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Watermelon Snow
By : pronker
Category: +M through R > Penguins of Madagascar
Views: 2672 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: I make no profit from this fanfiction using the Penguins of Madagascar characters owned by Dreamworks. -
Chapter List
- 1-Watermelon Snow
- 2-2/50
- 3-3/50
- 4-4/50
- 5-5/50
- 6-6/50
- 7-7/50
- 8-8/50
- 9-9/50
- 10-10/50
- 11-11/50
- 12-12/50
- 13-13/50
- 14-14/50
- 15-15/50
- 16-16/50
- 17-17/50
- 18-18/50
- 19-19/50
- 20-20/50
- 21-21/50
- 22-22/50
- 23-23/50
- 24-24/50
- 25-17-18/50 SLASH INTERLUDE BETWEEN CH. 17 AND 18. AU ON 'WATERMELON SNOW'
- 26-24A/50 SLASH VERSION OF CH. 24 FOR KICKS AND GIGGLES *** AU ***
- 27-25/50
- 28-26/50
- 29-27/50
- 30-28/50
- 31-29/50
- 32-30/50
- 33-31/50
- 34-32/50
- 35-33/50
- 36-34/50
- 37-35/50
- 38-36/50
- 39-37/50
- 40-38/50
- 41-39/50
- 42-40/50
- 43-41/50
- 44-42/50
- 45-43/50
- 46-44/50
- 47-45/50
- 48-46/50
- 49-47/50
- 50-48/50
- 51-49/50
- 52-50/51
- 53-51/51
"Night is young and the music's high
With a bit of rock music, everything is fine
You're in the mood for a dance and when you get the chance ...
You are the Dancing Queen, young and sweet, only seventeen
Dancing Queen, feel the beat from the tambourine, ohhhhh yeahhhhhhh ..."
Four little penguins clung in a clump as they skittered this way and that on a milk truck roof whose singing driver seemed bent on breaking his personal best delivery record. Their ground speed factored into Kowalski's calculations as he calibrated his internal compass to compensate for a dizzying assortment of right-left-right-right-lefts in downtown Mariehamn while calculating mileage to Blowhole's location. At the moment, he wished he were piloting their rocketship with its pure straight trajectory to the lunar surface.
Rico and Private joined him in scrabbling their claws for little purchase on the glassy surface while clutching Skipper's extremities to the point of pain. Whether they moved vertically from bouncing over a pothole or horizontally from a razor sharp turn, it was in a formation resembling one of their more ambitious water routines. The water they navigated was not the PH balanced liquid of a zoo moat but the slickening frost of a typical night in late winter. The diligent driver had waxed his vehicle lately, too.
The man owned an agreeable voice that lilted through the dark from his vehicle's open driver side window. "H-h-h-h-eeee's a fr-fr-fresh air f-f-f-iend!" blurted Private as the sleepy city passed. One of the few tall buildings that Skipper could home in on for later return coordinates was an ancient church with a minimalist steeple. It lacked a gilt cross at its summit and that alone made it memorable although a bit plain to his taste.
"K-Keep it t-together and keep it d-d-d-down, men," husked Skipper. "O-Only six m-miles."
At the eighth midtown café stop after the lone hospital delivery, Kowalski recalculated their time. "Five twenty-three a.m. and two seconds," he whispered.
Feeling returned to his flippers and feet as Skipper's team let up the stabilizing pressure at each stop. "Oh he's efficient," he whispered back. "And he speaks English."
"This driver may or may not speak English, but ABBA learned their songs phonetically, I believe, sir."
"Good on them." The man returned and the truck again pulled out, but this time left the city behind for the open road. Stars wheeled overhead where trees did not block them, and Kowalski calculated furiously as they sped over bridges and made two more deliveries to isolated homes.
The driver put the pedal to the metal as the road switchbacked and he doubtless knew every twist and turn of his route. After he left the city, he drove even faster over the mostly deserted road. The penguins skidded near the curved edge of the roof more than once to be saved by a last minute wriggle by Rico or Kowalski.
As Skipper's extremities numbed once more, he flashed on a hideous vision of losing his team one by one over the sides as they let go of him to avoid pulling down their commander and their teammates. He had no feeling in flippers or feet, but he would bust a gut trying to save them from this fate. He refused to lose any of them, he refused to make the choice because all were deserving. The phantasmagoria ended as he heard Rico and Kowalski trill to him in reedy voices from the Endless Iceberg we understand that you had a chance to save Private and not us we don't blame you while Manfredi and Johnson moaned a sad chorus of agreement. He blinked hard to gather himself and was still shaken when after a vicious pothole, little Private was the next penguin to dangle one leg up to the thigh over the edge of the roof. He flailed his other leg in grim silence to gain traction. Kowalski and Rico clung more tightly to their commander.
Skipper turned his head to see in the boy's eyes that he was seconds away from letting go of the flipper to risk falling under the churning truck tires. He understood, he did, that wot would Skippa do was running through the young penguin's mind. And Skippa would be the first to put the good of the many above the good of the one, which made Skippa dizzy with concern over the most junior team member.
The song billowing through the countryside quiet had changed to a suggestive ditty called 'Oh! Mister Carpenter!' As my hammock doesn't swing, my doorbell doesn't ring, my bed has no more spring, you ought to know what to do rippled into the brisk air, Skipper did know what to do.
"Rico! Magnet!"
The familiar noise of upchuck met with great approval as a horseshoe magnet clanked onto the rooftop. Rico stuck his feet through its middle to anchor their instability and Kowalski made a mrff sound as the top half of his body squished between Skipper, the magnet and Rico's flank. Private scrambled desperately upwards to lay most of his weight upon Skipper's outstretched flipper as his beak poked Skipper in the throat. The skrawk that Skipper let out reminded Private of the bird singing cheerily while Private thought his commander lay dying in a Kastelholm clearing. He edged away from the position and from the memory. "Sorry!"
Kowalski raised his head from the press of bodies to spy the sky. "Five forty-eight a.m. exactly."
The singing had stopped mid-chorus after the clunk as the magnet attached. "--- so bring your tools up here and begin turn the knob and walk in --- Baktändning? Himmel!" The driver sounded dismayed. No more songs issued from the truck's cab.
Kowalski nestled his head on Skipper's belly to continue observing the sky. "We can hypothesize by his knowledge of that obscure song that he does know English."
"Righto, K'walski, I was worried about that."
Kowalski tensed when the six mile mark approached. "See the airport turnoff sign with the airplane logo? Möckelövågen Road is shortly beyond, says Ted. He hauled out on the fjord's pier one time and gave locals a bodacious fright."
Time warped in its usual way for Private as he stuck his head up and a sight chilled him more than the rushing breeze. "Blowhole at one o'clock!" As if in a slo-mo dream, Private saw Kowalski raise up, too, leaving Rico the task of securing Skipper. The job was performed adequately by one penguin now that the magnet anchored them. Rico clung doggedly to his position as Private and Kowalski gleaned intel while they each slipped a flipper into the open part of the horseshoe magnet to stop any more sliding. The artic's tractor hauled a thirty foot trailer that they both recognized as a converted horse trailer for high end transport of several horses. The louvered windows provided air and light and actually it looked quite comfortable for any animal.
It oughtn't to have mattered that Skipper and Rico couldn't see their foe from their positions, but it did to Private. He would be their eyes. "Hooo it's only been minutes since the spike strip Blowhole's been busy he's directin' crabs to hustle away the spike strip before other vehicles hit it now he's, he's usin' wot looks like K'walski's stolen thingy it's floatin' to the side of the trailer and cuttin' through --- " Time reverted to its normal flow with Kowalski's simpler statement.
"It's them!" Blowhole's activity just past the Möckelövågen Road intersection where there was a streetlight but no traffic light was coming up fast. The driver had pulled to the northern verge in what must have been a riveting display of exemplary Danish drivership. What had happened to the driver? The wind from their breakneck pace made Kowalski's eyes water, but yes, that was his lost cutter. He would need to think of the implications of that later because it was time for action. Rico kicked loose of the magnet and awaited orders.
"On my mark, we ditch this bucking bronco and take our chances whoa whoa whoa we're turning onto Möckelövågen Road whyyy in the name of Riegels' sense of direction --- " The left turn onto the isolated road with likely few deliveries on it sent the clot of commandos skating off the right edge of the roof. Skipper looked up to where Ole now resided and just ... let go. He fell and Kastelholm memories surged but this time he did not fall alone. By the light of the stars, he made out Rico grabbing his hurtling body with both flippers and then the soft feathers of Rico's belly welcomed his think melon. He felt rather than saw Kowalski position himself between his midsection and the macadam to buffer the lower half of his body. If penguins had the ability to read, they would have said they resembled a capital letter H. Private went with the flow in a graceful leap and formed an exclamation point of concern once they landed to a hmmsploofp from Rico and a fart from Kowalski. The milk truck sped off.
"Skippa, K'walski, Rico, you all right, then?"
Skipper removed his head from Rico's belly where cavernous sounds rumbled that he did not want to think about. "Excelente work, team. You really do know how to take a fall. I've numbed up. ¡Ayúdame!"
The three rubbed until Skipper could stand. "Stop, Private, I'm not numb there." He looked around. A grove of linden trees shaded the parked moving lorry that had to have been forty feet long. "Recon says that is Blowhole's lorry. We allow him to free Sasquatch and segway his way back here. When he opens the lorry, we take out his base, too. It's fate that we turned, gentlemen, because is is a better sitch than out in the open on Road 1." He signaled Routine Fifteen: Find Cover Fast! Soon calluna vulgaris shrubs shrouded the team.
"My plasma cutter used for evil!" mourned Kowalski. "That was one sweet looking trailer."
"How did your cutter get here, K'walski?"
"We may never know and it doesn't really matter, Private. It's another variable in the mission that we can and will deal with. Stay frosty because here they come."
The plasma cutter proved the perfect light source for secretive doings as it floated eerily beside the segway. The penguins peeked at Sasquatch scuttling in the midst of five crabby crabs. "Hey, bigfoot! Watch it!"
"Get out of my way!"
"Boss, she's not keeping her feet to herself --- "
"Pod preserve me from minions!" Blowhole extinguished the cutter with a gesture without touching it and punched his segway's control panel to a chirrup from both driver's door and back door. A ramp slanted down as the back door opened. The crabs scurried inside the lighted interior and so did Blowhole. Sasquatch lingered outside, looking around furtively. He returned alone a minute later. "Press these magnetized logos over your artwork on each side of this lorry. I've a few things to begin on the consoles inside and then we leave." He thrust two rolled up posters at her. She undid one.
"That's a fair likeness of my head. Who drew this?"
"Photoshop and the internet for the win, bigfoot!" came the reply from inside the lorry.
"Can it and get to work, Blue Four." He turned to Sasquatch. "We disguise the lorry as the official research Natural History Museum Centre for GeoGenetics transport, board the 7:30 ferry for Grisslehamn and head for Nepal via the Öresund bridge-tunnel to mainland Europe. Trust me, nobody is going to notice the difference in vehicles. I might even toss enough euros into the farebox to make up for our evading fare last trip."
She wondered at the unexpected surge of honesty. She had to stall him for her herd, but could he really be thinking seriously of paying her as promised if they made it to Nepal? Never mind, it was a random thought that would never see fruition. She buckled down to her final task of acting. "Why not the ferry for Turku and go through Finland and Russia?"
"Who's driving, you or me? Do what I told you and get in, buckle up and shut up."
Sass made an effective weapon, she thought. "Were you this charming at Hetauda Happy Hour because I got too looped to remember --- "
He deflated. "Okay, so I'm tense. You got rid of Skipper for me, I need you to stay away from DNA labs of any nationality and I'm making good my word to you and even what's-his-name who declined my generosity. Happy?"
Could it be that he showed the tiniest shred of honor? "I'll tell you in Hetauda." She turned on her heel to complete the job as slowly as possible. Blowhole made a raspberry with his blowhole as he rolled up the ramp. Soon various dopplering sounds emerged along with a few flashes and a thrum that got on her nerves. In a more soothing display of inchoate lighting, the northern lights supplied a mellow glow that was more noticeable due to the lack of moon. As she took a breather in front of the designs she had painted on the lorry's side, she gave herself a moment to soak the aurora in before it faded with dawn. When Skipper psssted she didn't even jump.
"There you are. What now?"
It was Kowalski who answered. "Sasquatch, how much control do you have over your EMR pulses for flea repelling?"
She demonstrated by holding the poster at arm's length by one edge. At a grunt and grimace, the poster unfurled. She relaxed and it refurled. "Don't ask me how I did that. It's a thing he stuck in me along with, well --- "
"Tee Em Eye! Skippa, stop her!"
"What? I was going to say along with the things he took out of me, I guess for forever now. It doesn't matter anymore. Why do you want to know?"
Kowalski paraphrased the Channel 1 news blurb that he knew by heart. "It seems Blowhole indulged in funding a prototype Nikola One, the hybrid electricity/natural gas lorry faster and more efficient than any such existing. Twelve hundred miles range, two thousand horsepower, twice the acceleration of a normal diesel engine hooo mama--- "
"Kowalski, you're drooling." Skipper directed Rico and Private to each side of the ramp with the signal for Routine Fourteen: Don't You Dare Let That Door Close. They slid away to lookout positions under the ramp at either side. From inside the lorry spewed the hum of powered up machinery and the occasional bad smell.
Kowalski slurped and continued. "Each wheel has an electric motor and --- "
"Come on, soldier, your option clipboard is overloaded! We're dealing with a four hour takedown window, remember?" The growing daylight made Skipper antsy.
"Option one is to immobilize the lorry by frying each wheel with her EMR pulse. Option two is for Sasquatch to gain the inside and see which consoles she can take out without him suspecting. Option three is for us to apprehend him and keep up pretenses that Sasquatch is on his side as long as possible."
Skipper finished his surveillance of the length of the lorry as Kowalski finished. "We'll see those options and raise you one more: Battle, you meant battle and not apprehend. And yes, that full panoramic privacy-shielded cab makes her a honey of a lorry." He turned to Sasquatch. "We're cool?"
"We're cool." She raised her hands and the invisible energy spread to the first poster. She spread it over the faux moving lorry logo that she had painted weeks ago. "No more crying, you hear me?" she said to the little girl cradling her doll.
"Outstanding. Time?"
Kowalski squinted at the morning star. "Six oh six and thirty-three seconds, sir."
Daylight turned the sky as pink as Private's skin the last time he moulted. As dawn progressed, Skipper's fears as to being seen by humans dwindled. Even Road 1 showed only one lone car heading west and Möckelövågen Road proved quiet. There was a flock of their fellow birds peeping high up in the linden tree, hopping from branch to branch in search of sustenance. Unlike Frankie and his cadre, the tiny birds showed no interest in what went on below them and soon moved along to another bit of woods as they moved north to cross Road 1 where Möckelövågen Road continued to the shores of Bursfjården. If he sniffed hard enough, Skipper could smell the sea and he gained heart from that.
Sasquatch finished applying the posters. "Blowhole popped a gas bomb into the cab of the artic. The driver will be out for hours, he said."
"Sister, it's just as well no humans get involved."
Sasquatch followed Kowalski's directions at each wheel. There were several doughnut shaped elements on the axles besides the wheels and he slithered underneath the luxurious lorry to point her weaponized fingers as she took a knee to reach the correct one. "There, touch this middle one with the micro inverters between the rotor and stator oh ho Blowhole you got the good stuff but we are spoiling your evil game you, you --- "
"Harami?" supplied Sasquatch at the final wheel. She offered a weak grin that didn't expose her broken teeth.
Kowalski hesitated and then slipped her a high-one as she finished her job for the team. "Exactly. I support the term without knowing its full meaning."
"But you get the gist."
"I do."
"Lady! The bus is leaving!" Blowhole's voice was not as obnoxious as it generally seemed. Skipper put that observation on the back shelf as he signaled Kowalski to join Rico as he joined Private. Sasquatch ambled slowly to the foot of the ramp. Was there something welcoming in his next words? Skipper couldn't credit it, but there it was. He eavesdropped for whatever he could use while Blowhole sounded as house proud as anyone could get. If he were depressed over his arch enemy's passing, he was making a good effort to overcome it.
"Come on in! These are my digs and it's like a young urban professional's loft, you see, play, live and work all in the same space. The Blues work on the consoles tracking my progress with the worms and sea monkeys and other projects you don't know about, here is my tank for moisturizing swims, here is my bar that um, I haven't used lately but maybe on the trip we could have a drinkie or three and get reacquainted --- "
Sasquatch put on the diva look that she had rehearsed as she placed her hands on her hips. "Where's my space? And the grass you promised and lichen, don't forget the lichen." Anything that he was hinting around at she was uninterested in to the extreme.
"Right here between the tank and the bar is your spot, Sasquatch, underneath my alma mater bar sign." A neon square sign strobed the outline of a crimson and blue strutting jayhawk with two letters on its chest. Words that she couldn't read completed the garish sign over a comfortable looking swivel chair with built in cupholders and seat belt. A snack stand sported tasty bunches of fescue.
"What's that sign say? I won't sit still for false advertising --- "
"Isn't it great? I ordered it from the last online extension University of Kansas reunion and it says I only drink to make you more interesting isn't that the funniest thing ever um it doesn't actually apply to accomplices --- "
Sasquatch leaned casually up against a console that currently had no crab manning it. She concentrated as she shrugged off all concerns in favor of getting the job done. An observer might have noticed a set look to her gaze as if she were straining to lift something heavy. She imagined that tiny sparks played from fingernail to fingernail and the four screens rippled and then frazzled and then went blank. "So you're saying that --- "
She sashayed on when a crab that she had heard Blowhole call Blue Six looked suspiciously at her through waggling eyestalks. He leaped into the chair to commence twiddling and turning knobs with bright blue claws.
"Hold that thought! Blue One, what is happening?" Blowhole pushed aside Blue Two and the rolling lumbar chair went sailing to partially block the exit. Sasquatch could dodge or hurdle it, but for the moment played Blowhole for all she was worth. Nearby was her herd for backup and she felt confidence growing to a level she'd not experienced in long, long months.
"What's this for?" She pushed a random button on the console to no effect. "How about this one? Or that one? Is this helping, boss?"
"Go sit in the corner! I'm working here!" Blowhole's chattiness fled as one after another of his consoles darkened. The lighting flickered as the only thing working well was the neon bar sign. After a moment, what must have been secondary power sources kicked in as low emergency lighting took over. Four crabs remained at their stations with the two extras dancing nervously on all eight feet. They waved their claws in silent agitation. Blowhole swept from console to console as he panted, "If I can blend three species to produce a giant worm I can fix this, now let me see --- "
Kowalski's voice rose to a level that anyone might have overheard in a non-chaotic environment. "Three? Blowhole blended three species, I never thought anyone could -- it's impossible, no it's possible if it's accomplished, quod erat demonstrandum. It's a done deal. Three." He staggered backwards from under the ramp and a stray movement towards the ramp from the crabs or Blowhole could have been disastrous. It must have been fate that everyone was intent on their problematical electronic gizmos and not looking around, but Skipper couldn't think about that now. "It's what I couldn't piece together before about his plan. I've got to find out which ones and why. Three."
By Stormin' Norman's skivvies, the penguin was just standing there, shaking. Skipper, Rico, and Private hustled him away from danger. Skipper slapped Kowalski's forehead when they were back underneath the lorry. "Turn off the think melon, soldier!" he stage-whispered. "We're up a creek in a leaky canoe while cinnamon bears fish for salmon on the muddy bank! Er, bad folk saying, I mean waddle it off and come back to us."
"We need you, K'walski!"
Rico upended Kowalski and rattled his oblong frame. He set him upright again with a shake.
Kowalski muttered, "I don't have my lab."
Words were more effective than a slap in this case. "You have your brain. Use it."
"Aye, sir. Using." He focused. "Now. The time is now while they're off balance."
"Excelente. Move out to commence Operation: Plug A Blowhole." The commandos charged up the ramp after Private made the signal for Routine Ten. Like an adze splitting effortlessly through pine, the wedge surged forward. Since Blowhole and crabs alike bent over consoles that flared, died and came back to life, it took a spare crab to spot them as they spread out in a row six inches inside the lorry. The sunrise threaded through the grove of lindens to make long shadows on the ramp that confused Blue Five. He aimed his eyestalks with both claws like binoculars and blinked harder in the emergency lighting. He let out a long whistle.
"Uh, boss, you'd better have a look at this."
"I'm busy! Take care of it! Show some initiative, for kelp's sake!"
"There's not initiative enough in the sea for me to take them on." Blue Five scuttled towards the bar and hid behind it.
"Oh for the love of --- " Blowhole spun his segway towards the back door of his luxurious lorry. "Not again. In daylight I get haunted --- wait, Blue Five saw them and, and him --- you saw Skipper, right, Blue Five?"
From behind the bar came a whimper. "Yuh huh."
The red laser eye switched to a cool blue beam that raked Skipper up and down. "Alive? I'm scanning you alive?"
Sasquatch saw her opportunity to sow chaos and enact the saying when in trouble when in doubt run in circles scream and shout. She dashed in a small circle, pulling at her fur. "He's a zombie! He can't be alive, I threw him down and he splatted and bounced! I swear it, boss!"
"Shut up, I trust you. You'd never go against me because you're too chicken."
Three penguins awaited orders, one penguin dealt them out. "Blowhole, I've got a score to settle with you."
Blowhole punched a button on his segway. There was a whishpt as the ramp loaded into its slot and a urklank as the steel double doors closed to enfold penguins, crabs, sasquatch and dolphin in one seething pressure cooker.
"Me first."
IOIOIOIOIO
TBC
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