the jagged grey lines laced with snow --- mountains.
When she went up to the
cabin, Kit was still in the pilot seat. "Kit? What are you doing there?"
She gasped. "You didn't fly
all night, did you?"
Kit looked guilty. "I didn't want to wake Baloo up,"
he explained, but Rebecca wasn't listening.
She marched up to the co-pilot seat and twisted Baloo's ear.
"YEOW!" Baloo yelped. "What the heck did ya do that for?” he demanded hotly, rubbing
his ear with irritation.
Rebecca glared at him. "Kit flew all night,
Baloo! You were supposed to take over
and let him get some sleep!"
Baloo was
genuinely surprised. "It's
morning? Kit! Why didn't ya wake me
up?" Kit's face fell. He was about to reply, but
Rebecca cut in.
"Kit, what if
something happened? There's no way of
knowing that you'd be able to get Baloo up in time."
"I'm sorry Miz
Cunningham...” he said anxiously. ”I just wanted to see how long I could go
without a break…test out my night flying."
Rebecca sighed.
She knew there was no way of deterring Kit from the yoke of a
plane. It was where he was meant to
be. But he also had to have his
enthusiasm held in check for his own good.
"Kit, let Baloo take over. He flies the plane for the rest of the
trip."
Kit tried to
protest. "But Miz
Cunningham!"
"No buts,
mister!" she ordered. "You get back in that co-pilot's seat and
navigate!" She pointed towards the seat, leaving no room for argument.
Regretfully, Kit passed over control to Baloo, who
said nothing. After a few minutes of
awkward silence, Rebecca went back into the cargo hold.
"I'm sorry
Baloo. I know I should have woke you
up," he said sheepishly.
Baloo didn't say anything
for a long time. "I'm
disappointed, Kit. Ya usually do what you're told." And he was
disappointed. He knew how much the kid liked flying, but Rebecca was right. He
was obsessing. Kit needed to get away
from flying for a while.
After a few minutes,
Baloo asked for their heading. "Just keep going straight ahead,
Baloo," Kit answered quietly.
Baloo raised his
eyebrows. "No correction at
all?" Another thought crossed his
mind. How had Kit managed to stay on course while flying the plane? He was pretty sure he knew the answer. "You navigated too, didn't you?"
Kit sighed. No,
you gave me directions in your sleep. "Yes," he said wearily.
"Now that's
dangerous, Kit! Ya don't even have
enough experience to fly on your own yet.
Ya can't start tryin’ to do two things at once on top of that!"
"I kept us on
course didn't I?" he said a little too loudly.
"That ain't the
point!"
"Forget it, I know. I'm not old enough! I
don't have enough experience! I'm too
young for this, I can't do that!" he mimicked. "That's getting to be all I ever hear from you to
anymore!" Angrily, Kit turned away
from Baloo.
Baloo sighed.
"I know how much ya wanna fly," he said softly. "But ya
have to keep yer feet on the ground a little while longer, okay? Get yer head outta the clouds." No
answer. "You'll be flyin' on your
own before ya know it," he assured him.
"Yeah, I know,”
Kit sighed. “I’m…sorry."
Baloo smiled.
"It's okay, partner. Hey, how far are we from Kurumu right now?"
Kit checked his map. "About four hundred miles."
"Great, we'll be
there in a couple of hours."
End of Part 1
TaleSpin and its characters are the property of Buena Vista Television/Walt Disney Co. The rest of the non-TaleSpin characters are created by me, and may not be used without permission. I’d like to thank Gidget and Ted for their invaluable help with this rewrite.