

### Walder the Penguin

Bruce Younkman

Copyright © 2010 Bruce E. Younkman

Distributed by Smashwords
BOOK SYNOPSIS:

A young Antarctic Penguin inadvertently hitches a ride on a chunk of ice that's bound for warmer weather. Upon this Penguin's first encounter with humans, its gullible nature is forced to confront "Human Nature." But, faith is restored when this naïve bird is befriended by an exceptional (human) teenager. To most, Walder is like a mirror in that all pretense peels away before _their_ reflection. For those, who choose to masquerade before this proverbial "mirror of truth," only find themselves struck with the image of their true selves—a grim prospect for the ill-intentioned ones. Thus the consequences from such repercussions set off a chain of events culminating into a worldwide movement.

DEDICATION

To all sentient entities without a "voice"... that humans _can_ hear _..._

Table of Contents

PART ONE: The Great Out There

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

PART TWO: To Plant A Seed

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

PART THREE: Jake's Here to Stay

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIV

Chapter XXV

AUTHOR BIO:

# [PART ONE  
The Great Out There](tmp_9a48c949eba74772d4f052e8d6bbea26_ahSQsz.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_004.html#ref_toc)

# Chapter I

Antarctica could be a lonely place, if not for family and friends. For this reason, every member in a colony of penguins tended to stick together, and this colony of Gentoo penguins wasn't an exception. Not only was this "closeness" done for companionship, but for warmth and safety as well. So, like it or not, it was important to have a lot in common with each other. Penguins were a tight knit group that pretty much agreed with one another across the "berg." In general, penguins didn't say or do anything contrary to the common standard; and for the most part this seemed helpful in maintaining their broad unity. You might say penguins were your good ol' run of the mill, solid-citizen type—except for one.

One young fellow named Walder, who was becoming a teenager (in "penguin years"), was a bit different from the rest of the colony. Walder's anticipation with growing up, coupled with what he perceived to be _wasted_ time already behind him, only increased his peculiarity with the other penguins. Walder wanted more!

Even among the multitude of his own kind Walder would sometimes feel as if he was alone. It wasn't that his family and friends didn't love him—he knew they did—it was just that Walder's oddities were so taxing to their patience. It seemed that no matter how hard and how long Walder's elders attempted to understand him it would subsequently prove to be of no avail.

Walder's colony was such a regimented lot. During the day they would spend a great deal of time hunting for food in order to sustain their body fat and survive the brutal Antarctic cold. Though various types of smaller fish were definitely on the menu, the penguin diet consisted mostly of tiny shrimp-like crustaceans called krill, requiring long hours in the water to obtain an adequate amount. And when Walder's family and friends weren't out hunting for food, you could count on finding them huddling together on shore trying to keep warm. It would always be doing whatever they could to save energy.

Soon, Walder grew tired of the daily routine and began asking the others, "Why do we have to look and act the same way every single day?" and "Why must we always hang out here in the same barren spot next to this frigid ocean?"

It was bad enough his fellow penguins did what they did on a day-to-day basis. But why not do something else from time to time—anything else? Pondering this, Walder began to ask further, "Why do we constantly stick together and not go out and do something adventurous sometimes?" and "Will we do nothing _forever_ but huddle together, unless we're out catching food—oh, and is there ever going to be any 'variety' to what we eat around here?"

Eventually it began to occur to Walder that he lived in what might not be such a nice place, or the best place, and he began inquiring into this. "Why do we live way out here among the icebergs? Isn't there someplace we could migrate to—somewhere warmer—and maybe meet someone or something new and interesting, and have some fun every once in awhile? Huh? You know, 'fun'!"

The other penguins couldn't relate to Walder. The entire colony was intent on keeping things the way they'd always been, content with remaining in their _comfort zone_.

From friends and family Walder was often hearing, "Why do you want to be different from the rest of us?" and "How come you think you're better than everyone else?"

"Wondering Walder" his mother began calling him for being so inquisitive. She would often tease him for this constant nature of his by saying, "Why wonder, Walder?" After awhile some of the others began to pester Walder with similar versions, "Why wander, 'Wondering' Walder?" which eventually escalated into everyday conversation such as "Here comes 'Wondering Walder'" and "There goes 'Wandering Walder'. I wonder what the wandering mind of Walder will wonder about today. Wondering, wandering, Walder."

His mother would employ one of her favorite nags by saying to him, "Why aren't you satisfied with what you have? It's the same thing we've all ever had and it's all we've ever needed." And when Walder persisted, his mother resorted to the ultimate jibe by emphatically stating, "You're just thinking of yourself!" which made Walder feel guilty and retreat from the others in silence to a place where he could try to figure it all out.

Walder honestly didn't feel he was better than anyone else. He simply saw there could be more and didn't feel reserved about putting forth the effort in order to get it. Walder didn't want to seem selfish or spoiled. It's just that he simply could not help wondering why the others wouldn't want to have "more," especially if something was obtainable and didn't lead to adverse consequences. This made perfect sense to him. Why wouldn't any bird want to go for it? But Walder's gumption was a bit intimidating to the others for some reason, though he couldn't understand why. Walder was also thinking of the others too, actually. He wanted everyone to be as happy as they could be. But, Walder was making waves!

If Walder, family, and friends all loved each other, then why were these problems recurring and seeming to center around him? Walder felt an urgency to figure this out, and fast, before something happened. He began to ask himself what it was _with_ "others." What was this internal mechanism that made someone fear and resent another who was different? And why were the others so antagonistic of change—afraid to change? Walder was viewing others solely in an attempt to answer this question without it remotely occurring to him that he might enter into the equation somehow. Walder was just beginning the journey of learning how to be tactful with others. He had a lot to learn.

There were many wonderful things about penguins that Walder loved and respected. He didn't know of any other group so caring for one another. Penguins truly were warm and loving, and Walder didn't know what he'd do without them. But this wouldn't be appreciated as much now as it could have been, for Walder hadn't been out there yet and met other "things." This was one reason that penguins resolved to stick together. Walder didn't understand this now, but someday he would. Although Walder didn't realize why penguins were the way that they were, he did know penguins would always be his family and friends, and that Antarctica would always be his home. But, for now, Walder heard a distant call, felt a yearning, and knew somehow there must be something else, something more, somewhere, out there.

Only a little while ago, Walder had been anxious to grow up so as to be big enough to do other things, and possibly get his way. But now Walder was thinking that he didn't ever want to grow up— _Penguins grow up too fast_! After all, the penguin father remains at home, warming and protecting the baby until the mother returns some months later. This would be him someday.

As Walder's body continued to grow, so did the intensity of his emotions. Like most adolescents, going through so much sudden change, Walder had never experienced these feelings before and thought they might last forever. So, not realizing these new sensations would eventually pass, he would often feel confused and uncomfortable, which only exacerbated these rambling urges of his, while compelled toward something, something that must be somewhere, somewhere out there.

From his earliest times, Walder could remember "skyscrapers" enclosing his icy sanctuary. Before him, in the ocean, huge icebergs remained suspended into place, crammed elbow to elbow. These ever-swelling bodies of ice would never cease their groaning while continually locking themselves in, tighter and tighter. And inland, equally enormous glaciers stood their ground. While never "giving and inch," these, too, seemed always determined to expand their domain. These mountains of ice were constantly shoving and grinding away at each other, as if competing for precious, limited space. This continuum of frozen monoliths formed an apparent wall—an insurmountable fortress—with the only escape in the water, where one had to sneak through the cracks between the icebergs in order to get to the other side, or dive to great depths in order to go under them. Although these icebergs appeared gigantic above water, they were much, much larger below the surface. They seemed to go down forever! While weaving through this network of massive, frozen sentries, Walder often wondered how far the ocean might go.

There was a tacit rule among the diving penguins: "Don't go any further than necessary to catch food!" For one didn't want to get crushed between shifting icebergs, or become lost, forever, in this veritable ocean labyrinth.

As the warm season progressed, these skyscrapers at sea began diminishing in height, girth, and in numbers. Finally, some of the smaller icebergs began floating off, leaving ever-widening gaps of passage between them and lending the hope of escape. Walder presented this possibility to the others and was shocked to find they didn't want anything to do with it—they didn't even want to hear it! The others assured Walder, "There's nothing out there but endless water laden with huge, cruel monsters. And if you go too far, you'll eventually fall off the edge of the world with the ocean."

This intimidated Walder for awhile, until he grew older and bolder, and until these skyscrapers melted from icebergs to "ice barges." No longer did this ocean hold barriers between Walder and what was out there.

One day, while sauntering down the coastline, Walder spied a most unusual iceberg passing by. Most of the drifting icebergs had become fairly horizontal by now, their crests having already melted away in the waning frigidity. Yet this one still sloped mildly upward to a significant peak—the highest peak around by far. Before the ocean currents pulled this floating pyramid across the horizon, Walder hoped he might be able to climb up to this vantage point for a look-see. So, Walder swam out to greet the "drifter" and began scaling its tower in order to get to the peak for a peek. What Walder beheld as he inched more and more upward was increasingly thrilling, incredible, and ultimately mind blowing! As Walder neared the top, he saw thousands of miles of space all around him. In all directions Walder peered. Walder knew that "this" surrounding him, which appeared to extend forever, was a "Great Out There!"

Once reaching the summit, Walder's colony of penguins looked like specks of pepper; and he was making distance from them. As they faded from sight, Walder conceded to the notion that it would probably be a good time to get back to the others—while he still could. So, still reluctant to disembark his departing Pikes Peak, yet eager to share his discovery with the others, Walder decided he'd toboggan back down this floating mountain only to begin hydroplaning out of control over the glossy ice at great speed. After descending more than a thousand frictionless feet, with every moment super-charged with exhilaration, Walder shot off a ledge, soared through the air—"Awesome!"—and plummeted back down to the ocean's surface. Now **that** was definitely an adrenaline rush!

After swimming back to the home berg, Walder attempted to enlighten his family and friends about this "Great Out There." But, once again, they didn't want to hear it, and this time exclaimed angrily, "Walder, you'd better get these notions out from under your feathers, Boy, before you're out from under our wing!" and went back to their duties.

Out of respect for his elders, Walder couldn't verbalize his extreme objection to their blind "unfaith." So, Walder resorted to _his_ way of voicing a grievance or purging his frustration; it was something he had started doing at an early age; it was his only catharsis. Walder had developed a reputation among the other penguins of venting his emotion in a most peculiar manner. Walder would turn his back to everyone, close his eyes, and flap his wings furiously. Since the other penguins made a point to keep their backs to the wind, Walder found himself facing it. As Walder grew older and flapped his wings longer and harder, he would become overheated and didn't mind facing the chilly air; it assisted the "cooling off" period. Walder would embrace the frigid gales with the hardiness of youth, and flap away into the wind's resistance ("against the wind"). Eventually Walder began to feel his feet _leaving_ the ground!

Tonight, Walder felt more alienated and contemplative than usual. He worried he might be wasting his precious youth with these conventional, complacent, shore dwellers. Walder slid away from the others, who were preparing to bunk down for the evening, and felt himself gravitating toward the ocean.

Walder thought about how dull and routine everything continued to be. He was so bored. Walder was dying for something new and interesting, for some excitement. What was it that the elders kept warning him about? Leopard Seals! Killer Whales! What do "seals" and "whales" have to do with a little ol' penguin? Walder even welcomed the notion of seeing one of these for a change. Anything for _another_ adrenaline rush!

The ocean always seemed to offer possibilities and opportunities. The other penguins only offered the usual, the predictable, and the seemingly unchangeable. And now, with the skyscrapers gone, boundaries seemed nonexistent. Walder stared into the endless sea and felt it pulling him toward it, within it. Walder had always wanted to know what lay out there. Now, Walder knew he had to find out. _There must be something out there!_

Each day had been growing gradually warmer, and finally the warmest part of the year had arrived. Tonight was the warmest night Walder had ever felt, following the warmest day. Walder couldn't understand why his fellow penguins, on such a nice night as tonight, didn't walk around to gaze at the moon and stare at the stars. The moon and stars were all so brilliant against this clear, blue, beautiful evening sky. And they were making the ocean sparkle with magic! That he was the only one to appreciate this natural wonder surrounding them made Walder feel even more hopelessly different from the others. The other penguins just kept sticking together, doing the usual, like always, and they would undoubtedly go on doing so, forever, regardless of the circumstances.

It just so happened that tonight was not only the warmest evening of the year, but the warmest in Antarctica since time immemorial. So, on this exceptionally warm and gorgeous night, Walder decided to stroll along his "pet promenade," down the coastline, and wound up going further from the others than he'd ever gone before. While enjoying the splendor around him, Walder spied a mini-peninsula jutting into the ocean. Determined to be as much a part of the ocean as he could, (without getting his feathers wet) Walder went out onto the tip of this protruding ice, lay on his back, and began observing the star-studded heavens. The cosmos seemed embedded with this animation of light in a 3-dimesional fashion—an ever-changing display—a veritable panoramic masterpiece. Walder felt as if he might float up there to be a part of it all. A state of tranquility came over Walder. Walder "zoned out." Then, Walder did the unimaginable. Walder fell asleep away from the others. Normally, all penguins always stuck together for warmth, safety, and companionship. But tonight, Walder didn't feel obligated to abide by his colony's expectations. Walder slept, and, as he did, began having incredible dreams. While the rest of the colony fell asleep too, they didn't notice Walder missing because it was so inconceivable that any penguin (even Walder) would leave the colony voluntarily during the night under any circumstances. And if someone were missing, everyone expected everyone else to notice. Though Walder was always noticed, while in their presence, tonight he conveniently wasn't.

It seems as though all of Walder's profuse pondering of the Great Out There, had accumulated, culminated, and was finally releasing all in a single evening—tonight—in his dreams. Yes, Walder had wonderful, adventurous dreams about sailing away to distant, warmer shores, exploring and being a courageous, heroic penguin. Walder was finally living out his fantasies, of what he'd always hoped for, now, in these magical dreams.

Having been born in early spring, and knowing only frigid climate, Walder had never witnessed the birth of an "ice boat." These ice boats usually occurred a little further out and north (warmer) of where he and his colony were located. It had never occurred to Walder that their shoreline was solid ice, and thereby held together by freezing temperatures. Therefore, on a less than freezing night like tonight, it could be possible for a piece of the edge to break away, and Walder's newly adopted penguin perch was a "candidate" for a potential ice boat. This long, narrow strip of ice was an extension of coastline projecting out into the path of the ocean's currents, thereby subjecting itself to the brunt of warming, turbulent water. Unknown to Walder, the less-than-freezing current rushing below him was, and had been, eating away at the base of _his_ peninsula.

As Walder fell asleep, hoping the ocean would deliver something to him, the ocean began to deliver him instead. The diminishing peninsula, on which Walder lay, silently broke off from the melting shoreline and began floating softly out to sea in the direction of fairer weather. Walder's penguin perch on a peninsula had now become the top deck on a departing vessel. As Walder drifted away into the night, his dreams became more unusual, vivid, and fantastic. And though at times they were a bit "edgy," Walder welcomed them, because they were interesting, exciting, and adventuresome (a "break" in the norm). Though the wind howled and threatened all night, it didn't disturb Walder. The wind was an integral part of the "effects" of these enchanting dreams in which Walder had become thoroughly engrossed and completely engulfed. Throughout the night, Walder lived out a lifetime of his innermost fantasies in these remarkable dreams. And when morning came, Walder awoke satisfied that he'd finally experienced a taste of what he'd always dreamed about (been there; done that), yet, in a way, was relieved he wasn't still _there_. Walder stretched and yawned while contemplating getting back to the others to share his marvelous experiences with them—as if they were really going to buy it. They would probably say the usual: Walder, you're ridiculous—there you go fantasizing again.

Walder's intriguing dreams had finally left him with some semblance of adventure, and this seemed to be enough for now.

Looking over at "their" direction, Walder thought that it must be foggy; he didn't see the shoreline anywhere. _They must be over here instead._ No _._ They weren't over there. _Where could they be?_ It wasn't like them to go drifting off. Walder stood there for a moment thinking how strange this was. He could see the ocean around him, and knew this "peninsula" led inland, so therefore they're this way.

Walder waddled a few dozen feet from the "tip" toward "shore," only to stand before water and thought: _Hmmm... that's strange. It's probably this way_.

Still reassuring himself, Walder took a 90-degree turn in another direction and walked a few feet until once again confronting water. _Hmmm... This is beginning to ruffle my feathers!_ Though annoyed, yet still confident, Walder concluded this last direction must be the way because, due to process of elimination, it was the only way left. And for what was to be the last time, Walder did an about-face and marched militantly in the direction he "knew" his colony had to be.

Though recognizing virtually nothing, Walder anxiously marched forward as a funny feeling came over him. Walder attributed his inability to make out the shoreline, which had to lie before him, to his present conditions: a dense fog coupled with the sunrise playing tricks on his eyes and mind. But the reality of this situation was growing beyond Walder's acceptance. This time Walder didn't look down. For he had to be going in the right direction, he just knew he had to be and that was all there was to it. Walder was in denial, and suddenly—"Plop!"—Walder was in the water, bobbing like a buoy and pouting, "I can't believe this is happening to me. I just don't understand!"

Fortunately, amid his consternation, Walder noticed that his only floatation device was getting away from him and thought it might be a good idea if he caught up to it and figured this out on "dry" ice. After all, if he didn't, he'd have to swim for who knows how long and to who knows where—if he made it. And so, Walder got a grip on himself during this moment of dismay and then got a grip on the escaping ice, his only refuge from the ocean, the coolest thing around.

Back "aboard," Walder concerned himself with where he was and where he might be going. Where would he end up after floating on this chunk of ice for a few days, or longer? He wasn't going to fall off the edge of the earth with the ocean was he? There he was, on his own personal ice boat for penguin's sake, floating off for who knows where or for how long.

After shaking and drying, Walder began getting curious as to the size of his newly acquired vessel. While preening his freshly flapped feathers, he paced the distance of "her" and was able to determine that she was about 25 feet in length by almost 8 feet in width. Walder figured that a marine vessel longer than 20 feet should be considered an official ship, and that it would be an insult to the captain if it were regarded as anything less. Yes Sir, any maritime vessel longer than 20 feet was a ship—not a boat—and every ship had a captain! After happily concluding that a ship she was, Walder proudly deemed himself her captain—except he didn't have any crew. Walder then decided that he, the newly appointed, valiant captain of this mighty ship would be very remiss if he didn't get right to work on acquiring a crew. After all, the only captain that doesn't have a crew is one that's been mutinied, and that would be embarrassing. So, the self-appointed captain called out to the infinite sea: "Captain Walder to anyone," but no answer came. He continued to call, but as morning matured and the fog retreated, Walder could see that he was very much alone.

Unknown to Walder, the current was pulling him north for warmer waters. As the sun became less bashful through the thinning air, Walder, out of concern for his ship, looked her over once more—as any "good" captain would. So proud at last to be a real captain, Walder paced his vessel admiringly as a haunting uneasiness began creeping in. Inadvertently, Walder had been recognizing that his ship was slowly changing, that she appeared to be diminishing in size. Next, Walder consciously measured his ship in "penguin feet," while continuing, vainly, to reassure himself ("in vain") that a ship she still was. But an inexorable sense of reality continued to challenge Walder's delusions of grandeur and, after a final "while of denial," Walder reluctantly accepted this unavoidable actuality. With his vision no longer obstructed by a megalomaniacal mirage, Walder observed his "ark" of ice shrinking to a canoe and admitted it was no longer a ship but a boat. Yes, it was only a boat, and it was cruising for warmer weather and melting fast. Walder babbled out loud, "I'm no longer a captain, but a sportsman or something—a weekend warrior; a dilettante; a castaway for penguin's sake! You get my drift?"

Eventually, Walder took a seat on his ice boat and began murmuring softly, over and over, while staring down at the shrinking ice, "I've descended from a captain to a castaway; I've descended from a captain to a castaway..."

Walder's ice boat glistened now, from melting in the mid-day heat, exposing its inner solidity and making it as shiny as a diamond and reflective as glass. Its rounded surfaces were acting like convex mirrors, displaying everything around him. Then Walder caught a glimpse of a different hue. Upon his ice boat's mirror-like lobes, this image had been captured and was being magnified into an obscure blob. _Oh, it's probably a bird of some kind or another,_ Walder surmised. _A bird that_ can _fly_!

Still in the midst of pondering his worsening predicament, Walder looked up and around to see if he could spot where _this_ was coming from. Squinting through the nebulous air, just over a pulsating sea, Walder made out an object on the horizon. Though only a speck, this was exciting! Other than the usual, this was the first thing he'd seen all day. And as the object neared, Walder realized it was like nothing he'd ever seen before. Walder thought about it, and figured this must be one of those ships he'd heard his elders speaking about: a real ship, with a real captain. As the large vessel approached him, Walder shouted in glee and anxiously awaited its arrival. Soon, Walder was able to make out animate objects scurrying about the top deck. Walder heard a call that pulled his attention from the others and followed the sound up the ship's enormous mast to find a young human in the crow's-nest.

This young-teenager boy had spied something from a significant distance and alerted the helmsman—it was his job. It was this lookout's entrusted duty to detect anything in these waters, particularly something potentially hazardous to the ship and crew; and given the swift speeds that this ship maintained there wasn't time for a yawn. Floating ice, such as Walder's ice boat, drifting into the path of a ship even as large as this one could impale its hull and sink it. The lookout had to have not only the keenest of eyes, but also the highest degree of alertness—constant alertness. One had to be the ultimate in attentiveness (100% "focused")! Because ice, such as Walder's ice boat, was not only common in these parts but could be almost, or completely, submerged. It was like plowing through a minefield, a disaster in the making. Though hidden to most, a vigilant eye might make out some variation in the current just above one of these awaiting "sea mines" and thereby avoid catastrophe.

Though Walder's ice boat had been well out of the nose-born path of this big ship, the lookout had notified the helmsman of its location anyway, due to standard procedure (and, yes, an attempt to impress). The lookout had stated that there was a dark speck on top of the ice, and that he suspected this dark speck was a penguin.

Upon hearing this from their lookout, the first mate felt he might at last have an opportunity to discredit "the kid." Since their lookout was never wrong—always _excruciatingly_ correct—and since it was extremely unlikely that a creature such as a penguin would be this far from Antarctica, the first mate took great pleasure in denouncing the lookout's "suspicions" and began ridiculing him of his assertion by jesting to the others: "Hey, Lads, there's a penguin on that ice way over there. Did you hear that?"

Then, with this grand opportunity to invalidate the young lookout at his disposal, the first mate instructed the helmsman to ("side step") go slightly off course for a few minutes in order to prove how wrong and ridiculous their lookout was. And so, the big ship was on her way to "greet the penguin," the first mate and helmsman joking quietly with other crewmembers, while ever cautious so their captain below would never know his ship had deviated even slightly from its steadfast course.

As the ship made her way over to the errant chunk of ice, the object upon this ice became more and more recognizable, and soon the entity became irrefutable. "Damn," cursed the first mate, "lost another shot to 'buffoon' the boy."

And, at the appropriate time, the lookout called out, "Penguin ahoy; starboard—It's a Gentoo!"

The crew quickly quit what they were doing and ran over to the side of the ship facing the penguin. Walder was instantly overwhelmed by all of this immediate attention. _Wow! A real ship with a real crew! But where's the captain?_ Walder was so used to being ignored and unacknowledged by his own kind that this sudden recognition made him feel like an instant celebrity or something. Everyone was practically hanging over the rail with big, rounded eyes gawking at him in utter disbelief. Walder felt flattered by all of their interest and astonishment.

The ship's massive sail was quickly furled, and she adopted the same force possessing Walder's vessel (the ocean). The two vessels were now in sync, drifting side by side, together.

Once again it occurred to Walder that he didn't see a captain. Where was the captain? Walder was just dying to meet a real captain.

At that moment, a well-dressed man appeared on deck with a telescope and directed it at Walder. After peering through the lens only briefly, the captain, who always held an unshakable calm, appeared stunned and stated, "It's a bloody Gentoo!"

The crew, who'd just had their feeble confidences confirmed by their captain, began muttering amongst themselves, "A Gentoo, out here, floating on a chunk of ice? How unusual; how strange!"

In amazement, the entire crew, all at a loss for words, stood motionless and watched the penguin as Walder beamed up at them with a countenance of innocence and trust. The two vessels remained abreast; a complete silence prevailed. This instant respect, which the recognition and awestruck acknowledgment from the crew seemed to confirm, had Walder feeling proud (falsely flattered). The crew continued its speechless stare. They were too dumbfounded to provide words for what they were witnessing. Walder attempted to bury his vanity under a facade of feigned humility. He posed.

Every member of the crew remained frozen from the shock of this most unusual occurrence—until "the ice broke." Out of nowhere, one member of the crew (as if possessed) uttered, "What a dumb penguin!"

Instantly, everything erupted. The crew exploded into a roaring, robust laughter that shattered the silence. This guffaw chilled Walder's spine. Walder had never heard or seen anything like this, yet alone imagined anything like it possible. Walder realized they were laughing at him and felt extremely humiliated— _I've never been so insulted!_ As usual, by force of habit when he got upset, Walder began flapping his wings furiously. This only reinforced the crew's "funny bone" condition and sent them into a state of childhood frenzy.

Walder observed the crew getting their jollies at his expense. He thought about how his family and friends could be rude sometimes, but never so cruel. But Walder had "really got 'em going." His pouting, his wimpy expressions, his shocked disapproval of the crew—not to mention Walder's flapping—had the crew all but incapacitated. Some members of the crew were laughing so hard that Walder thought they might fall over the side of the ship, and they continued laughing so heartily and for so long that Walder knew he must have met the most unkindly creatures in the world. Soon, the entire crew was weak from laughter. They were rolling on the deck, sprawling over the side, pointing at him with mocking gestures and expressions. One member of the crew was choking from laughter to the extent of practically vomiting. Even the captain, who Walder felt should know better (after all it was a captain), was laughing slowly and contemptuously, a snide, grimacing grin straining to emerge through his rigidly-woven, weather-beaten face. Walder instinctively knew this whole thing was just wrong. _This ain't right!_

In an attempt to escape the discomfort of his humiliation, Walder reflected back to his colony for a moment and thought about how different the rest of the penguins were from him. But would they ever be so cruel? _No—Never!_ Walder concluded this brief comparison with this certainty: _At least penguins aren't the rudest, not to mention the cruelest, most ignorant lot of the ocean_ —because he had just found _them_!

Returning from his rumination, Walder looked back at the pathetic crew and concerned himself with the safety of the person in the crow's-nest. Worried that the poor young human way up there might fall from laughing too hard like the rest of them, Walder began to feel a bit guilty for the "condition" he'd somehow brought upon the helpless crew. Walder stopped flapping, looked up to where the lookout remained stationed, and saw that the boy wasn't laughing; he was the only person on the ship that wasn't laughing. Instead, this young human was gazing at Walder with admiring eyes.

Right then the lookout shouted to the crew, "Help the poor penguin on board!" The crew kept laughing, and now even harder. The boy then descended from the crow's-nest to the main deck and pleaded with the captain to help the penguin: "Please; please let the penguin aboard." But the captain ordered the men to unfurl the giant sail, and as the wind filled it, the ship began fading from Walder with her lowlife staff still amused.

Above the laughter Walder heard the cry of the boy, directed at him from the back of the ship, saying, "You'll never make it on that chunk of ice. It'll melt before you make it anywhere, and it's too far to swim. Besides, there are orcas out here!"

The lookout knew the penguin must turn around somehow and get back to Antarctica before winter. But the lookout also knew this wasn't possible. Walder's ice boat was at the mercy of an uncompromising current.

It just so happened that this ship was making its way around Cape Horn (the bottom tip of South America), which was referred to as "The Horn" by seafarers, against fierce currents that typified this region. This ship resembled a stallion as it sprinted lightly over the brute strength of the ocean, impelled only by its massive, single sail. It was wind over water, though the ocean's opposing force would never cease working tirelessly to capture this horse of a ship. But with the helmsman at the reins, and the crew harnessing the wind with the ship's sail, this fabulous sea vessel would continue at full gallop from Europe, destined for Polynesia. Walder, on the other hand, had caught these currents (or they had caught him) after breaking off the tip of Antarctica. He was well on his way to pass the Sandwich Islands and then on to South Africa—whether he liked it or not. Walder heard one more distant shout from the boy in the crow's-nest: "Hang in there, Gentoo Buddy!"

The crew wasn't one bit surprised that "this one" had attempted to help a penguin. "Joe the crow" was what the sailors liked to call their young lookout, or "Joey the crowey" when addressing him personally, or whatever misnomer seemed to be the most derogatory at the moment.

As for Joey, well, he collectively referred to his crewmates as "Floating Flatulence." This lookout had been so fed up with their nonsense that he was up to his chin with the ignorance and incivility from his shipmates, from the captain on down. Yes, and while Joey had tolerated this up until now, he realized that this time it wasn't just being directed at him. Up until now, Joey had selflessly endured the abuse. Up until now! Joey concluded it was bad enough that the crew had taunted and tormented him since he began voyaging with them. But to ridicule, and then shamelessly abandon, a poor, nice little penguin floating to its doom— _Enough is enough!_

Knowing Walder's ice boat couldn't last much longer, due to it heading for increasingly warming water, Joey thought about whether or not there was anything he might be able to do for the penguin at this point. Joey knew that soon the penguin would be left with no other choice but to swim. Then, the Gentoo would certainly perish, and by what means would be anyone's guess. It'd be a miracle if the penguin made it anywhere alive. And even if by some chance the penguin did make it to somewhere, winter would be returning to Antarctica in some months and there wouldn't be a way for the poor thing to make it back to his homeland. Not after the surface of the ocean surrounding Antarctica froze. Once winter arrives to Antarctica, there's no coming or going until next summer. Joey knew how penguins needed to be with each other (like humans), because he had studied them thoroughly. Not only were penguins Joey's favorite bird, they were his favorite "anything."

Once more Joey pleaded with the captain: "Pleeez... please turn around and take the poor, little penguin to safety—or at least put him on board," while the crew laughed at him.

Joey continued his plea until the captain became very angry. The captain regarded Joey's persistence as inexcusable, telling him in his stern, intense fashion, "You're being insolent, ridiculous, and on the brink of insubordination!" the latter of which being a very serious crime aboard a vessel with a captain. No other sailor ever questioned the command of the "skipper." But Joey was a boy, and Joey was the captain's son. Joey knew it was no use. He would just have to think of a way to help his new (personally-appointed) friend, the penguin.

Even as the two parted further and further from each other, those few, final words (Hang in there, Gentoo buddy!) kept ringing through Walder's head. Though the ship was completely out of sight now, Joey's words of encouragement were firmly fixed in Walder's mind and Walder began to wonder if that young human might be a lot like him.

Walder was on to something. One reason the young human had been assigned to the crow's-nest was because he had (aside from keen eyes and constant alertness) a difficult time getting along with the rest of the crew, especially the captain. Sensing this, Walder reflected back to the crew and started venting about how wrong this was, about how wrong the crew and their captain was. They had laughed so hard. And for what—a castaway penguin floating to doom? Walder couldn't forget their uncontrollable seizures. Next, Walder considered how he was always trying to be nice to others and how others only seemed to think him weak and stupid for caring. Why did the world have to be this way? But one human hadn't laughed. And then Walder realized there was one person who had cared, who did care—the guy in the crow's-nest—and this was good enough for Walder. It was a milestone in fact. The young human positioned much higher than the others on the floating tub. His keen eyes had seemed forever fascinated with Walder, and would have gotten to know Walder, his predicament, and the circumstances that drug him out here if he could have. Walder just knew it. Maybe somehow, and in some way, that young human did understand him and might even think and see things the way he did. Up until now it had only been Walder, himself, who'd understood himself. Now there was someone else that related to him, and he'd finally found someone who cares. This uplifted Walder's spirits and rejuvenated his self-confidence. Walder felt as if he had been "reborn."

In fact, if it hadn't have been for this run-in with Joey, Walder might have given up on humans right then and there—at first acquaintance. But this human had tried to save Walder from his destined doom. Furthermore, this alien creature did something not even Walder's own kind had done: understood him; acknowledged him; encouraged him. And the most amazing part of it was that this young human (apparently) belonged to a barbaric breed. Perhaps somewhere others might understand him and possibly want him and need him. This was very important too, for Walder, to be wanted and needed. _Maybe humans and penguins are a lot alike in these areas,_ Walder speculated. This was reassuring. As Walder drifted, he was comforted by the belief that the young human in the crow's-nest would always remember him. Though Walder was alone again, he felt that a part of the lookout was still with him somehow. Even if Walder were to perish now, Walder felt it would not be alone. It was a warm feeling, it was a good feeling; it was good to know you weren't alone. Walder knew he would never forget the young human, and that someday, somehow, the two would meet again. He just had no idea how soon.

That night, still sailing in the opposite direction of Walder, Joey prepared to leave the comfort and security of the big ship for a lifeboat—to try and catch up with the penguin in one of his ship's lifeboats. Joey knew the ocean's currents well, from striving to be a competent seaman since childhood, and therefore studying the ocean during his spare time in a _very_ secret location aboard the ship. Joey liked to spend all of his free time where no one missed him or looked for him, away from the crew, in his special, secret spot. It was the only place the others couldn't give him grief; time well spent learning the characteristics of the ocean. And when Joey couldn't ensconce himself to here, he was in the crow's-nest, watching the sea and learning the ways of the sea.

At night, Joey would watch the stars, but could only wonder about them, could only wonder about their complexity. Joey yearned to fathom the significance of the stars and discover what reference points the stars might hold concerning the layout of planet earth. But, most of all, and with all of his heart, Joey hoped to someday "master" the stars, to become a Star Master like his father.

Tonight Joey reviewed maps and charts by flashlight and packed what he felt relevant to his plans, and what would be essential in the event of unforeseen circumstances. Drinking water would be the most critical; a little freeze-dried rations; thermal wear until the weather warmed; his trusty compass. It shouldn't take long for this current to whisk him back to civilization, where he'd either be spotted by some merchant vessel, or rammed directly into an island, or even a continent for that matter.

Joey did know, however, that he must leave soon. Before he reached the "point of no return" (for a lifeboat). For soon his father's ship would reach currents leading away from Walder; and Joey would never reach his Gentoo buddy in a mere lifeboat.

The strong current that held Walder and his "boat" captive was rushing around the southern tip of South America, where it would continue for the Sandwich Isles and on to South Africa while Joey and his ship continued sailing in the opposite direction, against the ocean's insistence. Joey knew this current would still lead him to Walder, but not for much longer. Joey also knew that orcas (Killer Whales), a penguin predator, were prevalent in these seas, and that they were known to remorselessly knock penguins off of floating ice much larger than Walder's boat to eat them. Joey would leave tonight, before his father's ship reached another current, and, hopefully, before the penguin's only refuge from the ocean could melt and leave it swimming at eye-level with its predators.

# Chapter II

The big ship's coat of arms proudly informed all in visual range of her that she was _the_ "Ecliptic"—a personalized name, given to a customized ship. The captain had designed and built the Ecliptic strictly to his specifications, for specific purposes: moving specialized cargo from the UK to the Orient, and bringing precious "freight" back, routing around The Horn through the Drake Passage. Although more dangerous, this route proved faster, and faster meant more money. The captain had tailor-made the Ecliptic to be able to handle these seas (conditions) expeditiously. Over 40 meters in length, the Ecliptic's narrow hull was an aluminum-magnesium alloy encased in a thin layer of the highest quality stainless steel. She was light and strong, but brittle—no margin for error—rocky coastline was not the Ecliptic's element! But her forte was, however, swift movement over water. When empty, the Ecliptic moved and handled with the speed and agility of a racing yacht. But, since the captain's intent was to keep her loaded to capacity at all times, other things had to be taken into account.

The Ecliptic maintained substantial speed by virtue of a single, massive, high-tech sail, saving her considerable fuel even when fully loaded. This sail operated mechanically, mostly by computer, which the captain programmed personally. Also, this system was equipped with a manual-override, allowing the crew to control the ship's functions electronically. And, in the event of a power failure, one could bypass everything and fashion the sail manually—the old-fashioned way. In fact, if not for this ship having a metallic hull and single sail, it would have greatly resembled a 19th century Cutter.

For backup, the Ecliptic had powerful motors to insure she met her destination punctually. It was a specialized activity of bringing specific items from the west to the Orient and, on the return trip, bringing back Asian treasures (usually made from slave labor and bought for a song) selling for an enormous profit in the west. The captain had found his niche, was obsessed with it, and forfeited all else for it.

Joey loved his father, and deep down was able to acknowledge that he did, despite how difficult his father made it for him to do so. Joey knew his father must have a _good_ reason for being the way he was. At times Joey would think about this and wonder what would compel a man to live without love—without life—to constantly strive for the acquisition of material gain and power. And, no matter how much "substantial wherewithal" his father seemed to amass, it would never be enough. Albeit his father's achievements were earned through hard work and sound judgement, Joey, still, could only wonder from what his father's ego derived. What drove him incessantly? Was it a compulsion caused by a trauma from his past or something, or just a present aspiration for the future? Joey couldn't figure it out.

After Joey's mother passed away, his father changed and became bitter toward others—nothing new to Joey. Before his mother died, Joey didn't see his father often, due to his father being almost constantly at sea and only coming home for brief intervals. Consequently Joey spent a great deal of time with his mother during these growing years. Sometimes Joey felt that his father thought his son was more like his mother than his father. For one thing, his father never shared his experiences of the ocean with him. Also, Joey suspected his father resented the bond between his wife and son, probably due to his father's inaccessibility to his wife, due to his being separated from her by thousands of miles of ocean and long absences.

Secretly Joey wanted to please his father, and so spent years studying the ways of the sea in hopes of becoming a competent seaman and someday a captain. It was during this time while learning about the South Seas and Antarctica that Joey stumbled upon penguins. He was surprised to learn there were so many different types of penguins. Some were larger than others, some had different markings, and all of them weren't only black and white, but multi-colored, and even brilliantly colored. And one penguin didn't even live in Antarctica, or even in the snow, but on the southern coast of the African Continent. Joey's favorite penguin however was a black and white penguin with flesh-pink feet called the Gentoo. Gentoos were Joey's idea of what a penguin should look like. Though Joey loved most birds, penguins were his favorite for several reasons. They were so cute, gentle, dedicated, and surprisingly rugged. But what impressed Joey the most about penguins was their "togetherness." Joey often thought that humans might learn something from penguins.

Last winter Joey's mom became tragically ill. Joey stayed home from school to comfort her, against her wishes. Though his mother insisted that he continue his education, Joey sensed something was very wrong with her and somberly refused. Joey's mother opted not to burden her husband with "petty distractions," and it wasn't until things were coming to a head that Joey's father was notified of his wife being very ill. In an effort to get to her as soon as possible, Joey's father had a helicopter come for him that he would take all the way to the rooftop landing of the hospital in which she lay dying. On her deathbed, with Joey at her side, his mother continued hanging on for the sole purpose of seeing her husband again, and for having the entire family together one more—final—time. Even though his mother's wish was for the three of them to be together in these final hours, Joey felt his father was doing it only for her, and as usual was being cold and distant with him. And now, for the first time, it began to occur to Joey why this was. All these years Joey had been with his mother, and his father hadn't been with his wife. But why hadn't his father been with his wife? It wasn't his fault that his father had chosen a solitary life of the sea.

As if in an attempt to make up for lost time, Joey's father was not only engrossed in giving his wife his attention but also seemed to even be hogging his wife's attention, as if hoping to hoard it forever. Joey walked away momentarily, out of courtesy, to give his mother some time with her husband. She whispered something to his father. His father, being someone who Joey had concluded incapable of expressing any emotion, did so, by breaking into tears. Joey's heart throbbed. Joey felt a terrible sensation that the inevitable was in its final stage and instinctively went into a mode of guarding his beloved mother. His father quickly, but briefly, got a grip on his torrent of tears and asked Joey to come up to her side. Joey could see by his mother's eyes that his father was speaking for her. Weak with anxiety, Joey lumbered forward on shaky legs and knelt back down beside her. So grief stricken was Joey that he had suddenly become unaware that his father was at all present. Joey broke out in his own deluge of tears and uncontrollable lament, asking his mother to do the impossible, "Please, don't go, Mama—I love you forever."

"I love you forever too, Joey, you know that," she whispered reassuringly. "But I want you to promise me one thing, Joey—it's the most important thing to me—it's the best thing you can do for me. I want for you and your father to always be together—for the two of you to be a family."

Joey didn't have a problem with this or anything else she might have asked of him at this time. He'd even go back to school forever if she promised to stick around. But that wasn't what fate had in store or what she was asking of Joey. She concluded firmly, "Joey, you heard what I'm asking from you, from you and your father, and I mean it if I've ever meant anything in my life. Now listen to me, Joey! I'm going to ask you one final thing." Joey knew the implication of "final" and began to weep harder than he thought anyone could. Through unbearable grief, Joey listened to the last words from his mother that he was to ever hear: "I want you to remember me for who I am and what I was, and leave me now for I need to speak with your father."

Joey wanted to oblige his mother's wishes, but refused to leave her side. He knew these were his mother's final moments and that this would be the last time he'd gaze into her eyes. His father broke in at this bleak moment, overcome by his own grief and frustration from being unable to alter the course of what was to be, yelling, "You heard your mother!"

This jerked Joey from his hopelessness, and he responded by screaming a blood-curdling threat, "Don't you ever tell me what to do with my mother!"

Both father and son glared at each other momentarily. But both were too deep in their anguish to analyze the significance of this human reaction, or consider anything spiteful. They both gazed back at the waning woman.

But she knew what was going on. She translated this long-in-coming exodus of stored emotion between her husband and son as the beginning of their eventual union; finally. She knew that Joey would soon be a man, and that eventually father and son would be an inseparable family. Nothing could have pleased her more.

As Joey wrote his "Notice Of Severance" (AWOL) to his father, and prepared for his unauthorized departure, he thought about the way he felt toward his father; the way he'd felt for most of his life. The way he'd felt after leaving his mother's room while walking out of the hospital never to see her again. Joey felt that way again now. The loss of his mother coupled with the bitterness he held toward his father. It was a bitterness that had been bottled up for so long: the bitterness of his father never being home; the bitterness of his father never accepting him; for his father being a shrewd and remorseless man. But, once again, Joey was able to subdue _this_ feeling and stuff it into the background. But the way his father had regarded that poor penguin—"Inexcusable!" And the way he'd permitted the crew to ridicule it, and then abandon it—"The last straw!"

Joey addressed his father rationally in pompous English (to ensure his father wouldn't have a problem identifying with it):

### NOTICE OF SEVERANCE

### Dear Father,

### I'm aware I've been an inadequate son. Therefore, to relieve you of any burden on my account, I've decided to cast myself at the hazards of existence. I'm going to follow my heart by following a poor penguin. The penguin, I might add, that you were much remiss with—negligent and malicious—in regard to a captain, father, and what I'd hoped "humanimaltarian."

### In short, I feel fully justified in relinquishing the promise I gave my mother (you and I remaining a family), judging that if she was aware of your current atrocities she would endorse my decision.

### In closing, I feel obligated to inform you of my destination: my intentions are to drift with the current toward the Sandwich Islands. I left at midnight in a lifeboat.

### Joey

Meanwhile, Joey's father sat in his quarters. Aside from the creaking of the superstructure above, and the groaning of the opposing ocean against the hull below, the captain's cabin was silent. Here, the captain was recapitulating his confrontation with the "drifter" penguin:

What a fool I was! Once more I had to be a tough guy and not break down in front of this barbaric crew, or show any softness whatsoever. No softness, no errors—it's the way of the sea! The ocean has no remorse, nor do the men who sail it. Therefore what I did was right. Right? Captains don't pull penguins from their floating doom in front of a jeering, ignorant crew—they might think I'm soft or something. And we know what happens if a captain let's a moronic crew think he's soft—Mutiny! So what I did was the right thing. Have I been a bit too hard on Joey? No! It's the way of the sea. A captain favors no one—especially his son—that's hard, learned experience. The sea is hard. Therefore, hardness makes the individual hard and prepared for the sea.

Although the recapping captain knew this rationale was standard, for the first time in his life he was questioning whether or not it was true to a totality in every circumstance, particularly this one. It was important that the captain be right about everything, because everyone would be affected by his decision. And for the first time, the captain was actually thinking about everyone (whether he liked it or not): his crew; his son; his wife; himself—and now that darn penguin!

# Chapter III

The coming of night had cooled things considerably. Though Walder's life raft was still completely intact, like the previous day, come morning it would begin melting again in this cruel, endless, warming sea. Would it last another day? Finally, Walder spied that faithful, solar sphere peeking over the horizon and knew a new day had arrived. Despite this new day and its attendant circumstances (warmer weather = smaller vessel), Walder thought about good things and was determined to maintain a positive attitude.

After a fair amount of daydreaming, Walder was distracted by something underneath his remains of a mere penguin perch. Something underwater was circling him, and the first thing to enter Walder's mind was whether this could be something that had come to rescue him.

"No!" came an answer from below in universal animal language. Walder didn't know what the answer was coming from but knew what it meant. Walder also sensed that whatever this thing was, it was a potential threat to him. Just then Walder remembered something his elders had told him: The Ocean is dominated by cruel monsters, and that one especially is so clever and powerful that once it gets you cornered there's no hope for you—even the largest of whales wouldn't stand a chance!

Never having seen one of these infamous monsters, Walder imagined they must be horrible looking and have a nasty disposition. Still, Walder was full of hope. This intrigued the intruder, as he continued circling Walder under water and toying with him. The intrigued intruder cased the poised penguin with its highly-acute perception devices (internal sensory) until Walder, feeling annoyed, shouted down to the unidentified submersible, "Alright, You, come up and identify yourself, whoever you are!"

The intruder was flabbergasted at first, and then grew amused at the thought of a command coming from a penguin. But the intruder felt he might as well oblige the young lad's wishes and show what he _is_ by exposing himself to the penguin, and thus remove all doubt from his bellowing breakfast's mind. Normally this intruder would defy any demand from anyone or anything, out of immense stubbornness. But this laughable insistence coming from a penguin prompted immediate response.

The intruder raised his enormous, powerful head above the surface of the water, expecting to see immediate panic from this unusually naive penguin. The two looked at each other, both expecting a reaction from the other which neither received. Instead of seeing horror on the penguin's face, Walder looked as though he expected an explanation. And indeed he did. "I asked you who you were!" repeated the Ex-Captain Walder. This hung the intruder up. The intruder observed Walder's nose-in-air countenance with hard, piercing eyes and concluded that this was a rare bird. Feeling no obligation to reveal his identity, especially one demanded from a "lower life form," the intruder decided to torment the penguin psychologically. This was good, this was rare; this was a rare penguin (and the intruder liked his meals rare). Finding this gullible bird actually fascinating at this point, the intruder, with lots of time on his fins and a growing curiosity about this floating obituary, decided to amuse himself further.

Resuming his circling of Walder, now above the water's surface, the intruder studied Walder with an unnerving patience that led Walder to realize this intruder was nobody's fool, hostage, or victim. Walder knew he'd already said enough and that there was nothing he could do now but be tactful and wait. After all, this _thing_ was his elder. So why not be respectful? It's the gentlemanly thing to do. This was a concept Walder had learned thoroughly from his elders (whether he'd liked it or not) and now, for the first time in his young life, Walder felt happy to apply this philosophy. So, Walder remained calm and courteous on his melting coffin.

After assessing Walder's new composure, the intruder thought that if he told the penguin "Killer Whale" it might blow the fun. He'd just say "Orca," his real name after all, and maybe the penguin wouldn't know who and what he was. The intruder began very soft and passive like: "Hi... my name is Orca. What's yours?"

This break in the ice by a veritable gentleman was the biggest relief Walder could have asked for at this point and he responded enthusiastically by saying, "Hi, I'm Walder—very pleased to meet you too."

"And I'm pleased to _'_ meat' you even more." replied Orca, and thought: _Oh, this is great, this is good; this is_ ' _prime' penguin—What a sucker of a penguin! This is the only penguin I haven't been able to make sweat, even out here north of Antarctica during the hottest part of the year, inches from my grasping jaws._

Walder didn't say anything else; it was respect for his elder. Orca was used to respect, continual respect, and, always, fearful respect. But respect without fear? Orca began to concern himself with whether or not this could be a suicidal penguin. Could it have some contagious disease or something that he could catch? All of a sudden Orca began to lose his nerve, and thought that if it weren't for his pride and reputation he'd just mosey along and leave this poor, little, sick bird alone. But this wasn't the way of the orca. They couldn't swim away from unfinished business. Plus, curiosity was a big infatuation with orcas. Swimming, penguin-eating Einsteins they were. They couldn't leave a good puzzle. It just wouldn't be right.

For "self"-reassurance, Orca told himself, _He's interesting. I think I'll let him live for awhile; find out what he's made of. See if I can taste the difference_.

Next, Orca decided to say something subtly intimidating to sort of hint to Walder as to what he _really_ was. With pride and confidence, Orca began, "We've been considered to be as smart as humans, you know... and by **some** , a bit smarter?"

Before Orca could smugly observe Walder for a reaction, he was already getting it. "Well, as far as I'm concerned, you're way smarter than humans, and who wouldn't be. I just passed a ship full of them and they were all low-life idiots... except for one."

"Except for one?" asked Orca, deeply interested in this addendum concluding Walder's remark.

"Yeah! There was this one human who didn't even laugh at my little castaway self. He seemed to relate to me, and would have helped me if he could have—I just know it," elaborated Walder, still musing.

Orca was blown away! Not only was Walder's recounting of this human "exception" unintentionally teasing, but convincingly sincere. That this penguin might be earnest was intimidating to Orca. Orca thought about "getting it over with." It would be easier, and justifiable because penguins were a favorite food source of his. But even if Orca had been hungry, especially now, he felt his code of ethics being teased, taunted, and tested by some elusive devil (in the guise of a penguin) that he'd never made acquaintance with. Then it abruptly occurred to Orca that it wasn't a penguin, or a devil per se that was vexing him, but himself—the devil within him. It was Orca against himself. This roused the staunch guardian-of-the-ocean Orca to proclaim to himself: _I'll never let the devil within me defeat me!_

Yep, dyed in the wool, self-righteous, self-appointed saints of the sea they were—that and then some. This was stubbornness defined. Orca kept his composure with a grim, rigid countenance, facing now his only enemy (aside from humans), and the most formidable enemy anyone could ever face—"self!" Orca prepared for the battle.

Walder had been thinking about how much of a gentleman this Orca guy was, and how strong and secure he seemed. Walder figured he could tell Orca anything and everything; what was up; how he felt.

Orca, on the other hand, couldn't believe what was happening to him. It was all coming about so quickly. As Walder continued to bob like a buoy, he realized that this credulous penguin was acting as a hypnotic figure. The credulous penguin had become a credible pendulum—an inverted pendulum—while bobbing and swaying on this buoyant shaft of ice. Orca's sense of reality was really being shaken. He gazed back at the penguin-pendulum perch for a moment, then, quickly turned away, shaking his head violently to detach any cobwebs before they could take up residence in his mind. Before he knew it, Orca had found himself with plenty to deal with and made the decision that he'd just mosey on off and forgive and forget this sick little fledgling. Yes the "Merciful Magistrate" would simply swim away and spare the life of the little "sickling." Orca took a deep breath to start his journey and, just before Orca's head could hit underwater, Walder, still musing, unthinkingly spoke, "As a matter of fact, I think he's smarter than you, and might be a lot like me."

This reckless impudence from Walder yanked Orca from his sanctuary of sanctimonious unreality. Before speaking, Orca went through micro-moment "thought processes" faster than a human's computer: _Was this an alien disguised as a penguin? Or a devil with a disease—just luring him to get it? Or could it be a brilliant one trained in the tactics of how to baffle an orca in order to prevent self from being devoured?_ After these, and a thousand or more such imponderables, Orca knew that now he couldn't leave. The penguin had challenged him to a duel to the death. Orca determined that the penguin had not only insulted him but had also attempted to blemish the repute of _all_ orcas. Now Orca felt he was forced to "finish it." Why couldn't this punk penguin just been able to keep his big beak shut for a few more moments? Oh well. Time to deal!

Orca felt he had to break out with another stratagem, in defense of this outrageous defamation to his reputation of "Protector and Avenger of the World." Orca figured that since the world was mostly ocean (and orcas ruled all oceans), it was only appropriate that "he" (an orca) be "Master of Earth." And this last assertion from the penguin, that a human could be smarter than an orca, just wouldn't do. Orca was so glad that no one from his entourage was present to witness this humiliation—an orca being stymied by a penguin. But it was bad enough, for all orcas kept their _own_ score. Orca felt he had to do something fast, in order to "save face" with his conscience.

"I know that I'm smarter than **any** human!" declared Orca angrily. "And you say there is one human that you feel is smarter than 'I'? **I**... take that as an insult, an effrontery—an atrocity—directed at the King! You'd better be able to prove it, or it's 'curtains' for you and your show." Walder didn't comprehend the concept of "curtains," and before Walder was able to ask Orca to expound on this analogy, Orca continued. "Before your chunk of ice melts and leaves you in the sea, you'd better be able to validate your outrageous assertion."

With that, the "Eminent Emperor" slid below the surface of the water before the insolent penguin could say anything more (probably a good thing for Walder).

Starting to feel regrets about this adventure stuff, a growing uneasiness began to pervade Walder concerning the silent confidence of Orca and the looming threat of his return. Walder couldn't believe how quickly Orca had "gone ambivalent" on him. Had he done something to incite such a reaction in this orca? Pondering this, Walder struggled to understand.

The morning sun was shining warm and bright. Walder's surroundings were a delightful array of glitter and blues, an ambiance he might have appreciated more had it not been for a growing anxiety over his predicament: a growing anxiety "over" his shrinking vessel and a growing anxiety "over" the intruder beneath him. By now Walder's ice boat had melted to the size of a log. It was spiraling with the current, forcing Walder to maintain a conscientious effort to stay on top by continuingly treading it with his flat, scaly feet.

As promised, Orca soon returned to cash in on the prearranged deal; whether Walder had agreed to participate or not. Orca somberly approached Walder for the duty of protecting his conscience, his dignity, and his reputation as the indisputable King of the Ocean. Orca had given himself some time to think about this, and really didn't want to do what he felt he had to do. He really didn't. But he felt he must. It was a matter of honor.

Walder felt something might be in progress, but couldn't imagine anything so barbaric even possible, especially from this gentlemanly, yet unpredictable, intruder. After all, an insulting mob of humans was the cruelest thing one could face—Right?

Like a dutiful shark-lawyer, the prosecuting attorney (Orca) approached the bench, and the judge (Orca) spoke. "So, Mister Penguin, what do you have for your defense?"

"Defense of what—floating on a chunk of ice somewhere in the middle of an endless ocean?" cried Walder, suddenly emotional with fear.

Orca began feeling even more guilt now, from his inability to counter the penguin's "defense." But Orca knew he must keep momentum. Since he had the "upper fin," and there weren't any _witnesse_ s, Orca figured he'd push his weight through to an appropriate "The End." Orca convinced himself that he would forgive himself of any memory or remorse, which might crop up in the future, over his dutiful decision. Orca began implementing his self-justified atrocity with, "You claimed that a _human_ could possibly be smarter than the King of the Ocean—The King of the World! Though humans control land, still, there is much more ocean on earth than there is land, and orcas rule the seas. So, therefore, orcas rule the world. You'd better validate your outrageous defamation of us, this disgrace to the orca, or it's curtains for you, Fellow. Defense or curtains!"

With beak agape, walder could only continue treading in place. He was stunned from what the orca was saying to him. It was like an invisible wave of energy had struck him full bore.

Eyeing the tumbling log of ice below the penguin's feet, the only thing between Walder and the ocean, Orca kept hoping it would collapse so he could get this over with. Orca even contemplated hastening the process by blowing warm water at Walder's ice log, or fanning turbulent water at it, or even "accidentally" bumping it (Whoops, sorry—Munch; burp; Over!). No one would ever know.

It was here at his darkest moment that Walder looked deep within himself for an answer, an answer to "Why": Why did things have to be this way? Now, Walder was certain his life was being threatened, and decided that if this Orca guy really intended to take him out, and if he was to go, at least he'd have the satisfaction of knowing he hadn't bowed to any of this Orca guy's "King Fish" crap! In this moment of writhing anxiety, when everything seemed completely hopeless, Walder's eye captured an object on the horizon. Within a few moments he was able to determine it was moving swiftly toward the two of them. Instinctively, Walder decided to try and stall the opportunistic Orca, sensing that if the "Judge" was aware of an approaching "character witness," he might pass "judgment" quickly, serve "sentence," carry out "punishment," and have the entire courtroom and its subjects swept under the wave before help arrived.

"Defense of what!" Walder reiterated, challenging Orca's charges, making a play for time.

"You proclaimed that there was one human smarter than 'I _'_. Prove it, or else!" demanded Orca.

"Or else what?"

"Or else curtains, you fool," reassured Orca, who was growing increasingly emotional from guilt and frustration.

Less fearful, and more hopeful now, Walder continued stalling for a little more time by questioning, "What are curtains? I don't see any curtains. I don't get it; I don't understand."

"End of actor, end of show; draw the curtains!" explained Orca, with a numb-like shamelessness. "'The End' for you! Can you _get_ that—Do you understand **that**?"

This was the first time someone had ever threatened Walder's life, and unjustly so. Walder was frightened, and his defense was to attack the danger. With his wings flapping furiously, Walder retaliated with a verbal assault. "I think you've got an ego problem. You just _have_ to be the biggest fish around."

"I'm not a fish," corrected Orca caustically, "I'm an orca—a mammal—'Killer Whale' by most, you stupid, young little penguin."

"That's it!" declared Walder, "You've gone too far. I've heard about you Killer Whales. You're supposed to be very arrogant and tyrannical, just because you think you're so smart and powerful. Well my friend is smarter and more powerful than you, and he isn't even arrogant."

Oh this was better than Orca could have ever expected, and only getting better. The penguin was giving him far more justification for doing it right now than he could have ever imagined or hoped for. Orca's nose was high in the air with feigned dignity; he was allowing himself to become adequately in denial over any possibility of wrongdoing on his part. So, the self-righteous Orca offered Walder a "final" opportunity. "Penguin, prove it now or else!"

With wings folded, Walder stood there not saying anything in reply to Orca's ultimatum. Not only was this failure to reply to the Judge's demands the "defiant" thing to do (disorder in the court), but also Walder hoped that this "contempt of court" might buy him a few more moments. It worked.

"Due to the 'no-show' of the defense's witness/witnesses," Judge Orca coldly concluded, "let's just get it over with! In view of the penguin's inability to provide evidence capable of substantiating his innocence from said charges, I hereby sentence you—condemn you. Is there anything else you'd like to say, Penguin, before you go... tell your mother or something? I could _'_ meat' her some day."

After Orca's chilling announcement of Walder's finale, Orca callously waited a moment, "nobly" permitting a final, humble reply from Walder, when suddenly Orca was shaken by a teasingly-triumphant Walder announcing, "He's right behind you!"

Thinking this might be some sort of a trick, like the penguin was going to make a break for it, Orca studied Walder's demeanor suspiciously. He thought the nerve-racked bird might just freak out and go willy-nilly for the depths of the ocean. But no, the penguin looked strangely confident for some reason. _Oh, it must be just a last "delusion" type-of-thing from the "death rowey," dead-penguin-walking syndrome or something. I've really got to get this over; this is really starting to get to me!_

Just as Orca bowed his head, as if in reverence before having a bite to eat, Walder shook him up again with: "What... you don't believe me? Turn around and see for yourself—if you think you're so smart."

With one eye constantly trained on the penguin, being well aware of the penguins' ability to rocket through water (a potential "flight case"), Orca turned his grin-of-sin-smeared mug around to oblige the defendant's last request, only to have the smirk wiped clean from his face. Immediately, Orca's intrepid trance was vacuumed from his aura of arrogance. And it had happen just that fast, just as soon as his other eye caught hint of the most unlikely thing imaginable: the presence of a teenage human in a lifeboat.

This immediate "presentation" stunned Orca. At first, Orca couldn't think; he didn't know what to do. He remained motionless, observing the human (with both eyes) while wondering in amazement what was to happen next. Orca couldn't believe it. Was this really for real? And, if so, was "it" getting better, or worse? For moments, and more moments, Orca struggled, attempting to attain some degree of certainty. He had to ensure the validity of what his eyes and mind were insisting, that what appeared to lay before him existed— _is_ existing—in real time, directly in front of him. It was real alright, what he beheld—a human bobbing with the sea in a lifeboat. This was really happening before him; it's happening right now.

Orca got a grip on his composure, as if the image he portrayed in front of the young human mattered to him, as if Orca feared losing some dignity, respect, or reputation before this human "witness." Even though the boy in a lifeboat was no match for an orca, still, there was something naturally intimidating about humans to all animals (except penguins). Orca knew he could lunge out of the water and onto the lifeboat, crushing it like a sledgehammer on a matchbox. He wasn't afraid of this human. Orca simply had a reputation to uphold with humans; it was a matter of integrity. Though Orca didn't like a lot of the human's policies, he still held an intrinsic respect for humans due to their calculating intelligence. But Orca wasn't about to let on it could be greater than his. Whereas most animals held a natural fear of humans, which stemmed from their feeling intellectually inferior, orcas considered themselves on the same level as humans, and granted humans the same respect and "margin" they gave other orcas.

As the two mammals continued sizing each other up, both waiting for the other to make the first move, Joey was reflecting back on what some scientists had said, and were still saying more and more, about sea mammals. Joey recalled one controversial documentary he'd read concerning orcas:

{If orcas (and dolphins) had limbs capable of grasping things in the fashion that a human "holds," and the ability to breathe and be mobile on land, orcas and dolphins would be giving humans a run for their money as to who (or what) reigned the earth and waters—the world.}

With this in mind, Joey cried out to Walder, "Hey, Gentoo Buddy, are you all right?"

Orca, who was having his own recollection concerning the "statistics" of humans, was jerked from his micro-moment muse when the boy called the penguin "Gentoo."

"I thought you said your name was Walder," Orca said, alluding to a demanded explanation from the penguin.

"Gentoo is the _type_ of penguin he is," explained Joey.

"Penguin's a penguin!" stated Orca.

"We don't all _look_ the same," challenged Walder.

"Well, you all _taste_ the same," assured Orca. This chilled Walder's spine.

Then, Orca remembered he had an intelligent, educated human to retain his reputation with, unless he chose to take the boy out as well. But, Orca knew this wouldn't be an ethical option. There was a moral issue surrounding the killing of something that wasn't part of the menu. Orcas had been known to (and were entitled to) upset a boat occupied by humans who were in the process of chasing them or provoking them in some manner. But this wise, young human wasn't going to provoke him or give him some justification for capsizing his boat... but let's just see.

"What's your name, Boy?" demanded Orca.

"Joey; and I'm almost 15!" the boy proclaimed proudly.

"I see," replied Orca. "Well, just to 'fill _et'_ you in on what's going on... the penguin here has stated that you're smarter than I. What do you have to offer in his defense?"

Exasperated from being taken off guard by such a serious question, a situation with dire consequences, Joey looked at his penguin buddy. Joey thought, while his eyes seemed to ask Walder: _Oh my, what have you gotten us into?_

"And," continued Orca authoritatively, "since I claim that no human is smarter than me—an orca—and, since you're the human he claims is smarter, you'd better be able to prove it for both of your _'_ steaks'!"

"But why?" asked Joey.

"Blatant contempt for the law," Orca thundered.

"He is smarter than you, yuh big, bully barrister," came Walder out of nowhere, starting to catch on to this "defense thing."

"Silence—there will be order in the court!" commanded Orca antagonistically, fanning turbulent water at Walder's "ice perch" (now the size of a bedpost), striking it and causing it to rock and roll. Walder looked and sounded like a miniature opera tenor decked out in a tuxedo during a logrolling contest.

"Don't do that!" cried Joey.

"I do as I please," stated Orca, biting back the urge to lash out. "I'm the judge, prosecuting attorney, King of the Ocean and Earth, all in one. And, I can find you in contempt of court with just one more outbreak!"

After the judge-mental orca had defined the witness' parameters, Joey, not wanting to start off on the wrong side of the boat with Orca, but, knowing he had to do something fast and fearless, began to assemble his wits. Orca was being too unreasonable. How would he do this—outsmart an orca? Recognizing that Orca's arrogance and temperament were very similar to his father's personality, Joey conjectured that Orca might be in denial, like his father, like he'd concluded his father must be. Just like his father, Orca couldn't admit to being wrong about anything, and he was too smart to outwit. _How do I do this?_

Haughty, and confident, Orca began the _new_ trial. "The prosecution will now commence! I have a Ph.D. in Communications, Literature, History, Math, Science, Philosophy, Ecology, Botany, Biology, and 'Sushi', from MIT: The Marine Institute of Tyrantology. Furthermore, we orcas don't kill our own kind. We don't pollute our water, the land, or air—the whole damn planet, actually!" Following a brief display of "human" emotion, Orca continued cooly. "Orcas have never driven any species to the brink of, or, complete extinction. We don't build bombs capable of killing every living creature on earth. Humans should have remained Neanderthal man—we were all far safer then. Even the extraterrestrial space pilots in their flying saucers are too paranoid to be seen around here anymore. Without going into further, excruciating detail, it should be rather obvious, even to the average imbecile, that we orcas are smarter than humans. Not for what we do, but for what we don't do. It's what the humans do! The selfish, the destructive—inconceivable—acts that the humans do that we don't do and have never done that proves we orcas are smarter than humans! Thank you, the prosecution rests."

Joey knew Orca was looking mighty good, that he had made some really good points. In fact, Joey couldn't imagine anybody doing any better. Orca couldn't have hit the nail on the head any harder in respect to the most incriminating aspects concerning humans. Orca was using the atrocities of humans, something that neither Joey nor Walder supported or condoned, against Walder and Joey. He'd have to think of something better. But, there wasn't anything better. Joey knew that Orca's "points" concerning the crimes against nature that humans (collectively) continue to commit, which Orca was charging (trying) them for, was an airtight case, and Joey was a human. The only way to beat Orca would be to do it without Orca realizing it had been done, that somebody had actually done it to him.

After a brief regrouping of thought, Joey asked Orca, "Sir; before I begin the defense, may I request Your Honor's permission to indoctrinate my fledgling client on some facts 'concerning' the orca?"

The judge, being very interested in what would be said, and where this was going to lead, eagerly granted permission with, "Uh... yeah, sure; go ahead. I mean—request granted!"

Joey turned his back to Orca and whispered to Walder, "Don't say anything!"

"Don't say anything—what will I do?" queried Walder, deeply concerned with how he would vent his emotion on the upcoming injustices he anticipated from Orca.

With a growing apprehension of being buried at sea, Joey, grave as an undertaker, warned Walder, "Look, Walder, this is serious!" Joey had noticed that Walder had practically "flapped his wings away" when he was upset. Joey had first observed this back on the Ecliptic, before him and his crew _mates_. And now he'd seen it again, just minutes ago, this _reaction_ before Orca. Joey finished his warning to Walder with, "Flap your wings or something, Walder. But whatever you do, don't say anything!"

Joey was probably the only person in the world who could have brought about this "first" in Walder's conduct: keeping his beak shut. Though he didn't understand why, Walder was inherently in tune with Joey's instincts and vowed to oblige his new buddy's wishes.

Upon Walder adopting his new composure, Joey began to "educate" his client. "You see, Gentoo, you've only heard of one aspect concerning orcas."

Joey's calculation was to release intense emotion from Orca. This would be emotion, which would have accumulated over time, that Joey felt must exist through observation of Orca's "posturing." It would simply be a matter of triggering this spring-loaded mechanism. But one wrong move and—CaBlammm!—it could blow up in his face. But if he did it right, it could be their ticket out of here. And Walder would be expected to "hold his own (in)" for a little while: refrain from expressing his emotions and opinions or any other disastrous "exhibits."

"You see," continued Joey, "the silly humans mindlessly named orcas 'Killer Whale' due to one, natural characteristic of theirs: for eating whales—their sustenance. How would humans like to be called 'Killer Cows'... for eating beef? And, how would you like to be called 'Killer Krill'? Get my point?"

Walder began flapping his wings violently in protest to Joey's little quip about krill, his primary food source and a staple for all penguins.

"They do it for food, just like you and me." Explained Joey, seeing Walder's reaction and not wanting to get him fired up about something.

Joey was so very thankful for all of the elaborate details he'd learned about marine life while aspiring to become a competent seaman. Orca was already eating it up. It was what he'd always wanted to hear—needed to hear! Orca had been so peeved about being called Killer Whale for all of these years. He was a wound-up coil on this issue. A wound-up coil that Joey's spiel was gently releasing. Yes, Orca was already subdued by Joey's subtle ploy. In fact, at this point, a trick on the part of Joey wasn't possible as long as Joey kept telling the truth. As long as the truth was being spoken, and it was what the judge wanted to hear, a trick didn't exist in the _eyes_ of Orca.

"Also, orcas are great 'humamaltarians'," continued Joey. "They respect, and cooperate with, those who work to preserve the earth. All of the points that the 'Good' Judge just stated are true. They've never done the silly, selfish things that humans have to jeopardize all, or part, of the earth— _our_ earth—and its natural resources: Life itself!"

After winding out high gear with Walder's crash course on "The plight of Orca Ave," Joey hit overdrive, and proceeded to "bring it home" to the judge.

"Furthermore, I know that if the Good Judge was apprized of your intentions to save your cousins, the Jack Ass Penguins from extinction—thanks to some ignorant humans—he would review the charges brought against you, for you saying the things you did that the Good Judge doesn't deserve. And if the Good Judge were aware that you are following in his footsteps—I mean 'fin flaps'—and wonderful example, by helping your little cousins, who happen to be under siege in Cape Town as we speak, he'd understand, as all orcas would. Given the superior intelligence and unyielding benevolence of the orca, the Good Judge would dismiss this case."

Flapping his wings violently in protest, frustration, and confusion, Walder had been waiting for a break in Joey's spiel so that he could explain and inquire. But Joey had purposely faced his back to Orca. It enabled him to wink profusely at his "client," and keep Walder and his sentiments at bay.

It would be a gross understatement to say that Orca had taken the bait. Orca had swallowed Joey's words "hook, sinker, and line. He'd eaten it up—like a hungry bear in "honeycomb heaven." Orca's face was a pinky-orange as he attempted to feign humility through an uncontrollable expression of pride, vanity, and nobility. Orca looked like some guru in the middle of a lifelong religious experience. He was floating on air in another dimension.

After some moments, still bashful from Joey's flattery, and humble with prestige, the Marine Magistrate softly spoke, "Well now, I didn't know Mister Penguin was en route to help his poor, little, besieged cousins in Cape Town. I have a lot of orca friends over there who'd be very disappointed if the penguin population dropped anymore than what it already has...uh humm...for obvious reasons. Your client is very lucky to have someone like you to keep him informed of these most important matters. And, a most exceptionally intelligent human you are, I might add—but you're still only a human. In view of the new information brought before the attention of the court, and circumstances hitherto unknown by the court, which explains Mister Penguin's previous irrationality, I hereby free the young, dumb penguin."

Orca was enjoying his ecstatic state so much that he didn't want to chance giving this impudent bird another shot at blasting his "high" with verbal lead (both barrels), and shattering his free flying spirit ("ground" his levitation). Before Walder could introduce more static into Orca's freshly tuned aura, the judge declared "Case dismissed!" while reaffirming his status with a vigorous splash from a pectoral fin (wooden mallet on the "bench"). "Oh, and Penguin, don't get any splinters from the boat in your butt, Boy!"

With that, Orca slid quickly beneath the surface of the ocean, before Walder could retaliate; a good thing for all three of them.

Out of immense frustration, from his being unable to give that "jiving judge" a piece of his "fowl" mind, Walder flapped his wings violently—harder than ever before in his young life. And at that very moment, Walder's penguin-perch Popsicle broke in half and began floating off...but Walder was still above the water—suspended in air! His eyes were squinted closed, with cheeks red and puffy, venting his anger with furious flapping, unaware that something most unusual was occurring.

Traumatized by what he saw, Joey stuttered to Walder, "Luh luh look at what you're duh doing, Walder!" Walder opened his eyes, looked around him, and then at his feet, only to see them dangling above nothing but cool, blue water. Instantly Walder screeched, stopped flapping, and fell plopping into the ocean.

The two looked at each other—What duh...?

"That was weird," commented Joey, as if thinking out loud. _What an oddity. Is this a dream? What's going to happen next?_ "Penguins can't fly!"

In order to switch the subject and regain focus, Joey told Walder, "Get in the boat! I'm taking you to the Sandwich Isles."

As the two drifted, neither Walder nor Joey could forget the flying phenomenon that had happened a little while ago. Though it had more resembled a treading-of-water exercise (in air) rather than actual flying, it had been, nevertheless, flying. This Gentoo had technically flown, by his own device! But, both tacitly agreed it would be better not to talk about it right now. It had been a rough day. They'd had enough already, and the day was still young.

After recovering from the Orca ordeal, Walder began to consider the present, and asked Joey, "Why are we going to the Sandwich Isles?"

"I want to keep Orca thinking you're en route to Cape Town, and it's on the way."

"I am going to Cape Town," Walder clarified, with a determined expression.

"For what?"

Walder turned and faced Joey with raised eyebrows. "To save my cousins, the Jack Ass Penguins. What you said about them was true, wasn't it?"

"You bet. Orca would have seen through everything if I'd told even one, tiny untruth."

"Then, I am going!" asserted Walder, still resolute.

Joey postponed this discussion and debate for now by telling Walder, "We'll have plenty of time to talk about it en route to the Sandwich Isles. You probably won't want to go any further north than that. You see, it's warm in Cape Town, even hot sometimes. Besides, some of the locals there don't seem to like penguins a great deal, especially the Jack Ass Penguins, even though they happen to be native to there."

"Why don't they like them, and why do they call them 'Jackass' Penguins?" inquired Walder, bewildered.

"They don't like the way they sound, Walder. They say they sound like donkeys," answered Joey, embarrassed that this rationale sounded pretty weak, and was devised by humans.

"There are some things I just don't get about humans—their logic—and how sometimes they can be cruel and destructive," Walder remarked sullenly.

"I know," Joey concurred remorsefully, and neither said anything else for some time. The two coasted for the Sandwich Isles.

# Chapter IV

After floating in the lifeboat for the better part of the day, Walder, and Joey, had been rendered a significant amount of time for contemplation. Though it was Joey's intention to find a vessel headed back to Antarctica and get Walder on it as soon as possible, Walder had other intentions. For the first time in his life, Walder had a plan, and Walder's plan was to find his poor cousins, the Jack Ass Penguins, in Cape Town. From birth, Walder had come full of ambition—had always been loaded with ambition—but no direction. For the first time in Walder's life, Walder had a purpose, and this purpose translated into "direction." Now there was ambition and direction.

Walder realized he was on a journey. And, every step of this journey seemed to be leading him further, continually, into new phases of experiencing, learning and knowing, in the direction of his heart. For all of his young life Walder had dreamed about taking his first step "out there." And then, just the other night, did so while sleeping. With some help from Mother Nature, Walder launched his protruding, penguin perch, which had delivered him into this Great Out "Here" when it broke off from the melting shoreline (which just goes to show, if you dream hard and long, dreams can be powerful). Now look at him—a hero on a humanimaltarian mission!

Joey, on the other hand, hoped he could persuade Walder at some point to head back to Antarctica; he was counting on Walder "snapping out of it." But Walder felt he must be brave and do what was right. _This needs to be done_ - _Someone has to help these poor Jack Ass Penguins!_

Besides, Walder wasn't going to let himself be outdone by that Orca guy, anyway.

Meanwhile, Joey's father was heading for the lifeboat, trailing it full sail, full throttle, with the current. After doing a U-turn, the Ecliptic was now with the ocean's force, was getting a shove in the direction that Walder and Joey, who were still at the mercy of this swift and powerful ocean, would have to be going.

For the first time in his life the captain was feeling sufficiently incited to think about his son, his only son, and the only thing his wife had ever asked of him—what she'd asked from him on her deathbed. What she'd asked from the two of them, he and Joey. What she expected from the two of them and wanted for both of them, for her son and his father to be a family.

Prompted by the threat of losing his only remaining family member (through whom his wife still lived), the captain contemplated the significance of Joey's letter, grasping the possibility of his worst fears. The worse disaster conceivable was imminent, thanks to this infamous, widow-making ("son-taking?") ocean. For the first time in his life the captain was too afraid to curse the sea. So afraid for his son's life was he, and therefore too reverent, to curse this sea.

Joey didn't want his father's ship to catch up to the lifeboat too quickly, at least not before he and Walder reached the Sandwich Isles. But soon thereafter would be nice. Just so long as Joey could secure Walder on solid ground and away from the grasping jaws of Orca. For then and only then could Joey begin to breathe easier concerning this penguin. There, Joey would attempt to convince his father to take Walder back to Antarctica. And should that fail, the Sandwich Isles wouldn't be the worst place for an Antarctic penguin to weather a winter.

The one thing Joey knew about a captain was what a captain would attempt to do with his ship and crew. And this captain was his father. Joey was somehow able to predict what his father's intentions would be, and therefore his actions, since his father always did what he intended to do at sea. Joey's father also expected Joey to do the sensible thing (what he would do), which in this case would be for Joey to adhere to the intentions he'd stated in his "letter of resignation" (Notice of Severance). Both father and son, having been trained at sea, realized the necessity of being, and staying, in sync with each other—"all" of the crew—because remaining within every crewmember's realm of foresight, perception, or some other form of anticipation was crucial to staying alive.

This collective intuitiveness, being in tune with one another, would be just as critical with a significant distance between them as it was when working together in close quarters aboard a ship. Everyone grew to know and expect one another's nature: each one's respective abilities, inclinations, and even one's quirks; all the specifics concerning one's strengths and weaknesses. And now the captain and crew would rely on this to find Joey.

During a storm, for instance, every second might need to be utilized to the fullest extent by every crewmember. The crew, as a whole, counted on every crewmember to perform their own functions at the level expected, or else disaster could ensue. Constantly being aware of each other's inclinations, limitations and potential, and thereby projecting their actions. And always being, and doing, what the others expected of you—except for the captain

At a captain's level there simply wasn't any room for personal characteristics such as inclinations and limitations. The captain had to always know, and do, what was right. This was essential to the survival of the entire ship. It was his imperative duty to keep everyone working together because everyone needed, and depended upon, each other to stay alive, and, as best as one could, remain trouble-free—the essence of a team. You did this whether or not you got along with the others or liked what you did.

So, like two cogs in a machine (albeit separated by some distance), the two were linked together because both Joey and his father understood each other's motives and reasoning. Though seemingly different, the two were surprisingly alike in that they both often thought alike. One significant difference between the two, however, was that Joey had been raised only by his mother since birth; she had been his only role model. Joey had never had a father figure.

As the two approached the Sandwich Isles, Joey was growing increasingly convinced by Walder's unyielding "posturing" that Walder was still on his mission and intended to go to Cape Town no matter what. Joey finally accepted it. This now being the case, and knowing that Walder wouldn't make it without him, Joey decided to accompany Walder all the way to South Africa. But that would be it! Joey felt somewhat responsible for Walder's mission, for informing Walder about his Jack Ass Penguin relatives; although done to save Walder's feathers from Orca. But how would Joey inform his father of their new plan?

In order to use this leisure time constructively, while coasting toward the Sandwich Isles, Joey decided he'd entertain Walder with facts and history concerning these islands and possibly impress the newcomer with his learnedness. Deep down Joey felt a need to be appreciated by someone, since it hadn't come from his father or anyone else since his mother passed away. Walder was a wonderful audience. Whatever information Joey dished out, Walder ate up. Aside from being on a quest, for having a hunger for fame, adventure and heroism, moreover, Walder had a thirst for knowledge, had a desperate thirst for the answers, for the truth. And Joey's discourse went straight to quenching this thirst. Yes, Walder was finding the young human to be a satisfying "fountain of facts."

"The Sandwich Isles were named after the Earl of Sandwich by the legendary explorer—some say 'pirate'—Captain Cook, who spent a great deal of time in these waters," Joey explained. "Spain controlled these islands until England took this region from them. The last contention occurred not too long ago when a hopeful Argentina felt claim to these islands as well, which lead to a brief battle and an unsuccessful outcome for Argentina. England still holds the Sandwich Isles to this day."

Walder felt it fascinating that humans did so much fighting for the possession of land—land that seemed not only abundant (from Joey's description), but endless. Were humans really this selfish, or just so insecure—or both? Walder's crowded colony back in Antarctica welcomed the company of others, and even depended on others for survival. Despite these contradictories (the xenophobic nature of humans), Walder was becoming ever-increasingly delighted over any and all information he received, a delight that was proportionate to the degree that his knowledge was growing. It was a staggering concept for Walder, though, when Joey first introduced that the planet they inhabited was _round_ , was round in shape. "The world is round!" Yes, it hadn't been easy for Walder to accept the fact that, just like the spherical objects in space above them, the earth, too, is round—just like the sun and moon.

Becoming more and more exhilarated over how much was really out here, not only endless water, but land, Walder acknowledged himself with a "flap on the back," congratulating himself on how he'd always felt there had to be something out here, how he'd somehow known: "There must be something out there!"

Next, Joey went into how the Sandwich Isles were a warmer place than Antarctica (merely cold, damp, and windy). Walder could feel the temperature rising already. Joey never stopped talking, never stopped enlightening Walder about everything under the sun, moon, and stars. Walder never tired; he kept soaking it all up.

Finally, the Southern tip of the Southern-most Sandwich Island came into sight. Joey knew it would be at the bottom of this chain of islands that his father would first look for them. Using the oars as a rudder, along with paddling, Joey directed the lifeboat diagonally through the tremendous current toward the shore. Walder assisted significantly by getting behind the lifeboat and using his feet like flippers to propel the lifeboat in the direction Joey was keeping the bow pointed. As they neared land, a small-vessel harbor appeared. Ah yes. A port it was, with a quiet little village behind. Joey spotted a miniature replica of "Big Ben" up the main street leading through the village and surmised its populace might be of British influence. If this place did comprise people of mostly English descent, Joey felt he'd know exactly what to say, how, and with the proper accent. As the two approached shore, a Union Jack did indeed manifest itself, flapping staunchly amid the ever present sailor's wind.

Joey docked the boat, and the two went up the pier to speak with someone of authority and quickly located the town's mayor. While explaining their situation, and expressing a need for assistance in notifying the Ecliptic of their new intentions, Joey sensed that if these authorities became aware of the "real" reason he and Walder were here, the two might be held for his father. So, Joey fabricated a reason for their presence, asking the mayor to tell his father: "The captain's son will meet the Ecliptic in Cape Town."

"It'll be no problem, Lads," the mayor assured. "We're fully equipped for situations just like this one."

With that, the two were back in the lifeboat headed once more for open sea. Before the current could pull the lifeboat out of the tiny harbor, Walder and Joey watched a large banner being tied to a flagstaff on the end of the pier. Once drawn to full elevation, it was pulled taught by the prevailing winds, displaying boldly amidst its ripples:

### Joey and Penguin were here—

### Will meet you in Cape Town.

"Ah, the British," Joey expressed, "so accommodating; so proud to be an asset to the truly worthy."

"Well, it's refreshing to know that all humans aren't the same," Walder said without thinking, "or like the others I've met." Then, Walder remembered that Joey was a human—one that had saved him no less—and attempted to apologize by telling Joey it didn't pertain to him. "I don't mean 'you'."

"It's okay, Walder," Joey murmured softly, "I understand."

_Wow_ , thought Walder, sighing, _Joey is one heck of a guy_. _It's hard to believe Joey is a human._ Humans were so diverse. There was some comfort in knowing you could always predict your penguin family and friends.

After awhile, Joey started getting flash feelings of doubt and insecurity typical of the way he would feel sometimes after waking in the wee hours of the morning. For a moment, Joey felt surges of anxiety speculating that his father might have given up hope on him being alive, and turned back. Or, maybe his father had finally had enough of him and "wrote him off," had decided to leave him and his new friend to their own devices; left them to fend for themselves with the ocean. But Joey quickly reassured himself that the captain, out of love and courtesy for Joey's mother, would never consider it (for long). He knew his father this well. Joey became extroverted from his concern over these trivial matters when Walder began voicing a concern of his own. It seems Walder had become preoccupied with the possibility that Orca could still be around and presented this to Joey. Joey, who was quite convinced Orca most certainly was, didn't see any point in confirming this probability to his already concerned-enough traveling companion.

Joey thought he'd make another attempt to convince Walder that it'd be better for him if he went back to Antarctica on the first boat out, and maybe he could even convince his father to give Walder a lift on the way back. But Walder, still adamant about his mission, once more clarified his intentions while hinting to Joey to recall the mentality of captain and crew, and that he might want to "Think about it!"

And, on second thought, after considering the unmitigated incivility his crew mates had exhibited in front of Walder, Joey conceded with: "Maybe not."

Joey would have the time it would take them to make it to the South African coast to figure _this_ out; the ocean's current would secure their course. Joey had asked the Mayor of the village to inform his father that he and Walder would be coasting with the current toward South Africa, and it appeared this was going to happen. They were signed, sealed, and being delivered.

Sooner than Joey had predicted, the Ecliptic arrived at the tiny harbor only a few hours after Walder and Joey's departure. It was just before dusk and the banner was still eagerly displaying its message.

The crew of the Ecliptic had initially been in a state of shock when their ship made a U-turn and headed for the lifeboat. Now, as they read the message on the banner, this shock was quickly turning to outrage that all of this was over a penguin, the one they'd humiliated and abandoned just a short while ago. The crew began to mingle and mutter profusely among themselves while the captain was preoccupied with getting an elaboration from the officials on shore. Being notified that a big ship was offshore, the mayor of the village came running down to the pier's end and spoke to the captain, and the captain to him both through megaphones. The captain asked the obvious questions and the mayor replied, "They left a few hours ago, headed for Cape Town with the current. He didn't give us a chance to stop him, or go after him," explained the mayor regretfully, sensing the situation and reading its significance in the captain's grim expression. But the dear mayor was not fully aware of the circumstances. A sudden, violent storm was intersecting the path that Walder and Joey were on, and the storm and lifeboat would surely collide. The captain could see the sincere regret in the mayor's face and opted not to trouble him any more with the dire news (weather report). Besides, there was no time to waste. "Alright, Men, full steam ahead!" straight into the storm.

With a nearly full moon illuminating their surroundings, the two unsuspecting lifeboat occupants were realizing this approaching wind and water wasn't some minor turbulence soon to wane. It was increasing tremendously by the minute. As a ubiquitous cloud threatened to obscure all visibility, the two now knew that an imminent threat was upon them. Though the storm progressed, a translucent glare from this moon persisted, highlighting the whitewater—whitewater that was everywhere. Suddenly, the lifeboat was riding on what seemed to be a surging 100-foot wall. Joey remembered reading about the great sailboat racers, whisking around this part of the world, who would harness waves such as these for tremendous impetus and thus granting them a marked advantage in winning. Of course the helmsman would have to be the very finest because one wrong move and the ship could be crushed by one of these huge waves and swallowed into the bowels of its unfathomable depths. This technique, as Joey recalled, was similar to a surfer "catching" and riding a wave. So, with the two oars, Joey tried to simulate a condition similar to the rudder of a ship. Then, before Joey had time to ponder this any further, he was applying this "theory" to the massive wave they found themselves on, riding it whether he liked it or not—he had no choice—it was do it or die! There was no time to think—just do. Joey was instantly inundated with inspiration. This water was trying to gobble them up for keeps, and knowing this kept providing Joey with sufficient incentive to deprive the great ocean of another trophy.

Though being a great swimmer that penguins are, Walder would have no chance riding out such a storm so far at sea. Penguins were offshore birds. Besides, one of these waves could topple down on top of you with the effect of a collapsing, concrete building. Walder held on to the lifeboat for dear life, bracing for each approaching wave, wondering if the next one would be his last. Also, Joey knew that the lifeboat's life preserver would do him little good. These waves would pound him under water as well. Joey kept heading with the grain of the onslaught, making sure to remain atop the wave's peak, never allowing the tiny boat to be caught under the crashing water or become predisposed to any of the other profuse danger and potential disaster. Joey kept the lifeboat riding the waves like the surfer he'd often dreamed about being, or else—splashed to splinters! He just couldn't have ever imagined it'd be something like this.

The Ecliptic was having her problems as well. The waves pounded her hull. The wind and rain thrashed her sail, which was still open solely for the purpose of reaching the lifeboat as quickly as possible (in time!). Normally, under these conditions, ships even as large as the Ecliptic would avoid such storms at any cost, or at minimum, reduce the sails. One wrong turn and the wind and water could push the Ecliptic's sail into the ocean. These massive waves were already rolling across the entire main deck, while the crew fought for their lives to keep from being washed overboard and their ship from taking on water. The Ecliptic had been built for swift movement over water, not for challenging storms like this one. Also, their danger was exacerbated by the Ecliptic's insufficient ballast, due to her having a less-than-adequate keel, and the captain ordering the men to jettison much of the ship's cargo in order to lighten her substantially. The captain had made his ship "water dynamic" for the rescue mission.

Though the open sail was increasing their danger 100-fold, fortunately, the crew of the Ecliptic was far too preoccupied with surviving the storm to consider this. To consider that "this" had all been because of a _penguin_. Eventually this would only serve to intensify the anger and outrage of the crew. But, for now, they raced through the roaring storm, the captain in control without a single error, and the helmsman being the very finest or all would be lost. Just like the "obsessed-to-win" yacht racers, the captain and crew mounted each tremendous horse of a wave, bridling their ship on the galloping surge, knowing that each wave could deliver them to ruin.

Even the unflappable captain, who seemed to live for the gratification of beating the ocean every moment of his life, felt alarmed by this menacing predicament. The captain knew the ocean was unpredictable, that no matter one's preparation and experience, the ocean could send a fluke wave out of nowhere and end it all. And indeed the captain was giving the ocean every opportunity to do so. But the captain was responsible for his ship and crew—all of the crew—and one crewmember (Joey) was in trouble. Though adrenaline gripped his body, making his heart race and blood rush, the captain remained reserved and didn't let on even slightly his uneasiness to the crew. Fearing for his son's life, the captain's concern over losing Joey had him in somewhat of a state of shock, numbing his emotions. This would serve to keep him being a fearless captain. Keep him fearless of the ocean, fearless of the crew, yet internally terrified of what might become of his only son.

The storm didn't disappoint anyone by letting up early, or in intensity, but at dawn it finally petered out. And then, and only then, did it occur to Walder and Joey that they could have been blown an incalculable distance, in any direction.

Although, for the first time, Joey was unable to tell Walder where in the world they were, still, the two were just amazed and relieved to be alive. "Joey, you're awesome!" complimented Walder, over Joey's helmsman feat with two meager oars and for delivering them both through the storm in a mere lifeboat.

This storm had been the first of the season, and a precursor for more to come. They were typical this time of year when hot, dry air from the north would collide with cool moist air from Antarctica. It had lasted the entire night, had constantly been potential death for Joey and Walder, and hadn't lent either of them one second for rest. Walder and Joey had been so frightened and preoccupied with fighting for their lives throughout the storm that only now did they realize the peril they'd "just made it" through. The two were exhausted and spent the day recuperating.

The captain, on the other hand, was confronting horrible thoughts. He acknowledged that practically and statistically it was only logical his son would have perished. But, somehow, the captain knew Joey was still alive (the ghost of his wife continued whispering to him) and began to extrapolate Joey's possible whereabouts and devise a plan for finding him.

No longer preoccupied with the storm, members of the crew began to consider how ridiculous this was, voicing their grievances amongst one another and ultimately bringing it to the attention of all of them: "Chasing a boy, because of a penguin!"

Also, they were equally discombobulated over how fate seemed to be punishing them for their earlier incivility: for ridiculing a penguin and leaving it to the whims of the ocean (and how strange it was that the non-vindictive penguin was somehow reaping revenge on them, and didn't even know it). "But no... No... wait! It's not the penguin at all," the first mate realized, and conjectured. "It's the kid, 'Joe the Crow', the captain's son who's risked our lives, and is now getting back at us in a cunning, crafty way. A penguin couldn't do this. Not by himself."

But, the crew determined this would have never happened if not for the penguin, and all agreed that the boy and the penguin were "in it together" now.

Steadfast in pursuit of his son, the ever-suspicious captain actually wasn't aware of any growing hostility within the ranks of his crew and so retired to his cabin. Using not only his mind now, but also more powerful resources (instinct and intuition), the captain contemplated finding his son in hopes of pulling off the improbable, the seemingly impossible. The captain planned to scan the region where he predicted the two would most likely be in ever-widening concentric circles, all the while staying in touch with Cape Town officials, and working with local maritime authorities who were, and would be, on the constant lookout for a lifeboat.

Not having any idea where he and Walder might be, Joey thought that if tonight was clear the stars might offer some clues. But as a beautiful, calm-after-the-storm night befell them, Joey conceded that this was "aqua" incognito. They were definitely off the beaten path he'd become accustomed to while traveling with his father and had prepared for in his studies. Where were they? What would they do—what could they do? Where would they end up... if anywhere? Though everything seemed so uncertain for Walder, too (he was getting used to that), this time Walder felt everything would be okay because he was with his new buddy Joey. But now, even Joey was at a loss for a solution.

Compared to the previous evening, tonight would have seemed like a vacation for Walder and Joey, had it not been for the present conditions: thirst; hunger; temperature (Joey being cold, Walder growing warm); uncertainty. The latter was especially vexing for the two of them, for with uncertainty came anxiety. Though last night had been the epitome of uncertainty, tonight presented a different type of uncertainty in that now they had time to think about things. So now was a time-to-think form of anxiety. It was an anticipation of where the ocean would be dragging them to now that was keeping the two from fully enjoying this delightful evening. It was of some consolation to Walder, however, to hear Joey tell him once again that the ocean didn't fall over the side of the earth—off the earth. Joey was (finally) able to disabuse Walder of this fallacy. This superstitious ignorance that his colony's "Elders" had instilled into him at an early age, which had haunted Walder heretofore. Joey reiterated and reassured Walder over and over that the water kept going around and around the earth: "The world is round!"

# Chapter V

Finally, a new day was upon them. Finding themselves immersed within the rays of yet another morning sun, the two felt as if their internal batteries had been fully recharged after a good day and night of rest, though Joey hadn't really slept that well. Joey had felt it his incumbent duty to ponder their predicament, all night. So, feeling at least physically rested, the two began commenting on how unbelievably calm it had become in the past day. Neither of them could believe that this was the same ocean that had become the monster they'd endured the other night.

On they continued drifting aimlessly. Eventually, Walder thought about doing a little fishing, until the prospect of Orca being around also entered his mind. So, with nothing to take the mind off of their situation, the two began to inadvertently hope for something else to happen, for something to throw a curve into the equation; anything to break the monotony.

All of a sudden, a huge lump of a bump started bobbing in and out of the water. "Look at that lump," said Joey, while at the same time Walder said, "Look at that bump!"

The two looked at each other only briefly. And before either Joey or Walder could say anything more, a gigantic head, much larger than that of an orca, gently unveiled itself from below the surface of the water and pompously spoke, "It's not a lump, it's not a bump, it's a 'hump'—you peasants."

"Peasants?" shouted Walder, as if demanding correction and apology.

"Yes, _peasants_ , you fool," reassured the "humpy." Walder began flapping his wings violently in protest. "I'm a Humpback Whale; it's a hump," continued the Humpback, condescendingly.

"No reason to be so rude, Buddy," Walder retaliated.

"My name is not Buddy, and you were the first to be rude," retorted the Humpback.

"Okay, 'Humpy'—yuh big, bombastic bumpy—how were _we_ so rude, huh?" demanded Walder insultingly, beginning to flap his wings erratically.

"Well, for starters, my name isn't Humpy, it's Humphrey. I'm not a lumpy, or a bumpy, and... once again you are being rude, and this time insulting. You called it a lump, and a bump, when after all it's a hump. And though _bombastic_ I don't deny, 'Bumpy' I despise."

"Humpy," blasted Walder, returning fire, "the only difference between you and a camel isssz: one less listless lump; a hairless hump; a bubble bump—your tonnage of blubber—aaand your 'attitude'."

Joey's eyebrows almost lifted off of his forehead when Walder mentioned "camel," and began thinking. While Humphrey was still in the midst of "never been so insulted in all of his plumpish plight," Joey slid between Walder and the Humpback and began trying to reason with Walder. "Now look, Walder, think about it! A Humpback in the sea is as good as a caravan of camels on the desert. This hefty hump could be useful in getting us to where we'd rather be. We just have to saddle that hump! Now please, Walder, don't say anything more, because you're making things worse, and we don't need things any more difficult."

Walder responded with what he conceived to be the most important issue by asking Joey, "But what if he insults us—what am I supposed to do if I don't say nuthin'?"

"Look, Walder," Joey pleaded, "this is serious. You seem to flap your wings a lot when you're a perturbed penguin. Flap your wings as hard as you like, but keep your mouth—beak—shut!"

Before Walder could petition Joey's expectations of him, or negotiate the terms any further, Joey turned his back to Walder and faced the Humpback, hoping to sever Humphrey and Walder's repetitious repartee.

Knowing he'd have to do some patching up after Walder's reckless, verbal abuse (flapping faux pas), Joey figured that compared to the float-in with Orca, this Humpback should be a piece of a cake. Yes, once again Joey had to act fast. Now what would he say? Hmmm...?

Beginning to feel he might have a ploy, and backed by the confidence of him being able to turn the tables with Orca earlier, Joey felt he should have little difficulty with the Humpback. The Humpback didn't seem nearly as bright as Orca, yet every bit as arrogant and almost as egotistical. Joey couldn't believe how much Humphrey's persona reminded him of Alfred Hitchcock, as if Humphrey was manifesting "Alfred Hitchcock syndrome," or attempting to emulate Alfred Hitchcock: all of the snob and bombastic nature, yet lacking the brilliance. So, backed by this preconception, Joey began confidently with a subliminal overtone. "Excuse me, Sir, but my friend here is still but a fledgling, and knows quite nothing about the _status_ you Humpbacks _carry_ on these Great Seas. And so, I'll ask you both learned and noble one to please look past his shortcomings."

Joey was the only person in the world who could say something like this in front of Walder, the only person Walder would permit to say something like this about him without retaliating. Walder knew that once again he must have made a blunder, and that Joey was up to something to bail them out—because of him—once more. Walder flapped his wings violently to vent his frustration over what was being said, and let his new wizard friend go to work. Joey, being over anxious to get out of there, was insufficient in prepping Humphrey for his following spiel. Eager and overconfident, Joey dove straight into the nitty-gritty. "I was thinking, Humphrey. With your sophisticated navigational skills, and your capacity to go anywhere in the world, if you might give us a tote—I mean tow—to where I think you should be going at this time of year anyway."

_That should do it,_ thought Joey. _Enough buttering up!_ _I want to get out of here_.

Joey had never met a whale personally, but felt that they must be pretty cool. After all, people were often trying to watch them wherever possible. Joey was soon to find out that an underestimation, coupled with a hasty preparation, could lead to irreversible consequences (irreparable relationships) and even disaster.

Seeing that Humphrey "ate up" his flattery, Joey shifted his strategy from low gear straight into overdrive. "I was hoping you might give us a lift to South Africa—it's right on your way."

Joey had studied many sea-going animals: birds; fish; mammals (many of great size, whales being the largest). Joey knew that Humpback Whales were currently en route to warmer seas, cruising with the current and retreating from Antarctica. The impregnated mothers would be the first to leave, followed by their calves. Last, the older, more experienced males (Humphrey being one of them) would make this whale of a migratory journey. But for some reason Humphrey was ahead of schedule.

From his learning, Joey knew that Humphrey was headed for the estuary of the Congo River, where its warm, fresh waters ran into the ocean and krill were abundant. Walder heard Joey thinking about krill, and silently applauded. Since krill was a favorite food of his, and Humphrey too, Walder thought maybe he should "talk krill" with the hefty hump. _Ah, maybe not_. Something told Walder to stay out of it. Joey did save the day last time with Orca, and so probably could do it without his "help" now... however genius it was. _Oh, how I seem to know everything_ , Walder thought, complimenting himself with a flap on the back.

With that, the proud penguin returned from his _trip_ in order to catch Joey snagging the big fish. Walder observed Joey admiringly, as his calm, new buddy continued to gently "stroke" the hump. But the Humpback was only feigning gullible. Though slow Humphrey was, experience had taught him something.

Right before Joey was to do the finale of his maestro with Humphrey, it occurred to Joey for the first time that he was conversing with a whale. And, at that very moment, Humphrey heard what Joey was thinking and solemnly asked, as if commenting, "So, you thought that you humans were too **good** to speak with us whales, _your_ 'brothers'—THE intelligent life of the sea?"

"We're brothers?" mumbled Joey, before thinking about what Humphrey was throwing at him.

Joey had never _made_ this connection: humans (intelligent mammals of land) and the "'intelligent' mammals of the sea." Joey felt a faint sensation that the wise, old Humphrey was taking the reins of this conversation. Experience was overpowering wit.

Beginning to speak with a slightly irritated tonality, Joey continued awkwardly. "Anyway, what I'm getting at, is that we could really use your help with a lift to South Africa."

"So, what do you think I am—a taxi; a tugboat or something?" countered Humphrey.

Walder, wrathful with Humphrey's callous arrogance, wanted desperately to break in with his answer by screaming—No, a big, bombastic barge! But Walder sensed that Joey didn't need it, though at this point it couldn't have mattered much anyway.

Joey knew he was already in trouble with this Humpback, and that he'd better find a way to compensate for the damage he'd managed. The confidence and cockiness he'd gained from the prior confrontation with Orca was now working against him. How interesting it is that you can muster up your absolute best with the most formidable opponent and succeed, and then as soon as you lower your guard with an average Joe, before you know it, it's over. And so it was over; everyone knew it. This looming cloud of realization had been seeping in, and finally sank home to Joey: sometimes, if you say or do the wrong thing, there is simply no recourse—case in point—end of discussion.

After watching Joey babble a bit for some moments, and enjoying it, Humphrey decided it was time to do a Grande Finale. And as the Humpback's rebuff grew more and more condescending, Walder flapped his wings more and more violently.

"It would be 'far' too undignified for me to cart two castaways of the likes of you two tykes," snubbed Humphrey, toying with them. "Just how did you propose I deliver you to South Africa anyway; pray tell?"

"Uh, we can throw this rope around your bump—whoops—I mean hump," responded Joey, stumbling, "and you could bring 'us', your _precious_ cargo, to the South African shore."

"You mean 'beast of burden'," retorted Humphrey.

And before Joey could regroup, Humphrey went into ending it. What had started with pompous patter from Joey was descending into grueling groveling, leaving the Humpback no longer amused.

Humphrey decided to end the patronizing at this point. And so, with an "encore" before bowing out, bid farewell to the Denied Duo. "Sayonara, Amigos; so glad you understand—Ta Ta."

This undiluted indifference, contained in Humphrey's arrogant "adios," set Walder into a frenzied fury that found him flapping his wings harder than he ever thought possible. With a red, swollen face, and eyes puffy and squinted closed, Walder flapped his wings harder and harder, while biting his tongue, struggling to prevent himself from verbalizing his immense, intense emotion and breaking his agreement to do what Joey had asked from him.

Suddenly, an explosion was heard—Walder was doing a vertical lift off! The speed of Walder's flapping had exceeded the sound barrier. The super-sonic thrusts of his two wingtips during the initial seconds of "takeoff" were creating a continuum of whip-like cracks that were packed into a single, high-pitched roar. Venting an arsenal of aggravation, Walder elevated out of the lifeboat, above the ocean, with nothing under his feet but air, for moments, and more moments. Walder was suspended in air!

Humphrey, upon leaving, had just been in the process of throwing the peeved penguin a final slanted eyebrow when he was struck with the concussion of sound. He turned to witness the phenomenon and was smitten with what he beheld. Humphrey was instantly "flubbergasted;" held hypnotically; stunned stationary. Humphrey stopped and observed Walder, traumatized with disbelief. Then, for someone who had just asserted his departure, Humphrey now seemed to be excusing himself: "I gotta go!"

"Not so fast, Blimpy!" said a calm, confident, yet sarcastic voice from the other side of the lifeboat.

This insult, coupled with command, momentarily jerked Humphrey out of his traumatic trance, compelling him to demand "Who dare say that!"

The voice (Orca), which was familiar to Joey and Walder, ignored Humphrey's demand and continued speaking to Joey and Walder (though Walder was in his own world flapping—flying—away).

"Oh, fancy _meatin_ ' you two again so soon; and right in the midst of a S' Lump," said Orca, pun punching the "Hump."

The real meaning of this homonym "meating" could only be detected in marine-mammal language, so both Joey and Walder were oblivious. But Humphrey most certainly was not. Not knowing who, or what, was speaking, Humphrey maintained his arrogance as the _meek_ , yet cynical, intruder insulted on. "How is it that we keep humping—I mean bumping into one another like this?"

Humphrey knew immediately this was an insult to him and the previous conversation and demanded to know the identity of the "insolent insulter." When no answer came, Humphrey stubbornly swam around the lifeboat, eager to identify the "rude one," only to confront his most feared predator (aside from "whaling" humans), and cringed. Being in such close quarters with Orca left Humphrey trembling with terror. Orca gave Humphrey a wide grin, saying, "So, you're denying my friends here a lift to their destination, which happens to be your destination as well?"

"They're your friends?" choked Humphrey.

"You see, 'Blumpy'," Orca explained, "this penguin is hoping to try and help save us from the humans: keep humans from destroying the environment—our environment—keep them from killing themselves, and all of us in the process. Helping these two get to South Africa could have an effect on our destiny."

After his lift off, Walder continued doing an extended suspension in air, similar to that of a helicopter hovering in a hurricane. Humphrey's eye drifted from the horror of Orca back to the flapping, flying, penguin phenomenon. As Orca continued his spiel about Walder's humanimaltarian mission, he noticed Humphrey's eyes and attention being vacuumed in another direction. Wondering what could possibly be more gravitating to a Whale than a Killer Whale at point-blank range, Orca stopped speaking and studied the dumbfounded look on Humphrey's face.

"Whatever you say—I mean I didn't know that," said Humphrey to Orca, while being inundated by this "deluge of delusion" (the fantastic, flapping phantom).

Still fully self-assured that no event could exceed him, could be more significant to the Humpback than the predominance of his presence, Orca glanced in the direction of Humphrey's astounded gaze to have his reality shaken yet again. After holding the knowledge and certainty for the entirety of his life that "Penguins can't fly," Orca was instantly nonplused by the sight of Walder. Now both marine mammals were captivated. The two remained motionless as they witnessed, together, Walder fluttering erratically a dozen feet or so above the lifeboat, flapping like a hummingbird.

While the two ocean mammals eyed Walder in awe, Joey got a grip on himself and yelled out to Walder, "Walder, you're flying like a bird!"

Walder opened his eyes for the first time since he'd begun flapping furiously (so furiously, he still wasn't aware of Orca's presence), first to look forward, as if expecting to see Joey in front of him, and then down to witness the vertical margin between his "feat" and the water. But this time Walder didn't stop flapping from panic. Instead, Walder descended ungracefully back to the lifeboat, landing like a blustery-breeze-burdened bumblebee.

Joey was finally assimilating the significance of Walder's flying phenomenon. Humphrey was still stupefied, and Orca was not only irate that someone had stolen the show, but threatened by the possibility that Walder's performance could be more horrifying to a whale than a "Killer" Whale in the audience.

Momentarily forgetting Orca's presence, Humphrey blurted, "It's time for me to go!" and started "barging" for the door.

"Oh no you don't, Blimpy!" countered Orca, grasping his focus after the "incident," and thankful for something else to address in order to remove the spotlight from Walder and veer attention back onto himself. "May I remind you that an important mission requires your assistance!! And, just to insure that I have your ' _fool_ ' attention and cooperation, I'll remind you as well that you're a 'hump', and I'm a 'Hump Muncher'. And as a matter of fact some of my buddies, as we speak, are headed this way looking for good things to eat. I'm sure I could deter them if I knew for certain _that_ a certain Humpy was doing a good deed for his planet. That is, helping this Gentoo Penguin get to the Jack Ass Penguins in order to save them... another food source of mine. It would be justifiable to spare your blubber now **if** we knew 'it' would come out in the 'wash' around the Cape Town coast."

"But... but what about that devil penguin?" queried the suddenly superstitious Humphrey.

This question (remark) from Humphrey concerned Orca gravely. For, it implied that Humphrey was actually more intimidated by this mysterious penguin than by the Humpback's most (natural) remorseless hunter. In high anxiety, Orca blasted, "Hello, Fatso! Maybe you better take a look at these teeth—the penguin ain't got nuthin' like these. How would you like to feel these teeth, huh? Chop, chop; look at these choppers! Time to wake up and smell the coffee _'_ burning _'_ , Moron!"

For the first time in his life Orca had lost his cool and was coming across like a drill sergeant that was frustrated with a slow-witted private. Orca felt foolish and uneasy. His life hadn't been the same since meeting this darn penguin, and Orca wasn't sure how to deal with it. But, for now, Orca felt he had to stick to his end of the deal (Fair is fair!). If the penguin makes it to Cape Town and embarks upon his mission of saving the Jack Ass Penguins like he said he was going to, then, so be it. Fat chance he would make it for very long on land in South Africa anyway. For there, predators were of a different "suit." And if he didn't make it to the Cape Town shore, justification for ridding himself of this perturbing penguin (particularly after what had just happened) still sounded nice. But then, in another way, Orca knew the penguin was on the level, and hoped Walder would make it. Orca was becoming attached to this most unusual bird, and even beginning to feel a bit "parental." It was as if Walder was stimulating some paternal instincts in Orca, as if Orca might actually miss the penguin somehow if something were to happen to it. This penguin had stirred something up inside of Orca. And though it felt uncomfortable, it was interesting, challenging, and perhaps necessary. Orca hadn't felt the same about himself since their first acquaintance.

Humphrey finally snapped out of it and reassured Orca that he'd oblige the Killer Whale's demands: "Oh, absolutely—I'd love to give them a lift to South Africa. As a matter of fact, I was really hoping to have 'reason' for going by there anyway."

The other three were well aware that Humphrey not only intended to go to South Africa, but was already heading for South Africa. And for some reason was ahead of schedule. Furthermore, Joey knew that Orca wasn't concerned with Humphrey backing out. For as he'd suspected, Orca had been with them the entire time (out of sight, out of mind), and intended to stay with them to ensure no one reneged on the contract. Additionally, for yet another ace in the hole, the suddenly superstitious Humphrey was now strangely intimidated by Walder's newly found, "magical" powers.

Still harboring a grudge from the earlier float-in with Orca, Walder felt an impulse to ask Orca: How'd the 'Killer Whale' fare through the 'killer' storm?

But, fortunately for Walder (and everyone), Walder was starting to realize that untimely "bully" baiting wasn't conducive to achieving the desired result. Orca wasn't one to mess with anyway. Especially now, since Orca was helping him and Joey.

"You don't mind if they call you Humpy now, do you Humphrey?" asked Orca, torturing and toying with Humphrey one more time, flexing his muscle, voicing his thunder, re-establishing his position of "King of the World" to one and all—particularly himself.

"No, not at all," answered Humphrey, sheepish and desperate to please.

Orca turned to Walder and asked, "Got any splinters from the boat in your butt yet, 'Boy'?" and with a thundering flap of his pectoral fin on the water's surface (judge's hammer), Orca disappeared quickly and quietly below.

The lifeboat was equipped with many life preservers, most of which being the ones worn like a jacket. But also included was one of those Styrofoam rings ("lifesaver"), which was tied to a substantial amount of rope and there, primarily, in case of a "man overboard." Given the massive girth of a full-grown male Humpback, they were lucky indeed there was plenty enough rope to "go around." Joey tethered the lifesaver rope from the front of the lifeboat to Humphrey's body, in front of the hump, by pulling a loop of rope through the lifesaver and fashioning an extensive noose for Humphrey to stick his nose through. After said and done, there was only about forty or fifty meters of rope left for the lifeboat to tail the Humpback's tail. And just after doing so, Joey took the opportunity (now that Orca was gone, and Humphrey was "harnessed") to explain to Walder that Humphrey's hump was actually a dorsal fin—"It just looks like a hump"—and away they went.

Walder chose to saddle Humphrey's hump (or whatever it was) with the lifesaver, holding on to the excess rope for "reins." The three steamed for South Africa, courtesy of the brute, brawn force of the harnessed, hydro-powered Humpback.

Though Humphrey was being very obedient, Walder and Joey would be very non-imperialistic toward him All three were to be much the gentlemen the entire trip. Humphrey wasn't programmed to hit the front doorstep of Cape Town, however (Humpback's were on a set course), but it would be petty close. And so, Joey opted not to concern Walder with this minor detail for now.

During the voyage, Joey couldn't stop thinking about the incredible, flying-penguin phenomenon. Trying to explain this to himself and rationalize it, Joey could only attribute it to the warmer weather that Walder was in, and his slim diet. And, thanks to the "badgering barrister" and "bombastic bumpy", lots of practice (flying exercise).

Joey had seen it with his own eyes; it was a first of its kind, Joey was sure of it. But how would anyone ever believe him? Only Walder could prove it. No other bird like Walder, that's for sure!

After witnessing Walder fly for the second time, Joey began to speculate. What can this mean—how could this happen? Joey was no longer trying to convince himself that "it never 'really' happened," like the first time. Now, Joey was intent on figuring "this" out! Unfortunately for Joey, theories concerning flying penguins weren't abundant (didn't exist). As a matter of fact, not only had Joey never heard of such a thing, he was also pretty sure that most everyone else hadn't as well, virtually everyone, except for maybe a few scientists. This ignorance concerning penguins and Antarctica, was probably due to most scientists being reluctant to go against convention; and an unwillingness to make the long, frigid journey to Antarctica—and even longer and more frigid stays—in order to pan out proof. Although Joey had found innumerous opinions and ideas concerning Antarctica from the Scientific Community in tabloids, magazines and so forth, and of course in the stale-dated, mundane prose of his prep school textbooks, Joey didn't buy any of it. Joey was far too bright to be sucked into this ivory-tower authority. And so, Joey summoned his memory and recalled what he had learned from those who'd "been there."

Joey remembered the controversy surrounding Antarctica that prominent scientists had generated by differing from each other in their proposed possibilities, opposing speculations, and conflicting theories. And though these scientists varied dramatically from one to the other, their contrasting beliefs and insistences were published, pushed off onto the science world, and disseminated to the public as "fact." But two scientists had given Joey what he felt was the most legitimate representation of how Antarctica might have evolved. These two scientists, whom Joey appointed as most plausible so far, differed not only in opinion of Antarctica's evolution and history, but in "time" (about 5 million years!), concerning evidence that they felt substantiated their claims.

One of Joey's _chosen_ scientists claimed that fossilized pollen and plankton found in Antarctica's ice, which was over 3 million years old, proved that there were forests of trees—"life"—living in a "warm" Antarctica during that period. The other scientist claimed that this pollen merely blew in, and the plankton arrived from raised water levels due to melting ice from volcano activity, and that Antarctica was warm and forested not before 8 million years ago. The one thing these two scientists did agree on, however, was that Antarctica was once a warm, forested continent, abundant with warmth-generated life.

Somehow, Joey just knew penguins must have been able to fly back then: that they could fly to the tops of trees, trees that must have scaled up to the tips of surrounding mountains where food was plentiful, and where they could escape their enemies. Penguins simply didn't have any incentive to fly anymore. Their food was in the ocean! There wasn't any reason to fly up to anything anymore. There were only glaciers and icebergs—and for what? There wasn't anything up there of any interest to a penguin anymore, except for more ice. In order to survive the unimaginably brutal winters of Antarctica, penguins had to have enough blubber on their bodies to insulate them from the frigid, winter temperature. Enough blubber to make them too heavy to fly.

Joey could see how penguins probably lost their ability to fly, and why they no longer needed to. But Joey couldn't help wondering how long ago it happened, and how it happened, and how long it took for all penguins to lose this inherent ability by giving up trying to fly: by accepting new limitations and "lowered levels" of achievements. Joey wondered if penguins might have folklore or history on this. After all, they (penguins) were the ones that would have been there. If penguins had passed down any tradition/heritage to their ancestors (like humans do) over these millions of years, then only penguins could answer—solve—Antarctica's questions. As if the Scientific Community would really buy it—Accept data from a penguin!

Beginning to daydream on this, Joey thought about how similar penguins were to humans, and inadvertently began to conjure up a story, a theory of his own, on how penguins lost their ability to fly. It went:

Unknown to science, long ago, penguins could fly, and eventually quit trying to fly. The elders, after losing their ability to fly, intentionally didn't tell their descendants that it had ever happened, that anyone had ever flown, or ever could fly. This was partly due to the elder's fear of embarrassment, and their desire to appear elite and be respected by the younger penguins—and, an apprehension that jealously might be aroused (dissention among the ranks) if some penguins regained the ability to fly. All said, the "penguins that be" decided it would be for the better if all penguins were the same, and no one flew anymore. Justifiable, since flying was no longer necessary to their survival.

During the "transitional period," some penguins refused to stop flying; refused to give up developing their ability to fly. The others ("oral majority"), who'd already quit flying, felt intense resentment and hostility toward the ones that were "outdoing" them—still flying—by not complying with their "complacency contract." Finally, by virtue of being far greater in numbers, and having broad agreement on the "less is best" policy, the growing movement of "diminished ones" were able to either squash, or squeeze out the "rebellious ones" through mental attrition. And, if need be, the "incorrigibles" were banished from the berg.

After the dust settled, following this bitter civil war, a sort of cult-like pact was established among the "obedient" penguins to "handle" any residual recalcitrance among them and to ensure that all penguins would look and act the same. Succinctly put, "The Doctrine" mandated:

### Flying was an era of evil that shattered the unity of penguins, and must never be repeated! Flying, the desire to learn, do, or talk about, is strictly forbidden by law!

Flying had been completely eradicated, and all knowledge that penguins had ever flown, or that penguins ever could, had been barred from future generations—had been obliterated for all generations to come.

Upon conclusion of his "hypothesis on the history of penguins," Joey wasn't permitted to wander further within his head (his inexhaustible imagination). A "current" exhilaration had pulled Joey back to present time—Humphrey had achieved maximum speed! Joey returned to "now," and found himself gleefully _riding_ the tethered lifeboat that was skimming briskly behind Humphrey like a giant, dugout water-ski being drawn by a surging submarine.

Walder, directly on top of Humphrey's hump, felt like he was riding a never-ending aqua roller coaster, as if he was in some hi-tech amusement park. Humphrey's alternating surges felt like a slow motion "water bull" in an endless rodeo. Humphrey would plunge below, pounding the water's surface with his tail, and then ascend powerfully back above, with water spouting out of his blowhole misting warm all around. Humphey's escort of Walder and Joey was proving to be a once-in-a-lifetime, unforgettably wonderful experience for both of them. Fortunately, Humphrey knew not to dive too deep, for he would take the lifeboat under with him. Humphrey was surprisingly cooperative and efficient with his transport technique; some indication he was eager to get the job over and done with.

One thing Joey observed about Humphrey was that he was less ambitious than other marine mammals—but no dummy! This could have its liabilities: being more reserved, less outgoing ("the loaner"). Humphrey didn't care to be a social participant, and wouldn't unless out of necessity. It occurred to Joey that the reason Humphrey might be ahead of schedule was because he was a big wimp, and because he was apprehensive about making it out of Antarctica on time for more favorable conditions. Also, the reason Humphrey had been a bit off-course earlier might be so that he wouldn't be discovered leaving early by any other Humpbacks. It was the full-grown, male Humpback's entrusted duty to leave last and stay on course in case any young, or female Humpbacks got in trouble. But, Joey determined he shouldn't pass judgement on Humphrey so quickly, before giving it some more thought. Maybe there was a reason Humphrey was the way he was. After all, he and Walder were a bit of the "outcasts" themselves, with respect to their own kind. And, had Humphrey stopped to think about it, he may have realized that Walder and Joey were his allies in the big picture: Joey, being a sensible, concerned human, and Walder, being an unusually brash and strong-willed penguin. And though Humphrey found Walder a bit abrasive, what docile chap ever accomplished anything of much importance?

Humphrey wasn't a self-centered type, per se. He typified Humpbacks actually. Humpbacks had been subdued by their environment and past. And though Humpbacks had suffered greatly through the centuries, they really didn't have it so bad now. Yet, they still liked to play the part of a "martyr" by attempting to evoke sympathy from others. Experience had made Humpbacks smarter, yet they were still passive to the point of being unable to confront the crucial issues on their own. Humphrey needed a nudge, even on matters conducive or critical to his own survival, short term or long run. Humphrey didn't want to get involved. Humphrey was reclusive, socializing only occasionally with some of his favorite Humpbacks. He only wanted to keep doing his own thing, not bother anyone, and especially not have anyone bother him.

All night the three traveled. Eventually, Joey knew Humphrey was heading in the right direction, for the stars were becoming familiar again. Like his father, Joey was destined to be a "Star Master"—the ultimate seaman—able to steer by the stars, anywhere. Joey was yearning to find out what mechanism Humpbacks used for navigation. But after witnessing Humphrey in action, Joey was already convinced that it must be too intricate and beyond the scope of human comprehension. Dolphins and orcas had always intrigued Joey, and now Humpbacks (whales) fascinated him even more. Joey's strongest ambition was to be able to navigate anywhere in the world by charts and compass, and someday by only the stars. But Humphrey didn't require any of these! How does he do it? Do Humpbacks have a built-in homing device or something? Joey wondered.

With Humphrey up ahead of the lifeboat, Joey found it impossible to ask Humphrey for this information, to inquire about Humphrey's ability, to pick Humphrey's brain in order to derive this invaluable knowledge. This was an insatiable ambition; it'd be the ultimate quest. This fervent desire of Joey's wasn't a covetous craving, actually, but rather a pure and innocent one. Joey didn't want to take anything from Humphrey, he wanted to share it: Humphrey's ability. Joey began wishing with all of his might, and more than anything else, to know even a fraction of what Humphrey knew. Or at least enough to get him started on the "right course."

Then, a magical sensation began to overcome Joey, and continued to pervade his very being. Though unusual, it felt very exciting. It seemed as though Humphrey was trying to communicate to him in some way. And indeed Humphrey was. Humphrey had been "dialing in" on Joey's thoughts, hoping he might have a way to lure Joey into a deal. With all of his mental might, Humphrey had begun trying to communicate to a human with marine-mammal, mental-energy language, to project his thought (concepts) to Joey, telepathically. He began:

" _I know what you're thinking; I've been 'tuned in' to your thoughts—it's the same mechanism we Humpbacks navigate by. Stop doubting yourself and your inner senses! Avail yourself of these feelings—your instincts! Enhance your constitution with this newfound ability... an ability lying dormant within you!"_

Joey would need some time to digest this. It began to sink in.

Humphrey had been giving Joey these "clues" in an effort to bribe him. Humphrey hoped to persuade Joey into allowing him to drop the two off a "little" early (further out from shore), due to Humphrey having a horrible phobia of big ships. Big ships, which were always abundant in human harbors, reminded Humphrey of the "whalers" that had hunted and slaughtered his ancestors almost to extinction, even though Humphrey had chosen the smallest harbor along the tip of South Africa to bring the two.

No other seaman had ever received first hand and so intimately the privilege of witnessing a whale's navigational process. And though the procedure was unique, mysterious, and seemed unfathomable (to a human), it was something that was felt, not figured, a new concept for Joey. By being in such close quarters with Humphrey during the cruise, Joey felt something from Humphrey was rubbing off onto him, and was here to stay. Joey felt he had gained some knowledge that no other human had. It was an ability actually, an instinct, an edge. It was a gut feeling for knowing where you were —but there must be more!

Tonight, the atmospheric temperature seemed quite warm to Walder (a _baking_ 45 degrees Fahrenheit). But Joey informed Walder that the air would be much warmer come sunup. Walder was not looking forward to leaving this cool water for hot, dry land—but didn't know the half of it. For beyond South Africa's veneer of floral coastline, lay vast plains and desert. In this increasingly warmer climate, Walder savored the luxury of being in and near the ocean that had delivered him this far. Soon, a baking sun rose abruptly against the blistered horizon of South Africa, and for separate reasons, was an exciting moment for everyone—especially Walder!

# Chapter VI

The marina village looked quaint and hospitable from sea. To Joey it presented itself as just another small-town port, seemingly harmless in every way. But harmless to a whale? Even Walder had become a bit wary of humans at this point. Yes, Walder had been harboring some caution ever since the crude crew ordeal, when his first run-in with humans had left him disabused of his all-trusting nature and considering how: _You just don't know what you're gonna get with one of these humans... a good one or a bad one!_

Now only a few miles offshore, the harpoon-shy Humphrey stopped suddenly, turned around, and began pleading with Joey (before Joey could initiate his own interests). "Request permission to let you off a few miles out, Sir? You can simply 'coast in' to port from here."

"What's wrong, Humphrey?" asked Joey, perplexed by Humphrey's behavior. Then it occurred to Joey what Humphrey might be apprehensive about, what any whale's concern would be, and assured Humphrey, "Humpbacks are protected now by humans, in these modern days... at least in civilized societies."

_The height of human civilization_ , thought Humphrey, _was Neanderthal man, when the_ _earth was still safe and pure_. According to Humphrey, humans had only been becoming more uncivilized, more destructive and ignorant, which was proven by their primitive practices, e.g.: offshore oil wells; toxic waste dumps at sea; nuclear testing at sea; world wars; whaling; etc. After concluding this tacit contention to Joey's pronouncement of human advancement in the past decades, a timid Humphrey verbalized, as if he were going to start crying, "You don't know what your ancestors did to mine!"

Joey knew this was his biggest, best, and only chance to derive this priceless information from Humphrey, by taking advantage of Humphrey's horror of human harbors. Due to the Humpbacks' past, a history of being hunted by humans, Humpbacks were still terrified of big ships. And harbors, typically, were full of them. To this day, a ship was a catalyst that evoked haunting imaginations in all whales, and the thought of approaching even a tiny fishing village was causing Humphrey to conjure up some mighty fine "demon shadows" in his mind. Before Joey could plot his offer, Humphrey, with another effort to avoid encounter or confrontation with humans, brought up the possibility of him beaching his bulk of blubber on a sandbar.

"I've been thinking about that too, Humphrey," reassured Joey, "and I have a pretty good idea of how it can be done, providing that 'You' do it correctly. But first—the information!"

It was Joey who thought that he was going to "use" this Humpback, but instead, it was Humphrey who'd recognized Joey's weakness (Joey's lust for the Humpback's know-how). Before Joey could begin to bargain with Humphrey for his precious knowledge, Humphrey was already offering it. How had Humphrey known? And so, Humphrey instilled even more interest into Joey's mind of how the Humpbacks "do it," more interest concerning the Humpback's esoteric navigational capacity, how they are able to go anywhere, anytime, under any condition. Humphrey did this in order to get what he wanted—out of here!

Speaking passionately, Humphrey told Joey, "Stop looking for the answers! Stop listening for the answers! Begin to 'sense' what the answer is; begin to _feel_ the truth! Start culturing your instincts, and someday you'll know how to feel what the truth is—just feel the truth!"

Joey insisted, and then begged Humphrey to stop being vague and oblique, and to divulge the truth about how Humpbacks are able to navigate anywhere infallibly. "Come on, Humphrey! Pleez! Pleeez?"

Humphrey reassured Joey vehemently, "This is it! Trust your inner voice! The way you once did when you were a youngster. Before you were told not to, told not to do so. Before you were trained to 'rationalize'. Before others convinced you to forget this priceless endowment of yours. Before you were forced to quit developing this ability—your ability—the ability to 'just know'."

Something about Humphrey's last swing to strike it home to Joey connected and landed into the grandstand of Joey's consciousness. It rung a bell; it turned on a light. It struck Joey as truth. Suddenly, Joey remembered a time as a child when he did seem to just know things, somehow. But, Joey had been convinced thoroughly by others throughout his young life: One can't do that!

Starting to reflect on this, Joey could recall a time as a young boy when he felt like he was in many places, and over a vast area, at the same time. This often occurred when he would dream about what it might be like to be at sea with his father. Next, this progressed to where he began to imagine, incessantly, that he "was" at sea with his father. He could picture himself there; he felt as though he really was there. For as long as Joey could remember, he'd longed to be with his father. This would have Joey wishing, constantly, that he could be a grown up, hoping that he could be grown up enough so as not to be confined to a classroom, but where he wanted to be, at sea, with his father. So he could impress his father. So that his father would finally respect him and be proud of him.

Much of Joey's time during class in grade school was spent this way. Hours of being somewhere else rather than being "in" school. Time that his teachers took for daydreaming. Joey's mom couldn't understand why her son, who had an exceptionally high I.Q., wasn't doing better with his studies. His father regarded Joey as "unappreciative." And though most subjects Joey was doing poorly in, some subjects he would do exceedingly well with. His mother was never to know of her son's interests in the sea, and therefore his connection with subjects relating to the sea, subjects that Joey excelled in thoroughly and inexplicably. Most anything relating to marine life had Joey fascinated. Geography in particular, and some specific areas of science, Joey could really identify with. Joey seemed to relate to anything that related to what he hoped and intended to one day to be doing. It was unfortunate that conventional school systems taught subjects by omitting the "purpose" for the knowledge being taught, i.e., what it would be applied to. And often, as a substitute for the real purpose, a sham reason was shoved upon the student as "incentive" for applying oneself (status; money; "failure!") and therefore denying the pupil the real incentive for learning a particular skill. For this reason, Joey would only later come to realize how important certain subjects would be to the navigation of a ship. The knowledge contained in various forms of mathematics and geometry, for example, how invaluable they were for a captain to know where the ship was and would be going.

From the earliest time Joey could remember, he had been different from children around him. This resulted in him being harassed by many of his classmates; a common practice of children at this age to tease and torment someone peculiar. Particularly someone who didn't participate in the activities of the others, or conform to their accepted conduct. Joey didn't cope with this very well at first. Not being able to do so, he began to use a mechanism of "drifting off" as a means of escaping the discomfort being inflicted upon him. The others regarded this trait of Joey's as "spacey." Joey would retreat to his own world, a world much different from the physical world. Joey got better and better at achieving this "state" as time went on and soon it wouldn't be necessary to have adverse conditions in order to prompt this transcending.

Then, Joey remembered when he began to stop "zoning out." It wasn't due so much to the other children seeking to disrupt him, or being hassled to the point of feeling it not the right thing to do. Nor had it been the counseling from school officials who were _concerned_ for him. Joey remembered that he had reached a point in his childhood where he wanted to be liked by the other children. Joey wanted others to like him; he wanted to have friends. Over a period of time Joey had been convinced that this would be "normal," that this was the right thing to do.

_Humphrey is right_ ; Joey thought, _what he told me!_ This is why Joey had become an extrovert and started seeking to be like others—started being like the others—to be liked. He had forgotten all about this. Joey remembered things as a child, certain cartoon characters for instance that initially he didn't like, and how he eventually changed his opinions and attitudes toward them in order to think like the others, to be like the others, to be liked by others. And was this what he had been doing all along in order to be liked by his father? Wow. All this realization was just incredible!

As Joey continued to recall this, right then, Joey began to feel very different. Yet it was a very familiar sensation. It was a "long-lost familiarity." For the first time in years, Joey suddenly felt the way he used to feel when he was a younger child, except this time it didn't feel like his old introverted self. This was the quintessence of extroversion! After feeling a tremendous relief coming over him, Joey became unaware of his body. He was everywhere, in everything. He hadn't just drifted out. Suddenly he was just there; here; everywhere! It had been a long time since he'd felt this way; but time was irrelevant now. Time stood still. Time didn't exist. It hadn't become "just like the old days," it was "now." This is happening now! Everything that was, and ever had been, "is" now. He had become unaware of the little aches and discomforts caused by the time and ordeals spent in the lifeboat; they seemed insignificant, as well did all other trifles. Joey felt as though he was in the sky, in the sea, and all around, simultaneously. He felt very large, yet unburdened by weight. He seemed to be floating. Not his body, but "him." But most of all he seemed to know all that was and all that had ever been. It was a state far above happiness. It was elation coupled with exhilaration; it was bliss. He knew where he was, where he was going, and now he "knew" that all Humphrey had been telling him was true. He finally held the truth. Joey remembered and then realized that this is powerful stuff! So eager was Joey to give it a try, so ready to put it to a test and navigate by "this" that he had directed his attention back out to sea. But then there was still his agreement with the Humpback that would need to be brought to a conclusion, not to mention the intentions he'd relayed to his father. He looked back at the awaiting harbor. Now, it would be time to keep his end of the bargain with Humphrey.

Joey instructed Humphrey to get up to his fastest speed, whip the lifeboat around one time (360 degrees) counter-clockwise, and "sling" the boat directly for the harbor. The line pulling the lifeboat would gain slack for just an instant, directly after the "whip-around," as the lifeboat passed the Humpback, shooting for shore. Walder would have to do his part—quickly—of loosening the noose by pulling slack rope through the lifesaver which would enable the whole business to slip over Humphey's nose before the (crack of the whip) jetting lifeboat ran out of slack rope, which would tear it to timbers. Humphrey was eager to cooperate fully and "pull it off" right the first time— _Good job, good riddance; hope you enjoyed your ride. It was a "pressure" to serve you!_

As the motley "crew" approached the harbor, the first to witness the incoming apparition would be the longshoreman. Still in a stupor from last night's rum, the workers of the pier strained their eyes against the new-day sun and made out a distorted image on the horizon. Finally, these dockhands awoke in a most peculiar way—a Sci-Fi horror flick sort of way. First, adrenaline began shooting into their systems and their hearts pumped harder. Then, a sudden, brief stint of catatonia ensued when this phantom became more evident—realistic. Next, a hysteria took over them, as the sun continued to rise, making this manifestation not only more believable but undeniable. Yes, the village had heard mention of a boy in a lifeboat, but no one had expected anything like this!

The specter of the incoming three was such an oddity, something never seen or imagined before by these townspeople who'd actually grown use to expecting quite anything from the sea. What Mother Ocean was dragging toward their beach this fine early morning was at first conveniently regarded as a mirage, until it grew close enough, and large enough, to defy any illusion caused by either the sunrise or their newly-awoken, hazy mental states.

The peering "pier peers," who'd initially observed this intermittently while occupied with their chores, were now granting it their undivided attention with an all-out assessment. An alarming excitement began to grow, escalating into something between a panic and frenzy. The shouted warnings from the port personnel, inland to the residents, ranged from "Rouge whale commanded by wicked penguin, pursued by only remaining vessel of the flotilla!" to "Escapees from Marine Circus!" on to "Mutant, mammoth torpedo in disguise!" and so on.

Within a few moments everyone in town was flooding down to the harbor to see (whatever it was) for their self. Gradually it began to sink in. It was just what it appeared to be: _A whale, pulling a lifeboat? How? And the lifeboat's occupied by something, or someone!"_

The lifeboat appeared to be tethered, somehow, to the Humpback. A line, or something, was attached to its back... "No wait! There's something else. What is that? It looks like a penguin. It can't be a penguin. There's _something_ on the back of that whale." Yes, the whale was sporting a penguin, on its hump!

Walder was a comical, miniature jockey atop the Humpback. In contrast to Humphrey, Walder's pint-sized body appeared absurdly dwarfed, making Walder, who being similar in color, blend in quite nicely with Humphrey's dorsal fin. And though Walder was the last of the three to be recognized, once so, he was the most astonishing.

According to instructions, Humphrey began torpedoing in "turbo" toward the unsuspecting wharf, per Joey's plan. He then whipped the lifeboat around "360"—the centrifugal force made Joey feel like his skin and flesh were being sucked off one side of his body—and fired it straight at the gaping jaws of the gawking community. The lifeboat took to the sky like a jet off of the tarmac. After a brief ride from catching and riding a wave of air, Joey recovered from the tremendous impetus that'd thrown him backwards and instinctively began inching himself toward the front of his vessel, hoping to level it off, lest it might flip "hull over heels." Now, Joey would lay low, hang on, while embracing every microsecond of this exhilaration permeating him, absorbing every ounce of this profuse intensity. And what a finale this was—this conclusion of cruisin' with Humphrey! It was the climax to what had been an awesome, wonderful experience.

Courtesy of a cushion of air, the lifeboat did finally glide back onto the ever-swelling ribs of the surf and continuing briskly over the crests of these waves for the captivated audience. Straight as a pollen-laden bee for its hive, the lifeboat skidded for shore. But not before striking a row of breaker rocks, leaving it with a crushed hull and throwing Joey at the multitude of rounded eyes.

And, while Joey had been slicing through an ocean of air—in a water-dynamic craft—Walder had been right behind, taking a little ride of his own.

On the other end of the rope, Walder had braced himself for the tremendous yank that Joey told him would be coming. Thankfully the rope was synthetic and there would be some stretch in it. So, just before the yank, and right as the rope became slack, Walder released the noose while he still could. The yank came, and to say this synthetic rope held elasticity would have been an understatement. After the remaining rope had slipped past the tip of the Humpback's nose, Walder began experiencing "rubber-band action." Walder was jerked into the air with the lifesaver, shooting across the sky like a clay pigeon, spinning like a Frisbee. Walder went so fast and spiraled so fiercely that he felt like he'd left his feathers behind ("plucked penguin"). Instinctively, Walder let go of the lifesaver to resemble a hawk caught in a cyclone. Eventually, though dizzied and dazed, Walder was able to open his wings and spiral into broader circles and finally straighten out. At this point Walder saw the crowded shore, pointed his nose to it, and came in for a landing. As Walder began descending, gravity naturally increased his momentum. And before he knew it, he was doing a nosedive, a beak-first approach as vertical as a pelican after a perch, straight into the surf. It was his first headfirst landing, and Walder knew he'd have to work on it—preferably over water.

Walder had done his part of releasing the harness from Humphrey's hump, timely. Humphrey had played his part just right, too: perfect timing; perfect aim. And it's a good thing for Humphrey that he had, for the poor sport would have had to come in closer and give it another shot. Walder and Joey bid Humphrey "So long." But the Humpback seemed very nervous and eager to leave, and did so immediately without a wave goodbye (farewell flap of a flipper), or even so much as a nodding gesture (bow of the "docile" fin). Before the possibility of "making waves" presented itself, Humphrey hastily shipped out.

The villagers grew stultified as their fear began being replaced with curiosity. The dockhands were so stunned that it didn't occur to them to help the shanghaied penguin out of the water, or the boy with his splintered boat.

Naive as ever, Walder went straight up to the townspeople and proudly proclaimed, "I've come to save the Jack Ass Penguins!" Instantly, there was a moment of dead silence (except from the crack of dropping lower jaws), and Walder began to get that same funny feeling again, the feeling he knew only from his dealings with humans. His suspicions were confirmed by the virtual reverence of the harbor erupting into a roaring upheaval of thoughtless thunder. Every citizen of the fishing village was in stitches; Joey felt so bad for his buddy. But this time Walder wasn't confined to an ice-raft and refused to just stand there and take it. Walder went up to Joey and told him, "I'm going into town to meet the 'civil' people," not realizing that everyone in town was down here laughing at him.

Feeling less courageous, Joey told Walder, "I better stick around the dock—just in case my father might be nearby." For the first time in his life, Joey felt intimidated, and was already accusing himself of being lily-livered, for not walking with his friend, for fear of persecution from this amused mob of humans.

As Walder marched up the beach and toward the street leading into the center of the village, the crowd miraculously divided for him, as if to allow passage for a parade. Then something else happened. The crowd stopped laughing, and again beheld this oddity. Was it Walder's unusualness or his courage that brought them to silence? Or, could it be that they felt remorseful? As if Walder was a crude but hopeful amateur on stage, who falls on his face, and though is humiliated, gets up determinedly and boldly continues the show.

Remembering Joey telling him that a great place to meet humans would be in their local pub over a "cold one," Walder pursued the local watering hole of this town down its empty **Main Street**. He quickly located the unavoidable front facade of the most popular place in town, though expecting it to have flapping doors like the saloons of the American "Wild West" era that Joey had spoken so passionately about. Walder waddled through the front entry, only to find an empty establishment. Then, before Walder had time to wonder ("What the heck!"), in came the bartender with faithful patrons behind him, and very quickly the bar was wall to wall with curious spectators. And since this was the only bar in town, and since the town's favorite past time was drinking, the Fine Drinking Establishment had been constructed large enough to accommodate everyone in town.

Once more it got dead quiet when the bartender asked Walder, "What can I do for you, Penguin?"

"Name's Walder; make it a beer in a dirty glass!"

"People usually don't get started drinking around here until at least noon time, Sonny," stated the bartender.

Never having had a _drink_ , and not realizing the effects that alcohol can have on one, Walder couldn't understand the concept behind the bartender's concern and stated, "Any time one's thirsty is a good time to drink."

"Well, how old are you?" queried the bartender.

"Eight months—that's almost 'fifteen' in human years."

"That's not old enough! You're a mere boy... and besides, I could lose my license," informed the bartender.

"Wasn't the law written exclusively for humans?" argued Walder (something else learned from one of Joey's spiels on the cruise).

The bartender thought for a moment and said, "Who cares what I do with a penguin anyway," poured a beer, handed it to Walder stating, "And we ain't got no dirty glass!" in an effort to land the last word.

Walder grabbed the frosty mug of amber liquid that he'd heard so much about and leaned against the bar. With so many eyes upon him, he felt as though he was a Hollywood hero portraying a role. While recalling an impressive character that Joey had told him of, from one of many tales about the American Wild West, Walder began feigning style (John Wayne persona). Instantly it became dead quiet. Then, confident as ever, Walder raised the glass to his open beak and began swilling the "divine nectar" only to start gagging, coughing, spitting, and choking for air with bulging eyes.

Once again the laughter came, except this time it was warranted and Walder knew it. But this time the laughter was a sort of "understanding" laughter. The townsfolk knew Walder had never had a snort of alcohol before, and that he was just a kid. But, they could relate to this somehow, and even admire something about Walder. They felt this way because each and every one of them, as a child, had done the same thing as Walder had just done, at their first acquaintance with booze. And every adult expected every adolescent to have the same—amusing—"first experience" that they'd had. And, it was a good thing that Walder had, for many are those who are intimidated by someone who is _different_. Like most humans, these folks could be intimidated by the presence of something unknown (a potential threat). And though initially it was mostly curiosity that had compelled the crowd to study Walder, this fascination could have easily transformed into a threatening type of engrossment, had Walder not shed a layer of his impenetrable attitude. Evidently, "this" had been adequate in dispelling any growing apprehension among them. Yes, fortunately for all, Walder had (at first gulp) unveiled his to-err-is-human side to the townsfolk and made them realize: "Maybe the penguin's a lot like us, in a way."

The townsfolk were right. Walder was like a human child in some ways. The way most every child starts out: eager; intrigued; uninhibited (Bold!). Until, finally, the child becomes more and more intimidated through life's experiences, and the child ends up compromising the wisdom he or she was endowed with, with what the child holds as ("right") true and just.

Feeling an urgency to change the topic, and the opportunity to do so as silence prevailed yet again, Walder (wheezy and horse) commented, "So, this is Cape Town."

A little laughter came, and then a collective correction from many of the patrons, "This aint Cape Town, Sonny!"

"Then, where is it?" pleaded Walder, so disappointed

"It's about a hundred miles or so from here," a few voices stated.

"Well, how would I go about getting there?" asked Walder, instantly encouraged from finding out that only an "insignificant" distance lay before him (in contrast to what he'd just covered on water).

"You can either go by boat, plane, or train," informed a few patrons, who were enjoying the opportunity to be authoritatively helpful. Walder, having already had enough of the sea for now, and not prepared for the event of flying (any higher), instantly resolved to go by train.

Just then, the Mayor recognized his first opportunity (since the "sighting" out a sea) to possibly draw some attention on to himself and away from The Main Attraction. The Mayor, who had been growing increasingly concerned that this penguin might be stealing his show, was aware that _his_ domain had little to "party" over. This prompted the mayor to break in with an impromptu, in order to pacify his constituency, and to ensure this penguin didn't gain ground on him. "Since this is the very first Gentoo to ever make it to South Africa—willingly—and, since he happened to land right here on the shore of our very own community, I think this occasion calls for a celebration. I proclaim a state of 'shutdown' for the entire town, in order to validate the significance of this momentous occasion, and to set this date for annual commemoration from this time forward, from here on out—forever! But most of all, to honor the 'Bird of Honor' who's made all this possible. All food and drink on ' _Me_ '—starting now!"

Instantly, the place resembled downtown New York City's Central Square at midnight on New Year's Eve. The residents exploded into cheering and festivity, causing the establishment to respond with bulging walls. Fortunately, before the patrons could burst the seams of their beloved after-hours shrine, the imbibed ones grabbed a glass of hallowed liquid and oozed out of the sacred house of libation and onto Main Street, appearing like an unmasked (mini) Mardi Gras. The drudgery of another small town day had suddenly turned into an excuse for everyone to escape it all. And Walder was the one who'd made it happen, had given them the justification—The Hero.

Next, the Mayor suggested that a bronze statue be erected in their Town Square, in memory of this fine "Gentooman." For it to be a symbol of his heroic landing on their Great Shore (for finally putting their micro-community on the map).

Walder couldn't figure out what he might have done to not only turn an antagonistic mob of humans into allies, but to deserve such recognition. Walder could only shake his head and think about how there just didn't seem to be any middle ground with these humans. _Either they like you or they don't—and for how long?_ It was best to get on the "right side" of this ambivalent type as soon as possible!

Finally, after a sufficient amount of grog had done its duty, the crowd threw Walder on their shoulders and began parading him around the streets of town, as if Walder was some champion athlete or something. As if Walder had scored the winning point of the final game of the series, in the final seconds. It was like a dream! Walder couldn't believe this was happening.

Meanwhile, back at the dock, Joey's attention had become firmly fixed upon the roaring euphony coming from town. Wondering what the ruckus could be about, Joey strained to hear any subtleties that might render evidence as to the nature of its origin. As this sound continued to ebb and flow, competing with the crash of waves, it occurred to Joey that Walder might be in trouble or something. Then, just when Joey was about to suspect the worst, the parade, consisting of every townsfolk, appeared marching down to the "Fine Harbor" where this "Great Bird" had arrived. They were bearing Walder on their shoulders at the vanguard of the mob like a coat of arms, as if he were a porcelain idol. The parade stopped suddenly just above the harbor, and the mayor gave another speech, proclaiming: "This celebration is to signify the symbolic nature of this momentous event to the world, and to ensure that 'this' day will be embedded into future 'tomes of history'. To ensure that today, this 'first of a kind', will be a legacy, and will not only inaugurate our fine community's renaissance, but will secure it—will fasten it with brass rivets into the annals of time!"

At first, Joey couldn't tell whether Walder was going to be deported or executed at sea. But when the parade neared, Joey could tell by Walder's elated countenance along with the inebriated bliss of the parading populace that everything somehow, so far, had managed (miraculously) to remain far from catastrophe. But wait! The deeper you're in with humans, the more they expect of you and the more critical even the smallest blunder.

Just as Joey was engrossing himself in concern for Walder (again), his father's ship came around the jetty and stood before the harbor like a chrome-plated cathedral. Far larger than what this port was accustomed to or able to accommodate, this marvelous ship seemed to deafen the eyes of all that beheld her—a resounding symphony of light! The stainless steel hull of the Ecliptic reflected the morning rays with an eye-stabbing brilliance while the high-tech fiber in her massive silver-hued sail was glistening like a gigantic platinum earring dangling from the lobes of heaven itself. The boisterous citizens saw the glimmering giant and stopped everything to gawk at the mammoth jewel in awe.

The Ecliptic set anchor, and a lifeboat identical to the one that Joey had come ("flew") in on began approaching the harbor. Joey could see his father among the small group aboard the lifeboat, and the remainder of the crew lined upon the rail of the ship facing shore. The astounded crew had witnessed a "statuesque penguin" being paraded around on the shoulders of the townsfolk as if Walder was their hero or something. Every member of the crew was growing enraged from knowing that the penguin who'd put them through days of hell and a life-threatening storm—the one they'd mocked, ridiculed and abandoned—was now receiving a pompous salute from everyone in this town. This was "injury to the insulted." With egos festering, the crew's puffy, red faces beamed at the congregation on shore like blazing embers from hell. When the crew was to recover and regroup from the shock of this _outrage_ being committed upon them, bitter plans would be in the works; there'd be "hell to pay back." With the captain off the ship, wicked tongues were already unleashed and lashing like whips.

Onshore, the captivated audience finally "realized" that this Royal Vessel must be here to acknowledge their community's fanfare. Recognizing this, the party of parading "patroneers" turned it back on. Holding Walder before them like a hood ornament, this movement of the moment marched right down to the water's edge and up to Joey, who was overwhelmed by the amount of incidents taking place simultaneously. Though Joey was thoroughly preoccupied with the penguin parade, and of the conniving-crew's arrival and what this steaming stench of an unsavory crew might be brewing on board, Joey's primary concern was of his father's current humor and intentions. Would his father be furious or understanding? Would Joey be court-martialed or reunited? Before Joey could ponder further, Walder was introducing Joey to the assembly of imbibed ones, describing his buddy Joey as an "unsung, ultra-intelligent, wonderful human."

Joey cringed and whispered to Walder, "Don't say or do anything 'out of the _ordinary'_ , Walder! Everything seems to be going satisfactory so far. Just stick to the basics!"

Walder informed Joey, "I'm going to be leaving for Cape Town now. Oh, by the way, this ain't Cape Town; fancy that! Anyway, I'll be missin' yuh."

Just then, the lifeboat beached, and, in a fashion that Joey had never witnessed before, his father strolled leisurely (as if relieved) over to him. And though the captain had a comforted air about him, his mere presence, as always, was a command-grabbing authority, an authority that captured the attention and respect of the drunken villagers, even though they didn't know the captain from "atom."

For the first time in his life, Joey wasn't sure of what to expect from his father—the moments seemed endless. Even Walder, who was surrounded by his many new friends, felt uncomfortable. Everyone present could feel the tension; they held their breath as once again silence sang.

Then, much to the delight of the townspeople—but much to the spite of the crew—the captain grabbed Joey and gave him a great, big, loving fatherly-hug, asking him, "Will you please rejoin us as a crew member, and for me, family member, forever?"

The crewmembers were livid as they watched; they were seething in fury over this. The "harbor huggers," however, were ecstatic as they witnessed this "family reunion." For the residents of this little-known-about town, who were all in a state of elation, this morning had become a multiple fairy-tale-come-true day for them!

Joey surmised his father must have gotten his letter (notice of AWOL), and that the whole ordeal of chasing him through harms way must have had a profound effect on him. Joey could tell right away that things wouldn't be the same for him this time. Joey eagerly accepted his father's request, telling his father that he must now bid farewell to his buddy, Walder. When his father offered to deliver the penguin back to Antarctica, Joey briefly explained to his father that things had changed—"Walder's on a mission!"

Seeing that at this point his father might even be willing to bring Walder all the way to Cape Town, Joey didn't pursue that either. Joey had a gut feeling that the crew would never permit it. He could see their hostile faces glaring down from the ship, all the way to shore, displaying that they were an inch away from erupting into instantaneous anarchy. Probably the only reason the crew hadn't rushed for shore by now to ring Walder's neck was because they at least had enough sense not to do it in front of all of these civilians—witnesses. Citizens, who were "sworn in" to guard the "Royal Waters."

Knowing his father didn't need any more hassles on account of him, or Walder, Joey did what he felt was necessary to try and keep from provoking the crew any further. Joey honestly felt that if Walder were to board the Ecliptic, the crew might mutiny, and then torture and kill Walder. So, therefore, Joey decided it would be safer for Walder to go it on his own, that Walder would actually stand a better chance trekking across the South African plains for Cape Town.

In this moment of weakness, Joey reassured himself that he'd already done enough for Walder, and that the Gentoo would be all right. If Walder was still so adamant about saving the Jack Ass Penguins, then so be it. It was now up to Walder.

During the "goodbye process," Joey asked Walder, "Just how do you intend to get to Cape Town?"

"Freight Train!" replied Walder.

Joey knew that most conductors would never allow a penguin aboard their train, and so, attempted to prevent Walder from getting his feelings hurt over this likelihood by informing him, "Such things cost money, Walder," and mentioning the obvious, "And you don't have any." Joey explained further, "Besides, Walder, this community is so small that the train doesn't stop here. This town doesn't have a station! In fact, the tracks are miles from here, inland, in the wilderness." Walder was distraught to hear this.

Once again, recognizing Walder's stubbornness, and anxious to get Walder out of town before the booze wore off of the parading "patrioteers," Joey struggled to come up with something. He remembered that the tracks would lead straight to Cape Town and told Walder, "You can 'jump' the train somewhere, at a junction or something, where the train slows down enough. Just keep walking inland and you'll eventually collide with the tracks. Then, just turn left, and keep following them."

Excited over learning this solution to the presented problem, Walder bid farewell to his wonderful buddy and eagerly headed for the tracks with the "Proud-Of-Penguin-Parade" following him. The crowd followed Walder to the edge of town, clapped, and bid him goodbye as he began his next "adventure." _At last I finally made it out here_ , thought Walder. Into this "Great Out Here!"

Walder's mission was having such a profound effect on the townspeople (the voters) that the mayor saw another opportunity to use this to his advantage. And, before this opportunity to do so eluded him, the mayor prepared to give (yet) another speech. The mayor strategically placed himself between the crowd and Walder—he was on stage before an inspirational background. In front of the backdrop of **Walder fading into the bush** , the mayor began by saying, "I feel it only appropriate to give ourselves something to remember this fine Gentooman by." The mayor offered this by vowing to his constituents, "After we pay for the statue of our hero and inspiration, Mr. Penguin, we will start a reserve fund earmarked for enabling every individual of our community to go on an adventure of some kind—everyone somewhere different. For each and everyone one of us to live life to the fullest, and return to tell everyone about it, and, to hold a feast and festival honoring every adventurer's return. To make this town a 'town of adventurers', and to rename our fine community after the 'Great Gentooman': 'Port Walderville'!"

As Walder ventured into the remote countryside, he couldn't forget about Joey and how much the two cared for each other. Joey had been a mentor, had done what no one else could have. Joey had given Walder knowledge, experience, the understanding that all humans weren't bad, and, that Walder could even be more tactful—right! Walder took comfort in knowing that he and Joey would meet again someday. But Walder had no idea of how soon it _will_ be!

# [PART TWO  
To Plant A Seed](tmp_9a48c949eba74772d4f052e8d6bbea26_ahSQsz.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_004.html#ref_toc)

# Chapter VII

As Walder continued to walk deeper into the plains of South Africa, he became increasingly anxious to reach the railroad tracks that Joey said would be out here, somewhere, and would lead him to Cape Town. Eventually Walder did indeed intersect with the tracks, turned left as instructed, and began following them. With his mind fairly uninvolved now, from not being demanded to think (just follow), Walder began to ruminate, and the first and strongest thing to hit his mind was Joey and how he continued to feel that the two of them must have met before, somehow. But how could that be? It wasn't possible, was it? The two had met, for the first time, just days ago.

Until meeting the crew aboard the big ship (the Ecliptic), Walder "knew" he'd never seen a human before, and not a very good first impression of what a human _was_ , either. But even the sounds of the crew, their laughter, their cackling, their voices, all sounded familiar, and was becoming increasingly so as Walder thought about it more.

Walder couldn't figure out how he and Joey had become friends so quickly, instantly, and allies, forever. Though he and Joey were separated now, Walder felt that Joey was still with him, in a mysterious way, and always would be. And, only until now did it occur to Walder that Joey was the first person he'd ever met (human or penguin) that was his own age (young teenager). Also, this association with Joey and the crew was pulling Walder's attention back in time, bringing Walder's consciousness further and further into his brief, yet significant, past.

Thinking back to his family and friends, Walder, for the first time, realized that he'd been the only child in his colony and began asking himself ("Why?") how could this be. Why hadn't there been any other children in his colony? Growing up with adults, without others his own age, had allowed Walder to remain detached from the fact that penguins his own age actually existed within the family unit, and almost always within a colony. Not realizing this until now had enabled Walder to gleefully embrace life with zest and zeal. However, Walder had been fully informed about everything in his early life, previously, on a subliminal level, and something terrible had happened to Walder and his colony back when Walder was still in the "incubator."

This terrible event, which happened while Walder was still in the egg, had a traumatic effect on him, had forced him to deal with hardship very early on in life, and was responsible for building Walder into a tenacious individual. And though this catastrophe was now unavailable for his recollection, due to it being blocked by mental and emotional pain, it was nevertheless very much still there, lying in a state of dormancy. And, not only did the memory along with the anguish surrounding this incident still exist, this memory was also virtually indestructible. Here it would remain, guarded by the protective mechanisms of his mind. Here, imprisoned deep within Walder's dark dungeon of subconscious.

Earlier this year, Walder had not only received a very abrupt initiation into the real world, but a quick and forceful internship as well, when a ship manned by a crew of hardened characters showed up on his colony's coastline. This ship, the Ecliptic **,** was nearing the completion of her run, ahead of schedule, and the crew of a dozen sailors had become weary of combating relentless seas and were souring from their captain's stern demands and discipline. It seemed that no one rested around _here_ until every item was marked off the checklist. Though knowing inherently that without the guidance of their captain they would all be reduced to a mob of hapless thugs, still, at this point, these crewmembers felt they'd achieved enough production through their "collective efficacy" to warrant a _special_ treat. They were coming home, were midpoint between South America and Antarctica, going with the impetus of the ocean. Wanting to avoid the upcoming current that would clash with its course, the Ecliptic, as usual, was making a wide bend around The Horn.

After growing tired of sea rations, and knowing that fresh eggs lay not very far away, members of the crew began bickering—"A man gets sick of the same thing. Needs variety; fresh food!"

The first mate (designated spokesman) was able to convince the captain it'd be an "investment" into the crew, would boost the morale of the men, if the captain were to permit them to slip over to Antarctica for the afternoon. "Oh, and it'll also be a 'good experience' for the boy."

Even thought the captain regarded this notion as "a waste of time," the captain figured that maybe the men might benefit from a reward. "What's a few penguin eggs." After all, why not keep the men happy. And so, the Ecliptic went a bit out of her way to the northern tip of Antarctica in order to fetch a _few_ penguin eggs, preparing to send a party ashore.

Joey (the boy) was opposed to the whole matter from the get-go: "We have enough food—canned, dried, and cured to last us indefinitely! Why do we have to disrupt and destroy beautiful, peaceful nature on account of your selfish, destructive desires?"

Against his protest, Joey was forced to participate in this "training exercise" for "experience." But Joey was actually being forced to come so the others could torment him over his "naturalist tendencies," and with penguins being his favorite bird, the crew couldn't have picked a better bird. And though Joey wanted nothing to do with it, he wouldn't have missed it for the world. It would be his only opportunity to do something about it. To help the poor, baby penguins!

Initially, the crew attempted to refrain Joey from his furious preaching and lecturing by promising him "We'll be taking only a few yokes," while all along intent on taking as many as possible, and hoping, ultimately, to incite the boy emotionally "to the max."

The party boarded a Zodiac (an inflatable raft named after its shape), which was propelled by a small outboard at the rear, over to the frozen shoreline, forcing Joey to do the driving for "experience." But Joey's determination to sabotage this operation hadn't been quelled one bit. Joey knew what was up.

Surprisingly, it wasn't uncommon for penguins to see humans. Most humans loved penguins and were very nice to all penguins. Penguins had an innate trust of humans and didn't attempt to flee or feel a need to protect themselves from humans. This was due in large to humans not ever being a part of the penguins' past (since "penguin" time immemorial), and therefore penguins never having been a part of the food chain in regard to the human diet. It was only recently that any number of humans began making the long journey to Antarctica. And the ones that did had posed little threat to penguins; save for some starving adventurous or a rare something or another. An ocean liner with tempted tourist, or an expedition of scientist, would occasionally drop in for a visit. They would observe, adore and admire penguins, and leave everything as they found it. This had been the norm for this colony of penguins in respect to human interaction too. Until now.

As the "mission" unfolded, the crew not only gathered what eggs they could take back to the ship, but began smashing the remaining eggs, as if they were pillaging Vikings from hell. In a state of helpless horror these penguin parents watched as their progeny were pounded and mutilated. They witnessed the concussions delivered to their little loved ones, applied by these humans wielding weapons, fragmenting the delicate shells, the shells that had been, until now, enough protection for their young.

_Our babies!_ The respective sanctuaries of their unborn loved ones, now annihilated? _Our wonderful, irreplaceable babies we love eternally!_ How any parent losing a child would be: (it goes without saying—can't be put into words) something one wasn't ever to recover from.

The parents watched as the battered shell of each egg reluctantly succumbed to a crunching blow, releasing its coagulating contents, allowing the whites to slither through the fissures and perforations, and finally, the form of a fully developed embryo; all, to harden in the frigid air, right before the eyes of mother and father.

For the ever loving parents of these unborn children to be forced to serve last rites on something they loved more than anything, and had known, alive, just moments before, was more than any of them could bear. And all of this had been for what? All of this had been for the morbid compulsions of a horde of humans? "This" was all for the sole purpose of seeing a boy suffering from anguish, suffering from the result of their outrageous conduct?

It was another all-too-typical scenario involving humans—a mob—temporarily removed from a disciplined environment. And what an indescribable shock to these docile birds for them to not only see such mayhem from humans, whom they instinctively trusted, but to prepare for a memorial, to have to bury their beloved children before they were ever to be born.

Joey started the motor of the raft and threatened all of them with, "I'm gonna leave all of you out here if you don't leave those eggs alone!"

Laughing, and feeling the kid may have had enough, the penguin poaching party grabbed their things and began heading back to the raft. The eggs were already gone, except for one—the largest egg of all, by far.

First to spy the egg was this greasy bloke who was feeling he hadn't quite gotten his fill. This hopeless rogue was giving the upper section of the penguin colony's turf a "once more over." It was the largest egg he'd ever seen. He shouted, "Hey, Guys, look at the size of this egg!" to the others, whom were already boarding the raft.

"Leave it or smash it—we've got plenty—it's time to go!" they yelled back at him.

Being the ornery lowlife that he was, this crewmember went to give the only remaining egg a crushing "goodbye" blow, but didn't connect. The egg somehow rolled from the course of his strike. In disbelief, the "slugger" gave it another shot, but once again the egg rolled out of harms way.

The "batter" cried out to the others, whom were already aboard the raft and ready to leave, "Hey, Guys, look at this! You won't believe it."

Once more the others demanded: "Get over here—the slugger-fest's over—it's time to go!"

But, this "ball player," feeling he had one more swing in his repertoire, decided to go for a "homerun" hit at the harmless, yet mysteriously elusive, egg. Again the egg dodged the blow (strike three; your out!). But this time the others aboard the Zodiac were watching. They too were suddenly shaken with disbelief. Before anyone could say—"Did you see that?"—Joey throttled the raft toward the awaiting ship, screaming at the straggler, "If you break that egg, I'll leave you here—I swear it!"

Stubborn, and reluctant to leave unfinished business, yet relieved to have an excuse for making distance from this _scary_ egg, the defeated egg batter _er_ turned and anxiously marched for the impatient raft. Then, behind him, a cracking sound was heard, and next a cracking popping. The retreating straggler stopped and turned to identify the sound. _It's coming from that egg!_ And, from this, came a final, decisive pop, and out of the fractured shell of this enormous egg emerged a newborn penguin. Instantly, the baby penguin waddled clumsily over to the adult penguins, quickly located mama and papa, while the party of men watched. All were smitten with disbelief. This sudden (phoenix) resurrection jerked the crew from their "regressed-to-adolescence" sort of mischievous glee and into an apprehension that this was an omen, that a cloud of dark karma had befallen them.

Not only had this unlikely occurrence stunned them, but was horrifying and coupled with a sense of guilt. It was the first time the members of this party (except Joey) had ever been forced to associate an "egg _"_ with something living. The experience had caused a mood of discomfort for everyone; no one said anything on the way back to the ship.

So this is where Walder and Joey had met before. Why Joey's voice, and that of the crew, had sounded so familiar to Walder, and why Joey would always be an eternal ally of Walder. And this is why the other penguins had felt so much resentment for Walder, after having _their_ children gone, while Walder being the only child in his colony to survive that season. Also, this explains why his mother and father had been so careful not to show any favoritism to Walder, or do anything that might stir up ill feelings surrounding the loss of the others' children and the gruesome fashion in which it occurred. And though Walder couldn't recall any of this now, still, it seemed to be pulling his attention back into the past and compelling him to ponder certain questions incessantly.

As Walder continued inland, making distance from the cooler, floral coastline, he began to consider the possibility of him biting off more than he could chew. _"Nonsense!"_ he concluded. So, self-reassuringly, Walder continued to progress further inland, following the tracks, where it continued to become increasingly warmer and arid. Soon Walder began speculating the possibility of him being within the boundaries of what might be a bona fide desert—and only getting deeper. Although, actually, only breaking into the plains, Walder had been growing hotter and hotter. He was thirsty, and now at a loss for what to do. Suddenly, Walder realized he was nearing the end of the line. He was in Big Trouble!

The midday sun pounded down on Walder like a demonic deity with a Louisville slugger, constantly reminding Walder of its presence and superiority. Walder's dark upper coat sucked up everything the sun through at him. Walder was even catching excess rays from sunlight bouncing off the ground and up at his white underside. He was catching the heat from all angles, like a duck on a rotisserie. Walder didn't dare look up at the sun. It was wielding its power and brandishing its weapon. The sun's blinding light only allowed Walder the courage to look down at the two parallel rails shimmering before him. These railroad tracks were held in place just below them by crossties coated in black tar, which in turn were supported by a continuous, multitudinous mound of granite stone that was retaining the sun's energy like a cast iron frying pan. Walder's elected path of travel was radiating heat up at him as if he were basting atop a stove. Occasionally Walder would be tempted to look up and glance further down the line only to see the tracks still stranding the miles before him, seemingly forever.

Eventually, Walder felt "possessed" enough to gaze to the side a bit, through the heat waves, and made out what faintly appeared to be a pond in the distance. Initially, Walder surmised: _it must be a mirage_.

Continuing on, slower and slower down the tracks, delirium began to set further in until Walder was enticed to pursue one of these "ponds." But as Walder attempted to approach the phantom fountain, it seemed to be moving away. And indeed as he continued his approach, it, too, continued to remain equidistant from his point of pursuit. With his last bit of wit, Walder acknowledged that he'd only been chasing a figment of his imagination, an illusion, brought on by the arduous environmental conditions. Walder collapsed, trying to fend off the relentless heat of the sun with his wings, as if bowing under a makeshift tent. He knew it was over; he wasn't even sure which way it was back to the tracks, not that it could have been any help. Walder couldn't believe he was going to "go out" like this. He laughed, thinking, _If only the other penguins could see me now—Mister know it all, Mister Adventure, frying in the desert sand like a quail on a grill._ Walder just sat there fading cooperatively.

Crouching under the blistering sun, Walder thought about the way he was going to die: _It's so embarrassing to go out like this. Oh, if I have to die, don't let it be this way. Let it at least be with some honor, glory, dignity, over a worthy cause or something. And, what about the town that just designated me their mascot, the symbol of their renaissance? Don't let the headlines read:_ WALDER FROM ANTARCTICA DIES BEING DUMB IN DESERT. _Will they laugh when they hear? Will they even care? Will anyone even ever know? Oh, I did bite off more than I could chew_.

Now distraught and feeling he'd never see his new friends in Port Walderville again, Walder remembered Joey, and thought about how much he'd miss Joey. Walder felt that he would gladly endure even the crew's torment forever if he would be permitted to remain with his wonderful buddy, Joey. Next, Walder thought further back, back to Antarctica and to his penguin family and friends: _Will the folks back home ever know? Would they care? Do they even still love me anymore—have they already forgotten me? Or will they say, "Where is Walder? We shouldn't have been so defensive, just because he was different from us. We drove him away, to death perhaps. We were such fools. Now we may never see him again. We never dreamed he'd actually try to pursue his fantasies,_ _his dreams. Oh Walder, if we only had it to do over again, we'd be different. Please make it back home."_

The heat was unbearable. So, Walder thought he might as well try something; anything! Walder hoped he might be able to play a trick on himself—on his mind—and detach himself from this excruciating heat. Attempting to take control of his mind, Walder began to imagine that the intense heat was actually an extreme cold. Using this mechanism, Walder thought back earlier and earlier into his childhood to when it had always been cold, Antarctica, continuing mentally to try and reverse the sensation of hot to cold.

Remembering the times with the other penguins, Walder thought about the good times and bad times, but always cold times, reminiscing his life, and continuing to go back further and further, deeper and deeper. Suddenly, the feeling of nostalgia disappeared, and Walder found himself somewhere he "knew" he'd never been before—though it seemed strangely familiar in a fantastically peculiar way. Walder couldn't believe how horrible he felt. It wasn't the symptoms of heat, thirst, and weariness that was troubling him now (he actually felt cold), Walder felt a mixture of many disheartening sensations inundating him like a flashflood out of nowhere. He felt intense grief, as if over the loss of something. And then, there was this acute sense of peril and vulnerability, as if something evil and dangerous lurked nearby. But this emotion wasn't connected with South Africa, it was stemming from "here"—Antarctica. But how could that be? Antarctica was somewhere he'd been, not where he was now. Or was it? Was this a trick of the present, or could this be just an immense store of anxiety stemming from his past? Walder wasn't sure where he was.

But even more burdensome was this horror, a horror completely saturating him. A horrible loneliness, a horrible emptiness, a complete hopelessness, all of which felt as though it were happening right now and had sprung up so suddenly. It was the deepest, darkest, coldest, most inconceivably lonely, empty hopelessness. A state so bereft of opportunity that most anyone would submit to apathy and concede it impossible to better their condition—if not for the relentlessly harsh conditions. These unyielding conditions, the unavoidable harshness of winter in Antarctica, kept everyone so painfully miserable, constantly driving everyone to survive, allowing no one time to rest, yet alone the luxury of feeling sorry for one's self. Walder felt like he was somewhere he hadn't been for a very long time. All around him Walder felt a fantastic volume of emptiness, a tremendous void so full of emptiness, profuse emptiness, minus opportunity; a place so devoid of opportunity that it evoked a feeling of "nothing gone" because "nothing to lose." And, though Antarctica was seemingly a great kingdom of nothingness, or a massive prison that isolated all within it from opportunity, it was nonetheless a frozen, frigid hell of possibilities. Nature had constructed a place so severe that it demanded one's 100% best, constantly. No time for complaining—just do!

Walder felt confined somehow, he felt enclosed, encased in something. Every inch of his body was feeling a surrounding intense pressure; he was suddenly reliving his final moments in an eggshell. Though protected in one way by the thin insulation and the vacuum of silence surrounding him, he was still vulnerable, due to being held captive in his egg and therefore stationary. He was not able to move or negotiate the terms of a real or fancied danger.

Something cataclysmic erupts and invades the silence. Walder hears a tremendous crashing, splashing sound and feels a thundering quaking of the ground. This reminds Walder of the mammoth glaciers that would come plowing through from higher ground, cutting valley-sized gashes into the surface of the earth, often all the way to shore and into the ocean, which would allow the sea water to encroach inland, forming new bays, deltas and fjords. And there were the icebergs offshore that would send colossal masses of ice plummeting from their peaks, crashing into the ocean, sending tidal waves to smother the coastline. More and more, Walder began to remember—feel—formidable sensations that had been buried in the past, his past. Walder would have never dreamed that such a thing was possible. But here he was, just as if he were reliving everything the way it'd happened, recalling everything fully with all of his senses, even senses he didn't know he possessed. Now, Walder knew he was somewhere that he'd been before—was again now—in a frozen hell! All around him, Walder could feel the abundant nothingness.

Suddenly, the void is shattered by the voices of mature penguins, which sound so familiar and peaceful, granting some degree of hope in this place too destitute for words. Then, other sounds: alarming sounds; sounds that weren't at all associated with the other penguins or any part of Antarctica. A small, motorized vessel had arrived to their shore along with a handful of humans. These human voices brought upon a red alert among the surrounding penguins, escalating into panic and, finally, into utter grief, the saddest possible grief as the mystery began to unfold.

Next, through the thin layer of his waning eggshell, Walder saw something: the shadowy outline of a human with something in one hand. It was a club! Walder witnessed this human systematically walking from one of his colony's nests to another, smashing their eggs. All the while, the familiar voice of a young human was reverberating its protest—Joey. Walder watched in horror and realized, _So this is what happened to the other penguins; this is why I didn't have anyone my own age to play with! And this is where I met this crude crew, and Joey, before—the first time he tried to save me from them._ Then, Walder hears shouts from the other men as the club-wielding one was "finishing up" and determined he wouldn't let it happen to him: "Not me! No way!"

Ready to hatch anyway, Walder readied himself as the "sportsman" approached. The last thing Walder recalled was thrusting himself repeatedly inside the egg, against the egg, taking his light, brittle insulation with him, continually trying to dart out of the pursuer's path, from the blow of this hopeful human. And then, everything went blank.

Walder surmised he must have been successful (elusive as a butterfly), for he was still around, at least so far. Then Walder remembered that in reality he wasn't really back here in Antarctica, but frying on the hot, dry ground of South Africa, and Walder began to emerge from his past, back to the present, back to reality. For a moment, Walder wondered if he might have already perished, but as the sensation of intense heat fell upon his senses once more, Walder knew that he'd been here (South Africa) all along.

What Walder had just gone through seemed like a dream now, but it was still very real, and something he would never forget. Walder felt different in a way, as if something deep within his constitution had changed, and for the better. Then it occurred to Walder that Antarctica had been a trial, a test of tenacity, and he'd actually made it through all of that. Unlike his friends and family, who'd chosen to remain in Antarctica, Walder had endured all of this and made it out. And, the severe setting of Walder's youth had been an adequate internship for the real world. For like all penguins, Walder was sufficiently durable beneath his cuddly fluff. The brutal conditions of Antarctica had honed Walder to rugged perfection.

It didn't seem fair to Walder, though, after everything he'd made it through, after he'd made it through all of what he had, after he'd come so far—all the way out here from Antarctica like no other Gentoo had—that he would soon go out like this, that he was going to die like this. Walder lay crouched, fading, thinking how this didn't seem _just_ , how he didn't deserve this. _It ain't right! It ain't right!! It just ain't right!!!_

As darkness moved in on his mind, falling ever closer into a state of unconsciousness, Walder was suddenly stirred by a sound in the distance. _Wait a minute! What was that?_ Then Walder laughed slightly to himself, thinking, _Since the heat can't play tricks with my closed eyes, it's decided to do it with my ears_ , and went back to fading. But the voice kept coming, and coming, and coming. Walder tried to open his eyes, but the light was too intense now after having them closed for so long. In the midst of his delirium, Walder began pulling himself toward the sound, crawling across the hot, dry ground, guided only by his ears.

As Walder inched closer to the sound, it became louder and clearer, and soon Walder made out a very deep, raspy voice. The voice sounded as though it was singing—trying to sing. Walder knew he shouldn't get his hopes up. After all, the desert was probably amusing itself again at his expense. But this was his only chance—and it sounds so real! Walder drug himself forward over the coarse ground, feeling his body sliding upward, and then over a slight mound. Now, Walder could hear the words to this song clear as day:

### Mud... mud... glorious mud...

After hearing the song repeated several times, and beginning to feel faintly amused, Walder urged himself forward a little more, only to suddenly feel his listless body plummeting and somersaulting down. _Am I falling to hell?_ Walder thought, until plopping into something soft and wet. _Doesn't feel like fire_ , Walder concluded, relieved. Walder was compelled at last to try again to open his eyes and see for himself if this time it could possibly be real. He knew that the way he felt now felt real, and felt good, felt really good. Walder opened his eyes, but saw nothing. _Oh, I am at last blind or something. Or am I dead, and in Penguin Heaven?_ Walder wondered, while continually feeling better and better.

The deep, raspy voice came again, except this time it wasn't singing but was speaking to Walder. "So, you've decided to share my bog with me!" the mammoth voice stated confidently, and continued by saying, "Normally this place is too small for me to allow anyone else in my space—in my face. But, since you're _such_ a puny little thing that's desperate and obviously of no threat to me, and somewhat laughable, I'll give you a try; 'til you're back on your feet."

Walder was in no shape to contend an insult. He was finally able to clear some of the wonderful substance from his eyes, this soft, wet, cool substance that was bringing him back to life, and began to make out a figure in the direction the voice was coming from. It was an enormous, animated outline with gray and brownish blotches. And fortunately it seemed to have a rather non-confrontational disposition, which had been demonstrated by the affable nature in its speech. But, this was an enormous animal. Then, this entity reached upward on its hind legs for some tender vegetation growing from a fissure in the wall, exposing the majority of its body mass. _Oh, my gosh!_ Walder gasped, as its body emerged from this substance, his vision now clearer and able to focus. Walder realized the thing had been mostly submerged, that he'd only been witnessing its head. _This_ _thing is huge!_ "What are you?" Walder asked in amazement.

"I'm a hippopotamus!" the enormous figure stated proudly, while stretching out for some more lush vegetation.

"What's this wonderful stuff we're in?"

"Well, I'll tell you, Me Fellow... 'tis mud. Glorious, glorious, mud!" and once more the giant gentleman sang the song that had lured Walder over to this mud hole in the first place—saved his life. Walder glanced over at the vegetation where the hippopotamus had been munching and spied fresh water percolating out of the side of the cliff, trickling down the wall, and contributing to the wonderful concoction in which they lay. Walder slithered over to this cool, wet, oozing gift from heaven and drank his fill, thinking, _Now, if only I could have my fill of krill._ Walder spied some unfamiliar shell-like creatures (mussels) lying in the shoals, embedded in the mossy like algae. They smelled delicious, and so he went to try the tough, but tasty morsels, liked them, and feasted. The next thing you know, Walder joined the Hippo in singing, and the two sang that same song over and over until they both fell asleep for some time in the coolest place around. Here, in the hippo's hollow, sheltered from the midday heat, in this glorious—"glorious!"—Mud.

# Chapter VIII

It wasn't until late afternoon that the two awoke. Walder, feeling his batteries fully recharged, began to notice more of the unordinary. It occurred to Walder how unusual it was for a hippopotamus to be out here alone. From one of the lectures Joey had given Walder, back when the two had been coasting for the Sandwich Isles, Walder had learned that hippos usually stick together (near something wet) in groups ranging from about 30 to 40, or more: "They're a gregarious species by nature."

Walder had remembered asking Joey what the word "gregarious" meant, and Joey had replied: "Oh, it means something that likes to be around a lot of its own kind—like penguins."

Wondering when his humongous host intended to be hooking up with some of _its_ mates, Walder asked the hippo, "Where yuh gonna be going to now, 'Big Fella'?"

"Going?" the Big Boy demanded. "Why in the world would I be going anywhere? I've got everything right here."

Instantly recognizing a resemblance of this hippo's complacency to a malady his penguin colony would exhibit ("comfort zone"), Walder asked politely, "How could you be content with just this? Don't you ever feel like going somewhere or doing something?"

"Well, every rainy season, in order to add variety and spice things up a bit, I seek out a bigger and better water hole."

"Oh." said Walder, temporarily satisfied that the hippo did leave sometime and see other things. "Well, how often are the rainy seasons?" Walder asked, ignorantly.

"Oh, every year if we're lucky."

"Every year!" Walder shouted in surprise (Walder wasn't even a year old), but then quickly regained composure, thinking, _Why is this guy all alone, and willing to have it no other way_. Finally, Walder asked the hippo, "What's your name, 'Big Guy'?"

"I go by 'Baby'," the big Baby replied.

"Why's such a big, grown guy like you called 'Baby'?" pried Walder, growing increasingly curious.

"It was given to me by my surrogate mother who adopted me," answered the Big Baby.

"Why were you adopted?" continued Walder with his query

"I ran away from home because the other kids teased me and made fun of my real name," the Baby explained.

"What's your real name, then?" insisted Walder, who was now on the edge of his seat with inquisitiveness.

"Uh, well, its kind of embarrassing... really."

"Ah, c'mon, you're a big boy—I mean big guy."

"Uh, well, okay, its Her... Herman," answered Baby, reluctantly.

"What's wrong with Herman?" demanded Walder, bewildered.

"They used to call me 'Herman the Hermit'. I'm an introvert, and now a recluse," the Hermit confessed sadly.

"I see," said Walder, beginning to understand, and so initiated another line of inquiry. "Well, why are you here and all alone, now?"

"My honey, and only true love, dumped me for a more 'outgoing' fellow. It broke my heart—quite nearly killed me in fact—and so, I isolated myself here to ensure it would never happen again. The chance of finding love isn't worth the risk of the pain that always seems to come with it, sooner or later."

After hearing this, Walder thought, _Herman has been in this mud hole for so long that it's probably the only place he knows now._

Since Walder's relocation from Antarctica, something had seemed to be guiding him, if not forcefully pulling him, and this had been enough to constantly keep his mind busy on new experiences, and therefore never lending him time to dwell on trivial matters. Realization this internal dynamic at play within himself, presented Walder with a solution to what Herman was experiencing (or "not" experiencing). An answer to the mystery of Herman's malady: Seeing new things, doing different things—being somewhere different—can be therapeutic.

This would probably be the case with just about anyone. If it'd helped him to extrovert, seeing new things different from those of his homeland, then Walder surmised it might be helpful if Herman took a little trip. The big Baby has to go somewhere, somewhere else; anywhere!

Next, Walder decided that a good way to begin might be with a little pep talk. "You gotta keep on hoping, Hermie Baby! You can't really be content this way. Deep down you have to be hurting, and meanwhile you're letting your life slip by you—away from you. Well, Hermie Baby, You gotta get out there and getchoo a girl!"

Herman's head sunk in shame; it was too intimidating for him to confront. Walder could actually see Herman beginning to boil inside. Immediately, Walder knew he had to change the subject—now—realizing he'd aroused an explosive mechanism within Herman that had been lying dormant. Not wanting to detonate a time bomb within this mammoth mammal, and knowing he shouldn't just "bridge off" of the current conversation but should "detour" quickly, Walder introduced another topic: "Well, I intend to move on to find my cousins in order to save them from the humans."

"Huh?" said Herman, instantly yanked from doing an internal meltdown.

Then, quickly gaining composure, continued, "Well, good luck. But this time you may want to consider traveling in the cool of the evening. What you tried to do, today, being an Antarctic Penguin, was utter suicide."

"How will I see?" asked Walder.

"The nights have been rather moonlit lately, and only getting brighter. Tonight might be a full moon. You simply follow the tracks. But remember that many prefer to hunt under these conditions."

"You mean humans?"

"No! I mean cats—big cats—and lots of dogs, and so forth. You'd make a tender morsel for them. As a matter of fact, you could be considered a 'gourmet meal' in these parts."

Herman paused, observing the young penguin, and continued. "If you follow the tracks, you should be able to make the water tower before morning. The train stops there to fill up with water, at this fairly large pond, before continuing its way to Cape Town. You can fill up with water there, too, and sneak on the train. No one will notice a penguin. The humans on the train will only be expecting their own kind, other humans."

With the heat of the sun finally waning, lowering across the horizon of a big, clear sky, Walder once again bid farewell to another new friend, realizing that once again he would be all alone and on his own. Walder quickly found the tracks and resumed his course for Cape Town. Herman had told him that the desert was a different world at night, and Walder was already sensing this was, and would be, the case.

After the sun had grudgingly retreated under the horizon, with its residual hue following close behind, the moon became so bold in the sky. Under this ubiquitous lunar glow, Walder began feeling increasingly anxious about making it to the water tower in time for the train. Herman had said that he could make it. But Walder wasn't sure of just how fast the hippo thought a penguin could move. Joey had informed Walder that hippos could indeed travel quite a distance at night. But that was usually in, or around, water. Walder began getting the feeling it was going to be a long night. He was right. Nervous about the distance, and the predators that Herman had mentioned, Walder began making good time in the cool evening along the tracks. He was also getting a growing feeling that something was tailing him. Eventually, Walder couldn't resist looking behind him, and was sorry he had. Walder thought he saw a pair of glowing eyes. A bit later, again, Walder looked behind him and not only saw a pair of eyes, but a row of white, pointy teeth that sort of reminded him of Orca's mug. _But that's not_ _possible_! thought Walder. _Not way out here on dry land. What could it be? I'm not getting myself worked up over nothing, am I? It's not just my imagination, is it?_

The trailing stranger made Walder move even faster. Every time Walder looked back, the eyes and teeth looked a little closer, as if this thing was toying with him. He stumbled over one of the rails, amidst his distraction, and found it not to be the hot iron it'd been just this afternoon. In fact, it felt soothingly cool. Walder hopped up onto one of the rails, hoping for an ounce of refuge, and found the going much easier on his feet upon this cool, smooth, steady run of steel. Instantly his feet became acquainted with the rail, and a fantastic compatibility between them emerged, allowing his feet to grasp the rail and thrust himself forward quickly and efficiently.

Then, more eyes began to appear. Walder saw dozens of different pairs of eyes coming at him from one side of the tracks, and then more eyes, eyes of a different type, coming at him from the other side of the tracks. Walder hoped if he kept a steady, non-frantic pace that maybe the approaching ones might keep some distance from him. But unknown to Walder, the only reason the first "trailer" hadn't moved in for the kill already was because of the uncertainty and novelty of never having seen, or smelled, a penguin before. But with the other opportunists moving in on Walder from all sides now, it was running out of "study time" and found itself competing with the others for this rare morsel.

Walder began running as fast as he could, faster than he ever had, faster than he knew he could. He began to really avail himself of the rail beneath him, his feet gripping it and thrusting himself forward like an Olympic sprinter going for gold. Then, up ahead under the moonlight, Walder saw what looked to be the water tower that Herman had described to him. Then he noticed more predators quickly moving in on him now from the front as well, and all of these hopeful diners were just about to sandwich him in. Walder knew if he didn't come up with something quick, he would soon be somebody's dinner. And like the first predator, the only reason these other carnivores hadn't already moved in for the "munch" was that they too were so engrossed with curiosity over something they'd never come across before. Walder was the very first penguin these carnivores had ever seen, or smelled. But as Walder became surrounded by more and more competing diners, every opportunist became more concerned about missing out on this late night snack. And so, now prompted by this delicacy, all of these "connoisseurs" began going for the "gourmet!"

Walder wondered if he could fly again, if he could still fly, if he'd be able to fly—now! It'd been some time since his last practice session (the last time he was sufficiently angry to do so). He needed something to make him fly, something to make him really, really angry. But he was just plain scared and turning terrified. Remembering the hushed up rumors from some of the more rebellious penguins back in his colony, and Joey's reluctant reply to his plea for insight into this, Walder was convinced penguins used to fly. Back before penguins ate so much in order to put on body fat, enough body fat to survive the Antarctic Winters. And if penguins could fly back then, then why couldn't he now? He'd done it before, twice! Walder had been on a crash diet since leaving his element and was as slim as he could be. He was a lean, mean, machine. Walder knew if it'd ever been important for him to fly, it was now—"Now's the time!" Walder had to think fast.

Up ahead, and off into the distance on the right side of the tracks, Walder saw a wavering glow beaming at him with fluctuating intensity. This undulating light was coming from the far side of a lobed, glossy plane of water, lighting up the immediate surroundings with dashing flickers more brilliant than the moon's contribution. A picturesque sanctuary of trees huddled around this oasis—it was a pond! The surface of the water was as plane and reflective as a mirror, while the grove of reclusive trees, along with the sky, could be seen represented mirror-image-wise off of it. These gorgeous surroundings were actually being recreated, as if plastered into the velvet sheen of this reflection in an inverted two-dimensional form, making this magnificent portrait of nature a veritable oil-on-canvas masterpiece! Given the water tower, Walder presumed this to be the pond supplying water for the trains that Herman had mentioned.

The intruders were closing in on Walder, hemming him in tighter and tighter. Soon, it would be over for Walder. Right before he was to do a head-on with the assailants coming before him, and right before the ones coming from behind and beside were to catch him, Walder, running at his fastest speed, lunged his lean body forward, leaping upward as high as he could into air. He then instinctively began flapping furiously, lofting into the air like a kite being captured in a spring breeze. Walder cleared the front-coming assailants, heard their snapping jaws and thrashing claws just beneath him, and then the crashing sound of the pursuit from all sides colliding into a massive pileup. Walder circled around, soaring over the whole lot of entangled bodies to see them all look up at him in dismay and disappointment. Walder then left these drooling mouths, bridging the margin between the tracks and water's edge, to drop into the pond like a duck with nothing better to do. _At last_ **my** _element_ , Walder thought.

But much to his surprise, one of these go-getters got up and began springing for the pond with astonishing speed and grace, leaping into the water, pursuing Walder by pouncing up and forward in the shallows. It was a large feline. All Walder saw were eyes, teeth, and a tawny coat with black markings. The thing was moving so fast that Walder couldn't tell if these markings were spots or stripes. Everything was a blur as the big cat continued swiftly for him, using the shallows of the pond's exterior as a springboard.

It occurred to Walder to go for deeper water, and remain there, in the center of the pond where its deep channel would allow him to remain out of claw's reach—until the darn thing demonstrated that it, too, could swim. Though Gentoos were like a rocket in water, the pond simply wasn't large enough to elude this feisty feline forever. The flickering glow was coming from the far corner of the pond and Walder knew he'd have to give something a try. With another desperate attempt, Walder led the pursuing pussy in the opposite direction of the flickering glow, taking care to remain well ahead of the grasping feline. After drawing the cat to the far end of the pond, Walder quickly did a "U-turn" under water and shot back in the opposite direction while remaining at the bottom of the deepest stretch of the pond, keeping this determined kitty at a marked disadvantage. Then, Walder made a beeline for the faithful flame, leaving the opportunistic straggler tailing flat-footed behind. With the fullest velocity the pond allowed him, Walder torpedoed through the water, remaining just under the ripples caused by the ruckus he and his pursuer had created upon this previously placid pond. Not knowing what to expect of the light-flickering region, Walder could only hope that it might be better than what he was currently dealing with. And so, without hesitation, Walder continued for the flickering glow, skimming briskly up to the surface and hydroplaning over the shore at an unprecedented speed (for a penguin on land). Into the illuminated area he rolled. It was a campfire, being kept company by four haggard humans.

Just outside of this campsite, rows of teeth and pairs of eyes began assembling quickly. Walder found his attention caught between, and being drawn by, two extremely intriguing circumstances: the danger out there and the mystery before the campfire. Would this be a "Bird Sanctuary?"

Walder wondered which one of these four slovenly gents surrounding the fire might be in charge. Such knowledge could be helpful in making the right first impression. Someone must call the shots, since groups of humans he'd witnessed seemed to establish and maintain echelons of authority among them (pecking order). Before Walder could formulate an opinion as to which one might be head honcho, one of them commanded, "Have a seat, Penguin!"

This was probably the first time in Walder's life that he didn't mind taking orders, while studying the hungry eyes all around him just beyond the realm of the fire's refuge. These eyes of the predators were glowing in the dark, reflecting the amber hue of the moon and the more brilliant flickers and modest beam of the flame, along with the occasional flash of yellow bone—fangs! The grunt and growl of disapproval from the owners of these eyes and teeth was a constant reminder of their unfavorable disposition. They even seemed to be quarrelling among themselves, as if taking out their aggression on each other and blaming one another for their loss, for their having missed out.

Another voice asked in a "comment" fashion with a chuckle, "So, yuh didn't know a cheetah could swim?"

And then a soothing voice immediately responded, saying to Walder, as if to console him, "Don't worry, they're afraid of fire. As long as you sit tight here, you've got nuthin' to worry about." Walder took a seat with these four fine fellows.

These were the very first humans that Walder had ever met, in his young career as an adventurer, to seem unimpressed and not surprised that a penguin was out here, was completely out of its element and in foreign and incompatible territory. And, these were the first humans not to laugh at him or seem disparaging in some way, but to be treating him as an equal, with respect, the same as they were doing with each other. These humans were all on the same level of status—the bottom rung of the ladder—the lowest of society. If it hadn't been for the attendant danger outside the campsite, which the proceeding incident had demonstrated so thoroughly, Walder would have probably been composed enough to ask: _"What are you all doing out here? Out here, out of town, in the woods, in the dark, with nothing to eat, all dirty and stinky, in tattered clothes, hair all a mess? What are humans doing out of house, living with the animals? Have I met another type of human I've yet to see?"_

But under the current circumstances, Walder felt comfort in going with the flow. For the first time in his life, Walder recognized something he'd never noticed before in himself. It was indeed something he'd never had (at least never displayed) before: an instinct; a sense—some common sense. Walder knew it was time for him to be quiet and listen. He did. Silence prevailed for some time; Walder sat quietly and waited. After all, it was far better than what was just over there, outside, circling the camp in droves, what he'd been dealing with just previously. After feeling the eyes "in here" upon him too, studying him and sizing him up, Walder wasn't sure what was to follow. The tension had come to a head. Then it came; finally, a break in the silence. "What are you doing here—you're not like us?" a voice came from across the fire, from the one who hadn't spoken yet.

Though Walder, for the first time in his life, was in silence mode and liking it, he knew it was time to answer—that he'd better answer—but not _too_ fast. _Gotta say the right thing_! Walder felt compelled to be conscientious and careful. He was developing some manners and beginning to be a mite tactful. Fully aware of the hunters in waiting beyond the forbidden boundary of the campfire, with their hopeful, hungry eyes ever fixed on him, Walder thought he'd begin with the obvious.

"Well, Gentlemen, I was being pursued by a savage beast, when, as my only hope, I plunged into your camp seeking refuge, and uh—"

"We know all that, Penguin. I mean _what_ are you doing here?"

The faces of everyone could be seen vividly during a flash of the campfire; no one said anything more. Walder was on the spot and knew it. Even though these fellows seemed like nice guys, Walder could tell they weren't anyone to mess with either, especially now. It would behoove him to be honest, of course (as he always was), except maybe this time he could be—had better be—more delicate in the way he presented the truth. For him to be at his best! These humans didn't appear to be stupid; far from it. And they certainly weren't naïve, either; quite the contrary.

Already on his toes, since fleeing the hot pursuit from the now-terribly-disgruntled hopefuls, Walder realized that at least these humans could be reasoned with. He wasn't in any hurry to be thrown to the hungry "hope fools" outside the fire's glare, nor did he want to be added to the simmering pot on the fire, which smelled weak ("bereft of broth"). _Let's see; okay. How should I do this?_ Walder took a deep breath and began:

"My story, Gentlemen, began when I realized I didn't quite fit in. That is, I was different from them—the other penguins—in many ways. I hope you don't think I seem arrogant or egotistical, but somehow, I just knew it was me who was right, 'with it', and them, who were confused and preoccupied with insignificance. Although I loved them very much, and still do, I found their complacency unbearable most times, as I do with others—most others—not all humans... uh hum. So, one day, almost completely by chance, I inadvertently took my first step out of 'there' to out 'here', to _here_ , toward knowing and growing, and I haven't looked back. Though I haven't been at it for long, it still hasn't been easy for me, and no, I don't regret one moment of it. It seems to be constantly leading me on to bigger and better things. And so, simply put, this, Gentlemen, is why I am here."

There was silence. The four men could definitely see why it hadn't been easy for the penguin—but they couldn't fathom in their wildest imaginations how an Antarctic Penguin could have made it to "out here" in the first place. How it could have gone through what it must have had to have endured in order to make it this far... and, still be willing to roll up its sleeves for some more. If the thing hadn't been sitting right before their eyes they would have never believed it. However they did believe Walder was on the level and that he was a good guy.

"So, what do you intend to do next?" asked one of the four, which of whom Walder knew was speaking for all of them. Walder was also beginning to distinguish one individual from another.

"I'm en route to save my poor cousins, the Jack Ass Penguins, from those short-sighted and selfish **humans** ," blurted Walder, forgetting to go easy on the "H" word.

More silence followed. Once again, Walder was apprehensive. And once again, it was from the uncertainty of how these humans would react. What might they do next? The time lapse persisted, and their lack of acknowledgment was creating something of concern for Walder. Would they laugh at him—or worse?

What Walder didn't realize was that these vagrants had been laughed at and ridiculed themselves. They knew the score; they understood how it felt. Plus, they seemed to admire this penguin for its courage, and its concern for the less privileged (they knew the plight of the Jack Ass Penguins). But mostly, they recognized that this penguin, no matter how exceptional it might be, didn't have any inkling of what _it_ was intending to go up against.

One of the gents thought he might try to give the naive penguin a hint, concerning the formidableness of this bird's intentions, by commenting, "The most influential part of human society in South Africa endorses the abolition of your Jack Ass Penguins. They refer to them as worthless, obnoxious nuisances, and seek through covert means to destroy them, even though it's against the law, and some of these _humans_ happen to be the highest representatives of the law. It's the same thing they do to us, because we don't fit in and do things _their_ way."

Before Walder could digest this, another one asked, "Penguin, simply how do you think you're going to do it, anyway?"

A good question; Walder knew it. This would take some thought. After a few moments, Walder softly answered, "I was thinking the same thing myself, for I don't know the answer to your question. But I'm hoping that... if I keep moving in the right direction, the answers will come to me in time... that I'll be led by truth and righteousness to my destiny."

Then, Walder suddenly felt the impulse to take the reins of the conversation and asked, "So, Gentlemen, what are your own stories?"

This question froze them instantly. It hung them up. They just sat there immobilized with horror. The horror of looking back at their past, the past each one of them had buried long ago, along with all hope. A tomb they'd vowed never to reopen.

Why was this so threatening to them? As if their past was a sleeping menace never to be reckoned with, yet alone disturbed. And how had Walder incited this? How had Walder triggered it, this emotional minefield? And how could so much emotion be connected with someone's past, the significance concerning each one's secret past, the forbidden, never-talked-about—swept-under-the-rug—truth of their respective past?

First of all, no one had ever really asked them about their lives before, though they'd told "it" a time or two hundred, whenever possible. And when they did, it had always been the diluted version. A "watered-down," fabricated version of their lives, forced upon inattentive eyes and uninterested ears. But now, to be asked—this was a first!

Another period of silence followed. Except this time, Walder wasn't apprehensive, and was even beginning to feel the ball bouncing into his court, which was verified by an extreme preoccupation with something from all four of the others. They were so engrossed with something; they were so subdued by something. And though it was something invisible, hidden internally, it was manifesting through the agency of every aspect of their outer appearance. It was as vivid as an art piece; as obvious as a stone mountain-peak. You could read it like a newspaper, and it was as real as they were sitting there. And it was evidently very, very real to each of them, too, and apparently terribly ominous. The four human faces appeared stricken with terror, and were displaying their dread over something. Evidence that whatever it was, it was very big; it was very powerful. This was gigantic. These were monstrous hang-ups. They were actually slaves in their own internal prison.

The seconds became frames of time that seemed to extend into endlessness for these four. The wind became nil. The fire stopped flickering and began to beam in unison with the moon. This vibrant, steady glow from the campfire seemed to be collaborating with the moon, gaining strength, somehow, working together to set the stage for what was to come. These humans were in the limelight, on center stage, before Walder _._

Walder was a wide-eyed, wide-eared audience of the likes in which these gents had never known, or imagined. And though introverts they were, the four began to "suck it up", summoning their courage, their best, preparing to impart the "real" story this time of how they managed to get where they _are_. And so, like brilliant storytellers set upon an immaculate stage, one by one each of them recounted his own past, painfully disclosing all the nitty-gritty of their life. This was to be the first time any one of them would genuinely listen to another, would listen to each other (or any other highwayman), and now all four of them were to finally do so. Each one was a sworn-in spectator of the soul. For the first time, each one of them was really listening to the other, because, for the first time the truth was being spoken. They were all really there for each other, watching, and listening to each other, as one by one each of their comrades was to really spill the beans this time, really pull the skeletons from the closet and impart the dirt. Each would listen to their brethren, until it became their turn. The first one began:

"Penguin, and Gentlemen, I had a good job, a fine home, two cars, and a boat. Also a family: two children; a wife; three cats and a dog. All of which depended on me very much, but didn't know it or show any appreciation; except for the dog, and maybe one cat. Anyhow, going back to my childhood, my parents felt that my grades and social status were more important than my general well being. I'd always played by their rules, getting good grades, getting a good education early and, unfortunately, getting married way too early. I was not happy! I think one of my biggest mistakes was letting others make decisions for me. Then, one day, everything that had been creeping up to me finally fell upon me like an avalanche, all at once. That day happened to be a fine, sunny Sunday, and I decided to take a little drive for the purpose of clearing my head and collecting my thoughts. To make a long story short, I just kept driving, never turned around, and the next thing I knew I was nowhere bound. It felt so crazy, yet it felt so good. I'd only dreamed about it, never thought I would. It was like something grabbed hold of me and I didn't have any control. A part of me that I didn't know existed took the wheel of my automobile, and admittedly, the rest of me didn't resist. In a way it all seemed so frightening, and in another way it felt so necessary. To be finally purging these built-up frustrations, to be releasing a part of me that had wanted to come out for so long and was finally doing so whether I liked it or not. And most of all, for the first time in my life, I didn't know what lay ahead of me. I didn't have my future—my life—prearranged. It was very exciting! Maybe if during my childhood, my growing years, I'd had some say in my life, you know, during the formative years, this wouldn't have happened. If I'd only had some unpredictability, something to strive for—a reason to _be_. So here I am, and I can't say I would have been any better off if I'd stayed home all those years. And though I did have much, materialistically speaking, I was simply miserable. But what I feel that I never had, that I was never allowed to have, was a childhood—a real childhood—or a choice during that period. I guess in my own way I'm still trying to have the childhood I was denied. Thank you gentlemen for listening to the brief account of myself, and I sincerely hope someone may have learned something, or gained something from it in some way."

As he seated, he received a genuine acknowledgement from every member of the audience and Walder thought, _Wow, so much wisdom from just one human!_

After character #1 was fully seated, character #2 slowly rose and stood. But before he could begin, Walder suddenly realized they weren't introducing themselves and asked without thinking, "Hey Guys, what's your names?"

And then, sort of at the same time, all four mumbled, "Don't ask, Penguin!" Walder shut up, and once again the next speaker went back into his muse and began:

"Well, even though I seem to be wearing the same boots as my brother here, my story began quite differently. I felt like I was abandoned early in life, due to my mother running off with another man. My father took to drinking, and the women he wanted wouldn't tolerate his problem, and the ones that did settle for him, used and abused him, all of which ultimately ended in failed relationships. He kept drinking more and more until one night he just died in his sleep. At the time, I was still in high school and was forced to drop out and work in order to support myself. As soon as I was old enough, I signed up for the U.S. Army, and didn't have any problems for quite some time. You see, the military took care of me—in more ways than one! All I had to do was show up and do what they told me to do; I was their kind of boy. I would have been content spending the rest of my days this way. But, as fate had it, one day something happened that I honestly didn't have anything to do with, or knew anything about, or could have controlled. A group of my superiors framed me—a likely duck—in order to save their own hides. In order to cover up their culpability on a screw-up, they scapegoated me, and I was nearly court-martialed for doing my duty. Talk about SNAFU; the military is the quintessential experts in the art of scapegoating. But they made me a deal: kick me out on a dishonorable discharge for not contending the bogus allegations brought before me. I was released back into a world I'd sought to escape. The way I live now is the only way left I know how to, the only way to escape. At least I know I won't be court-martialed and put behind bars in some military jail with real sickos, for committing the crime of following orders, making the mistake of doing what they told me to do. So, I jumped a freighter—I didn't even know where it was heading—and eventually disembarked in South Africa. I'm not even a citizen of this country!"

Character #2 finished emphatically, sat, and didn't say anything more.

Walder couldn't believe how bad some humans were, and how good others were—and how the good ones seemed to be getting the short end of the stick. Walder thought, _My, how fortunate I am to be here amongst such wisdom_.

It was obvious these storytellers weren't trying to outdo one another—anything but. These four humans were unveiling the profound details of their pasts, which held the mystery of why each had become a failure, and, for the first time in their lives, doing so without any "buttering up." Without looking at the other, each seemed to somehow know intuitively when it was time for whom to speak, as if they were recognizing and honoring an implicit status. But it went further than just status. It was something else.

A third man rose, stood for a moment in silence, and then without addressing the audience began to speak (as if to some deity in the heavens). He seemed to feel and realize that it was something he needed to do. And so he did:

"I came into this world with too much courage—too little fear. I was stupid! I questioned all the answers in a non-tactful way, in a threatening way, and challenged authority always. And by me being one, and them many, I subsequently lost from being persecuted, by the fear and ignorance of the 'cowards that be', and left without a prayer in today's modern world. I have a record that follows me wherever I go and nullifies any attempt I make toward becoming an integral part of society. I think my mistake was thinking I could go it alone, do it without any help from others, without the assistance of a team. Now I know better! I thought I was stronger than others, and took comfort in knowing I never sided with anyone, or anything that I didn't completely endorse. And I endorsed no one! Contrary to my brother, who spoke just before me and is someone trying to remain outside in order to keep from being captured by society and become a prisoner, I'm a prisoner on the outside trying to get back into society, to _my_ freedom. Now, I wish I could maybe endorse the 'lessor of the evils'—Sign me up with the 'least of the devils we know'!—quite a contrast to my previously uncompromising self."

Character #3 also sat quickly and quietly. And last, but not least, the fourth human rose. He wasn't attempting to outdo any of the others, either, but he was to. It was his fate. Without warning, he began suddenly, yet softly:

"I just wanted to be like everyone else. I didn't want to be any better; it was just the way everyone perceived me to be. I just wanted to be an average person, an ordinary one. It was the hardest thing I could have ever possibly tried to do because it was the only thing I couldn't do. It was even worse when I attempted to be a common person, and act as low as I could possibly go. People saw right through me, no matter their class. In my attempts to ally with, or assist the common person, I found out painfully that they didn't want to be helped. They wanted and needed an excuse to remain the way they were. And anything that threatened **that** threatened them, and, in turn, threatened me. The elite scoffed me for having sympathy for the common, and the common scorned me for being a fake—a nice, well-intentioned fake, though, I might add. So, eventually I ended up with nobody at all. And for what—trying to be a nice guy and trying to help and relate to people? I've always had only good intentions for others, but for some reason this hangs them up. People seem to want others to resent them. Possibly because _they_ resent others. I would be very ashamed and embarrassed if I were to act in the manner that most the people I've met do. It's as if most people have no shame, no pride, or something. People see someone with higher standards as some kind of a threat. I'm not thoroughly convinced that people receive what they've got coming to them right now, but in the end, they always _seem_ to. I knew that some day I'd have to figure something out, because at the rate I was going something would eventually happen. I was becoming more and more alienated, and soon I refused to stoop to the level of others. So, I began to search for the solution, or an answer to this dilemma. And, I'm still searching. I find myself with the only people who will have me. Because, we all share one thing in common: We've been rejected from society!"

Walder thought, _How frightening it must be to search for something for so long and still be searching, on account of not finding it yet._

Character #4 continued:

"I seem to see things others don't. It seems so simple and easy to me, but others make it difficult. It's almost like being cursed, in a way, because, if I was ignorant of these things I wouldn't feel the attendant burden of responsibility, the incumbent responsibility, the responsibility that comes with _knowing_ that makes you feel forced by your conscience to try and do something, something to help. And, I wouldn't have ever felt compelled to fake who I really was, by attempting to act like a common person. And, when I try to show others that they're wrong, and why they are wrong—try to enlighten them—they resent it and reject me, and even gang up on me in an attempt to make me feel I'm stupid."

Walder was thinking about how much character #4's confessions correlated to the relationships he'd had with his own kind, and how he, too, felt a bit above them, and how it was difficult for him to express himself to the other penguins without them turning their backs on him. Walder thought, _Gee,_ _I'd never want to be alienated from my family and friends_!

Also, Walder was beginning to give some thought as to how _he_ might deal with this sort of thing better, the very thing this human was currently addressing. This was becoming a million-dollar issue: To need people, but be unable to deal with them.

Walder asked #4, "Put yourself in the shoes of others for a moment, in someone else's place. Think about how you might feel if someone like _you_ was constantly correcting _you_ in the way that _you_ do to others. And even if _you_ happened to be right, wouldn't the truth be a bit hard for _you_ to swallow?"

Character #4 was immediately very uncomfortable over Walder's sudden concern regarding his confessions, his attitude. It was a slap in the face. You could see the emotion begin to volcano inside of him, toe to head. He began shaking for a few moments, looking like he was getting ready to explode. Then he did just that, erupting violently: "Don't you tell me how to think about things! Don't you tell me I'm wrong! You're just a young, dumb penguin, and I'm... I'm a...! I... _was..._ a doctor."

His voice had toned downed to a whisper when he divulged to all what he "was," what he _had_ been, and it was evident to all that he wasn't proud of it. But all were convinced they had a "doctor on duty."

Walder had been thinking for a moment he'd failed yet again, and that he'd soon be thrown into the simmering pot—alive—when this human started babbling out loud, as if he was having a conversation with himself. He seemed to be talking to himself, asking himself, saying to himself:

"Wait a minute! Was I just speaking to that nice penguin the way others respond to me when I lecture them? And would I respond to another, in the same way others respond to me, if another addressed me in the same fashion I sometimes address another? Maybe so. Yeah. What if I was spoken to in the way that I sometimes speak to others? And if that's the case, I'd better... well, if I'm to get along with the majority of others, I'm going to have to change. I'm going to have to be much more tactful in the way I address them. Additionally, if I do see _more_ than others, I have an obligation to get through to them somehow so that I can help them, in case I'm able to help them. The trick is _how_? I didn't ask for this, but for some reason I was endowed with superior observation and intelligence, and therefore, hold the duty to help, somehow, even if I don't receive any credit for doing so. And, to try to keep from turning them off in the process. And, then, maybe someday it'll all make sense and work out for as many as possible."

Walder was blown away! Blown away and hung up by character #4's conversation with self, as if it had been Walder talking to his self the whole time he'd been listening to the _ex_ -doctor giving an account of his adversity with others.

Everyone was alert with excitement over this most unusual fireside "quartet" (verbal medley). It was as if a spiritual fellowship had been born. And indeed a newly formed fraternity had sprung up in the group.

Walder expressed a desire to hang with them—his new friends: "Hey Guys, how are _we_ going to make it to the train, surrounded by all of these savage beasts, without a fire?"

"It's not us they're interested in, Penguin. It's you!" the four explained. "Besides, all _animals_ have a natural fear of humans; except for penguins, apparently. And if a problem should occur, we have guns. Big guns!"

Then characters #1, #2, and #3 went on (for Walder's benefit) by telling Walder that he was different from them, and must continue on in the direction he was currently heading, explaining, "You see, Penguin, you're not like us; don't get stuck with us!"

"But aren't you going to be jumping the train for Cape Town in the morning, with me?" inquired Walder, puzzled.

"Oh no." they replied. "We're going the other way, further away from people, from the city. We're jumping the midday train in the _other_ direction."

Character #4, however, after concluding his only way out of this would be to figure out how to deal with the society he'd dropped out of, left the fireside and began packing his meager belongings.

The others asked nervously, "What are you doing?"

"I'm going back into society," he replied, "to once again be a member of the human _race_!" He didn't say anything more.

The others were instantly anxious over this prospect, and grew increasingly nervous as they thought about it more and more. They were feeling left out, feeling left out over one of their brothers leaving them, leaving them for something the other three couldn't confront, and, moreover, breaking a bond that they all _had_ had in common: "drop outs" of society.

Walder observed the faces of the "other" three, which were looking as pale as the soup smelled, and thought he might have a way to cheer them up. "Hey guys. You want me to jump in the pond and pull you out a few fish to throw into the pot, so we can celebrate our first, last, and only night together... with some fish stew?"

"Sure, Penguin, that'd be great," the three mumbled, not considering the danger this entailed for Walder.

So, hoping that maybe a big, hearty bowl of soup might take their minds off of their stewing insecurity for awhile, Walder, unexpectedly, shot out of the campsite and back into the pond like a rocket, before the already discouraged and off guard predators could react. Once back in his element, Walder remained on the surface of the water so that all could see him, hoping to convince the congregation of carnivores that he intended to leave everything behind, that he was "going for it"—making a getaway. Walder did indeed lead all of them around the pond and to the other side, and then shot out of the water on the far side of the pond as if he was attempting to make a break for it. When Walder was sure he had them all sufficiently away from the campsite, Walder turned around, came back at them and once again shot over their heads, flying into the air and back into the pond to quickly snatch three unsuspecting fish. Walder had made sure to catch one extra fish for the upcoming tactic. With a good-sized fish underneath each wing, and a much smaller one in his beak, Walder headed back for the fire, where he knew one of the carnivores would be waiting: the cheetah. Only the cheetah would be fast enough to cover the shore around the oblong pond and get back to the campsite before he did. And so it was—the cheetah was waiting for him—just as Walder had suspected. Anticipating this, Walder flung the fish he held in his beak straight at the mug of the awaiting cheetah. This distracted it ("tooth and claw") for a fraction of a second by appealing to its instincts. The smell of fish, and then the taste of fish on the feline's tongue, gave Walder the micro-moment he needed to make it around the cheetah and into the campsite with his two hefty fish, leaving the greedy hunters outside fighting over a meager piece of "bait."

The campfire dwellers were very impressed, but not one of them showed it. The two (beefy) fish were instantly added to the awaiting pot of simmering water. But there would no applause for Walder's feat. Walder didn't want or expect admiration. But a simple "Thank You" or some other form of acknowledgment would have felt sufficient, would have been _nice_ to hear. They said nothing.

The eyes beyond the campfire's glow watched in envy as the campfire congregation feasted in silence. It was comforting for all to have a hot meal (though Walder preferred his portion cold and uncooked). But three of the four humans had a bag full of worries to reckon with concerning #4, who had his bag full of packed belongings. Though the three attributed their misery to a "traitor," who'd brought this upon them, each one knew deep down it was their own fault. And though each one knew this, none of them were ready to admit it to anyone, particularly themselves—yet. But it was brewing! They were feeling uncomfortable about one of their peers going back at it with a remorseless society. It made them uneasy with guilt and envy toward their _ex_ -peer.

The summary of all of this was leading to one simple point. And, even the three melancholy members of the fireside quintet could no longer avoid the unavoidable, this one irrefutable datum/maxim: PEOPLE NEED PEOPLE!

Walder and character #4 looked at the other three, and could tell the others _knew_ this too. The other three knew they'd never be happy without companionship, without others, and that to deal with this would be their only way out. But, Walder and #4 also knew (as did the other three) the other three felt incapable of making it with others, at this time. They had a severe phobia of society, of people; people, who were after all, society. The first three knew they were hastening their own doom by not confronting this, and though they'd told themselves time and time again, "Just waiting for the _right_ time," they also knew it'd probably never happen—hoped they would never be forced to deal with it. It wasn't what they really wanted, but it was as if they didn't have a choice, somehow. They weren't going back into society—"Like hell I will!" They would rather lie down and die.

Walder was hung up. This scenario reminded him of the same problem that had been inflicting Herman, the Big Baby back at the bog. He was really trying to understand the mechanism that was literally holding these three in chains: mental and emotional chains and bounds. _What does it take to free such an individual?_ Walder wondered _. No less than a sorcerer, apparently. Can people even help other people? Is an answer even conceivable? Is there an answer, somewhere? Does someone have an answer—has anyone got the answer?_ And then Walder looked up at the stars. Walder began staring up at the friends that'd been with him the whole time; his first friends, the friends responsible for luring him away from Antarctica, and to here: the stars. Walder stared the stars right between the eyes and asked: HAVE YOU GOT AN ANSWER? HAVE YOU GOT THE TRUTH?

At that moment, Walder realized that what he'd been doing all along was searching for something: searching for the answers, searching for the truth. Wow; what a realization! It also occurred to Walder that he might be very much like #4, and if he, too, didn't figure something out, if he didn't figure "this" out, he could possibly end up like #4. But, Walder knew, and could feel, that the answer to this mystery would involve a journey of magnitude, a journey deep within one's self. That it was a secret so hidden, so guarded by tremendously adverse, emotional consequences, that anyone who dared to tamper with it, to try and uncover the truth, better be smart and rugged. So formidable was this that even the most stellar humans (a doctor—#4) would have a hard time confronting it. Amid his contemplation, Walder thought, _If only my brilliant buddy, Joey, was here to tell me what to do, then everything would be okay. Oh, I miss Joey—good Ol' Joey! Even that clever Orca I could tolerate now, seeing as I'm on dry land—fat chance I'll be seeing his smart mug out here_. Walder was on his own.

Now, for the first time, Walder could see many new tangents lying before him that he could embark upon, and that probably all of these were analogous to an antiquated, winding, cobblestone road leading forever into nowhere. Walder got a grip on himself and reminded himself of the real reason he'd come all this way into foreign land: to save his cousins, the Jack Ass Penguins. Beginning to focus, Walder still couldn't quite pull himself out of the extraordinary puzzle that had fallen into his lap. Walder convinced himself that this malady (neurosis) was only associated with humans, only inflicted humans—oh, and at least _one_ hippo—and once again directed his intentions and energy toward Cape Town and began to plot his efforts. Walder had a disturbing feeling that this dilemma was not going to disappear. That with time it would grow increasingly haunting. Walder was also being struck with the realization that he was quickly becoming an adult, and losing the luxury of others either offering solutions for him, or even outright bailing him out of his blunders. This was becoming a time of many realizations for Walder. Walder knew he was becoming old enough to be responsible for his actions, and that soon it might be all up to him, whatever _it_ might happen to be. Walder decided it was time that he began thinking for himself and decide what was right for him and others. Walder also knew he had better be right most of the time, and be right all of the time on the important issues. Walder braced himself for the uncertainty he knew would be lurking on and around his path into the future: the path of the brave and righteous; the path that those who have a purpose dare to pursue.

All five remained awake the entire night; everyone felt discomfort in what was to follow the next day. Only Walder and #4 stared at the stars. The other three couldn't face what they knew deep down they should, what they someday would have to, or else. But Walder and #4 at least knew they were moving in the right direction, regardless of how vulnerable they felt at the time. There seems to be a part of the early morning hours that puts one at their most insecure and naked self, stripped of allies, stripped of confidence, virtually stripped of all security, of everything. Put succinctly, and bluntly, the person is completely alone, left only to deal with self: the most vulnerable ordeal at best—SELF WITH SELF—and possibly the grimmest, most difficult proposition of all. Walder knew morning was near, and as usual the new-day sun would probably warm the bones and spirits of all, and that some might choose to forget this "humbling process" they had just gone through during the wee hours of the morning. But Walder couldn't. With every new day, Walder knew that statistically it brought with it inconceivable ramifications.

Soon, the faint hint of a different hue began to spread throughout the starlit sky. And, as darkness gradually yielded to these emerging shades of iridescent purple, all five felt those familiar sensations being incited within them. This surge of adrenaline and an array of emotions were being prompted by the promise of daylight. All guaranteed by the unfaltering reputation of daybreak, by the uncompromising guarantee of an inexorable dawn. "The sun's a risin'; a new day's upon us!" What would this day bring?

# Chapter IX

For a moment, Walder couldn't help but think about how abundant this pond was with all of its amenities: fresh fish; "fresh" water; and the leisurely living surrounding it. But Walder quickly remembered that the campfire (makers) dwellers would soon be leaving, and that he didn't have a clue as to how to build a fire. And the predators wouldn't be afraid of the campsite without a fire. Also, these beasts did seem to ensure they kept a distance from humans, these humans anyway, and for some reason they weren't interested in the humans, but in him. Walder knew that before another night fell, he'd better be out of here!

It was light now, about an hour after the sun had broken through the stubborn veil of night. Just a little in the distance stood the water tower on the other side of the pond. The water tower seemed to be expressing an outward attitude, as if hoping to hide inner insecurity. An insecurity that it kept securely veiled behind an inflated sense of its own self worth. Yet, it feigned nobility, still denying any dependence on the pond, as if insisting that autonomy was all it knew. It was as if this old, wooden structure hoped to distract attention from the fact that it wouldn't have a purpose for existence without this adjacent body of water. So, it continued attempting to portray grace and grandeur, while exuding about as much elegance as a delusional troll. And, despite everything, still hoping to forge reverence in all that beheld it. Walder eyed it for a moment and thought, _I could hang out there all day and night without disturbance_.

But then Walder remembered Joey telling him about certain creatures around these parts that had a way of getting to things, had a way of getting things done. Like big birds of prey that were able to spot him from great distances above, and swoop down on him from his blind side to pick, and peck him, like a peach. And serpents, capable of slithering up to a _presumably_ safe perch and nab him. One serpent, he remembered Joey telling him about, was a serpent so formidable that it was possibly, probably, the worst in the world. It had a coffin-shaped head, which could only be symbolic of its reputation, and it had no rival. A snake so large, so swift, so venomous, so aggressive—dangerous—that humans didn't dare leave their homes at night, and even dreaded having to journey during the day, anywhere, for fear of it. It was called a Mamba, "the" Black Mamba, and it lived right here in South Africa. Walder quickly reminded himself that the plan was to move on.

Throughout Walder's continuous contemplation, of how his past seemed to be correlating to the present, he continued to bear in mind certain facts that were essential to his intentions and primary endeavor. And one item lurked like a vulture above the rest: no one else was going to do it for him. Which meant: the train headed for Cape Town—he'd better be on it!

Ironically, while concluding this train of thought, Walder heard something he'd never heard before. It was the most distinct sound ever. A sharp shrill coupled with full overtones—a one-chord symphony—sliced through the morning air. Then, a high octave of this single chord of harmonics would bend flat by a halftone, embellishing the sustaining echoes of the initial tonic with dissonance: a veritable demonstration of the "dominant 7th chord," (a staple in any Blues man's repertoire). To the four humans, the howl of this old-time steam engine was a magnificent, mammoth harmonica, wailing "the Blues" into their souls. It was the lonesome cry of a steel caravan, the vehicle that would bring them to yet another campsite, somewhere. But to Walder, and now to his newly found comrade, it was a new day, and anything could happen. Walder grabbed hold of himself, and as he began bidding thanks and farewell to the three unfortunate gentlemen, #4 grabbed his mangy duffel bag of meager belongings that he soon would no longer have any use for. Walder thought, _Why do humans feel they must drag all of this unnecessary stuff around._

And at that very moment, #4 turned around and said, "Here, Guys, I won't be needin' this anymore," and laid the duffel bag down before them. "Divvy it up amongst yourselves, and keep it in remembrance of me. And, just remember, if you ever need my help, or want to contact me for any reason, just dial information for the number of Dr. Robert Donald McAllister. I'll be there, and at your service!" And he didn't say anything more. Walder and the doctor turned and headed out of the encampment for the water tower.

By now the disappointed predators had dispersed to some degree, drifting away from the vicinity of the pond in hopes of finding a more likely meal. And by the time the hungry hunters did catch wind of the fleeing quarry, the two were scaling the ladder of the water tower, preparing to descend upon the unsuspecting train at an opportune moment. The thoroughly discouraged carnivores, at the sight of this, took a few sniffs into the breeze and continued reluctantly into the bush.

Soon, the train that had been thundering down the tracks moments ago, was now crawling toward them, shrouded in a blanket of steam. Hissing threateningly, it pulled under the water tank to drink its fill. Then, as soon as the train's water reservoir could be filled, it would continue quickly in the direction of the rails, for Cape Town. Walder was getting a grasp of what it was like to be a "train-hopper;" it was very exciting. But for the doctor, not only was this old hat for him, this was to be his very last "free ride." So, for separate reasons, both Walder and the doctor were excited. They waited for the perfect moment.

To Walder, all of the cars looked the same. But to his rail savvy partner, they were very unique and wore their own coat, symbolizing _what_ they might contain. To the doctor's eye, he saw the usual. It was always the usual: petroleum fuels; coal; lumber; fertilizers; chemical cargo of many different sorts; etc. The doctor informed Walder that often there were refrigerated cars with freezer compartments containing many different types of valuable goods. Though mostly these commodities would be medical supplies and biotech material, sometimes it would be food. "Often there's food on these rails!"

Walder assured the doctor, "Well, I know darn well that if I can smell krill hundreds of feet below the surface of the ocean, I can surely sniff out the scent of fresh fish in a boxcar!"

It just so happened that one of the boxcars was indeed loaded with prime filets of some of the finest fish in the ocean, freshly caught off the shores of "hot spots." Usually, this fish was put on ice and flown in by helicopter, which would be picked up at sea directly after being caught and transported to the finest Restaurants in the neighboring areas. The surplus, however, would be frozen and warehoused. Eventually, this frozen fish would either get placed on a truck for local markets, or a train, such as this one, headed for lower scale markets. And this train was headed for Cape Town.

As the steam engine received its fill of water, Walder determined exactly where he wanted to board. But his friend wasn't at all interested in sharing a boxcar laden with ice with him. So Walder told him to "Jump on the next car over and I'll do all the work."

When the train began inching forward, it was burdened with two more passengers.

The two feasted on a rich man's delight: the finest, freshest fish. Fortunately, the doctor was a sushi fanatic, and a purest at that. The two feasted their hearts away and fell asleep atop the rhythm of the repetitive rap of the rails.

When the two awoke, and began thinking about things, the doctor was confronted by his newly adopted philosophy and presented it to Walder. For if the doctor was to move forward in life, from where he was, he couldn't do it by starting off now on the path of his old ways: with a free meal and free transportation; as a freeloader. After introducing this notion to Walder, who saw his point, the two considered how they might make this free ride justifiable, how they might make compensation for what they were taking. Walder's proposition was quickly and thoroughly denounced by his rail wise partner, which was for them to admit their wrongful deeds to the train's staff and ask them what they could do that might nullify their deficit.

"Bad idea," said the doctor. "If you want to do that, you're going to have to do it without them knowing about it."

Walder wondered why life had to be so complicated, but remembered that often with humans: the hard way was the right way, and sometimes the only way.

The rail-wise doctor planned to say that he and the penguin had been merely recovering from heat exhaustion and dehydration from traveling, and had taken refuge from wild animals in the water tower. They'd fallen asleep, and, when the train stopped to fill up with water, they had fallen right into the train's water reservoir. "You see, we were sucked aboard, against our will. And, under the conditions, we feel it our duty to contribute to the group effort of seeing this train's arrival at its destination, on which we're _uncontrollably_ bound."

The doctor was right. It was a trick never before used by a hobo, and so they passed right on in. The doctor got a job in the engine room shoveling coal into the furnace, and Walder got a job monitoring the temperature of the refrigerated cars, and augmenting the ice reserves in the frozen section (which Walder didn't mind one bit!).

As the train steamed ever forward, only Walder's head could be seen peeping above the hatch door of the frozen fish compartment. It was nice to catch all of this extraordinary scenery from the luxury atop a refrigerated boxcar, which is to say, while being mostly submerged within a refrigerated car.

Now insulated from the deadly heat, Walder watched the South African bush roll by him as if he were in the comfort of a modern-day movie theatre. Walder recalled it had only been a little while ago when he was almost dead from heat and thirst, and was miraculously saved by the song from a happy hippo.

# Chapter X

Back at the bog, which had saved Walder's life, the hopelessly happy hippo was feeling less than so. It seems as though Walder had inadvertently planted a parasitic seed inside the happy-go-lucky hippo that had been growing, and was now eating him alive. It'd never occurred to Herman that someday he might regret his adopting a laidback lifestyle. After all, it was his life. Up until meeting this penguin, it'd been so easy for Herman to remain complacent and lackadaisical, to continue pretending he didn't know, need, or feel any responsibility of any kind for anything. But now, for the first time in years, Herman felt responsibility; Herman was feeling responsible. He felt responsible for letting the poor little penguin leave on his own, and the increased burden that if anything should happen to the penguin it would be because of him. Herman felt responsible, he felt guilt; he would be to blame.

It was early morning, and though it had been just last night that Herman let Walder leave his bog, Herman couldn't take the agony any longer. A haunting feeling of guilt, shame, and dread had kept him awake throughout the night, and now it was tearing him apart inside. It was as if a curse had been injected inside of him. Herman bid farewell to his beloved mud hole and took to the tracks.

For a hippopotamus to be leaving his element this time of year, during the day, before the rains set in, was unheard of for hippos. But Herman felt he had to do it. He had to do this if for no other reason than to appease his burning conscience. Initially, Herman had been sure that he would never see the penguin again and, thus, not know of any ill fate that might befall the penguin, should it happen. But now, not only had his guilt surrounding this escalated to the point where he couldn't think of anything else, so had the realization that he'd been terribly remiss for a bull hippo, lately. By his being content with an insipid lifestyle in recent years. It'd been a meaningless period of his life. And, now, everything was coming to a head. He felt that even if he was unable to help the poor penguin, who could be deceased by now, perhaps he could at least discover what had befallen him. Then, maybe someday, he might be able to forgive himself for the unfortunate fate he'd unthinkingly allowed the poor penguin to walk into.

Herman willingly tromped down the tracks toward the water tower, carrying a world of worry, his conscience constantly reminding him of his shame. It was his penance, this heavy load. His beast of burden! This burdened beast would continue to trudge through the dusty plains, overloaded with emotional anguish, all the while his sense of duty and honor dictating to him that he had to do this.

As he moved down the tracks, the sun continued to rise, and Herman, being big, but not necessarily a big dummy, began to realize that he was indeed big. And that big wasn't better when it came to moving through the dry, hot plains of South Africa. Herman began to consider that there must be a better way to travel, and if he didn't make it to the water tower in time, before the sun got too hot, he was going to be "hurtin' for certain."

Back at the campsite, within a grove of trees on the other side of the pond from the tracks, three men sat in silence. The fire was dead, and all three were reflecting its lifelessness, mentally and literally. They, too, were all overcome with guilt and shame, from knowing they'd added yet another item to the list of their failures, the biggest one of all. Each of the three _knew_ that they were never to recover from this one, from letting the penguin and their comrade go off by themselves, on their own, especially the penguin. They knew their comrade could hold his own. But he would eventually separate from the penguin, leaving the poor thing in a human hell that it couldn't yet imagine. They'd abandoned their own code of the road: Look after thy brother! These three, like Herman, had been, and still were, spending all of their time worrying about Walder's fate, and their own. It seems as though the same seed Walder had planted in Herman had been planted into these three as well. The mysterious penguin that had somehow rehabilitated their comrade. It seems this docile snowbird was creating quite an effect in this wild, hot country.

No one moved much or barely did anything. Instead, the three welcomed this suffering as an additional punishment, and possibly, hopefully, a tool toward their amends and eventual redemption. They were as stiff as bronze and somber as tarnish, looking typically contemplative as most any of Rodin's sculptures.

Herman wasn't "diggin'" this walking-down-the-tracks routine one bit, nor was he benefiting from the same incentive that had helped to tremendously expedite Walder's trip down these same tracks last night: hungry hunters. Being on the lazy side, Herman was beginning to get real creative as to how he might get to his destination more easily. Herman's gait had begun to appear as if he were sauntering the promenade in a park on Sunday morning. Although Herman knew he'd eventually make it (arduously), he still couldn't stop thinking that there must be a better way. Herman knew that come midday he would be far more miserable than he was right now, even though hippos can make it for days without water. Herman was being driven by a sense of urgency, and necessity, not only to regain his pride, but a remorse for the penguin he had let waddle out of his sanctuary, for the penguin he allowed to stroll into an environment that was completely incompatible for it.

After much pondering, and although being an optimistic opportunist in his own right, Herman acknowledged that there simply didn't seem to be one perceivable option or one bit of potential to alter much of anything that could better his mode of travel. Feeling little hope for a solution, Herman continued tromping down the tracks, in the direction that the crossties were dictating.

The crossties seemed to be floating upon an endless stream of granite rock. He felt like laying down in the shade of an occasional shrub off to the side of the tracks. But Herman's conscience relentlessly kept him on track. It would continue reminding him of the debt he owed, concerning the penguin.

Plod onward he did, suffering every step of the way, regretting his previous weakness, holding his head low, while his swollen, gluttonous belly swayed from one rail to the other. There were eyes upon him, but none of the spectators dared to mess with a "living" hippo. Hippos were big trouble for anything that got in their path, let alone messed with them. An entire band of crocodiles, for instance, wouldn't consider attacking even a baby hippo, while the mother was around—and she always was. The baby hippo could use full-grown crocodiles as stepping stones, could hop happily around on their backs, and not one crocodile would even think about "it"; they wouldn't even dare! The hyenas, too, knew instinctively that Herman was far from a potential dinner. They followed him, nonetheless, in hopes that his big body might begin to falter more and eventually collapse under the intensifying sun, which would feed many a scavenger at length.

Knowing he couldn't turn around, due to his honor being at stake, Herman continued on, not knowing what the immediate future would bring, not knowing what he might stumble upon. Herman hadn't left that glorious bog of his for nearly 2 years. He felt awkward and insecure, and was keeping his keen olfactory alert for any and all smells, particularly for a whiff of water wafting in the wind.

Eventually, Herman's downward gaze caught a different pattern below him. He noticed a separate set of tracks veering off to the right: a rusty pair of rails shrouded in weeds and being guarded by dozens of seedlings and saplings that were growing between the rails. These young trees were standing like sentries, and hovering over something like a clique of overprotective chaperones. Though Herman felt an overwhelming obligation to hold a steadfast course upon the rails, his curiosity would drag him off track for just a moment. He had to find out how far this went, and _what_ might be over there. Cautiously, Herman began to explore this flora-infested tangent of railway. Further and further his curiosity pulled him. Down the unused, neglected, forgotten-about course he inched his way, to lift his eyes in a surprisingly short amount of distance to spy something. This "something" stood motionless before him. It was like stumbling upon a statue in the Amazonian forest. This thing remained frozen, yet it held an air of nobility. Herman didn't know what the heck it was, or what it could possibly be useful for. He'd never seen such a thing. But he did somehow sense that this thing, whatever it was, held "potential."

An old, auxiliary rail vehicle, placed here many years ago, for assisting a project or for the event of an emergency, awaited the disposal of anyone (or "anything") that had the muscle and incentive to drive it forward. It was a handcar. This vehicle had long since been abandoned, its drive train securely frozen by rust. Corrosion had prevented any hopeful humans in recent years from availing themselves of its potential. Anyone who might have needed it hadn't been prepared enough to have lubricant and the power necessary to get it going again. Aside from human machinery, only something as big and strong as a hopeful hippo would be able to free the seized-up gearbox of this handcar without lubricant—with brute strength—and get it rolling once more.

Herman didn't have the foggiest clue, could not imagine, what the purpose of this gadget could possibly be. _Now what would a human have designed and have intended this to be for?_

He sniffed it, poked it a bit, and after a short inspection, Herman gave it a shove out of annoyed perplexity, to see it reluctantly inch forward with a horrible, high-pitched, abrasive sound. Herman pushed it again more determinedly to observe that it did indeed possess the ability to roll— _Hmmm; might be useful if I was on a downhill or something_.

Herman wasn't about to push something this sluggish and bulky for very far. What could its purpose be? Herman could only imagine it must have been constructed by the humans with the intention to be pulled by a train, or at least a "train" of oxen. Herman concluded that he wasn't going to push this thing any distance at all; that would really be work! But Herman's curiosity wouldn't let him walk away from this contraption without an answer of some kind. So, Herman examined the thing at length, and again felt completely exasperated. After a period of persistent probing, pushing, and investigation to no avail, Herman finally yielded to human ingenuity. He surrendered to its esoteric complexity with a sigh. He imagined that the long, flatbed surface above the wheels would have been a comfortable place for him to lie down and rest awhile, if not for the protrusive lever occupying the very center of it. Still insufficiently curious about the arm, which had no "apparent" purpose, Herman sighed again, and leaned on the highest section of this apparatus, on one end of the protruding lever. Just as the extended end of this lever felt Herman's massive body weight, the handcar shot forward several yards, screeching a fierce protest.

What's this?

Suddenly, Herman was very interested in this long rocker arm. Herman pushed this end of the lever all the way down to the boards of the flatbed to witness the handcar shoot forward a few more yards, with it again voicing a grating shrill of reluctance. _Wow!_

At this point, Herman was fascinated with it, but wondered what to do next, now that the arm was all the way to floor. Then, Herman observed that the other end of the lever, which had previously been down, was now up, and even higher than its other end had been. Herman, who moments ago had been languid, was coming to life and swung his big body briskly over to the other end of the handcar. Without pondering the function of the lever any further, Herman pushed this end of the rocker arm all the way down to the surface, in one thrust. The handcar shot forward a dozen yards or so, plowing over and through the young trees standing in its path, and veered onto the main rails of the tracks. Now, Herman was not only deeply interested in this mysterious rocking arm, but ecstatic as well, over how it was somehow converting (inexplicably) his effort into the forward motion of this otherwise static stack of steel.

On top of the very center of this contraption, protruding just above the flatbed, the fulcrum was seated upon some kind of a gismo, an arrangement of incomprehensible machinery (for a hippo), gears and so forth. But what Herman did comprehend was that the further out on the lever arm that he pressed, the easier it was to move it up and down. Herman practiced this several times, while witnessing the seesaw motion, realizing the more he did it, the more momentum he gained, until the lever began rocking almost voluntarily.

The screeching, grinding shrill of rusted machinery being forced to come alive was intense, but Herman wasn't deterred by it one bit. In fact, he didn't even seem to notice it. It didn't take long for Herman to have this gadget figured out—all aboard—and away he went. _Water tower, here I come_!

Very quickly, Herman had gained enough speed to find that the work of propelling this thing was next to nothing, as long as he kept the momentum going. Herman and his handcar raced for the water tower, leaving a trail of sparks and steel filings, its dry moving parts grinding away at each other, screeching ever on into the (previously) quiet of the neighboring plains.

# Chapter XI

It was midday, and three sulking "sultans of the rails," who'd just been privileged enough to make acquaintance with an Antarctic penguin, were still at it with their respective failures. They looked as lifeless as the dead coals before them, each wishing for a way to end the perpetual cycle of their past and somehow be able to start a new way of life. But all three conceded that a change in their fate probably would never happen. Until now, it'd been far easier and convenient to alter the truth than confront reality. But no longer would this be the case, thanks to the haunting effect the penguin had brought upon them.

They thought of how the penguin had inspired them, earlier. How he'd inspired them strangely, and had coaxed them wonderfully into telling their real stories, and how he had listened to the misfortunes of their pasts. But then, this inspiration had left them quickly, too suddenly, without giving them any kind of a solution or direction. And it had been a critical error on Walder's part (though he didn't realize it), to stir up somebody's emotions so tremendously and then not give the person a way to deal with it. In the "bliss of ignorance," Walder had left them without a tool; he'd just left them hanging.

Herman, who had also been thinking of Walder and how much Walder had touched him in a significant way, was making good distance across the plains of South Africa. The wind striking Herman's body virtually negated the surrounding heat. This was truly a treat. In fact, compared to travel just previously, he was cruising in comfort above these grinding gears, amid the horrible, shrilling pitch of the handcar.

By now, all form of corrosion within the machinery of the connecting parts had been honed away by friction, down to fine, glossy steel. Fortunately for Herman, he was completely oblivious to the prospect that this steel below him could begin doing a meltdown at some point. It was already taking on an increasingly reddish tint, a radiation of heat that could be seen even in the intense light of high noon and would have certainly emitted a conspicuous glow in the dark. This vehicle, which had been designed for human use, was barely large enough to accommodate the big baby on either its front or rear half, and Herman was forced to stand on his hind legs the entire trip. Herman chose the back of the handcar for the purpose of seeing what lay before him.

Under any other circumstances, Herman would have been ecstatic to be riding these rails, and equally proud to have mastered this beast, the beast beneath him. He would have been proud of himself to have figured it out, to have conquered its spirit, to have harnessed this potential—if not for his preoccupation with the penguin. So concerned about the fate of _that_ Antarctic Penguin was he, as to not even be faintly aware of, or concerned with, the status of his handcar. Herman continued his pumping of one end of the extended lever, not ever considering whether the thing might need a break, a cooling-off period. Onward he persisted—there'd be no pit stop this race—the entire time calling out for Walder, anxiously looking for him, hoping no trouble occurred along the way.

In practically no time at all Herman was pulling into the zone of the water tower. There it stood, lurking over the tracks like a hunched-back sentinel, while still hugging its faithful partner, and only benefactor, the pond.

Normally the first thing a hippo would do, here, would be to fill up with water. But the first thing Herman did, the only thing that had been on his mind the entire time, was look for Walder. Herman called out for Walder, in hopes that the penguin would answer. But no answer came.

Herman reminded himself that Walder could have actually made the train, which he knew had come through this morning. He'd heard it go by, back at his watering hole. He continued calling, but Herman heard only the distant shuffles in the bush, and an occasional, cowardly call of the relentless hyena. It didn't help Herman, either, to see those pterodactyl-sized scavenger birds overhead, soaring and circling, forever patient in their waiting for something to descend upon. Were these vultures hovering for him, or for something else?

Glancing around, Herman's nose caught the faint hint of smoke. It was the last remnants of what had been a brilliant campfire last night. Instantly, Herman tromped toward the direction of the smoky scent, leading him into a grove of trees on the far side of the pond, to find three humans sitting motionless. Their faces were as smutty and lifeless as the expired fire pit before them. All three seemed very preoccupied with something. So sufficiently engrossed in something were they as to not notice this intrusion by a "dangerous" hippo.

Herman was very surprised. These were the very first humans he'd come across that hadn't either reached for their guns or gone running for their lives from him or any other hippo. The (infamous) hippopotamus had a long-standing reputation, in every part of Africa they occupied, for being extremely dangerous: horribly protective; "possessively" territorial. Many a tourist, traveler, or tramp had lost their life to the hippopotamus, whether it on land where they were mortally trampled and tusked, or on a river, where the boat was trashed, and all aboard disappeared, except (maybe) for some _pieces_. Hippos were a BIG deal! So for these three humans to be just sitting here unconcerned for their own safety—this was a first!

Herman approached the three humans, "Hey, Guys, what you so down and out about?" No answer came.

"Hey, Guys, I'm talkin' to you!" No reaction from any of them.

Herman studied them for a few moments. They didn't appear to be being rude, and they weren't dead. Herman took one of his big front feet and began shaking the shoulders of all three of them. There was barely a stir.

"What's up?" Herman asked them (as if asking himself). "What's Yall's problem? I'm not gonna hurt you; I just wanna find my buddy penguin. Have you seen him?"

When no "vital signs" appeared, Herman wondered if these humans were "still around," and if so, how he might revive them. Herman was desperate to find out whether or not they had seen the penguin.

This was the most unique and interesting problem Herman had ever faced. He felt stymied by these three nuts with numb neurons. How would he find out if any of them knew anything concerning the missing penguin, with them like this? How do you revive three catatonic, comatose comrades?

Finally, feeling defeated and out of options and ideas, Herman began to mumble to himself, "Oh, what a fool I was... letting that poor, wonderful penguin wander into this hell. Oh, if only I could do it over again. I wish—"

"Penguin—did you say _penguin_?" came a mumbling voice from one of the humans. "You're not talking about the same Antarctic Penguin that came through here last night, are you?"

Herman was instantly alive with hope and desperate for information. "Why yes, I am—I mean I hope I am. Well, after all, how many Antarctic Penguins do we come across out here, anyway? He said he was a Gentoo. Did he say he was a Gentoo?"

"Why, yes, as a matter of a fact he did. Didn't he, Guys?"

"Er... uh, yes, as a matter of fact I _believe_ he did," said another one of them, not sure, but knowing the hippo was talking about the same bird, and wanting to console the worried wart. "A very unusual penguin he was, yes indeed."

Herman was elated, and demanded as "questionably" as he could, given the circumstances: "Where is he—where'd he go—what happened to him!"

The three didn't quite know how to go about answering this. They were still considering their own guilt, a guilt that wasn't at all associated with Walder, but with their own cowardice for failing to go back into society with their braver comrade. Yes, all three were still too preoccupied, and therefore reluctant to go into any detail answering the hippo's questions. For to do so would entail coming right out and exposing the naked truth of their lives, yet another time. And this time it would be to a _more_ intimidating stranger. Each one was unwilling—unable—to go into it again and expose their past. It was due to the very reason they were still here and not with Walder and their ex-comrade: hang-ups.

"C'mon, Guys, tell me what happened!" insisted Herman.

But, after recognizing the hippo's intensity, they began to hem and haw over Herman's questioning. But one, being concerned for the hippo's feelings, empathetically made an effort: "Well, he sort of strolled off, with one of our pals, to uh... Where was it, Guys?"

"I think he said Cape Town," answered another. "Didn't he say 'Cape Town'?"

After eyeing the three for a few moments without results, and sensing a shadow of shame on each of them, Herman began to look around the joint suspiciously and spied the empty soup pot. He noticed their full bellies, the full bellies of these three _unfortunates_. Something didn't add up. Herman took a whiff at the pot. It smelled like fish. It couldn't possibly be "Penguin"—could it?

Just then, one of the three burped (satisfyingly), and Herman's imagination began to conjure up some mighty gruesome possibilities. Herman looked around more carefully for the means they may have used to catch a fish, and saw nothing of the sort. Herman looked back at the three and their hangdog demeanors, and asked _rigidly,_ "Hey—Guyszzz... I know the fish around here are pretty illusive, and downright skittish around a hook. Just how did you manage to catch 'em!"

The road-savvy savants recognized it was definitely time for the info to be forthcoming. No more ambiguity for now. Time to "give 'em what he wants" before the hippo can ponder this any further. Before he can conjecture further and possibly reach a "conclusion!" "Uh, Big Guy, we uh—"

"Cut the crap, Craftys!! You boiled my buddy... Didn't you!!!"

"No, no, no," they assured vehemently. "We had all we could eat— **not** the _penguinnn_ —'from' him; from the penguin going in that pond and fishing us out some big, tasty ones. Honest. He plucked them fish from that pond as effortless as I pick berries in the springtime."

"Well, why are you all so melancholy!" demanded Herman, really not buying their story at all, and giving them one more chance before he trashed the place along with their hides.

Surprisingly, all three of these humans didn't appear afraid of being mortally maimed and mauled. They seemed genuinely unafraid of death, as if welcoming death, and, moreover, feeling a sort of desire to die, as if it would be a deserved death. These humans actually seemed to be hastening their demise, strangely, as if death might finally solve everything for them.

This was very confusing to Herman.

Then, solely out of concern for the hippo, each of these three humans simultaneously brought their self back to life in order to clarify one last thing. If "this" was to be another blemish on their repute, _it won't do_ , for this allegation was unwarranted. Individually, and collectively, these three non-persons were ready to clear their names on this one: stand up and fight against something bogus being brought against them. They weren't to be discredited unjustifiably. With utter sincerity, they exclaimed their defense, while Herman (being big, but no big dummy) listened carefully:

"We don't care what you do to us, Hippo. We just want you to know the truth. We didn't cook him; we couldn't. We didn't even try to eat him when we were starving and at our lowest point. We didn't expect anything from him. We just treated him the way we'd want someone to treat us, and low and behold—what do you know—he did nothing but give to us. He fed us, listened to us. It was as if he descended from heaven or something. He's still alive, at least he was when he left; which is one of the reasons we feel like such heels. Not because we ate him—we wouldn't eat him—but because we didn't have the guts to go with him. He was good to us. That's the reason we're so distraught. I mean... I mean the reason we are the way we are is because of what we've done to ourselves, which primarily consists of nothing. We've _done_ nothing—we've been doing 'nothing'. The point _is:_ nothing. We're doing _nothing_. That's the point we're making, and that's the point we need to get ourselves."

None of them said anything more. They weren't going to; they didn't have to.

Now, Herman knew these humans were on the level. He could relate to them, to their feelings. Herman could "feel" the way these guys were feeling about themselves for it was the same way he had been feeling about himself since last night. For doing nothing for all of these years, and for letting that poor penguin waddle away alone. Herman increasingly realized, and acknowledged, the profound effect the penguin had made on him, too.

Not that Herman wasn't still fiercely interested in what Walder had stumbled into or might be currently stumbling upon (of course he was), it was that now, Herman was equally concerned for these three humans. Herman realized these boys had problems similar to his own to work out. And maybe it was the similarity of Herman's hang-ups to the hang-ups of these three humans that had quickly and completely captivated Herman. "So, why are you guys so melancholy?" Herman asked, with a much softer tone this time.

Herman didn't realize he was asking the three to do again what they'd been enticed to do just last night, by the penguin. He didn't realize the redundancy he was insisting from these humans: asking them to rehash "covered" territory. The arduous task of trudging through their pasts, what had been their fates, once more, and treading over the remains of a flame that had once burnt so intensely, whenever "stoked" by a stimulus.

In silence the three sat, completely still. There wasn't a peep coming from any of them. Apparently they'd fallen back into the morbid trance they'd been in when Herman first arrived.

Herman was growing increasingly anxious, again, and this time he was far too eager for their stories to be vexed over their "non-information." He wasn't to be stalemated by three pawns on this move. He wouldn't allow himself to be stymied, yet again, on this one.

But, this time, Herman was more interested in himself than in Walder, or the three before him. Herman asked another time, and this time with an addendum, "Why are you so distraught? What are your stories?"

Herman was just dying to find out if there might be others—even humans—who might have problems similar to his own.

The three were far less traumatized this time, far less now than just last night, when that penguin had started prying into their past. When Walder had evoked a storm of emotion, and this hurricane of their past had been cast upon them. But, after doing so, each had been willing to lay their past back to rest—dormancy—where it had been before, before that shit-stirring penguin had arrived. Dealing with it now would be more of a sort of drudgery, as opposed to the sheer, unmitigated terror it had been just last night, and for most of their lives. Instead of crawling through a wall of fire, this time it would be more like plodding through a swamp. So, at the insistence of the hippo, the three reluctantly obliged the hippo's "request." With cranky voices, once again, all three gave a verbal reconstruction of their lives, an account pretty much identical to the ones they'd given last night, except with far less passion. Herman didn't mind; this was the greatest show on earth!

Under the burden of their haunting past, each would reckon with this again, to connect with _this._ This intangible monster, still dwelling deep within their subconscious. And, though completely out of sight, it was still very palpable to them, felt really real to them. It would be stirring the embers of painful emotion once again, to feel its burn, and then relief as it would wane in its intensity. At last this flame would burn no longer. This time it was to diminish to nil. Yes, this time, unsuspected by each of the three, they would be actually killing the coals, finally. Finally, this reigning dynasty of failures, which had ruled them hitherto, would be no longer.

So, simply for the sake of the concerned hippo, each of the three gave one more account of their respective past. All three were to go through "it" one more time, solely for the hippo's benefit, (so they thought), unaware of their own—"healing"—benefit.

At first there would be some residual fear, which wasn't near the intensity of last night, followed by anxiety over how unconquerable their hang-ups had seemed. This was followed by an irritated consternation concerning the illusiveness of these devils. Finally anger and outrage filled them when the three considered how they'd let something so ridiculous rule their lives for so long. Then they began to feel great relief; it was _almost_ complete relief, just a few remnants still dangling now, seemingly unnoticeable. When you've been carrying a bale of hay over your back for most of your life, and suddenly you're unburdened by it, you surely don't complain about a few strands of straw or the stench of your sweaty shirt.

The mystery of something so powerful, this omnipotent tyrant that had held them in indentured servitude for so long, had evaporated so suddenly and inexplicably, leaving barely a clue or trace. Mysteriously, the pain and feeling of hopelessness was gone. What a wonderful sensation to finally be free from something, to feel free, and finally _be_ free!

The three had experienced the finest of all psychotherapy (albeit inadvertent). None had been faking anything or had been untruthful in anyway. Herman could tell they'd all been on the level, and knew they'd "told all."

At that moment, the concentration surrounding this momentous occurrence was shaken by a sound in the distance. It was a familiar, faithful, faraway wail. All realized that another caravan of cohered cars was approaching.

Then it occurred to the three that maybe they didn't want to go north, anymore. Maybe they were ready to follow their ex-comrade's footsteps back into society, now.

Herman had no idea the three humans were contemplating an alternative plan and instructed, "Okay, Boys, here's your ride. Hide not!"

Not wanting to give anyone of the three any time to _think about it_ , Herman wanted them on that train, off to newer and better things, while they were still experiencing their "freshly freed glow."

The three just stood there, as if their minds were a million miles away.

Confused as to why the three weren't readying themselves to board their lift, Herman inquired, "Hey, Guys, it's your train. What are you doing?

"We're not going, Hippo."

Now, Herman was really befuddled. "Not going—whadda yuh mean? Why not?"

"We've decided to do what's best—what's right—instead of what's easiest. We're going to wait for the next train for Cape Town, where the penguin went, where we should have gone, with him."

Being able to confront the notion of going back into a society that they'd retreated from, had the three very excited, which was escalating into an exhilaration for them: to—finally—be "dealing with" as opposed to "running from."

"But the next train won't be coming through until morning," Herman reminded.

"Regrettably that is the case, yes."

"No reason to wait, Brothers," informed Herman. "We've got 'this' at our disposal. Here's our 'ride'." It was the handcar. "Let's go for it; let's go find our buddy, the penguin!"

"Alright, let's go—let's do it!" echoed the three, excitedly in unison. The hippo and the three humans had instantly become a team.

It was astonishing to watch their big brute buddy pull the handcar off the tracks, to allow the "Noon Special" to fill its water tanks and roll on through, and then dragging it back onto the rails and pushing it a few feet to insure it securely back on track. Right away the three humans heard, and then remembered, the horrible screeching the handcar had been making on its arrival. "Hey, Guys," asked one of them, "for the sake of our ears—and nerves—would either of you happen to have any type of a lubricant?"

Herman couldn't understand this human's concern; the noise had barely bothered the big brute at all. But for these three humans, although they'd been "out of it" when Herman had pulled into the area on the handcar, all remembered the deafening shrill of the machinery, the most abrasive sound ever. "Oh yeah, better do something about that alright!"

The three had already forgotten about their trashy essentials of the road. Their few meager belongings were intentionally being left behind with a vow to never need, or use, them again. Doing a quick inventory in his head of these meager possessions, it occurred to one of them that in fact he did have something that might possibly qualify as some sort of a lubricant. "I think it might work—might as well give it a try—sure'd be better than nuthin'."

"What might you be needin' it for, Brothers?" Herman inquired, puzzled.

"Well, the rusty old mechanism on this here handcar sure does whine a raspy tune! If you know what I mean?"

"Uh, oh yeah. I think I get the picture."

"Well, I always try to keep a tin of mink oil handy, just in case the old boots need a second wind, or when there's nuthin' else to give the pot of water on a campfire some fragrance."

He hastily ran back to the campsite, and momentarily returned with a quart-size tub of a product labeled: MINK OIL—DO NOT TAKE INTERNALLY (98% beef tallow).

So, as Herman began pumping the handcar handle, the corroded mechanism began cooperating once more, as reluctantly as before, to the hippo's insistence. And as Herman increased his influence on the handcar, the humans began applying the processed cattle lard to the moving parts, where the screeching was most prominent an where sparks were being generated. Almost instantly, this friction of grinding gears and associated parts was disappearing. Eventually the "Mink Oil" had all been applied, and gone was the excessive noise. It was now a new and improved handcar. Off they went.

Pumping down the tracks, with Herman once again effortlessly impelling the "do it yourself" rail vehicle, the handcar had managed substantial speed and was maintaining such speed even through the flats of the valley, until reaching some subtle upgrades, with intermittent descents. After doing this roller-coaster type thing for a while, eventually the handcar began experiencing ever-increasing inclines, necessitating ever-increasing effort on the part of Herman. Now, before them, lay what appeared to be an insurmountable obstacle—a mountain. The humans explained to the hippo that this was to be the _last_ (big) ascent, just prior to coming over the mountain, before what would be a free ride (free-fall for all) back down to the coast of Cape Town.

"Oh. That's very reassuring—how consoling," offered Herman, sarcastically, while sizing up the last-but-not-least hindrance before him.

For the first time, Herman was beginning to toil. His speed had decreased drastically to a grunting grind. The other three pitched in, adding their meager contribution to Herman's massive strength, somehow enabling the vehicle to maintain enough momentum to continue scaling the grade.

Suddenly a whistle was heard. At first a whimper was detected above the grunt and groan, and then again and again it came, gradually louder, until all turned around to see a locomotive coming at them from behind.

"What's a train doing going this way, this time of day?" asked one of the three.

"I don't know," answered another. "Must be a special train—special circumstances or something."

"I ain't never heard of such a thing!" insisted another.

As the persistent caterpillar of steel continued for them, all four worked furiously to try and keep a distance in front of it. But as this "dreadnought" steadily pulled for them, driven by immense, diesel motors, it would soon be obvious to the crew aboard the mere "raft on rails" what might be rear-ending them, and soon, should nothing change.

At a brief stretch of level ground, Herman instructed everyone, "We stop here!" and the four ceased laboring, thus halting the handcar, and awaited their company.

"Aren't you gonna lift this thing off the tracks again, Hippo?"

"No. I got something better in mind this time."

Would the mighty motors be slowing down, or would this bully simply knock them off the tracks and continue on its merry way? Would they be forced to jump for it, off the handcar, in order to save their lives, or would the conductor cooperate and give them a little push over the hill to Cape Town? Herman was optimistic.

As the train neared, it did indeed begin slowing down, and as it did, Herman and the humans began seeing heads, heads of many different sorts, protruding from both sides of the elongated intruder. These uninvited guests were also staring at the handcar, though mostly at what was occupying it. An unlikely sort: three humans and a hippopotamus. Everyone (and "everything") was simply astonished.

Directly after the train came to a halt, and just before colliding with the handcar, a fellow stepped out of the front segment of this mammoth "early worm" and walked up to the four, demanding, "Just what the heck is it you think you're doing!" It was the conductor.

The three _men_ on the handcar tried to explain. "We're making our way to Cape Town; we weren't informed of a train en route in this direction at this time of day."

"It's a 'special' train," the conductor corrected, "a special train on a special schedule. We're a **zoo**. And we mustn't be delayed!"

And indeed it was. Almost every section of the train was an open car with animals, zoo animals, and these cars were fortified with steel bars, front, back, and sides, for "protecting" the contents.

"This trains on its way to do a show in Cape Town," _explained_ the conductor, "and _we_ won't be permitting any delays. So either get out of the way or _we'll_ get you out of the way!"

"Well, how about a push over the hill?" interjected Herman, expectantly.

"Animals don't ask me questions," roared the cocky conductor, "animals listen to my commands!"

Herman was shocked at his rudeness. "Oh, yes, Your 'Highness'," Herman responded, with a "peasant tonality."

"That's not funny, Hippo—and you are conducting yourself like the pauper that you obviously are."

"Oh yeah, Your 'Rudeness'. Well, I don't move for anyone or anything unless I want to," informed Herman.

"Oh yeah—is that so? Well, we'll see about that," concluded the conductor, turning his back, walking back to the train.

The three comrades began whispering to Herman, all at once, "Maybe you shouldn't have said that, Hippo."

After pulling himself back aboard the locomotive, the conductor shouted some orders, and the engines began thundering again. Except this time the train was moving backwards, away from the bewildered crew aboard the handcar. Something began to occur to these four, in a most uneasy way.

After retreating several hundred yards back down the tracks, the train stopped again, and began again, this time straight for them at full throttle. Although uphill, it was still slowly, but surely, gaining enough momentum to do some major damage. Thoroughly convinced that the train wouldn't be stopping for them this time, the four began pumping the lever with all the ferocity they could muster. But, it was already obvious that their combined efforts wouldn't be nearly enough. The train would soon ram them full bore. As the three humans prepared to leap for their lives, one of them shouted, "Okay, Hippo, this is where we get off!"

"I'm not abandoning my vehicle—it's 'mine'!" asserted Herman.

"Do it now, Hippo, or you're going to disappoint us—we thought you were a relatively intelligent guy."

The train was surely going to hit the handcar and knock it clear from the tracks. Seeing this, Herman's three companions jumped off the handcar, clear of the tracks, and began rolling down the slope. As for Herman, it was as if an intruder was challenging him for his bona fide property. It was as if a stranger had entered his beloved bog and threatened to steal his rights to his rightly owned real estate. The handcar was his, and rightfully so. He'd found it, claimed it, and got it going again. It had been an orphan that he'd taken under his wing. It needed him. And it was his!

Herman glared at the locomotive, which was only gaining speed and ground, and felt an almost irrepressible compulsion to charge this adversary, headfirst, in order to at least redeem himself by showing courage and saving his pride ("saving face" by losing _his_ face). He bit back this fervent temptation to do so. Though Herman knew instinctively that doing battle with this monster of steel under standard battle etiquette would be futile, he was yet beside himself with fury over the unmitigated audacity of this thing. Herman was drooling at the mouth, growling fiercely, and urinating profusely as his ever-twitching tail distributed the "fluid" evenly onto the handcar, thus marking him the undisputed owner of his possession. Just before the inevitable was to occur, Herman, now in a state of unparalleled rage, took one more look around at his handcar, as if reluctant as ever to leave the handcar and intent on telling it so. He spied the protruding lever, now at a standstill, and began pumping it yet again. Though the handcar was only crawling forward from his efforts this time, it was as if a little light turned on within the brain of the big brute. Herman stopped pumping and studied the rocker arm as it seesawed to a stop, thinking for a moment: _Wait a minute! If this thing can move this thing the way that this thing moves this thing, than—This thing's got_ _potential!_

Herman was to be the first Hippo to "grasp" the concept of "leverage," and it would be just in time.

Something took hold of Herman, prompting him to take a hold of the rocker arm of his rail raft. By now, Herman looked like "The Incredible Hippo!" Every muscle in his body was swollen to the max. His biceps were bulging and flexing for combat. The barbaric beast, now practically delirious with rage, ferociously grabbed the lever and tore it completely free of the handcar—with the gearbox still attached—leaving a hole in the middle of the flatbed. With the detached lever in one "limb," Herman jumped behind the handcar, and shoved the metal shaft beneath one of the rails. Next, the determined big boy placed the gearbox directly on top of a crosstie, which itself was seated atop the mounded granite and thusly creating an adequate fulcrum. And, then, through the agency of this leverage, Herman used his massive strength to pry this rail outward a couple of feet while the adjacent rail spikes went popping through the air with a sort of contorted shape.

The conductor's eyes nearly popped out of his head as he witnessed the hippo doing this. He went for the brakes, but it was too late. The train immediately reached the askew rail, causing it to skip off the straight side, leading the locomotive "heading for the bush." Once doing so, it began digging into wood and loose rock like a plow through a rice paddy until reaching the outlying sand, bringing the entire business to a skidding halt.

Before Herman stood open cars full of caged zoo animals, some of which he'd never seen before. There were all types of animals associated with zoos and circuses. But there was one very familiar animal, and it was staring directly at him in admiration and curiosity. It was a female hippo, a real cute one, and it was very impressed with the mighty action of this big, brave, brute of a Man. She had been observing the whole time and had become immediately in love with Herman.

One glance at this heifer hippo, from Herman, had him a soothed savage beast.

It was every conductor's worst nightmare: a derailed rig. To compound the felony, the conductor had never been bested before, at least not by a "lower-life" form. He jumped off the train, cursing, and threatening to have the Hippo incarcerated or _worse_. Herman couldn't hear him, for he was completely engrossed in this prospective "wife," and only had eyes (and ears) for her.

Instantaneously, the big brute had become thoroughly enamored. The mighty beast had been morphed back into a big baby by just one smile from the female. Although the conductor began "railing" on Herman, the big baby couldn't hear him. His head was already abuzz with the sound of love.

"The 'Northbound', a few hours ago," railed the conductor, "radioed in and reported seeing a hippo down at the water-filling pond. And if you hippos think you're going to move right on in to this area, you've got another think coming. We're going to haul the whole lot of you clear across the border where poaching is viewed far less harshly. And furthermore—"

Just then, the handcar, which had been abandoned, came rolling back downhill and smashed into the locomotive. The conductor quit speaking, now livid with fury.

Herman asked the conductor, while gazing into his newfound love's eyes (and her into his), "Can I come along with you guys?"

"The only place you're going, Hippo, is straight to the glue factory, and your entourage to jail," promised the rancorous conductor, acrimoniously.

"Oh no, they didn't do nuthin'. I'm the one that did it," explained Herman.

"It'll take days for a crew and equipment to get here and put us back on track, and by then we'll be late for the show. When that happens, we'll all be in deep shitake mushrooms, including myself for allowing it to happen. A hippo, derailing my rig? I'm ruined for life: my career, my pension, my retirement, kaput," depicted the "loco"—motive—conductor.

"But my buddies didn't have anything to do with it, Mister. Really. It was all my fault. Honest. They told me not to."

"Hey, Hippo," _clarified_ the conductor, "if I go down, we all go down. Understand?"

Herman thought hard. He could deal with this happening to himself. But to have his newfound buddies incriminated due to his actions, on account of him—that wouldn't be fair. They were all far too wise, and sensible, to have done something so rash and emotional.

"Mister, if I get your train back on track and you on your way to making your gig on time, will you let everything ride and slide?"

"Hippo, if you've got the brain and brawn to put this train back on track anytime in the next 200 years, I'll personally give you gratis-fare on my train for as long as you can keep from being run over by one."

"Fare's fair!" stated Herman, as he went straight to work.

If it hadn't been for the back-downhill drag of the slope they were on, this notion Herman was conjuring up wouldn't have been possible. Indeed it had been the handcar rolling back and striking the locomotive that had offered him the idea in the first place.

Herman explained to the conductor that the first thing to be done in order to fulfill his plan would be to release all of the _large_ animals, route them around to the rear of the train, and simply harness them to the caboose, facing downhill. Fortunately there was enough rope and cable available on the train to attach to all of these beasts. These ones would be required to drag the entire thing backwards and until the derailed section at the front could line back onto both rails. At that point, after the train bridged this section of the awry rail, Herman would lever this out-of-parallel rail back into place, securing it with the spikes (that'd been "ejected") back onto the crossties. The train would be on its way—"except for that sweet, cute, little heifer-hippo in _that_ car _."_

"What?" screamed the conductor, "I've got to deliver 'all' the cargo—Oh, I see, it's part of your plan. Now that you've derailed my train, _now_ , you want to achieve the ultimate humiliation of humiliations, by freeing _all_ these animals, as well. You don't want just _her_. That's just a ploy. You want them all, for all of them to be free—I mean for all of them to escape. So you can be some kind of an 'Animal Hero' or something. Is that it?"

"No. No, Mister," Herman assured. "I'll talk to them, and get it all straight. There'll be no problem. Besides, do you want to save your career and get this rig to the gig? Sometimes you have to take a chance."

"Oh, right. They'll give you their word, or something, huh?" said the conductor, sarcastically.

"If they give me their word, they'll stick to it. Animals aren't like humans. They don't go back on their word," Herman educated.

"Oh, is that so?" _commented_ the conductor, offended that Herman had implied that animals were more virtuous than humans. "Well, just to make sure they don't, they will be tied and harnessed before leaving their car."

So, one by one, the animals that had been selected for the upcoming task were brought out of their cars, on a "leash," and harnessed to the rear of the train. Herman insisted that his new love, the heifer hippo, remain aboard the train and not participate in a "man's job."

As the chivalrous Hunk of a Hippo went to work, this glamorous heifer hippo was admiring his every move. Herman couldn't get enough of the adoration. He insured he was at his very best, constantly; he was in love.

The conductor, although reluctant to risk such an attempt, coupled with a stubborn unwillingness of going along with a _plan from a hippo_ , realized that this idea stood a good chance of working. He had no other option. His career was on the line because his train was off the tracks. He had to get his rig to the gig.

After securing the animals in position, the conductor left for a moment and re-appeared with a leather bullwhip.

"And just what do you think you're gonna do with that?" demanded Herman.

"This is to ensure their _full_ cooperation," explained the conductor.

"Well, if you use _that,_ you'll be the _fool_ that they'll be cooperating into the ground your standing on—under their feet." Then, the hippo _explained_ further. "The whip is **not** in the contract. We'll get your train back on track. You put that thing away, or you'll see this train drug out into the bush, over your hide!"

The conductor didn't like taking orders from anyone, especially from some wild beast. But he was in a bind, and had the good sense to know he'd better do it. But he had been thinking, and vindictively so. Oh, he was thinking now, alright. It was a vendetta. He would avenge himself on this one. He was vowing revenge on all four of them—especially "this" Hippo.

Just then, Herman proposed one more stipulation. "Hey, Mister Engineer, there's one other thang. Since we're here, still here, in front of you with our vehicle an' all, I must insist that you at least give us a push to the top of the hill—we don't even have that lever arm attached anymore to _crank it_."

The conductor consented, thinking: _How will they stop themselves on the "other" side? This is good!_

Herman's three comrades proposed this problem to Herman, explaining to him that without the rocker arm, they'd have no way of slowing the handcar once they began their descent coming down on the other side of the mountain. The three proposed to Herman: "Why don't we all just ride the train into Cape Town?"

"You guys can ride in the locomotive if you want to," expressed Herman, "but I'm not going to fit anywhere on that train except for in one of those 'airy' cars, and I'll be in the one with that magnificent 'Beauty' in it. Ain't she somethin'?"

"There just might be one minor issue with that, Guys," suggested one of Herman's humans. "With our Big Buddy _locked_ in one of those 'cagey' cars, we might lose our 'leverage' with that conductor. If you know what I mean?"

"Hmmm... might have a point there, Comrad," acknowledged one of his fellows. "Not that those bars could hold this hippo, if he really wanted out."

"See your concern, Mate—could be a problem," concurred another.

"We'll discuss 'that' later," concluded Herman, going over to the line of great beasts: elephants; rhinos; giraffes; zebras; water buffalo. As he began readying them for the upcoming task, Herman instructed the animals to pull in unison, in the direction of the track, when he gave the word.

Herman was hoping that, with the additional weight removed from the cars and the aid from gravity on the downward slope, these animals would be able to "pull it off," (or _on_ in this case _)_.

With this "train" of zoo animals securely in place, Herman gave the word—"Pull!"—and they began the tug-of-war task against the static state of cohered rail vehicles, from the caboose up to the locomotive.

At first, very little happened. The front wheels of the locomotive were embedded deeply into the desert dust. The immense weight of its diesel engines was causing these wheels to act like anchors of a ship caught in a coral reef. Then, all sections simultaneously began to moan backwards until, slowly, the front portion—the de-railed section—began to emerge from "beyond the rail," scraping and screeching through the granite stone, and gradually to where the rails were still intact. Finally, back onto the track it went. It wasn't perfect, or pretty (definitely not pretty), but it was a product.

Seeing the wheels of the entire train securely on a track, Herman gave the cue to return the zoo animals back to their respective rolling cage. And as the staff was giving each of these beast a personal escort back aboard, Herman went to this bent-to-one-side-rail and promptly pried it back into place, using the same "lever" he'd used previously. And, before leaving, Herman did ensure that this section of rail was adequately fastened to its foundation by pounding the spikes, which were responsible for holding the rail to the crossties, back into place with one end of the handcar handle.

Everyone clapped, except for the conductor. The train staff, the "zoo" animals, the veterinarian, and Herman's three newfound comrades, all applauded. But not the conductor. He didn't like being bested by a hippo, and then saved by the same hippo. He was seething in anger and envy, and (already) looking forward to seeing the handcar, with the hippo and his three sidekicks, go "over" the top of the mountain.

The three comrades, who were still considering _this_ as well, brought it up to the conductor: this likelihood of someone not being able to control the speed of the handcar on the other side of the hill. "Without the lever arm, the handcar will go soaring down the other side of the mountain like a bat out of hell!"

The handcar would surely continue to gain speed, an incalculable speed, a speed that would be excessive in the extreme.

But, just in case someone had the foresight to anticipate this probability, the conductor had been thinking about this, too, and stated calmly to the concerned three, "We'll simply tether a cable from the handcar to the front of the locomotive. And, once over the mountain, the drag of the train will prevent it from gaining too much speed—from going any faster than the train. It'll be no problem. We'll be able to ensure _it_ makes it all the way to Cape Town, safely."

All three smelled a rat in the conductor's grim, repressed tonality, but went along with it all the same. It was a workable solution, what the conductor had presented to them. Then, Herman's three comrades decided they didn't want to leave their buddy on the handcar by himself, thinking the conductor would be far less inclined to "try something" if humans were aboard _it_.

Herman went back to the animal cars to find his new heifer-hippo honey, and speak with her. The train's engines were already cranking its massive gears when Herman began changing his mind and yelled to the conductor, "I want to ride inside with my honey!"

After all, it was the least they could do for such a resourceful, heroic Hippo.

"You can't," countered the conductor. "There isn't enough room, as you should be able to see."

"Then I'll ride on the side and hang on to the bars," insisted the Big Baby.

Seeing this wasn't conducive to the plans he had in store for the four, _either_ , the conductor told Herman, "It's against regulations. And besides, you're too top-heavy. You might lose your grip, on a corner or something, and you'd topple to your death. We wouldn't want that. You can be with her all you want once we get to Cape Town. You'll have to ride in front on the handcar as previously agreed."

"Oh, okay," conceded Herman reluctantly.

So, Herman gave his new sweetie one more glance, and, as she was returning goo-goo eyes at him, he pried himself away from her while promising, "I'll be back as soon as _we_ reach Cape Town."

Herman reassured himself that he would be with her shortly, and forever, as soon as the train arrived at the zoo. _Oh, that penguin had been so right about me getting out of that waterhole—my comfort zone—and going for it. Look! I've got myself a girl! I bagged myself a girl! She's in the bag!_

By now the train was gaining speed. So, to the front of the locomotive Herman ran where the handcar was anxiously departing with his three comrades. Seeing their big buddy galloping for them, the three opted for the front half of the handcar to accommodate another passenger. Herman caught up to it just before beginning to tire, jumped on up, and off they went courtesy of the locomotive's thrust. The four relaxed, and began taking in the scenery atop the flatbed of the handcar as the locomotive, seemingly unburdened by the handcar and its occupants, grunted up the mountain.

The conductor had played it just right; he was smiling sinisterly; he couldn't wait.

Every once and a while one of the four would glance back at the conductor and study his eyes and face. He seemed a little _too_ happy for their comfort, mischievously and deviously so. The four conversed amongst themselves discreetly as to whether or not the conductor could be up to something. They discussed this, and concluded that there wasn't a lot of opportunity for foul play. Not too much could be possible on their way _up_ the mountain, anyway. And, once on the other side, as long as their handcar remained tethered to the locomotive by the cable that currently bound them, they would maintain the speed of the train, which should be conservative coming down the other side, where the three knew from experience was steep—treacherously so.

Finally, they came around a bend and there was the summit. Coming over the crest and looking down at the degree of the grade before them, the four grew a little less composed. They began to view the possibility of some ill-fated destiny, _something_ waiting in store for them. "It's a strong cable. What can possibly happen?"

Quickly, the train began gaining speed due to the sudden pull of gravity, and nothing to do with its engines. As soon as the train would start to do so, the transmission, primarily engaged to keep a constant drag on its drive-mechanism, would curb the excess speed, never permitting a dangerous level to occur and thus remaining in control. The conductor seemed to know when he could allow additional speed and conversely when the circumstances required him to keep it slow, as well did the three rail-wise warriors aboard the handcar.

At times the train would reach a bit of a plateau, and you could hear the motors moan and feel its push again. Though Herman had never been on these (or any other) rails before, his three comrades knew them well; they felt the train was going a _little_ faster than usual at this point. For right around this next bend, they knew all too well from experience, was a hair-raising drop—the train wasn't slowing!

Over the knoll and around the bend they went, and the four looked down into the abyss off to one side. The three track-savvy hitchhikers expected to hear the brakes of the train screeching on the rails right now, and did. Only something was wrong; _they_ weren't slowing down. Could the train be having difficulty in stopping?

With their eyes glued to the rails in front of them, the four were hoping the train would get a grip on the rails behind them, and bring them back down to a safe speed. But it wasn't happening!

One of Herman's comrades finally managed to pry his eyes from the scenery, which was coming at them at ever-increasing speed, to witness the locomotive dropping back behind them. Hanging off the side of the train, pointing, laughing, and jeering, was a jolly conductor, as they sped out of sight. That darned conductor had released the cable from the front of the locomotive.

After observing their comrade's expression, the remaining three turned their heads to witness for themselves. Grasping the reality of this sudden situation, their first impulse was to jump. But not only were they going far too fast now, the handcar was riding on what appeared to be the back of a humongous crocodile—it was only _down_ on both sides for miles over jagged-rocky terrain! What would they do?

The slack cable behind them was slapping and snapping like a cobra with its tail caught in a rattrap. If the cable were to snag something, they would be yanked off the tracks like a ripe pear from its tree during a famine. The three men were hanging on for their lives, convinced there was nothing they could do in their current situation but hope and pray.

But Herman began to think. After all, anything was better than watching doom approach you at Mach speed. As Herman strained his brain for a "deliverance" from this impending catastrophe, the cable behind them continued whipping like a viper on hot coals. During this brainstorming, a notion kept trying to blow itself into Herman's hurricane of thinking: could this writhing serpent behind them be useful to them somehow? Could it hold "potential," and, if so, how?

After Herman's mind did a process of elimination, culling out the multitude of ideas Herman knew wouldn't work, his imagination continued at light speed, while the scenery surrounding them shot past seemingly faster. How much faster could this thing go, until it either de-railed or flung their bodies off to one side, onto meat-grinding terrain? From the ever-increasing speed, creating tremendous centrifugal force on the corners, it'd soon be "ass and elbows" to "blood and guts!"

All three of Herman's companions were lying flat on the floor of the flatbed with their fingernails dug into the cracks between its boards. Their teeth were clinching splinters. Their feet and legs were molded around the sides—anything they could grasp—holding on for dear life! It didn't look good for them. Herman, trying not to crush the poor souls below him, knew he'd have to do something, pronto. The next corner could be the one that could send him blowing away like a dairy cow atop a barn during a cyclone. His upright top-heaviness made him unequipped for the "Gs," and his body wasn't in ideal "shape" for the upcoming corners.

Looking down, Herman noticed the hole in the center of the floor below where its gearbox had been embedded into the wooden flatbed. It was the hole he'd created from his tearing the gearbox from it, the one that'd been attached to the lever arm when he'd felt he required it for "another" purpose. He glanced back at the cable behind him thrashing about, and put two and two together. Herman grabbed the cable, pulled in the slack until reaching the other end, which he then promptly brought underneath the floor and up through the opening in the center of the handcar. After drawing the cable tight through this opening, Herman grasped a firm grip on it, to instantly feel like a colossal cowboy on a mechanical bull. He was "hanging on to his hide"—what an adrenaline rush! And, for the first time since embarking the handcar, Herman was beginning to have a little fun. Might as well enjoy the ride if you have to take a little trip—this was a ride that would be tailor-fit for the ultimate thrill-seeker—and, if you're going to die, you might as well go out in style.

Herman shouted a "Yee hi!" in exhilaration.

But he quickly realized that he couldn't speak without catching a mouthful of rushing air, which would only intensify this already-intense-enough roller coaster ride.

The air rushing in before him was beginning to mold his wide body even wider—flatter. His torso was being pushed in and flattened with his sides protruding out like a pancake. This was beginning to make him feel like a kite ready to lift off the ground with the breeze.

Herman could already feel the handcar slowing down a bit, on the steeper descents, where the sheer momentum was forcing air into his broad body, that his body was "catching" and trapping, and beginning to make his body open like a parachute. Herman felt like a parachute, one that is opened behind a dragster at the end of a race. Would this be sufficient in maintaining a safe speed for the duration of their trip? Herman began to wonder, hopefully.

The "hairpins" were the scariest of all. For on these Herman would leave his feet and parasail to one side of the handcar. Whenever feeling as though he might lose his grip on the cable, Herman would think of the "heifer hippo," on the train, and who he hoped would be accompanying him in Cape Town. Reminding himself of his honey helped Herman to hang on and hang in there.

Just then, as Herman was holding that thought, the handcar came around a bend and one could observe what was a nearly sheer drop straight down into a ravine, which _appeared_ to be holding a trickling stream. They began to gain tremendous speed as the handcar plunged for the abyss; it was all Herman could do to hold on. It was the fastest they had gone so far at this point, or at any point in their lives, actually. This would be the section where all locomotives, even empty, would come to a creeping crawl, in the lowest gear, with brakes squealing.

Herman's body began flanging outward like a flying squirrel leaping from a tall treetop. As they neared the bottom of the gulch, the "trickling stream" began to reveal itself as more of a _river_ , with a bridge crossing it. As the handcar continued its involuntary descent, the river began appearing wider and wider and the bridge much longer. Coming closer to eye-level with this bridge, it became obvious that the bridge was hundreds of feet above the water. That river was large, and it was "down there."

Right before the handcar was to follow this long bridge across the divide was the sharpest corner they'd witnessed the entire descent. Normally, trains would anticipate this sharp, 90-degree corner and be at their slowest speed. So, how would Herman and the others be able to hold on at such speed, on such a corner? How would the handcar keep from de-railing?

Beginning to factor in the high probability of his enormous weight contributing to the _final_ instability of their vehicle, Herman felt it might be best for the others if he didn't remain onboard. He considered this likelihood. Herman knew his body weight would be enough weight to capsize the handcar and take them all over the edge; it was only obvious that this body weight, by virtue of gravity, along with the drag from the air against his body and the centrifugal pull on this remaining corner, would send them all overboard. It would be far more likely that the sideward pull on this remaining corner would be substantially less without his tonnage aboard. Yes, the others would stand a better chance of making it if he was to leap off somewhere before the finale. He would let go of the cable, and allow the others to possibly make it to safety.

Just as Herman decided to do "it," and said, "Goodbye, Y'all. I love you—Hope you understand and remember me," the three knew what Herman was implying and all three "went for a leg."

"Oh no yuh don't, Hippo. Don't do it, Big Guy!"

At that instance, the handcar plunged. The wind began hitting them at a force not yet experienced so far on the descent. But this time they weren't slowing. Herman's body was elevating off the platform of the handcar with the others hanging on to a "limb." Now, all four were attached to the handcar only by a cable, Herman's grip on the cable, with the others maintaining their grip on one of the hippo's limbs. It was a very different sensation, too, as if an updraft had gotten under their only hope for survival and lifted them up and off of the rails.

Just moments before crossing the "finished" line of this race with death, and being flung from the tracks into the awaiting ravine, all four couldn't believe what was happening. The three humans were thinking that something must have taken over their mind. Or was their mind merely making them delusional, to spare them the pain of death? Surely they must have already _gone_. But it felt as if life was reentering them. It was a very strange sensation, yet an incredible sensation!

For a moment they wondered: _What happened—what's happening?_

The river was now directly below them but the tracks were no longer beneath them, nor was the handcar. As the handcar had derailed, so had it given Herman's pancake body the impetus to catch even more air, at which time Herman released the cable and begin floating down like a parachute, like the parachute his large, mushroomed body was emulating. The three helpless humans were still hugging Herman's hind hoofs. But instead of plummeting, they, too, were drifting. Herman was above them, the most beautiful parachute they'd ever seen, allowing all of them to glide _somewhat_ gently down into the accommodating water of this most gracious river.

# Chapter XII

As the freight train approached Cape Town, Walder's excitement grew more intense. Finally, he would be meeting his cousins the Jack Ass Penguins. What would they be like? _How will they welcome me, who has come to help them?_ Walder could only imagine.

He could see himself walking hand in hand with his grateful Jack Ass Penguin cousins into the sunset. Walder the brave hero—who came all the way from Antarctica to save his poor, besieged fellow penguins from the ignorant and barbaric humans. Walder was already patting himself on the back (with both wings) and starting to like this hero stuff again **.**

Next, Walder wondered if Cape Town would be as large as the last town, if it would have its own saloon and so forth where he could meet the people. Finally, as the train progressed into the outskirts of Cape Town, Walder began to witness shanties scattered about, and in ever-increasing numbers, as they came closer into _town_. Walder asked his rail wise comrade "What's going on?"

"We're coming into Cape Town," the doctor replied.

"What are all of these dilapidated structures?" Walder demanded, uneasy.

"People live in those," explained his companion.

Walder waxed an incredulous stare as he pondered this inconceivable notion. How could humans possibly live in something so squalid?

Continuing ever deeper for the heart of Cape Town, and now through its industrial section, Walder became more and more appalled at the magnitude of degradation and slovenly structures. It occurred to Walder that he was in what must be a city. But why was it called Cape _Town_? Why hadn't Joey told him? Once again, Walder felt very small and vulnerable; he sensed negative energy all around him. Walder felt as though he were the head of a pin pricking the posterior of Godzilla.

Never before had Walder imagined that so many people could exist, especially in one place, while staring up at huge stone buildings stretching for the clouds. There was chaos and degradation everywhere. Walder was once again feeling like he'd bitten off more than he could chew. What would he do? _I'm just a young, dumb penguin in a place with thousands of humans to laugh at me now._

Walder wanted to go somewhere and escape. He sought a section of the train where he might be alone and try to regain composure. But he was surrounded. This city, in which he now found himself immersed within, was the most intimidating circumstance he'd ever faced, and it was just beginning. He was aghast with his predicament— _How will I ever deal with so many humans_? Walder likened this scenario to himself being absorbed deeper and deeper into a sponge: a giant, unsightly, smelly sponge.

Feeling overwhelmed by the magnitude of people and structures, Walder began to reflect back on a time when he'd never been afraid of any living thing—until humans had laughed at him. And here were more humans than he could have ever imagined, more than he thought could exist in the entire world.

Backing up further, to when he was with his colony in Antarctica, Walder reflected on how predictable everyone had been, and how clean and pristine Antarctica was. And as _dull_ as his family and friends may have seemed at the time, at least they were clean, civil, and safe. And then Walder remembered how the ice peninsula had broken off from his homeland and had cast him into this fate, had led him in successive steps to here. It was his destiny to continue on, to continue the quest, to continue conquering his fears. So here he was, mister macho, finally "here." So now what was he supposed to do in this ill-treating, man-eating (penguin-killing?) country?

Collecting his courage and composure once more, in an effort to figure this out, Walder began to isolate the key ingredients of his success so far. _Well, let's see, uh—caring; courage; doing what is right._

From his perch atop the coldest railcar, Walder looked around at the array of concrete and steel structures ( _icebergs_ and _glaciers_ ), of which constituted a veritable fortress that the train happened to be escorting him continuously into. Walder thought: _These humans can't be so stupid if they constructed all of this. And although they don't seem to be maintaining what they do construct very well, they "all" can't be destructive. Anyone capable of devising and building all of this is not an idiot, and is surely no one to mess with either. So, what am I doing here? Oh yeah. I don't think the way that some people treat others is right. Well, I've learned that it's important to be tactful with one or several individuals. But how would I be successful with thousands, perhaps millions, on the same basis?_

Beginning to question the glamour of this hero and adventure stuff yet again, it occurred to Walder: _No wonder some people seem complacent, and are content with doing little or nothing at all with their life. The further you get into this hero thing, the further you have to go._

Reminding himself again, Walder acknowledged that what had got him this far, so far, was dealing with his fear and going ahead and doing what he knew he had to do, regardless the situation. But this time Walder was considering the potential consequences of him doing so. He began factoring into the equation the possibility of being swallowed up by a monster of men and might. Then, quickly, he shrugged that notion. He knew he must do what he came here to do, against all odds. But this time he vowed to try to be as tactful as possible, and hopefully learn fast enough to avoid committing too many blunders (not too many underestimations and not one _unnecessary_ insult) for he may not have anyone to bail him out next time, "this" time.

Soon his human companion would be bidding him farewell. Walder would once again be on his own, in another strange and unfamiliar environment, except this time in a place in which his instincts hadn't been designed to cope. Although Walder could recognize _construction_ all around him, so, too, was there destruction, an insidious form of destruction. And though familiar in form to Walder in many ways, Walder sensed it was hostile in a unique way, in a new and unfamiliar way.

Then Walder remembered something else, something more, concerning his past in Antarctica. These skyscrapers of steel and stone were reminding him of the frozen sculptures scraping the sky back in his homeland. He recalled how, as a young baby in the dead of winter, the icebergs and glaciers use to petrify him. And then how, over time as he grew older and bolder, his fear of them had been reduced to a mere form of intimidation. Eventually the icebergs had either drifted off or melted, and the glaciers had either stood their ground or slid into the sea. In any event these monsters had lost their influence upon him. In a state of complete rumination, Walder dug deeper for his roots. How pleasantly bizarre it was to have been completely terrified of something, once, only to be able to laugh about it now. And how the laughter might even bring on a feeling of nostalgia. A form of nostalgia with something that you had once deemed a great entity, only to witness it eventually either diminish into a state of harmlessness or vanish altogether. How funny it was that things could work this way.

For Walder, this ongoing realization was just awesome: to recognize something that had previously mortified him, and then to go through all of these phases, from severe trepidation to a being-blasé-about state of unconcern. This was simply awesome.

The train slowed and halted to a hissing reluctance and the two disembarked.

Walder's companion intended to go straight into society and get back to work, by getting re-certified as a doctor and joining a practice. The two bid each other farewell and good luck.

Looking around, Walder was instantly stymied as to which way to proceed. Then, the smell of fresh seawater struck his nostrils. "Ah; my element awaits." It was to be his only focal point for now. Walder headed for this promise of awaiting ocean. It'd been a while—"Saltwater!"

The ocean breeze was wafting clear through the city, as it was ever pushing the stagnant air inland; and possibly the only saving grace of this inner city. Walder thought about flying, wondering if he should give it a try over the masses of people and structures. _No, not yet_ , he decided, opting to leave the flying for when he might _really_ need to.

Walder continued meandering on foot through the maze of streets, progressing in the direction of the ocean where he knew his cousin penguins must be. He was amazed that while wandering through the throngs of humans, no one seemed to notice him. In fact, they didn't seem to notice anyone else, either. They just went on with their duties like no one mattered or anyone even existed.

This was a new and eerie sensation for Walder— _Boy, this is getting weirder by the minute. Humans; I just don't get it._

Journeying on, Walder heard more sounds, new, loud, and obnoxious sounds: sirens from emergency vehicles; horns honking in unison; jackhammers from construction crews. Walder tried to remain focused. It was sometimes hard to tell which direction the ocean breeze was blowing in from, due to its course being obstructed and altered by the size, shape, and multitude of man-made structures. On he continued, as the enormity of the city continually increased. The further Walder went, the taller the buildings. Apparently the humans felt the real estate more desirable closer to the coast, demonstrated by the size of these buildings, which were constantly reminding Walder of the icy "skyscrapers" of Antarctica. Walder knew this was the way. He just had to keep heading in this direction, slipping through the cracks between these enormous structures, just like the bergs back home. Walder hadn't felt this confined since this spring. Back in Antarctica, when he and his colony of penguins had been surrounded by a (frozen) fortress of their own.

It was interesting that the train had dropped him off clear on the opposite side of Cape Town from his Jack Ass Penguin cousins. For otherwise, Walder wouldn't have seen the inner city and gotten a feel for it as a whole, the way it really was, and therefore been able to appreciate the significance not only surrounding it but within it.

Walder couldn't believe what he was traveling through. Bustling crowds of people, cars and trucks, all restricted to narrow thoroughfares amidst colossal, concrete pillars. Once, Walder had made the mistake of stepping off the curb to cross the street at the wrong time and was almost run over by many of those mighty monsters of rolling steel and glass. It was the only time he had been noticed. A cop, who had spied Walder, attempted to pursue him. But Walder quickly evaporated between the knees of the many pedestrians. After that, Walder made sure to go with the flow and cross the street when everyone else did.

On and on he continued. Would it ever end? Eventually Walder came around the corner of a cross street, saw nothing but blue sky before him, and realized that he was at the top of a hill. Without expectation, his gaze led him downward, straight down and unobstructed four-lane boulevard. This stretch of asphalt was as true as an arrow, and didn't seem to have an end. It seemed to evaporate into a milky cloud. And as he looked down this length of descent, it was here that a clear, blue ocean came into view.

_At last, my element,_ Walder sighed.

The cool ocean air was striking Walder, unimpeded now by any obstacles. Walder set his course straight down this street for the water, which he estimated to still be miles from him. As he descended down the hill on the avenue, the water disappeared from view for a while. But Walder knew it was there. Just keep following the road. And so, Walder did finally collide with water. Except it was very different from what he'd imagined. It was hard to tell where the water began. There was concrete and asphalt everywhere. There were piers, barges, and buildings on, and at, the water's edge; wherever that was. As far as he could tell he might be standing over water right now. And where were the Jack Ass Penguins?

Everyone looked in such the hurry. They were scurrying about unloading large boats onto the pier and hauling the contents straight onto big trucks that went screeching off. Huge cranes were lifting massive boxes onto enormous ships that would soon be on their way to somewhere.

_Why are humans always in such a hurry? How can anyone have time to think about what's really important, with a life like this?_ Walder wondered.

And then it occurred to Walder that maybe this might explain why humans were the way they were. Walder thought about how the four he'd met around the campfire seemed far more "human," and sensible, than these "civilized types."

The obvious thing to do next would be to ask someone where the Jack Ass Penguins were. Walder could not believe how unhelpful and unconcerned these humans were. These humans were so busy with whatever it was they were doing, _too_ busy, to be bothered by a pesky penguin. Once, Walder actually received a strange sort of stare from someone who had actually taken the time to recognize he was an Antarctic penguin. But it wasn't a friendly stare. Instinct told Walder to keep moving.

Walder thought, _No wonder some humans choose to drop out of society._

Though feeling pretty sure he could walk down the coastline in either direction for some distance and eventually find his cousins, Walder continued asking for assistance. Someone had to have information crucial to his mission. He was beginning to worry that the Jack Ass Penguins might already be extinct, or something.

Finally, Walder saw one younger-looking guy standing on the street corner, who gave the appearance like he didn't really have anything particular to do at the moment, and so Walder decided to go up to him and give him a try.

"Excuse me. Since you don't seem to be in a great rush at the moment, I mean like the rest, I was wondering if you could inform me as to where I might locate my cousins, the Jack Ass Penguins."

The guy just eyed Walder for some moments, while wondering what this penguin's motive might be. _What does he want? Is he a weirdo, or just trying to make fun of me, or something?_ Finally, the guy concluded that Walder might be for real, and, since Walder was being a "Gentooman," answered: "They stay out on the outskirts of town, where they've lived forever, in the 'Rich Section'," while nodding in _that_ direction.

"What's the 'rich' section?" asked Walder, naive.

"You know; where all the people who have a lot of money live," answered the young man.

"Why do they live with only 'those' people?" asked Walder.

"Like I said, those penguins have _always_ lived there. It's those people, the rich people, who have moved into their territory and are now covertly trying to kill them, or drive them out, because they don't like the way they sound, among other things," explained the young man.

"What other things?" continued Walder, with his quest for knowledge.

"Well, if you really want to _hear_ it. Some people say they smell pretty bad, too. It's just another excuse to get rid of them. Some people are just weird. Some people want to save them while others view them as a nuisance and something to conquer. The more that some people try to protect them, the harder others try to destroy them. Sometimes I think it's more of a 'people-against-people thing', rather than _these_ people against the Jack Ass Penguins."

Something about this young human's last sentence really struck Walder as truth. Walder knew he had a wise human in front of him, and thanked the young man for his help and wisdom.

Waddling in the direction that the human had just motioned toward, toward the "rich section," Walder began ruminating about what he'd just heard, and feeling he might be closing in on some answers to some pretty haunting questions. _What makes people react the way they do to other's actions, in certain situations? And furthermore, if you indeed wanted to get someone to do something, how would you handle it without having this person oppose you and end up doing the complete opposite? And, what would it take to make those people stop hurting his cousins?_

Walder knew he'd better have some answers before addressing "those people," these antagonists: the Jack Ass Penguin's persecutors. Because, as he'd witnessed, once you do the wrong thing, sometimes there's no patching up the damage. Whether it was the mammals of the sea or mammals of land. Mammals, so it seemed, didn't like to be challenged (threatened), or told what to do.

Also, it was funny how mammals seemed to be either completely for something or completely against it; there didn't seem to be any "in between." Whether it was Orca, or Humphrey, or Herman, or Joey for that matter, there hadn't been any middle ground—no fence sitters. Walder wondered if there was a time when mammals had felt comfortable enough about something to see the good and bad in a given situation, to compromise on issues, and work them out by working together and so forth. If there ever had been such a time, what happened to make such mammals change, to make them feel sufficiently insecure and feel they have to defend themselves, or even attack, on every conflicting issue.

_How had Joey handled ol' Orca,_ Walder thought _, to bring him to our favor even after I had completely wrecked things? What did he do that had worked so well? And how had Joey acquired this knowledge at such a tender age?_ _And why had Joey, after succeeding with the formidable Orca, blundered against the passive, yet bombastic, Humphrey_?

And now, Walder would be going up against, not one, but, many adversaries. In what class would they fall? Yet another million-dollar question!

At the edge of the city, Walder approached the final pier. It was the last one in sight and protruding far into the water. Walder surmised that the further out over the water he went, the more he would be able to see down the coastline. As he took his first steps upon the pier, he immediately felt the adrenaline he'd experienced on his icy peninsula, the one that'd broken off and carried him into the Great Out There. He took a deep breath; he continued. Out into the ocean Walder walked on this pier, to view the surroundings and assess the route he would be taking, in the direction of the Jack Ass Penguins. Of course he could swim out as far as he liked. But here was a much higher location to view from. It just occurred to Walder that he was beginning to think and rationalize a bit like a human might—a scary proposition at first. But maybe that can be a good thing, for now. But not forever. Uh uh. No way! Walder knew his roots were deeply sunk into the shores of his homeland, Antarctica, where the penguins are as simple and pure as the ice upon which they tread.

# Chapter XIII

After Joey had been found by his father's ship at "Port Walderville," and he'd been reunited with the crew, everything had been drifting along just fine (for Joey and his father). Joey and his father, for the first time in their lives, were speaking to each other—in the way long-lost relatives might at first acquaintance.

Joey had always been eager to win his father's respect But, even now, his father still wasn't really showing any that was genuine. Instead, the captain was merely being nice to Joey, maintaining his attempt to salvage a family, his family, what had been his wife's wishes, and now his as well. Though his father was being pleasant, Joey knew his father still didn't view him in the way he wanted to be seen by his father, the way he needed to be regarded by his father: as a veritable man and competent seaman. Though this troubled Joey, he didn't mind wholeheartedly because it was a dramatic improvement in their relationship. Joey would continue to work for the privilege of being seen as a peer by his father, continue to wait for the day his father would treat him as an equal.

The Ecliptic set back to its original course, but was far from "on its merry way." The crewmembers aboard her, with festering wounds to their egos, were plotting an alternative route for the ship. This was vengeance abounding; there were sore sports aplenty. It seems as though these lowlifes could have accepted being defeated by the King of England, or Captain Blythe, or even Moby Dick. But a boy and a penguin? No way!

As the ship broke away from sight of land, the captain assembled his crew, and apologized to the crew for what he'd just put them through, the storm and all, "It was a terrible mistake," and assuring them, "and it will never happen again."

The crew agreed with him and "took the ship!"

So with the captain now in chains, and Joey under the gun to divulge the whereabouts and intentions of "that penguin," the mindless maniacs began to wreak their wrath and reap the ruins through revenge. As Joey relentlessly refused to cooperate, determined to defy their dastardly demands, the crude crew grew more committed to avenging themselves at any cost. For if they didn't, what were they supposed to do. What would one talk about, once back in the U.K., with one's chaps over a pint of bitter in the pub—I got bested by a bloody penguin and a boy? Nope, not over their lime-ridden bodies. That'd be an insult to the Queen. And all of this was over a penguin: the one they'd mocked and then abandoned; the one that had never harmed them, until, because of _it_ , they had been forced to fight for their lives during a horrible storm (something that was, after all, a repercussion of their own actions, of which they were unable to admit).

First, they would find _that_ penguin. Then, figure out a way to snuff their three prisoners without incriminating themselves. Actually, not a one of these crewmembers was bright enough to pull off this latter. And even if one had been, eventually, one, or many of the others, would someday blow their cover, with loose lips, to a bloke in the local watering hole or something. But, fortunately for the captain and his son, this last and most important part of the plot would be put on the backburner. It was to be figured out later, after they'd had their way with "them." For now would be time for some sweet revenge, especially with that penguin.

Unfortunately, the first mate had just enough brains to get them all strung from the gallows, and therefore the mental resources to anticipate the possibility of not being able to get the info from Joey. So, on that morning prior to the Ecliptic leaving Port Walderville, the first mate had radioed the City Hall dispatch (unknown to the Captain) to derive whatever gossip was available, posing as a communicant for the "Scouting Party" hoping to assist The Heroic Penguin in his endeavors—"His mission must be a success!"

The town clerk had imparted proudly to "Walder's concerned comrades" that Sir Walder had left for Cape Town, was hell bent for leather on making it to Cape Town to save his Jack Ass Penguin cousins.

Yes, all this time, the crew had already gotten what they wanted; they already had what they needed to find that penguin. They'd been sailing for Cape Town all along, all the while toying with the captain and his son, tormenting and torturing Joey for the information they already possessed, that had already been rendered to them by the helpful, hopeful villagers, out of concern for Walder.

Meanwhile, back at the pier, Walder had been contemplating changing his mode of travel. After not being able to see anything for miles down the coastline toward where his Jack Ass Penguin cousins were supposed to be, it was becoming increasingly tempting to jump into the ocean and be miles "down there" pronto. He had been warned though, about the predators in these waters. Joey had informed him about a new entity, the Great White Shark. Walder was the most exotic food in these waters—a "rare" morsel—and knew he had better not swim, in this ocean, unless completely necessary.

Even after he'd witnessed how arduous the travel by land could be, Walder figured that walking down the sandy beach of this coast shouldn't be nearly as tough. At least here Walder had a cool ocean breeze, and would have the opportunity to wet his feet, or even a wave to splash in if he began to get too uncomfortable. So, reluctantly, he prepared to walk back down the pier and continue strutting for his cousins, in the direction he knew would eventually deliver him, a way purportedly far safer than the other option, open sea. Oh, where was that Humpback Whale? Walder could surely use a tote on his back right now.

Suddenly, a familiar face emerged from under the surface of the water, and Walder, stunned and delightfully surprised, shouted, "Orca! I didn't think I'd ever look forward to seeing you. I need your help."

Appearing not to have heard Walder, Orca said "So, you really did make it all this way to Cape Town." And before Walder could interject, Orca continued, "Well, if you aren't one rare bird. I'd take my hat off to you, Penguin, if I had one to take off, or if I had one to put on. Well, you know what I mean. Anyway, I'm actually glad to see you—glad to see you made it, Penguin."

"Oh, you mean so I can help my poor penguin cousins?" Walder asked, assumedly.

"Well, yes, that and other reasons, Penguin," Orca answered, a bit embarrassed to admit it.

"Oh, you mean so I can help enlighten humans, in order to keep them from continuing to trash our planet, and save us all?"

"Well, mainly that."

Although slightly humored, Orca was mostly experiencing a feeling of unworthiness, a sort of guilt, over the _idea_ that he'd once contemplated munching this exceptional penguin. And it didn't help Orca at all to know his fellow orcas wouldn't be "understanding," one bit, over his sudden remorse for this bird from the berg. In contrast, this would be taboo. Because, for an orca, any orca, all orcas, to munch a penguin, any penguin, all penguins, why his orca peers would have expected nothing less of him.

Orca was beginning to realize that what he'd held as a personal code of ethics, what his perception of what right and wrong _is_ , was changing. He felt as though something was forcing him to individuate from the broadly accepted code of the "Killer" Whale. But Orca had such a reputation, and reputation was everything with the fellow orcas and so forth. Orca, for the first time in his life, had been hoping to maintain a fence-sitting position through all of this, but he was already beyond the pale in regard to what his fellow orcas would have expected of him, accept from him, and all other orcas as well. And on what side of this proverbial boundary was Orca on now, battling, inside himself, with himself. It was Orca vs. Killer Whale. Who would win? The battle going on inside of Orca was one that he'd hoped to never have to fight, or face. It was the hardest thing a fellow could confront: self vs. self. It's never easy, but this is what a person sometimes has to go through if he's going to do what's right—contradict the norm. _Why did I ever have to meet this devil penguin in the first place_? _Life had been so simple before._ Now, Orca felt like he was dealing with another devil, the devil within himself—his alter ego.

Walder broke Orca's concentration by exuberantly stating, "Boy, am I glad you're here, since Joey isn't." Walder quickly recognized his blunder and tried to correct it with "Oh, I didn't mean it that way, what I meant was... uh..."

And before Walder could inadvertently imply once more that Joey was smarter than Orca, or, that he valued Joey's information and company more, Orca broke in abruptly, "Save it, Penguin! You can't keep expecting others to bail you out all of the time—every time. It's time for you to grow up and start thinking for yourself."

Orca was probably enjoying his ruthless lecturing to the fledgling penguin a little too much, but it was helping him vent some of his own frustration toward this seemingly impervious-to-peril bird. Besides, the situation called for it, and right is right! Right? So, to sort of exonerate himself from the possibility of any evil or wrong doing that he _might_ have done, Orca curtly stated, "The Jack Ass Penguins are that way; but you'll need a boat. And speaking of which, I think one is being delivered to us as we speak," and quickly disappeared below water before Walder could blurt—Wait a minute!

Yes, Orca had once again displayed his trademark by vanishing quickly and quietly.

Walder was alone again. Or was he? All of a sudden, Walder heard calls from a herd of humans. He'd been so focused on Orca, and the direction in which the Jack Ass Penguins lay, that he hadn't noticed the large vessel moving in on him from the other direction. It was a familiar vessel. As the ship moved swiftly for him, a single voice came from a human speaking through a cone-shaped device, saying, "Hey, Penguin, your buddy, Joey, said we could find you here. He wants us to give yuh a tote to your Jack Ass relatives—I mean your penguin cousins. He's there, waitin' for yuh."

It was the first mate speaking, with the rest of the crew alongside.

_Well, here it is, my ride,_ Walder began to think. _Someone's looking out for me after all. It's a blessing, an omen; it was meant to be. The crew has had a realization. Joey has made everything "right" again, just as I knew he would. Wait a minute! Where's the Captain—where's Joey? Something is fishy here and I don't mean the fish, water, or pier._ Walder began to suspect something was up and demanded, "Where's your Captain!"

"Uh, the... Oh, the Captain... er, uh," the first mate began to hem and haw. "We left him back _there_ , for being mean to Joey."

Before Walder could express his opinion (B.S.) concerning the first mate's _explanation_ , a voice came from underneath the pier. Hidden in the shadows behind a row of support beams, Orca whispered to Walder, "Penguin, tell them that you've acquired a phobia of swimming in water due to this particular _Killer Whale_ , and you'd like for them to send a lifeboat over to come and fetch your poor penguin feathers."

Without questioning (yet wondering) what the wise Orca's plan could be, Walder obeyed the marine mammal's mandate.

The crew found this _gesture_ of little inconvenience; it was a small price for the prize that was waiting. They eagerly sent a lifeboat for the prize penguin—the last lifeboat remaining of the two that the ship initially possessed.

With the first mate ensuring he would be a member of the party on the lifeboat, there would be little "intelligent life" left aboard the Ecliptic "able" to manage her. So with the lifeboat thoroughly preoccupied with the quarry, as well as what attention span had been left aboard the Ecliptic, the Ecliptic began to drift aimlessly. Over their preoccupation for the penguin, the morons had forgotten to set anchor. The remaining not-quite-bright crewmembers on board the Ecliptic were equally oblivious. All eyes were, and had been, on the gullible Gentoo.

As soon as the lifeboat was midpoint between the ship and the pier, Orca came underneath the lifeboat, tipped it sideways, leaving all occupants swimming for air. With no other lifeboat left onboard, the dimwits remaining had no other option but to try and maneuver their big ship toward the over-boards. Just before reaching the wet ones, the Ecliptic grounded on a sandbar, and she didn't move thereafter.

Orca's plan had worked wonderfully. While remaining submerged, Orca guided the empty lifeboat over to Walder, instructed him to get in, and began pushing it out to sea. As Walder _drifted_ away in the lifeboat, the "soaked and wet" were being pulled out of the water and onto the ship, only to witness, once more, the penguin floating past them. Except this time it wasn't on a chunk of melting ice. It was on their only remaining lifeboat. And to further compound the felony, the penguin had once more bested them at their own menial game. A few of the crewmembers went for the ship's cannon, to blow the penguin out of the water, along with the lifeboat. But this would have served to draw the attention of every authority in the area. The first mate knew at least this much and stopped them.

They cursed and bickered, with raised fists _a_ shakin', as they vowed to avenge their honor thoroughly and a hundred-fold _this_ time (next time), "Gonna get your bloody feathers, Penguin!"

It was probably Walder's innocence, his "unknowing-like" countenance, threatening them the most. As if Walder was a mirror reflecting back to them their true selves, in which their strongest denials couldn't defy. If they didn't best this penguin, they would have to live with this apparition for the rest of their lives. A monkey on the back is one thing, but a penguin in the soul couldn't be reckoned with.

As the lifeboat began to fade from the sound of the crew, and finally from the sight of the ship, it occurred to Walder, "Where's Joey _?_ "

_Oh, yet another problem,_ thought Orca. _Now I have to save the guy, who saved the penguin, who started this mess in the first place. Well, actually, maybe I had_ something _to do with it, too. But he started it, and made it continue, thanks to his diplomacy when he intervened during our little mutual contention, between the penguin and me._

Orca, knowing that Walder would be ever so reluctant to leave if he knew (for sure) that the young human friend of his was actually aboard the ship, stated, "Look, Penguin, we're going to have to leave now. If we try anything now, they'll catch you, and that's what they want. We'll have to 'go for it' when they're least expecting it."

"Oh... okay," conceded Walder, pensively, knowing Orca was right on this one, but somehow sensing that Joey could be aboard the ship.

But if Orca said "Not now," for now, even if it meant leaving Joey behind, for now, Orca was probably right.

"Hang in there, Joey, Buddy," whispered Walder, tentatively, not wanting Orca to hear, as if Joey could hear, hoping Joey could hear.

Once knowing they were fully out of sight from the ship's telescopes, Orca instructed Walder to throw him the lifesaver, which barely fit around the tip of his enormous nose, and he began pulling Walder in the direction of the Jack Ass Penguins. It was a far cry from being on top of Humphrey, but it was a lot better than walking, and a lot better than a lot of _other_ things.

# Chapter XIV

After hitting the river below, Herman felt right at home in this abundance of fresh water, in this ever-swelling river gently flowing for the sea. Herman quickly remembered that the train, which would still be transporting his newly found honey hippo, should be coming along behind them at some point. He began assessing the "banks" of this river for an exit route, while his three human comrades were still gasping for air and struggling to find their bearing. Seeing only a rock wall on both sides of them, these three humans quickly located Herman. Deeming the hippo their only floatation device, they swam toward Herman hoping to get a grip. And as they did so, they followed Herman's upward stare. The four gazed up at the sheer cliffs leading back to the bridge above. Cliffs that had been cut clean by the river over countless millennia and were as flat and polished as any facet upon a gemstone. All realized there was "No way!" Their only hope at finding Herman's honey at this point would be locating her at the zoo in Cape Town. And for now this river would be their best recourse, if not only option.

The three men were cheerfully willing to pull themselves onto the back of the huge hippo, at the Big Baby's request, "Hop on top, Dudes!" and they began riding comfortably atop Herman as he pointed his nose downstream. This was such a contrast to what the four had been experiencing only moments ago—the handcar descent now seemed but a dream—a nightmare!

Additionally, it was a mighty fine feeling to be in the cool of water after going through so much in the heat of the bush since leaving the campsite. At times, Herman couldn't contain his exuberance. The sensation of being immersed in his favorite substance was simply too exhilarating after being away from water for so long. Right when his passengers would begin feeling at ease, Herman would unsuspectingly surge forward like a submarine, his large, elongated body being designed and streamlined for efficient movement through water, and the three would be forced to hang on. But, fortunately for the three aboard, Herman did show the courtesy not to ("Take her down!") submerge. It was also tempting for Herman to explore one of the many tributaries supplementing this hydrodynamic vein of passage. But, being reminded that his honey lay "this way" kept Herman on track. "Just 'go with the flow', Hippo."

As they continued barging on, the river continued widening and the fresh water began taking on a brackish taste, and later, a gradual increase in saltiness. Soon, Herman also detected that this downhill flow of water was diminishing in speed, and seemingly to the degree that the terrain surrounding them flattened and the river continued to swell. What had been effortless cruising for Herman, was now becoming less and less so. Eventually this river opened up to the size of a lake, and Herman found himself beginning to struggle with an opposing current. Continue on they did, until this estuary revealed itself to be what the three men knew was the ocean. For Herman, this was the first time he had ever witnessed such an infinitely vast, body of water. And boy was it ever salty! He noticed his body rising out of the water far more than it had in the river. The humans explained to Herman, "Saltwater increases your ability to float."

Herman was delighted to learn this, but the salt was a bit hard to get used to. The three mentioned to Herman that they might want to leave the water at first opportunity on account of the possibility of Herman dehydrating or having some other adverse reaction to this alien substance. "Nonsense," replied Herman, and they continued for the Cape Town Coast.

Once, a Great White Shark spotted the Big Baby and began circling Herman as if it was intrigued with the hippo, as if in awe and curiosity at this enormous, foreign creature. It was finally enticed to come closer to this alien mammal and give it a nudge, only to receive a sharp kick to the snout by one the hooves from this "river horse." After that, the Great White left promptly, without so much as a nibble, much to the relief of three passengers on top who had been paying special care to keep their little footsies as high as possible.

It didn't take long to make it to the Cape Town coast; the three passengers were relieved to have their feet back on good ol' dry land. Now, with the imminent threat from the ocean out of their way, the three began explaining to Herman, "You wouldn't like living in a zoo, Hippo. It's like 'prison'!" trying to convince him of what he might be getting into.

Herman couldn't relate, stating, "I'm going to the zoo to get my honey. I found her and now I'm going to get her!"

Seeing that Herman was keeping his intentions inland, and their advice at bay, the three continued pleading, "You'll never make it. Hippos are considered very—very—dangerous by humans. They'll either kill you or capture you. Even if they capture you, they'll take you so far away that you'll never find your way back, or even know where you are. Do you want that?"

"I'm going anyway. I've found the sweetheart of my life, and now I'm going to claim her—this gold mine is 'mine'!"

The three knew the only way the hippo could possibly make it through this mass of humans would be with them accompanying him, with their escort. They accepted this responsibility and prepared for the task, an undertaking that would be fraught with uncertainty.

It would be impossible to predict what they might be presented with (along with the _predictable_ ) during such an attempt. But one thing was certain: nothing would be _certain_! Would this be the ultimate in humiliation and danger combined? The three discussed the matter for a moment and came up with what they all felt might be an excellent idea: a hippo would appear far less dangerous if it was "mounted," if they were to "ride" the river horse through the streets of suburbia, if it appeared that humans were in charge of _it_.

"Okay, Hippo. Look! If this is to work, we're gonna have to convince everyone that you're not only a tame hippo, but the only tame hippo in the world; a freak of nature or something. 'Herman the Hermit, a hopelessly happy hippo—[The] Hopelessly Happy Hippo! The only tame hippo in the world!' If you remain gentle, maybe we'll make it—heaven knows how far."

The four left the coastal environs for the heart of Cape Town, walking diagonally from the ocean through a maze of city streets toward the inner city where they felt a zoo would most likely be constructed. Astonishingly, the city dwellers didn't seem to put it together that there was a _hippopotamus_ in their midst.

After moving through the outskirts toward the depths of Cape Town for a few miles, one of the three, after receiving a few stares from the more observant locals (and understandably so) offered the notion that it might be time to hop on top of the hippo now. "Hopefully everyone will think of us as some sort of a circus act or something. Surely they'll see this beast is harmless; no one should become _too_ alarmed."

Sounded like a plan to everyone, the best obtainable, anyhow. Until experiencing, for the first time, what riding a hippo—bareback—was all about.

They'd simply never heard from others what it would be like; there wasn't anything written on this subject—no human had ever ridden a hippo before! For when the tough got going, the going got tough. The three atop immediately realized that the ride on land was a far cry from the way it had been in the water. This was not the "cruising in comfort" they'd experienced on the big baby's back. This was unmitigated agony. It was to be a long and bumpy trip. The pounding, the swaying, the perpetual-earthquake-motion of Herman's gait was, quite frankly, enough to make anyone instantly saddle-sore and nauseous. Hell, this was making the roller coaster ride down the mountain on the handcar seem luxurious, and it wasn't nearly as exciting. One of the three replied, "Now I know why humans never tried to domesticate hippos."

"Huh?" asked Herman, oblivious.

"Never yuh mind, Hippo. You wouldn't understand, and you don't deserve it, either."

The three "sucked it up" as Herman continued.

The meager weight of Herman's passengers was of little or no concern to him. But his cargo, on the other hand, was not enjoying life. The three continued to consent to this brutally uncomfortable mode of transport. After all, this was a perfect opportunity for an individual to redeem oneself of all unjustly deeds. All three knew well the concept "beast of burden," but had always (along with every other human) associated _this_ with something one carried, or lugged, rather than something someone rode.

A bona fide beast of burden Herman was, too, for the three submitting to this ordeal. Like they say in the rodeo: Riding a bull is like a thousand pounds falling on top of you, except it's coming from underneath.

As the saddle-sore souls were discovering, from posted signs everywhere, the zoo made its rounds all about the continent of Africa, and even beyond. It was slated to remain here in Cape Town for an undetermined amount of weeks and then progress north. The three thoroughly chapped and chafed riders were imploring the hippo to stop at every poster (to "lick their wounds") to _ensure_ nothing had _changed_ , explaining to the big baby what was up. Herman began to perceive this to be a wonderful opportunity to travel, with the zoo: to see the world, and begin living the life of his new self with his honey, an adventurous hippo in love.

As the three had suspected, the zoo was specialized, and therefore sought to travel light, which meant every specimen in this mobile zoo needed to be unique, i.e. special in some way. The three began putting their heads together. "How will we go about this, in order to convince the zookeeper to accept this hippo as one of the _staff_?"

The city of Cape Town was providing the land and building space for the duration of the zoo's stay here, and the three remembered this particular location; they were closing in on it. "Mighty human of them to choose such a nice, breezy spot that's not _too_ far inland—where the air is _merely_ stifling," the three joked and chuckled, sarcastically.

Soon, crowds of people began gathering to witness the Big Baby and his unlikely entourage, and eventually began following them as the mounted river horse continued hoofing it for the zoo. Initially these spectators had been mindful about keeping a distance, while some shouted inquiries as to who they were and what they were doing. The three replied that Herman was a heroic hippo, who had saved them from tragedy in the wilderness (after all, it was the truth), and they were putting him on display at the zoo: "'Herman the Hermit; the Hopelessly, Happy Hippo'. Be there!"

By the time Herman and the three reached the zoo, they had managed to draw quite a following. It was the Pied Piper "meets" Cape Town. There was already a great deal of talk going on regarding Herman and his upcoming appearances. With the crowds bustling behind, the three led the big celebrity to where the zookeeper was supposed to be, who had just started peering through a window to see what all the commotion could be about. As they approached, the three were relieved to find the right person so quickly. Herman was looking around for his honey, and wondering if a certain conductor could be anywhere and said, "Anybody have any idea where I might be able to find a certain cowardly conductor?"

All three quickly reminded Herman that if he was going to make it, he was going to have to display himself as a non-violent hippo, constantly, flawlessly, and that it might be a good thing the conductor wasn't around. After all, the conductor operates trains, and his responsibility was to get the zoo here, and so, he's surely off doing another job elsewhere now, bringing something else to somewhere.

Next, the three quickly informed the zookeeper they were here to speak with him, and that they had a proposition for him that was just too good to be true. "You already have the most stylish, elegant, beautiful hippo in the world, and this hippo here's in love with her. Right next to her you could have 'Herman the heroic hippo,' the world's bravest _bibbed_ , Big Baby."

Upon presenting this idea to the zookeeper, it was instantly rejected with the zookeeper stating that he already had enough "hippo hypocrisy." And besides, between the hippos and the elephants, they were eating the zoo broke, and that he was looking for smaller, less voracious "class acts"—pint-sized performers. And, besides, he wouldn't allow any "he-ing and she-ing" going on between hippos, anyway. "I don't feel that a heroic hippo has enough 'zing' to it for this very special zoo," the zookeeper concluded.

"Do you see all of those people out there? They're all expecting to see him. Are you going to let them all down? If nothing else, it will bring a bad rep to the zoo," the three argued.

"Well, you've got a point there. But isn't there anything else, noteworthy, about him? This is a very specialized kind of zoo, with _very_ _special_ animals. You see, his _prospective_ honey, for instance, happens to be the prettiest, classiest hippo in the very world," continued the zookeeper, trying to act concerned, while attempting to appease the four, particularly the hippo.

"Well, surely you can see how tame he is. As long as he gets to be with his sweetie, he's a... well, he's a hopelessly, happy hippo," the three urged.

"Hmmm. 'Herman the Heroic Hermit'; the 'Hopelessly Happy Hippo'; the world's only tame hippo next to the most Beautiful Hippo in the World."

Just then, the zookeeper got an idea. And, since it was _his_ idea, it was obviously ingenious. "I think I've got it! Our petting zoo is a bit deficient in child-loving animals. If he's as gentle as you say he is, maybe he'll be just perfect in the Childrens' Petting Zoo. Sometimes the children can get a bit rough with the animals; but shouldn't be a problem for such a big brute—providing he remains docile. We'll put his sweetie right across from him, and they can make goo-goo eyes at each other while they entertain the children. The job starts first thing in the morning!"

So it was all set. The three had done their civil and moral duty by taking care of _their_ hippo and landing him a job in this specialized zoo. It was great; he'd be with his sweetie, and travel, see new things and meet new people. It seemed like Herman's career was in the bag!

Herman bid farewell to the three as _they_ assured him they'd come by from time to time to see him, and reminding Herman once more, "Just remember, Hippo, you're a 'Hopelessly Happy Hippo'—stay that way and everything should be just fine."

Though it was sad to be parting from the hippo, still, they were just happy to know that good things were happening for Herman. Now the three could sigh in relief that everything had worked out so well for the Big Baby, and concentrate on themselves and their respective issues. The three left the zoo, for another part of the city, not knowing what they were going to do next. Yet, this time, all three were confident that whatever it would be, they'd be able to deal with it now, thanks to the Penguin who had planted a seed in Hippo, and had planted a seed deep within them as well. It was a seed that had been sprouting a chain of events and growing new ability within them, which was allowing them to branch out into sunnier pastures and someday possibly sink their roots into fertile ground.

"I wonder where that Penguin is now."

# [PART THREE  
Jake's Here to Stay](tmp_9a48c949eba74772d4f052e8d6bbea26_ahSQsz.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_004.html#ref_toc)

# Chapter XV

It'd felt like half of an eternity, it'd only been a fraction of the season. Since leaving Antarctica, life had been like a train-ride for Walder, like being on a train barreling down the tracks so fast as to not even _think_ about leaping off. But with the Ecliptic and her crew confined to the harbor, for now, a lull in the action was setting in. Walder accepted this gesture from fate, the convenience of being able to catch one's breath, and decided to avail himself of this opportunity to contemplate a bit. As for Orca, he thrived on action. And if there wasn't any, he knew how to generate it, even if it meant breaking some rules. Actually, in the scheme of things, it was Orca's call to make or break the rules at anytime because Orca, and all orcas, had been afforded by nature the predominance to play and fight on their own terms. Yes, Orca had never fretted over much of anything (in the ocean). But this Antarctic Penguin, who Orca had strangely befriended, was a bit of an anomaly of sorts. Not only because it happened to be a long way from home, and not just because it had demonstrated a rather awkward ability to fly but, moreover, a degree of stubbornness that would have been vexing to any orca.

So, as Walder and his unlikely chaperone left the outer city coastline for rural waters, the two became silent for some time. They had both become thoroughly preoccupied with something—were in their own world. In fact, the intensity of concentration being expressed in the demeanor of both of them was evidence of an internal struggle going on behind their blank, faraway stares. While Orca stood determined to defeat any of his fancied opponents, Walder, on the other hand, was beginning to feel a little inclined toward making peace with his troubles at this point.

Walder had been thinking about the folks back home in Antarctica, how they might be faring and so forth, when these fine imponderables were displaced by the recollection of Joey— _Ah, Joey, good ol' Joey. I wonder what he's up to; hope he's okay._

As Walder wondered, he was forced to embrace this unavoidable realism: despite the fact he and Orca hadn't actually seen Joey aboard the Ecliptic back at the Cape Town harbor, it was, nevertheless, only likely that Joey had been aboard the ship, and still was, and being held captive along with his father. Not only did reason point to this probability but, Walder's developing instincts were pretty much confirming this to him as well. And, in spite of all of this, Walder still held confidence that Joey could take care of himself. It was a kind of naïve optimism.

Though Walder's wealth of concern for Joey was immeasurable, it wasn't necessarily a "worried" type of concern. Which is to say, Walder wasn't actually worried for (or about) Joey. Walder's concern was more of a pondering, a wondering—a yearning—a hoping for Joey to remember him the way that he remembered Joey ( _My favorite buddy!_ ) the young exceptional human that had saved him several times over.

This had been a challenging time for Walder, and it had been an enlightening time. But most importantly it had been a necessary time. For this short period of ordeals had presented itself to Walder as a trial, a bridge he had to cross, preparing him for the times to come. Only in his wildest dreams could he have ever imagined that a slab of ice, on which he fell asleep one night, would carry him across the threshold to his dreams, the dreams he'd dared to dream, and ultimately to new beginnings. And for Walder, those few days in a lifeboat with Joey, the seemingly endless string of moments with him, had been chock full of intensity and emotion. In fact, since leaving Antarctica, life had seemed like a magical summer at camp, proving to be the most wonderful time of the young Gentoo's life. Ah, Walder could continue daydreaming about that all day. But during this nostalgic ruminating, something reminded Walder of his real purpose for being here, here on this continent. It'd been something Joey had introduced to him: the Jack Ass Penguins.

This ostensible purpose, which initially had been presented to Orca by Joey as the reason for this Antarctic Penguin coming to South Africa, had worked well. But Joey could have never imagined that the gullible Gentoo would have taken it so seriously. The sole intention of this ploy, on the part of Joey, had been to keep Walder out of the jaws of Orca, back when Walder and Orca had first encountered each other. But for Walder, it had become a mission—an obsession—an obligatory duty. Not only had Walder been thoroughly convinced of the plight concerning these Jack Ass Penguins but, more importantly, the necessity for intervention by someone—"him"—in behalf of the poor little buggers. Paramount to everything (in Walder's "world"), on both a rational and emotional level, would be saving his little cousins, who happened to be under siege, here in South Africa. This had been a driving force and focal point for some time and would become even more so. For now it'd be his only focus, until he could save the Jack Ass Penguins.

Orca, during this time, had been continually reminding himself—attempting to reassure himself—that it was "Okay," that it was acceptable for him to be protecting a penguin, this penguin, since this one was from Antarctica, and since they didn't happen to be in Antarctica. _It's okay, dammit_!

It was okay, for instance, for him to be pulling the lifeboat down the coast—for being the penguin's personal tugboat—to be keeping the Crown Prince warm and safe and dry! How in the world had this happened, to him, in the first place? How in the world had a world-class killer, a Killer Whale, been buffaloed into indentured servitude by anything, yet alone a penguin, by this Gentoo, or whatever it is or where it might be from? Feeling like a buffoon, Orca continued anguishing over these thoughts. Orca's state of dismay might have seemed interminable at this point if he hadn't have turned momentarily to observe an intense expression upon the penguin's face. With squinting eyes, staring out to sea, Walder was straining through the undulating light to focus on something. Abruptly, Orca was yanked from his fixation with triviality and turned to witness an all too familiar sight. Emerging out of the horizon, ranging in color from rusty blacks and grays to "rustoleum-brown" (to _rust_ ), enormous objects came drifting in to blotch a previously pristine seascape.

"Those are the ugliest 'bergs' I have ever seen!" Walder remarked.

"They're not bergs, Penguin, they're tankers—oil tankers," Orca corrected.

"What are oil tankers?"

"They're floating tanks that carry _oil_ to where _certain_ humans want it to go," Orca informed.

"What is oil?"

"It's this icky, sticky stuff, Penguin. It can sometimes be found floating on top of the water around here, and is why the water's sometimes so murky."

"Where does it come from?" queried the puzzled penguin.

"It comes from those oil tankers; and other things."

"Where do oil tankers come from?" continued Walder, as Orca tried to "hang in there."

"From far, far away, Penguin. The humans find this substance useful for propelling their machines, the same machines that are polluting the air too—'our' air."

While obliging Walder's curiosity and enduring his ignorance, Orca had been tiring under this barrage of mundane inquiry and was trying to anticipate what the penguin's following questions might be in order to provide a succinct narrative—a little addendum—hoping to answer before being asked. He waited, only guessing at what Walder might ask next, when only silence ensued. Wondering why this was, Orca turned around to observe the penguin, and found the bird apparently engrossed in thought. So deep in concentration was the Gentoo as to make him appear stupefied—he was practically drooling at the beak. Orca studied Walder for some moments, while the bird continued resembling a chicken that'd just been pegged in the head by an _adolescent_ on a country farm with nothing better to do (with time to "kill").

Then, without warning, the penguin suddenly snapped out of it—"Oh! You don't mean one of those rolling monsters of steel and glass, _those_ thangs that almost squashed me into a penguin pancake?"

This response from Walder (in the form of a question) came just when the benevolent dictator had been hoping for an opportunity to "elaborate." Right when Orca had been at the point of really needing to blow off a little steam, had been just dying for an excuse to do so, Walder had given him just the thing. And so, without further ado, Orca did so (while the _givin'_ was good):

"Yes, **those** _,_ Penguin, plus many other types of machines that you couldn't _even_ imagine, all continually farting exhaust into the atmosphere when they're being driven, which is most of the time as far as I can see. All across our infinite oceans, which aren't so infinite as _you_ should know, we're being bombarded. Not necessarily out of water—I mean not only from above water, as one might expect—but from below, too. I'll explain! I'm aware of you penguins' ability to dive to significant depths. So you realize, like us orcas, just how unapproachable the bottom of our waters are. Therein lies the importance of retaining a pollution-free surface. I mean, if we can't live below the surface of the ocean, below this scum, then... I mean... I mean _weee_ got a problem. We're surface dwellers. Right? It's another thing we have in common, Penguin. There are countless sunken tubs of this stuff, _oil_ , at the bottom of the deepest parts of the sea, at the greatest depths of all oceans, constantly releasing tons of it, tons of the very stuff in _those_ floating tubs. The humans have spent a lot of time killing each other, and unfortunately much of this mayhem occurred within the last hundred years or so, when oil was everything to them. And, unfortunately for us, a great deal of it occurred while they were on our oceans. There are so many sunken vessels down there, that went down as a result of the humans' mishaps, or their many wars, still down there, still polluting the ocean, and it's only getting worse. In fact, it's a good thing for your feathers that you're from a place too frozen for these tankers to go. Because it can get pretty bad sometimes—real bad—like after a major spill, when one of these tankers really screw up. In a case like that, _you_ wouldn't be able to go into the water without freezing to death. This oil prevents you birds from fluffing your feathers, your insulation, which keeps you warm. Yes, these _tankers_ are the very type of tubs leaking scum from the bottoms of _our world_ as I speak, and are responsible, as well, for the scum in the air and other parts of our beloved planet!"

After being initially stunned, over Orca's account of current _human_ ingenuity, Walder became silent and contemplated for some time. As Walder continued pondering this, "it" started sinking in, and a festering sore began to develop within the depths of Walder's good-natured soul.

Orca, on the other hand, had finally vented deep-seated frustration that he'd been harboring for some time, a sentiment he'd held against the humans; he seemed to be feeling better already.

On they continued, both silent, as once again Orca began to consider how ridiculous he must look, towing a penguin in a lifeboat. Considering further, he wondered, _What would my fellow orcas think if they knew I was delivering a penguin to safety? What would I say? He's a devil penguin in disguise; don't eat him or you'll be cursed forever. And whatever you do, don't get to know him, or you may lose your entire identity, like I did. How would they understand?_

Shuddering at the thought of this, Orca began to pay special attention at remaining as low in the water as possible, hoping to keep a _low_ profile. He removed the lifesaver from the tip of his nose and clinched it between a few teeth, enabling his head to remain lower in the water—anything to prevent himself from being recognized. But Orca didn't want to expose his anxiety to Walder, something that might hurt the feelings of this sensitive penguin.

After awhile, Walder spied a poster on a buoy, and then other posters onshore, reading: "WANTED—DEEPFRIED OR ALIVE—JAKE THE JACK ASS (Teenage Rebel) PENGUIN!"

In the center of the poster was a picture of a penguin, a bit smaller than Walder, and its colors weren't nearly as brilliant as the penguins Walder had become accustomed to in Antarctica. But one striking difference was that this penguin had a purplish-blue rag wrapped around its neck, enticing Walder to ask Orca for an explanation.

"Oh that. That's a bandana—'his' lavender bandana," Orca explained. "He's the only penguin around here that wears one. He thinks it's good luck; it's sort of his 'trademark'."

Walder wondered if he might qualify as a "teenage rebel" penguin, since technically in penguin years he was a "teenager" (over six months), and asked Orca what this was all about. Orca began trying to explain to Walder.

"Well, Penguin, since the humans decided this was a nice place to be, they moved in on the Jack Ass Penguins. And, since doing so, the humans decided it inconvenient to have them around because they don't particularly care for the way they sound."

"You mean the humans think the Jack Ass Penguins sound like donkeys!" Walder broke in, clarifying, suddenly remembering Joey telling him about this.

"Exactly. Well, some humans do, rather, and some even say they smell bad—stink," Orca acknowledged, while informing further. "So, there's been a covert attempt by some of the humans to drive them away. But, since they won't leave, due to this being the only place they've ever lived, and can live, some humans around here are silently trying to destroy them, and this 'one' Jack Ass Penguin isn't exactly taking it lying down."

"You mean some humans around here have stolen their territory and now want them to leave because they don't like the way they sound, and will kill them if they don't?"

"Unfortunately that is the case," Orca confirmed, sadly.

Walder began getting very angry over this. It was bad enough that some humans were continually degrading and persecuting these poor penguins—but to try to kill them!!

"Enough is enough!" exploded Walder. "It's one thing to ridicule them—though even donkeys deserve dignity—but to murder them! Isn't that against the _humans'_ laws?"

"Yes, yes it is," Orca replied, soft and solemn.

Flapping his wings violently, feeling at a loss for something else to say over a situation "just too unjust" for words, Walder elevated out of the lifeboat. Orca observed the mysterious penguin in awe.

Elevating higher in the air than ever before, Walder, for the first time, was beginning to get the (hang of this thang) technique. He "ruddered" his tail feathers this way and that way, beginning to hover outside the vertical plane of the lifeboat, maneuvering further and further, and finally beyond the relative vicinity of Orca and the lifeboat. For a significant period Walder continued to go higher and farther. During this, Orca remained motionless (in reverence), trying to hold it together, as if trying to overcome a master trickery, a spell being brought to bear upon him by his own mind. Persistent in his resolve though, Orca determinedly vowed to finish the show, while this _twilight zone_ phenomenon continued before the backdrop of a sunset radiating across the sea. Reluctantly the sun began succumbing to an engulfing horizon. And, as this immense ball of fiery effervescence bowed out of the show, in came the onslaught of nightfall, signaling to Walder that it was time to "settle down." Finally, and exhausted, Walder made a smooth landing back into the lifeboat and (fortunately for Orca) fell promptly asleep, not awaking until sunrise.

At first glimpse of morning, Orca began pulling the lifeboat again. He was, however, feeling far less embarrassed about being seen with Walder now than he had been just last night, before the penguin exhibition flight. But as the day drew on, he once again became preoccupied with the possibility of bumping into one or more of his buddies. So, while continuing to direct the lifeboat down the coastline, Orca remained as low as possible in the water and fairly close to shore, explaining to Walder that it was for the purpose of allowing Walder to "take in the coastal scenery."

Eventually they arrived, and before them was the largest, longest pier the two had seen since leaving the Cape Town Port area. Not only did this wharf extend well offshore, but protruded inland considerably as well. About midpoint, atop the pier, stood a sizable, comfortable-looking dwelling, possibly a residence for employees, or an office, or entertainment facility for guests. On the backside of this structure, a stairwell led down to an extraordinary yacht that was moored to the lowest landing. From here the two gazed inland, following the pier that was leading the eye up to an enormous, immaculate estate. The diversity of the landscape was simply dizzying! Walder held his breath as he beheld this infinite tapestry of finely trimmed lawns and hedges, which were flanked by shrubs and trees of many types, and could only speculate: _This must be a golf course or something!_

Beyond this, into another section, many plants continued to present themselves more or less bashfully, with some of these mingling with structures. These floral companions seemed to be acting as hosts, while the structures seemed to be feeling far less inhibited about flaunting their presence.

Behind vine-covered pergolas, cobblestone pathways lined with dainty roses meandered through meadows littered in wild flowers and laced with orchard trees. In the background, enormous conifers were scattered tactfully, as if deliberately allowing cracks of visibility between them. It was as if they were deliberately attempting to tease the curiosity of the beholder as to what lay behind their veil of foliage. Walder felt his imagination being ignited, and his self being drawn toward this array of vista, by the temptation of the unknown.

In another quarter, hopeful and vying for attention, the unavoidable tower of a gothic-style gazebo posed unabashedly, its steeple successfully luring the eye from the surrounding landscape. Walder could feel the inherent poise of this striking spire, and a vanity that was in significant contrast to this gazebo's more fundamental sections: an inconspicuous flight of stairs leading to the somewhat translucent level of its open-sided midsection.

Still, further into the distance and off to one side, as if into attempted obscurity, a series of garages of different design and size aligned themselves in efficient fashion. A "couple" of cottages, quaint and somewhat similar, were complacently rubbing elbows off to one side while at a distance _another_ , which was dissimilar (just enough) in size and design, feigned dignity in its solitude. Everything seemed a little different in some fashion, as if designed to be just obvious enough in some manner to stand out—but not too much—in the company of its brethren.

Walder extended his gaze across yonder field of pasture grass to where an escarpment rose from the flat terrain before it. Here, a bucolic theme seemed to be at play. For, leaning into the steep grade of this escarpment, a limestone gravity wall was flaunting the chalky pastels of its flaky exterior, perhaps in an attempt to conceal inner ineptitude. Though knowing full well that without its only support, the static wave of earth behind it, this wall of loosely stacked stone would collapse like rubble in a landslide. Still, in denial, it seemed to insist on it possessing a state of superiority and autonomy. So, rigid as a politician, there it stood doing nothing for anyone or anything, promising its support, yet attempting to hide its real support, and hoping for continued support from the "hardened masses." An absurdity at best, this one-step-up-from-mud stone continued strutting like a male peacock before this demonstrably stronger ceramic-like tide of earth, as if this sea of sun-baked clay-loam soil threatened to encroach upon its authority.

Moving on, over this panorama of superfluous architecture, other objects of stone came to notice: a flagstone path darted around a fishpond containing a waterfall to one side and a birdbath in its center; abstract sculptures of granite seemed to grow out of the earth; marble slabs seemed to imply that a mountain stood behind them, and porcelain statues reminded Walder of the ice back in Antarctica. Suddenly, Walder remembered how he'd witnessed entire mountains of ice being torn into sculptures by the elements in Antarctica, torn and shaped by ice, ice driven by fierce, frigid, winter winds. But how were _these_ drab figures bringing back to mind the brilliance and breathtaking beauty of his homeland, these wee monuments of stone, these insignificant sculptures and statues adorning this "manufactured" landscape?

Alas, far less shy, and filling center-stage, was a colossal mansion. Walder eyed the edifice, up, down, and around, and then once again around the grounds to finally voice to Orca, as if thinking out loud, "I don't see any Jack Ass Penguins here. Where are the Jack Ass Penguins?"

Orca began lecturing Walder in a _fatherly_ fashion: "Walder, if you expect to get anything done in life, you have to talk to the right people, whatever _continent_ you might find yourself on. Whatever you need to do, or want, in life, it all comes down to saying the right things to the right people."

It just dawned on Walder that this was the first time Orca had called him ("Walder") by his real name, not just "Penguin," and was beginning to feel a bit flattered, until Orca said, "Now this is the governor's local vacation cabin."

"Vacation 'cabin'!" screamed Walder, appalled. "You mean vacation _castle_?"

"Yes, vacation cabin—or whatever—and I hear the governor's here most of the time. So, chances are you'll find him in there, somewhere. Just remember that all penguins are protected here, by law, especially Antarctic ones, and this governor is the highest representative of the law—around here, anyway. Now go!"

Walder took a deep breath, sighed, then hopped out of the lifeboat and waddled up the beach, inland, looking for a human. First he traversed acres of lawn, and then wandered through a massive maze of hedges and shrubs to finally land upon a tree-lined lane leading straight up to the porte-cochere of the _cabin_. After approaching this "vacation" structure, Walder began snooping around while looking for a discreet side, or back, door. But after going completely around the governor's cabin, Walder conceded that all facades of this mansion appeared to be the front. _This place doesn't have a rear, or a side_! No backyard, no side yard, only front yard and front entrances—each with its respective porte-cochere—at every turn. _So much for a "back door" entry_ , Walder concluded.

After confirming the lock to every door and low-level window securely latched, Walder considered flapping up to the upper levels for a snoop. But in order to fly, Walder needed to be enticed, which is to say a little encouragement in the form of outrage over something, or severe trepidation from something. Walder was still feeling a mite lackadaisical from the boat ride, and discouragement at learning his cousin penguins wouldn't necessarily be here. After all, his sole interest was in meeting the Jack Ass Penguins, not speaking to some stuffy human. So, with a ho-hum reluctance to do so, Walder put on his best face and approached the nearest door. Upon seeing the door chime, Walder opted to ring it, promptly did so, and waited. After some moments, a well-groomed, elderly gentleman opened the door and appeared stunned and aghast.

"Good heavens—now the bloody 'Antarctics' are moving in right upon us here, too," he exclaimed in outrage.

"Good day, Sir. Would the good governor happen to be available at this time?" asked Walder, proper penguin like, wanting to start off on the right foot.

"Good heavens, I don't believe the good governor wishes to speak with you. He's just getting his blood pressure back under control. And, besides, he's rather involved with a game of indoor cricket at the present. And we wouldn't want to upset him. Now would _we_? So, just you run along, now, little penguin—you hear—ta ta!"

"Perhaps the governor can't imagine how many people he's upset," continued Walder, politely.

Without feeling put on the spot for an explanation, the butler felt he'd oblige the penguin with one anyway. "Well, of course he has. He's the governor, after all. And, besides, there's no making _those_ morons happy, anyway. Might as well upset them; they seem to like it—they keep asking for more. And what concern could you possibly have with these _people_?"

"Well, in any event, I need to speak with him now, the governor, regarding the Jack Ass Penguins," Walder continued, disregarding the butler's question, remaining focused.

"Oh, not those bloody Jack Ass Penguins, again," uttered the butler, displaying dread over _that_ issue.

"They better not be bloody," threatened Walder.

"You're going to be bloody, Penguin, if you don't leave immediately! The governor has quite a temper, you know."

"He's going to have more than a temper if he doesn't come out here and talk with me. Now he can talk to me out here, or I can go in there. The choice is his."

"Oh, what's the use? I warned you. Now the governor is gonna be in a bad mood for weeks after this one. Okay, Penguin, you asked for it," the _house_ man reassured as he reluctantly started up the stairs to notify the governor, mumbling to himself the entire way.

It took some time to scale the several flights of stairs and bridge the gap over to the recreation area where the governor was preoccupied with a game of cricket (with himself). But even after doing so, the butler hesitated once more. Then, with a tentative deep breath, the butler performed the dreadful task of informing his master.

"I'm terribly sorry to bother you, Sir, but there's a penguin at the door."

"Oh hell! Withers, don't tell me those bastards are considering nesting all the way up here now. I can see it already—environmental activist wanting to declare my doormat a protected breeding ground for those Jack Asses. Well, don't just stand there! Go and shoot the bloody thing!" demanded the governor, expectantly.

"I don't think you fully understand, Sir. It's not a Jack Ass Penguin, it's a Gentoo, and it wishes to speak with you," clarified _his_ embarrassed butler, meek and apologetically.

"Withers, have you completely lost your wits this time? I knew I should have added mental health coverage to your insurance package," responded the governor, _concerned_.

"Go downstairs and see for yourself, _Sir_ ," the butler replied defensively, disturbed by the governor's implication.

Walder, who'd been eaves dropping all the while, felt the impulse to say: Hey, you in there with the attitude, come on out and let's discuss your moronic mentality!

But Walder refrained; he was learning.

Fortunately, the governor did decide he'd have to go see for himself, to find out whether or not this longtime companion of his had indeed snapped and gone "cuckoo." Come down the governor did, to witness for his self whatever it was causing this ruddy ruckus, to behold a veritable Gentoo.

"By George, it is a Gentoo. Withers, bring me the goose gun!" demanded the governor, shocked, but anxious

"You can't shoot me. I'm protected by law," asserted Walder.

"I am the law; I make the law; I say who works for the law; I—"

"Then start acting like a law-abiding citizen!" Walder broke in.

Attempting to get a grip on the conversation, and hoping to change the channel concerning the issue at hand, the governor instructed Withers to go put saltpeter in the goose gun. "We need to teach a certain _young_ penguin something about manners and respect for his elders."

Seeing this the perfect chance for him to get lost, as Walder and the governor only seemed to be getting started, Withers eagerly responded with "Yes Sir," and quickly disappeared.

"Well, if that's so," continued Walder, determined as ever, "why don't you start acting grown up? And what about _your_ manners? Huh? No wonder humans are so immature—they have the likes of _you_ setting an example for them."

The governor was stumped momentarily, as this brash-as-ever Gentoo awaited response from him. His previous threat had only exacerbated this penguin's _attitude_. So, the governor thought about taking a more sensible approach.

"What brings you here, Penguin?" asked the governor, his tonality changing to merely a grim calm.

"I want to know why my poor cousins, the Jack Ass Penguins, are being persecuted, being persecuted right here in these parts under _your_ jurisdiction!" explained Walder, demandingly.

"Because, it's the only _parts_ they live. Don't be upset; we're not bias _._ If your beloved Jack Asses lived elsewhere, we would persecute them there, too," replied the governor, curt and brutally facetious.

"Yeah, but why do you humans do that—something so demonstrably _evil_?" continued Walder, hoping to dig deeper into the seemingly dormant conscience of the governor, hoping to incite the governor into an elaboration.

"Because they bother us—like you're bothering me." The governor was still being curt, but more snide, and intent as ever on not obliging this penguin concerning any of its wishes or intentions.

"Then, why don't you go somewhere else if they bother you so much?" Walder demanded, sounding more irate.

"Because, it's our land, and, we like it here," answered the governor, matching Walder's tonality.

"But how did you acquire this land, this land you call _'yours'_?" maintained Walder, with a raspy rally, as if in a cross-examination between barristers.

"I bought it from someone who was here before me, obviously," assured the governor, starting to become more emotional at this point and hoping to end it soon.

"You mean you bought it from a 'Jack Ass Penguin'?" inquired Walder, sarcastically.

"No, I mean a human." The governor was getting frustrated.

"Okay, then a Jack Ass Penguin sold it to him?" continued Walder, on his barrage of effrontery, remaining focused on the point.

"No, a human sold it to him," the governor stated, starting to weaken under Walder's onslaught.

Recognizing this, Walder continued this battle of attrition by rubbing the governor the wrong way, in his _sore_ spots. "Well, what I'm trying to get at, Pal, is how did the first human get it from the Jack Ass Penguins?"

"What do you mean—get it from the Jack Ass Penguins? It was ours all along," wailed the governor, exhausted from emotion, sounding like he was ready to throw a tizzy.

This gave Walder the cue that it was time to go in for the krill. "Excuse me, Sir, but the irrefutable fact is, _is_ , that the Jack Ass Penguins were here first, and long before you humans. So, what gives you the right?"

"Well, first of all, we're 'humans'. Secondly, we're from western—European—descent: British, myself. And more importantly, I mean most importantly, rather, _I'm_ a descendant of royalty. That gives me the right, and therefore 'us' the right, the right to this land, and any land, in fact, from any of you _penguins_!"

Just then, the governor realized he'd admitted to taking the land from the Jack Ass Penguins and stopped in horror. And before he could begin to explain his blunder, Walder took the "hoarse" governor by the reins, stating tauntingly, "So, in other words, you are an uncivilized species."

"Hardly! We are the most civilized of all species," countered the Governor.

"Then why are _you_ conducting yourselves, say, as barbarians would?" continued Walder, with his interrogation.

"We're hardly conducting ourselves as barbarians; it's simply a matter of 'survival of the fittest'. It's a right that's been granted us by nature, of which we've managed to retain. If it wasn't us, it would be someone, or something, else," explained the governor, dictatorially.

"Oh, then if the shoe were on the other foot, you would understand and accept it?" asked Walder, increasing his sarcastic sortie in this battle of words with the seasoned dueler of dogma.

Then, before the gasping governor could catch his breath, Walder began expounding on a tangent that he felt designed to stymie any adversary.

"For example, a bit of hypothetical analogy comes to mind. Yes, let's just say, for instance, that if aliens, from another planet with superior intelligence and power to yours, were to descend from the heavens, in force, with their space ships, or _whatever_ , and take you captive, and acquire everything you now hold as your own—that you'd endorse it? Is that what you're saying? That you, and other humans, would accept being their slaves, and even being killed by them, because they were superior to you?"

This scenario had never been presented to the governor before. And since it was a mere penguin depicting this most disturbing "unlikelihood," the governor was instantly speechless, had been left flat-footed on the ground without a rebuttal for the first time in his professional verbal-volleyball career. With the ball in the other court, and really feeling hung up in the net on this one, the governor quickly began to consider how he might extricate himself from this moral entanglement. _Hmmm. I don't think I like this; this "one"; this penguin. I think I'd prefer those types either unwilling or incapable of inciting my conscience. Oh my, I'm admitting to myself that I actually have one, a conscience. Oh, this elusive devil penguin. I'd better get his feisty feathers, and fast, before he does an irreparable amount of damage._

So, for the purpose of gaining time, hoping to knock "the bird" off balance for some moments, the governor demanded from Walder "Just how did you get here, Gentoo?"

"Across the ocean, obviously," responded Walder, sarcastically.

"I mean, why did you come here? Gentoo's don't live here," pried the governor, beginning to sound a trifle concerned.

Intent on obliging the growling governor's demand for an explanation, Walder attempted with: "Well, I was over there, doing that, until I ended up coming here to see what was out there, I mean out here, over here. I thought it would be so much more. But, in a way, it is so much less. Maybe it's 'more', in some ways, more in the wrong ways, more of the wrong stuff, and less of the important stuff."

Before Walder could continue his autobiography (portrait of a penguin per penguin), the governor was already beyond concerned over this horrible possibility: the horrifying threat that more penguins, and different types of penguins, could move into the Cape Town area. Once more the governor broke in angrily, blasting furiously, proclaiming "Gentoos don't live here; you can't come here. You can't do that!"

"I already did it!"

The governor stood motionless for moments, a look of terror upon his round, red face. Walder's statement had been with confidence; it had been conclusive and tauntingly blasé.

The governor couldn't believe it. _He already did it! He already did it!_

Walder instinctively knew he'd somehow moved into a more negotiable position with his opponent, had moved ahead, somehow, albeit inadvertent. Walder had gained a substantial weapon within this arena of argument—verbal artillery ("argumentillery")—an arsenal, perhaps.

Something lying dormant in the bunkers of Walder's mind was awakening. And before the governor could regroup and counterattack, Walder was coming at him, yet again, with this newly noticed "nuke" in his arsenal of wit.

"Allow me to get straight to the point. If we don't come to some sort of an agreement, I'm going to go and tell every penguin in Antarctica how nice it is here, and how they're protected by law and all of that. You could be the governor of the biggest colony of drifters in the world: a sanctuary for all types of penguins—a 'Penguin Haven'. Get my drift?"

"Oh, no you won't," asserted the governor.

"Oh, yes I will," stated Walder.

"Oh, no you won't," the governor even louder.

"Oh, yes I will," Walder matching the good governor's volume and tonality.

"Oh, no you won't," the governor continued to reiterate, this time with broken coughing sounds, as if prompted by this unmitigated outrage.

"Oh, yes I will," returned Walder, emulating the governor's enunciation entirely.

"Oh, no you won't!"

"Oh, yes I will!"

"Oh, no you won't!"

"Oh, yes I will!"

After this went on for some time, the governor eventually conceded, was speechless, and waxed a concerned, yet determined, expression. He still hadn't given up. He could see _this_ wasn't going to work; he thought for a moment. The governor was feeling foolish. It was a goofy feeling and only getting goofier. So with weak knees, he would now resort to a "lower" strategy—name calling—typical of what one might expect to hear in a grade school spat. Worse case scenario, the governor felt it'd be an adequate stall tactic until he could devise something more effective.

"Oh, no you won't, you pesky penguin!" came the governor, with his new strategy.

"Oh, yes I will, you grouchy governor!" returned a newly-rallied Walder, accepting the challenge.

"Oh, no you won't, you pestilent penguin!"

"Oh, yes I will, you growling governor!"

"You pesky, punk penguin."

"You grueling, grimy governor."

This, too, went on for some time, until the two ran out of alliterate modifiers for one another and the governor acknowledging that this approach probably wasn't going to be effective either.

As Walder was delivering another blow, and eagerly awaiting a rebound, his opponent was considering: _Hmmm._ _What might I be able to do to incapacitate this penguin, either intellectually or emotionally; even "pun punching" below the belt—beat 'em by any means possible. Hmmmmmm._

Suddenly the governor's eyes lit up. His full-moon face began to beam mischievously as he went straight into launching a blitzkrieg. "I know the _real_ reason you're here, and doing this."

"Huh? Whadda yuh mean?" Walder stammered, instantly shaken off balance.

"You don't really care about the Jack Ass Penguins. You're just so jealous of us humans, and so insecure with yourself, because your own kind wouldn't have you. You're just looking for bogus excuses to discredit, and even incriminate, us humans. All of this is simply an attempt to help you feel better about yourself—make yourself feel better—make **you** feel better about _you_."

Before the governor could say anything more, he'd already said far more than enough. The sledgehammer had hit the ten-penny nail on the head; the governor had found Walder's most sensitive button and power-pushed it. Immediately, Walder became more upset than ever before in his young life. With wings flapping more violently than ever, Walder shot straight up into the air, vertical as a rocket bound for mars. As the governor witnessed the penguin's reaction, he stopped talking and eyed in awe (one could have sworn hearing a chin smack the ground).

This time Walder not only flew up, but all around—all over the estate—venting the most immense protest and animosity of his fledgling career as a pilot. Around and around he flew, articulating his patterns as if a "theatrics in air." Next, Walder began dive-bombing imaginary targets, like a bluffing, mad mamma robin defending her nest. For some time he continued doing this. And then, he began swooping and retreating, fluttering erratically, as if a mockingbird badgering a trespassing kitty cat. Until, finally, feeling the flying may have been enough to mitigate his emotion ( _just_ enough for now), Walder abruptly touched back down in front of a quiet governor.

It was now a quiet governor, a quite quiet governor, a catatonic governor. It was a governor who all of a sudden seemed to be suffering from numb neurons due to this "outer-realm" overwhelm—comatose from grandiose overdose.

Walder faced the governor with intense, determined eyes. The governor was now mysteriously terrified of this penguin, had become petrified from this inexplicable, flying penguin phenomenon. Recognizing this, Walder barreled right into the cooperative governor.

"Now listen, You! I'm not _even_ going to defend myself against your sham, shameful accusations and allegations. Instead, I'm going to get straight to the point. You and me are going to sit down and discuss what I expect for the Jack Ass Penguins, and you're going to do it, or else!"

When Walder mentioned Jack Ass Penguins and "or else," the governors snapped out of his stupor and began attempting to convince himself that it didn't happen, that it hadn't "really" ever happened. _That couldn't have happened; penguins don't fly!_

This was too much for the governor's mind to accept, accept so suddenly, anyway. And so the governor quickly and conveniently reverted back to his normal state of being ("in denial"), back to standard operating procedure—SNAFU.

At that moment, something occurred to Walder. What the governor was doing, right now, was something he'd been witnessing in others all along. This was the same manifestation he'd recognized in so many individuals. It seemed that no matter how traumatized somebody might happen to be, as soon as this person was spoken to in a demanding or criticizing manner, the person would become defensive. And the governor wasn't being an exception. Whether it was animals, humans, humanimals, humammals, whatever. As soon as the recipient perceived an attack being launched upon them, real or fancied, said victim would actually do a complete shut-off on the "input mode" and counter offensively. Walder realized he would just have to be tactful with the governor if he expected to get what he wanted. After all, this governor guy was used to having things his way—his way or "towed" away. Like Orca had told him: saying the "right" things to the right people. _Okay, how do I do this? Hmmm. What would Joey do in this situation?_

Also, Walder was beginning to recognize that this array of matters to address might have a sequence of priority, which is to say, was dictated by varying degrees of importance. It seemed that if certain things didn't happen first, then other things (results) wouldn't be able to follow. In short, if Walder didn't negotiate successfully with the governor and get his cooperation, then, paramount to all else, he wouldn't be able to help his Jack Ass Penguin cousins. So, first on the list would have to be finding a way to win over the governor, so as to eventually nullify a shipload of fools (the mindless crew of the Ecliptic), who would surely be tailing his tail feathers and sure to catch up with him soon. Could the good governor be convinced to assist him in any way on this one? After all, they were mutineers that had their captain and his son held hostage, and the governor was the highest representative of the law in these parts. Surely, this billowing cloud of ego could identify with matter-of-fact concern for one of His Majesty's ships, in the hands of treacherous traitors.

As Walder began depicting the scenario to the governor, the governor began to form an interested look on his puffy face as his mind was filling with multiple ideas and options. It was a look Walder mistook as concern for an outrageous act against one of the Queen's royal rudders. Actually, what Walder was implying to the governor was that the Ecliptic was more of a military-owned ship, when, in earnest, she was a merchant vessel, thus lowering the crime from treason to theft, and terrorism to kidnapping. Still, this would be nothing one would want to reckon with in a U.K. court of law.

By the time Walder had finished his account of the current happenings, the governor's entire head had become a radiant red, with two beady eyes piercing ambitiously through this glowing, glutted glob on his shoulders.

"Ah... I think I feel something coming together," the governor began, as if offering to _share_ his plan with the penguin and impart the details of how to save the captain and the boy. "They are mutineers, and they shall be dealt with as such," the governor continued, authoritatively. "I suspect this shipload of salts to be coming by here very soon looking for your feathers. You say they were last seen in Cape Town?"

"Yep!" confirmed Walder.

"I may have a plan I think should work. And hopefully it will so that we aren't forced to take drastic—alternative—action with these outlaws. They've got the captain and his son hostage, so we'll have to be crafty about how we address them. We wouldn't want the _prosecution's_ 'witnesses' and 'evidence' thrown overboard, now would we?"

Fearing this Gentoo Penguin capable of doing eternal damage at this point, the governor was more intent of ridding himself of this "foreigner" than ever, and for keeps, before the task of doing so became an insurmountable one. And indeed this could be his last chance to do so. It was a state of urgency that he'd never conceived necessary before, until now, for any adversary (real or imagined). Anyone ascending to the rank of governor had learned all too well the consequences of underestimating an opponent, by not taking full advantage of every opportunity to nullify a potential threat—ASAP—to destroy by any means imaginable! Paupers had been known to undermine palaces, when allowed.

Walder, at first acquaintance, had already supplanted Jake, the Jack Ass Penguin, in the governor's mind, as "first on the list." He had actually surpassed Jake's infamy: "Number One" on the governor's rebel roster of rabble-rousers.

After some thought, the governor began to speak quietly and carefully, as if giving this new adversary all the respect he would have his most feared and formidable peers of past and present: full "malice at war thought" for Public Enemy #1.

"I'll invite the entire lot of lowlifes over for a party," began the governor, "and we can talk about it and work it out. There should be plenty of incentive on their part to do so, if I offer them a sort of clemency for their previous actions. I'll have Withers arrange it now."

The governor turned and walked straight into his humble vacation dwelling before Walder could question and inquire into the details **.**

It made sense. Given the crude crew's predicament, there shouldn't be a problem. Even these morons must have some clue as to the consequences of their actions, should they not cooperate. But, this time, not only did Walder sense that something was fishy, he also smelled a rat! And at that very moment, the governor was instructing Withers to notify the mutineers that they were all invited to a Get-that-Bloody-Penguin Party. "Your attendance and 'participation' is greatly requested!" And as a reward for their _cooperation_ : "Amnesty for all!" which would only be a side benefit to their lasting lust for a penguin feast.

# Chapter XVI

Just off the coast of Cape Town, high tide was finally freeing the Ecliptic from the sandbar. The first mate had been apprehensive about calling for help, for concern the authorities might want to speak with "their" captain—no way were they going to be incarcerated before settling the score with _that_ penguin. Just as these _low_ down and out salts were feeling as far fallen as turds flung through the gates of hell, and thinking that fate couldn't have been any crueler to them, Withers' message came singing through to them like a choir of angels from the heavens above. It was as if the stench of eternal ill fortune was being lifted from the devil's dung. Like a song of redemption, the details of a penguin poaching party were being received loud and clear on a private band of the radio aboard the Ecliptic. My, how suddenly things can turn around! The governor was inviting them to a bash of beer, brandy, and barbecue at his very own vacation facility, while they were to savor their victory, finally, with that penguin. And all criminal charges nullified to boot?

Come by they did, to be cordially greeted by a large banner stating: GET THAT BLOODY PENGUIN.

The perimeter of the beachfront lawn was lined by many of the governor's "cabin caretakers," welcoming the Queen's loyal destroyers of unwanted pesky pests to the Get-That-Bloody-Penguin Party. And what a party it was to be!

The governor's immaculate pier extended so far offshore that the Ecliptic was able to pull right along side of it, drop anchor, and toss the mooring lines up to the dockhands. This mooring rope securing their ship to the governor's pier would have to serve a dual purpose, however, due to their ship now being slap out of lifeboats. Yes, thanks to their lookout, and a certain penguin, the crew would be forced to use this rope to pull themselves up onto the pier in order to gain access to shore. It would have been too embarrassing to ask for assistance getting off of their own ship, and having to explain why a lifeboat with "Ecliptic" inscribed on its sides was already at rest onshore.

Walder continued to remain suspicious concerning this most unusual banner. Something about it wouldn't let him let it go. Its message somehow didn't seem to add up, and this had been keeping him curious and wanting to inquire into the matter. Eventually he became sufficiently compelled to do so, asking the gracious governor to explain the reason behind such an _interesting_ banner.

The governor, with full confidence in Walder's gullibility, simply explained, "The reason I felt duly committed to employing this tactic, Walder, was to ensure 'us' luring _them_ here, and, uh, keeping them here. It's the one thing they can really identify with, without question. Just look at 'em. See how they 'relate'?"

Well, he was right about that. In fact, the governor was correct in many ways Walder couldn't perceive. Unknown to Walder, the good governor had acquired quite a reputation around Cape Town for his policy pushing of exterminating potential penguin pest.

The governor went on to point out his "concerns" and, of course, reiterate the necessity of retaining the prosecution's witnesses (evidence)— "In fact, if we were to summon the police or do anything suspicious, now, we might never see the courageous captain, or his son, again," (as if the good governor could have given a ruddy rat's ruckus about either of the two).

It was almost certainly a good thing that the governor wasn't aware the kid aboard the Ecliptic, the captain's son, was a buddy of this penguin. This would have been a definite ace in the hole for the governor. For if the governor had and inkling that this might be the case, it would have been a bargaining chip for gaining cooperation from this Geentoo, that Walder wouldn't have been able to reject. But, fortunately, this unlikelihood would have been remote in the extreme to the governor. The governor would have never been able to accept such a notion: that a penguin and a human could actually have a relationship; that these two could be very close friends. And yet, Walder loved the captain's son more than anything on the continent, by far. And, this love was mutual, and was being reciprocated by (a human) Joey.

Beset by the hostility that Walder could feel surrounding him and the uncertainty of it all had Walder becoming increasingly suspicious of ulterior motives. But, Walder would go along with it, for now, seeing no other option in reach. Then, just when this emotion and ambiguity was hitting an all-time high, an anonymous fellow, who was dressed "exceedingly" ceremoniously, approached Walder. _Now what_!

"It seems that _you_ are to be the most significant 'attendant' present at this evening's gathering," the gentleman informed, "and, that you are also expected to give a speech toward 'the end'!"

So, Walder was to be the finale of the evening. But, little did Walder know, he was slated for being the appetizer, main course, and desert—all in one!

The whole idea, as Walder understood it, was to get the crew so full of food, booze, and so involved in the festivities that they would be too bloated, too inebriated, and too preoccupied to notice two hostages being unshackled aboard the Ecliptic. But as fate would have it, the first mate would have enough prudence to leave at least one crewmember onboard, at all times, guarding "the contents" of the ship.

Walder figured that a breakdown in the first mate's instruction could eventually occur, by someone becoming impatient for their replacement, before the changing of the guard. But this could take a while, possibly too long for them to have to wait. It could cause them to lose their window of opportunity. Walder insisted that the poor, unfortunate sailor sentry left aboard doing his duty of guarding the Queen's royal rudders receive his fair share of grub and grog, and that he'd be happy to deliver it personally.

The governor agreed, but insisted he'd deliver it personally, through the agency of his personal staff.

Walder was growing more and more skeptical concerning the conduct of the crew, the governor's _reassuring_ explanations, the callous indifference of his staff, and feeling increasingly uneasy concerning how quickly the whole set up had been arranged. It seemed as though it'd been just too easy to appease the crew concerning their previous immense animosity toward him. Soon, his suspicions would be validated.

Poor Joey and his father had been chained below all this time and hadn't a clue as to what had transpired, or what was in the works. But Joey had a hunch it probably involved Walder, a hunch being somewhat verified by the grinning grimaces of the crew, which had initiated when the Ecliptic broke free of ground back at Cape Town. Coming to check on the chained "detainees" from time to time, even if only sticking a face through the door, each crewmember unwittingly permitted Joey to surmise the status and nature of their operation. It seemed the success of the crew, in their locating Walder, was directly proportionate to the breadth of their grungy smiles and beam in their beady eyes.

Orca had been watching the festivities, too, and wanted all along to warn Walder that this picture didn't look good and was only looking worse. _My, Walder, you sure know how to arrange things._ Just when Orca was beginning to hope that maybe Walder had learned how to grab a bully by the horns, Orca was forced to reassess this notion. _Oh, if only I had a way to communicate to that penguin and tell him to cut the gullible guff. And whatever he does, to get his unseasoned self away from that barbecue before they salt and sauté his young hide._

Knowing well the state of affairs and what was sure to follow, Orca still couldn't come up with a way of thwarting this conspiracy on land, either by intervening, or in some way deterring Walder from cooperating with the probable. For the first time in his life, Orca felt not only disturbed by his inability to access land, any land (this land now), but furious over the fact that he was mobile only at sea, for being exclusively "hydro-habitat," for solely being a "sea" mammal—"It's not fair!"

Oh, Orca didn't mind being a craftsman of the ocean. Oh no. But so many others were able to occupy both land and water. Even penguins, as simple as they might seem, held access to land and water. And even though these birds couldn't fly—except for "this" one—boy were they ever speedsters in the water. And this young penguin, who kept getting into so much trouble, was on land. And he was in trouble now, on land. Land, where Orca had directed him to go. Therefore, Orca found himself morally liable for Walder's welfare, fully bearing the brunt of the burden to bail him out, even on dry land, now. So what the hell was he supposed to do? Shit!

All of a sudden, completely out of the blue, Orca saw something. It was something that he could have never been able to imagine. It was simply incredible!

It just so happened that just a little while ago an ardent scout of the Jack Ass Penguin community had spied _the_ banner, too, as it was being erected by the governor's dutiful dung, and had promptly notified his colony. For the majority of this Jack Ass Penguin colony, this meant: "Beware, and stay low!" But not for one young individual! This particular radical advocated a more militant, retaliatory stance.

"Troublesome," the elders referred to him as. "Jake, you're stirring up a hornets nest for us all."

"It's already stirred up," Jake would clarify. "I just intend that the proper perpetrator gets the stinger. Besides, if y'all keep sitting 'round here, we gonna eventually demise anyway. Might as well go out with some action, dignity, and fun. But y'all just want to resort to your forlorn philosophy, your apathetic ingenuity, and your lame lay-down logic."

"Jake, you're impossible," the elders would conclude.

The implicit message of the banner had the entire colony assuming that the penguin they wanted to get was Jake; it had always been Jake. So, as a defense measure, Jake felt duly obliged to make a reconnaissance run solely for sizing up the current power and plots of the heartless humans. Jake was able to convince scores of the younger Jack Ass Penguins, and some of the older and more courageous ones, to join his clan and "cause" against this banner, against the severity of the message: a threat to the future of their species. It was a Call to Arms! The first step of Jake's coup was to be this recon run, to assess the enemy.

As Orca witnessed the silent army of Jack Ass Penguins closing in on the penguin poaching party, he quickly took cover as to not scare off any of these brave little ones. _You scare one, you scare'em all._ One sight of Orca and the Jack Ass Penguins would flee for their lives, blowing everything they may have had in store for the governor and his little get-together. Orca thought he recognized one of them from somewhere— _Oh yeah, the guy on the poster; the one with the lavender bandana! What could he be up to? Let's see._

From out here, to Jake and Company, it simply looked like another one of those meaningless social events the governor would throw from time to time. Every now and then one of these occasions would erupt on the governor's estate, and always under the watchful eye of Jake and his comrades. But this one _felt_ different somehow. The Jack Ass Penguins had monitored dozens of such parties. It wasn't only the banner brandishing _his_ branded name, or the sordid significance it held for his hide, but, still above and beyond that, something was different; there was something else. They continued to move in carefully, assessing every aspect of the pondering party of penguin poachers.

Orca was just dying. He was simply squirming in an unmarked grave of inability, an inability to inform these brave little Jack Ass Penguins of the situation. Orca was dying to tell these Jack Ass Penguins to go aboard that ship, the Ecliptic, and unshackle the two heroes, to help their brother penguin—Yeah, right, like they would really fall for that! Orca knew he couldn't; he didn't even dare. He'd only screw up something that was already, in its own right, very fascinating. With the risk of scaring them all away too great at this critical time, and considering everything that was already mysteriously taking place—magically occurring—Orca could only hope and watch. Hopefully the Jack Ass Penguins would eventually savvy the situation.

The Recon Formation of penguins assessed the big ship tied to the pier, one they'd never seen before, and wondered if any humans were aboard. They observed the mob on the beach, and wondered why humans preferred the outdoors to the comfort and accommodations waiting inside. Let's face it. Why be out here when one could be in that lounge-equipped clubhouse atop the pier sipping martinis? Or how about that 3-acre "cottage," doing whatever the imagination could conjure, in the den, the ballroom, the indoor pool and jacuzzi.

Actually the crew did feel more at home outside, and the governor was glad. Not that he would permit such an unsavory lot in his meager dwelling anyway. And besides, it was a barbecue. And a proper man's barbecue was to be held outside; you're bloody well right! "So glad you understand; please do have a good time, 'mates'!"

Unknown to everyone, even to Withers, the governor had designed and instrumented an ulterior plan, ingeniously designed to kill the entire flock of ducks with one wad of shot; it could only work beautifully. The governor had set up for the authorities to arrive just as the "mates" were putting the "poached" penguin on a pike over the pit. This would first incriminate them, and then nullify any testimony on the part of the criminal crew due to them not only already being mutineers, but soon to be poachers as well—enemies of the "PPP" (the Peoples' Protected Properties). This capturing of the mutineers and penguin poachers was designed to enhance his credibility with the people. And the fact that the governor had "saved" a rare and protected penguin, one that he personally salvaged from the hazards and hardships of Antarctica, would also bring merit to his faltering reputation among the environmentalist and animal lovers. It was to be broadcast all over the lower African continent that the heroic, animal-loving governor of South Africa saved this valuable bird—THE WORLD'S ONLY FLYING PENGUIN! This marvelous specimen was to be rendered to a sanctuary, a very special place, here in town, for the "peoples of this great nation" to view.

The governor knew that the potential, positive PR possible over his plan was just simply incredible. He was just about to pee in his pants out of anxiousness over the results he felt were already assured, from his marvelous scheme.

Initially, the governor had planned to ensure that this rare penguin be "well done" before the authorities arrived. But, after considering the Gentoo's incredible attribute (ability to fly), deemed him far too valuable for the crude crew to feast on. After all, there would be no escaping this place the governor had in mind for even a flying penguin—a penguin prison—The Cape Town Zoo. The governor would come by from time to time, in the "public eye," to see this celebrity, of which he had saved, and maybe sign a few autographs. But behind the curtains, the governor planned to tease the flying penguin, and remind the gullible Gentoo that he, a "human," had won the war of words after all; it would be just simply wonderful.

While the crew was feasting on grub and grog, the governor felt he needed a way of ensuring that the Gentoo didn't get suspicious or something and simply fly away before the finale, just in case something unforeseen was to happen. The governor briefly explained to the crew: "We have to do this; he's a flying penguin."

The crew laughed, expressing to the governor, "Well, if you think he can fly now, wait 'til you see him with hot coals under his ass!"

Everyone else was enjoying the food and drink, so why couldn't a penguin? Walder couldn't indulge in the human food that was available and was just beginning to feel a little left out when the governor, accompanied by several servants and chefs, brought a table setup over to him and asked the fine Gentooman if he'd like to partake in some fine vittles. "Please, be seated, Mr. Penguin."

Walder thought: _Alright; have they brought some krill to the grill, or something, just for me?_

"Have you ever had the pleasure of enjoying sushi, Penguin?" asked the governor, temptingly.

"What's sushi?" asked Walder, already eager.

"The finest fish in the world; raw, just like you like it," answered the governor.

"Hmmm... sounds good. When can we get started?" encouraged Walder.

"But of course, right away," assured the governor, enthusiastically.

The governor motioned to the chefs who began by throwing a white cloth over the table and whipping out some large, shiny knifes. At first the brandishing of razor-sharp stainless steel brought Walder some concern, until they unveiled an array of fish fillets, many different kinds, which were quickly sliced into slivers, put on small, ornate, porcelain plates and placed in front of him. The wonderful smell of fresh fish reached Walder's nostrils and Walder moaned hopefully—"Hmmm... Soosheee!"

"Soosheemee," explained one of the chefs, with an Asian accent.

"I thought you said it was called Sushi," Walder _wondered_ , turning toward the governor for an explanation.

"'Sushimi' is the style of Sushi; it's the fish without the rice," explained the governor, as nicely as possible, hoping it would only be a little while longer. He could hang on.

"Enough talk!" demanded Walder, as he began slamming down the slim, slices of sushi (Sushimi, or whatever it was) as fast as the chefs could dish it out. Never had Walder ever tasted anything so divine. "Sushi _mee_ , baby— _Meee_ want more!"

Everything was so delicious. Walder continued to gulp down the tender morsels of raw fish, each type of fish possessing a unique texture and flavor. Walder was simply in heaven and quickly becoming a gourmet.

"I like this one best," expressed Walder, pointing to the fillet his favorite "tasty ones" were being carved from.

"Hamachi?" asked the chef with the accent, which Walder took to be an inquiry as to the extent of his appetite.

"How muchy? As muchy as you can 'Sushimi meee', Babeee!"

Then the governor explained to Walder that his favorite was called Hamachi. "It's _Japanese_ for 'Yellow-tail'; a type of tuna."

"Whatever. Just give it to me!" Walder demanded, _expeditiously_.

The governor was immediately livid. He could feel goose bumps forming on the back of his neck. The governor had always held that as long as a host was being gracious, the guest could at least be courteous back. But this penguin was as unrefined as that crew over there off to the side. Until meeting this penguin, he'd never remembered being spoken to in such a manner. But he held on, for it wouldn't be much longer at this rate. "More hamachi for Mr. Penguin!"

As the party progressed, so did the size of Walder's midsection. The "Penguin of Honor" continued feasting on fish while most of the partygoers were in their own world. No one seemed to be noticing the penguin gorging himself, except for the crew. Ah Yes, the crude crew, who themselves were being ignored by the congregation. It seems as though these misfits might have been quite an anomaly for such an occasion—the governor did do his best to apologize on their behalf. These social misfits were all looking over at the sushi setup in disgust, once again foaming at the mouth over the amount of attention Walder was receiving from the governor's staff. "Oh, isn't that just the cutest, little 'stuffed' penguin you ever did see?"

"I'd like to stuff him full of lead," another expressed.

Some _forced_ laughter followed as a third one added: "I think it'd be more useful as a stuffed 'penguin piñata' right now!"

"Hah, hah, hah," and these idiots began swirling and whirling around, each seemingly attempting to strike at something, as if each were in possession of a stick, or a club, or something, as if something was actually there to be struck (no one else could see anything!). They looked as hopeful as, and almost as adept as, a group of Boy Scouts trying to swat a lost bat in the attic of a Victorian with rolls of newspaper, or perhaps in the basement of a castle somewhere in _Transylvania_. Eventually these hopeless morons settled back down and once again began grumbling among themselves. But they, too, held it together. They held it together because they "knew" that this time the outcome was to be different—"By golly _wee_ got 'em this time!"

Shaking with anticipation, as the sequence of the party grew closer to the main event, these mutineers of the Ecliptic continued imbibing in the abundant grog, impatiently awaiting the evening's "climax."

Jake informed the others that he intended to climb the ladder of the pier to the top for a better view of what was happening on land. And if the coast was clear, he might check out the ship to see if anyone, or what, was aboard, and for them to just hang tight until informed of the status. After Jake confirmed that the pier was devoid of any human-life whatsoever, he directed his attention to the big ship. Now was the time. He straddled a tie rope leading to the Ecliptic with his feet and wings, and slid from the pier down to the big ship's upper deck. Jake's loyal army of Jack Ass Penguins watched in breathless anticipation as their fearless leader went aboard. On the main deck of the Ecliptic, Jake spied a single occupant slumbering soundly and wondered why this human wasn't onshore with his comrades. Could he have been left behind to _guard_ something? Jake knew he must determine the full contents of this ship. Quietly he delved the depths of the Ecliptic, scanning her lower decks, one by one, until eventually coming upon two humans. They were motionless, chained and gagged, contributing as ballast atop the keel. They appeared more surprised to see Jake than the inquisitive penguin was to see them. Jake eyed the two captives cautiously for some moments while the two humans were both indicating through gestures that he help them by freeing them. Jake felt compassion for their predicament, but wasn't _even_ considering unchaining the two. But what could it hurt by removing their gags and hearing them out?

Joey and his father began to inform Jake what had happened, while inquiring what the current situation was. Jake wasn't sure what to make of it: "A Gentoo, 'in' South Africa, has come to try and save _us_?"

These two ( _being_ humans), and their unlikely story, led Jake to keep his guard up. Jake was courteous, and wanted to be as accommodating as he could under the circumstances, but was far too prudent to give them full rein by unleashing them from their binds. "Not just yet!"

Jake told them they'd have to sit tight and that he'd be back when he could, while Joey and his father continued pleading with him to free them instantly.

"No way; not so fast!" Jake said in a definite, conclusive manner. The two humans knew that this Jack Ass Penguin's assertion was to be the rule, for now.

After assessing the ship and her contents, Jake motioned to his army to come on board. One by one they climbed the ladder to the top of the pier, slid down the mooring ropes to the main deck of the Ecliptic, and the first thing they thought about doing was heaving the slumbering drunk overboard. But Jake realized the ol' boy, upon hitting the water, would wake, swim for shore and surely alert the others. Instead, they wrapped the human in rope, before he could wake, and tied him to the mast. The poor bloke took one look at the lights onshore and fell fast back to sleep.

Orca knew that now, now that _all_ of these Jack Ass Penguins were aboard the big ship, he had them. He had them were he could speak to them without fear of losing them, without them leaving for fear of him. There was simply no way off the big ship for the Jack Ass Penguins except the water, which would be all they would have needed to flee from the humans. Though the tie ropes had permitted them to drop on in, their feet and wings could never grasp these adequately enough to ascend back up such a steep grade onto the tall pier. And no way was a penguin going to even think of hopping overboard, not with an orca in the zone. These Jack Asses had never considered needing another option, an alternate route, in order to escape a formidable Killer Whale.

The Jack Ass Penguins assessed the party inland, through the lens of the ship's various telescopes, wondering what was going on and what was to follow. Jake remembered the cannon atop the main deck of the Ecliptic, which was reserved primarily for pirates and predicaments of the like, looked over to assure it was still present and began to get mischievously creative.

As Jake and Company continued their attempts to observe what was happening onshore, the robust nature of the festivities was making it difficult for them to make out everything. It was dark, and even the arriving glow of a rising moon was being obstructed by the multitude of mature trees surrounding and occupying the grounds of the estate. Denying entry of the moonlight, casting shadowy blotches about the premises, these trees continued to hold their respective positions, standing staunchly and calculating as if they were strategically placed sentries. Only streaks of light emanating from the hearty party were finding a way through this arboreal barrier, dancing outward through the cracks, piercing the exterior in erratic intervals. It was a trick on the eyes to be sure, as light of different intensities mingled, undulating through the night air, obscuring center stage where the "Action Faction was happ'nin'."

It was bits and pieces at best, seen here and there, sometimes assisted by the flicker of flames, by the fire that was to be the nucleus of the evening fare, shortly. This awaiting bed of coals, approaching Prime Time, would soon be ready for the reserved guest of honor. Orca knew the time had come; it was definitely time for him to speak!

Jake, the _current_ commander of the Ecliptic, instructed the _current_ crew of the Ecliptic to loosen some of the proper mooring ropes and allow the big ship to drift sideways. This would accommodate the cannon's fire, _should_ they happen to need it. So, as the Ecliptic came parallel with the coastline, on the starboard side of the Ecliptic where the army of Jack Ass Penguins had their eyes fixed on land, a large face silently emerged. And, as non-threatening as possible, as meek as a "Killer Penguin" knew how, Orca gently spoke. "Good Evening, 'Cape Town Penguins'."

At first, these Jack Ass Penguins were stunned. Even while knowing they had immediate safety from this formidable predator where they stood, the scared and bewildered little ones began looking around, sizing up their predicament. Collectively the Jack Ass Penguins wondered if there were more orcas, and if so, how many. They assessed the situation. It quickly occurred to them that their only means of escape, the water, would now be only a last resort. Only if this ship were to catch fire would they all simultaneously jump ship and head for shore—"Every man for himself!"

Eyeing around, one more time, Jake studied the tie ropes leading up to the pier and acknowledged these lines would be of no further use. No use for now, anyway. After further observation revealed nothing, the penguins aboard the Ecliptic conceded to any notion of escaping. Then, once again, they looked down at the Killer Whale, this time tacitly consenting to hear whatever the orca had to say.

Still trying as hard as he could not to intimidate the poor little things, Orca began. "Guys, I know this is going to sound crazy, and be very difficult for you to 'swallow'—I mean understand and believe—but those humans up there are getting ready to swallow one of your own—roast 'em and eat 'em—one of your cousin penguins, a Gentoo. One who has come all the way from Antarctica just to try and save you—there are some really incredible things going on right now!"

"Save us? We don't need nobody to save us! We can handle anything ourselves," the cocky Jake corrected.

"Well, I know that, and you guys know that, but this Gentoo doesn't. And he's about to get barbecued on account of it," explained Orca, trying to be as genuine and straightforward as he could. "And, furthermore, the only ones that can help him at this time are you guys, by releasing those two humans down below. And so, I'm going to ask you to please do that, right away."

Jake looked Orca hard in the eyes for a reaction, hoping to observe just what was going on, what Orca was up to, and who was up to what. _How did he know there were two humans below?_ This was the most bizarre story he had ever heard, even though it somehow correlated to what the two humans below had insisted. Could this penguin muncher and the two humans below be in on the same trick? This was the second mention of a Gentoo that'd come here to try to help them, and it was time to figure this stuff out.

"Where is he, then?" Jake demanded.

"He's up there, on that shore, right now. You see that portly fellow, the governor? He tricked the Gentoo into coming—I mean staying. Well, it's sort of complicated," Orca stumbled.

After taking another glaring glance at Orca, Jake again grabbed the telescope, and this time began combing the grounds for a Gentoo, a Gentoo that was purportedly present amid penguin poachers. He peered around, all around; the party consisted only of humans. Jake saw nothing that resembled a penguin. He continued searching, further and further from the crowd, until spying a long table covered with a white cloth surrounded by three or four well-dressed humans, one of which was of a rotund nature—the governor—dressed in a pink tuxedo. And low and behold, sitting at the table, sagging in a chair, just about to fall over from over-indulgence, was the most bloated penguin Jake had ever seen in his life. The pinkish human was gesturing to the staff to keep the sushi coming, even though the gluttonous Gentoo was practically popping the seams of his "tuxedo." Jake observed for a second before commenting, "What are they doing, fattenin' the bird 'right _before_ ' the feast?"

It didn't look like this Gentoo and those humans were on unfriendly terms to him. "I think he's in it with 'em," Jake declared.

Yes it did appear to be an elaborate plot to rid themselves of the Jack Ass Penguins, and for good this time. Considering this, and feeling the emotion of so many previous incidents, Jake had finally reached a point where he could no longer keep his composure. It was one thing for humans to be after him and his kind, but a member of the humammal world (Orca) and a cousin penguin (humanimal) conspiring against them, and to be "in" with the humans on it. For the first time something within Jake burst free, something he hadn't realized existed; he became very emotional—"I think those humans onshore _and_ the two below are together, as well as you, _you_ and that Gentoo. You are all in a conspiracy against us. The humans weren't able to do it on their own so they've commissioned a traitor, this gargantuan Gentoo, who they're paying off with fish. Any decent penguin would get his _own_ fish. And what about you? What's in it for you, Killer Whale? Tell me! Why did you and the Gentoo have to do it, huh? What did we ever do to you, and what are these humans doing for you?"

"No, no! That's not the way it is at all. Think about it! I have every incentive to keep all kinds of penguins around—any kind of penguin. What do you think we like to eat when we're around these parts? I've been distressed by the lowering number of you Jack Ass Penguins—I mean 'Cape Town Penguins'—and your declining health, an' all, for some time. Besides, you just don't taste the same in these polluted waters. And you're tough and gritty when you're all stressed out over these humans."

Orca was desperately trying to get through to Jake.

"It makes sense, an' all, what you're saying an' all, but what's happening doesn't," Jake stated, when a commotion erupted onshore.

"What's happening?" asked Orca, urgently.

Jake grabbed the telescope to observe a very bloated Gentoo being tied to a pole and hoisted above an orange and blue flame directly above a bed of white coals. Observing Jake's immediate reaction, to what was happening up onshore, Orca reiterated his expectations, this time screaming furiously, "Free the two humans below! Do it now!! They're the only ones that can help—help your cousin—that Gentoo!!!"

Without waiting for a response, Orca immediately went for the lifeboat, which was still waiting on the beach, to bring it back to the Ecliptic for Joey and his father's availability.

"I don't need nobody's stinkin' help, especially from no humans!" Jake stubbornly replied.

But deep in his gut Jake was feeling a type of urgency, an alarming instinct that he'd better not be incorrect about this. Suddenly it wasn't about what made sense, or what appeared to be legitimate or rational, this was entirely emotional. This time Jake would allow his intuition to guide him.

The Governor had given the crew the signal it was barbecue time. They had all been thoroughly instructed to put the bird on a pike, burn him at the stake, and, "Whatever you do make sure his wings are firmly bound, just in case! —No screw-ups!"

The crew laughed, stating, "Can't you see your _flying_ penguin here is too fat to fly?"

It was this crew's fate to not be able to do anything fully, or correctly, unless under the discipline and supervision of someone who could understand their collective shortcomings, someone like their captain. And this governor was no captain.

So, Walder had been tied to a large, vertical rotisserie with non-flammable cord, wrapped multiple times _only_ around his torso, and then the pointed base of this wooden pole driven through the bed of coals and into the ground. The crew had up and decided to do this thing a bit their way. It seems they felt it might be funnier to watch the bird flapping through all of this, and the more it did the more this would fan the flames.

Already sweating, Walder was hanging about a half a dozen feet above the flame and starting to heat up fast. The crew circled around and began cheering, taunting and clapping, while deriving more pleasure, satisfaction and thrill from seeing this long-awaited prized bird beginning to broil before their beady eyes. Walder's feet were setting a record at running in place, as they were first to feel the intense heat. A crackling sound was heard as Walder's perspiration hit the fire below. But the fire didn't seem to notice; the flame began slowly scaling the pole. At sight of the penguin's desperation, the majority of the crew was rolling on the ground in uncontrollable laughing seizures, while the remaining grunted vindictively. This reminded Walder of how this crew had first appeared to him, his _first_ recollection of them, looking up at them on the Ecliptic while floating alone on a raft of ice.

It was good exercise, after such a meal: feet doing the hundred-yard dash with hurdles and wings flapping violently. But with his gorged belly, coupled with being fastened to a pole that had been firmly driven into the ground, Walder was unable to "lift off."

"Come on, Walder, fly! Fly!!" Orca shouted across the distance to the preoccupied Gentoo.

But Walder couldn't hear Orca, nor would it have done any good. Walder couldn't fly.

During the commotion, no one had noticed the governor backing out of the scene. He was preparing for the next phase of his plan. As the remainder of the governor's guest began collecting around the barbecue to observe what was happening and demonstrate feigned concern and outrage for what was happening to the penguin, the governor was contacting the authorities on the outskirts of the estate. It was time to move in—and they were present in force!

The paddy wagons were lined up to whisk away the _criminals_ under full view of the nation. The many media groups had come fully prepared for complete news coverage, news to be broadcast on the leading channels, informing the "free peoples" about the penguin poaching on the "Peoples' Protected Properties" and of the atrocities committed by _these_ mutineers. Oh, and of course, how the good governor had caught the penguin perpetrators red-handed and saved the penguin, a Gentoo from Antarctica, and of the governor's compassion for the penguin, the same compassion he shares with all penguins and holds for all animals.

Jake had always wanted the means, and justification, for launching an assault on an army of humans, the way humans did to each other and sometimes on animals (hunting). He'd long felt the justification for doing so, but never dreamed the opportunity _to_ do so would someday arrive. Tonight was the night. And to have the governor included in the package, on _his_ property (which used to be Jack Ass Penguin property), oh, this was good—this is great—this was too good. After considering the big gun aboard the Ecliptic, which was mounted on a flying bridge at the bow, and assuming it fully loaded and ready to go as it always was, an itchy trigger finger approached the awaiting cannon. Jake scaled up to the gun, took hold, just as Orca was returning from shore with the lifeboat.

"It's time to party!" muttered Jake, as if to the unsuspecting targets onshore, as he decided to join the party—show them _how_ to party.

Orca eyed Jake in awe, thinking— _A penguin, another penguin, the guys I've been eating and treating with contempt for all these years?_ These birds were now showing so much courage, showing their willingness to fight back, their outrage toward these humans. Not even he, or his buddy orcas, had done anything like this.

Relishing this opportunity of a lifetime, savoring the moment, Jake peered through the big gun's scope, which was fully equipped with automatic infrared, and made out prospective victims easily in the dark. But, instead, Jake was more concerned with a particular well-lighted area. Locating a circle of humans around a fire, Jake fired for the fire, which yanked _them_ from their fixation on the bird to be barbecued, quickly dispersing these land-ridden "salts" into adjacent hedgerows and beyond. After the initial sally prompted the removal of the cruel crew from the line of fire, Jake targeted the governor's three-acre, who-knows-how-many-levels vacation structure. He began perforating walls in a somewhat methodical fashion, designating areas and blowing away chunks of the sturdy mansion as if it had been constructed out of papier-mâché. Some of the rounds from the big gun were actually entering one side of the mansion and exiting the other, blowing away anything and everything in its way between the two exterior walls.

Finally, the major support beams of this edifice came on the list; it was to be the coup de grãce for the governor's sanctuary. One by one, with each trigger pull, these columns folded like a piece of paper, and with the destruction of the columns came the collapse of trusses. Then, without its truss-beams, no longer was there adequate tensile strength to hold the walls erect. There was nothing left to support such an enormous structure. The mammoth mansion conceded with a final moan as the walls folded outward and the roof dropped in an enormous cough of dust.

The governor continued to watch, in horror, while much of his staff was dispensing themselves into whatever cover they might find. Jake was laughing sinisterly, like a drooling madman, at the sight of billowing dust and scrambling humans. Orca couldn't believe this was happening.

Next, Jake chose more outlying structures: cottages; garages; gazebos; statues; whatever the sights of this gun unveiled to Jake, whatever happened to find its way into the scope of the cannon and beckon the fancy of this "beholder." In a matter of a few more moments, in somewhat succession, these objects, too, were reduced to rubble. Just when Jake felt he might have nailed just about everything in range, the lights from the awaiting army beaconed: their jeeps; personnel carriers; all-terrain vehicles; paddy wagons. All were gearing up to move in.

After hearing from the governor, and eager to apprehend poaching mutineers, the authorities were just dying to find out what all the commotion was about, to bring about law and order—make the headlines. The first objective would be to seal in the area around the governor's estate, to enclose everything. So, in a long, continuous line, forming a semi-circle that pinned the estate in against the ocean, the battalion prepared to block access to anyone who might wish to escape (by land).

When the newly lit lights from these motorized vehicles made their way into the cannon's scope, Jake's eye was there to greet them. He targeted the platoon and began spraying. With the lights from each vehicle displaying their accurate position, Jake systematically pegged each and every one of them, starting from the rear and working to the front—a tactic used in turkey hunting: always shoot the last bird first so the ones in front don't see their brethren drop. Quickly, everything, which had been motorized, was now incapacitated, leaving the governor's gallant mercenaries running for their lives.

After the smoke cleared, Walder was just about to go up in flames.

Orca screamed to the Jack Ass Penguins: "Swim up there and do something! Free your brother!! Why didn't you let those humans go? This is _your_ **last** chance to let 'em go—I mean it!!!"

Jake could tell by Orca's mandate, and by everything else happening, that this "killer whale" was for real, was on the level. Everything that had transpired during these previous minutes, and everything still happening, was simply incredible, was unprecedented. The only "dreamed about" was actually happening, finally happening.

"Let 'em go," Jake screamed to his fellow Jacks, "the humans; you heard me! Get down there and unchain them immediately!"

After a flicker of hesitation, his comrades scurried down the levels of the Ecliptic to oblige their commander's wishes, although they didn't really understand why. Jake would have done it himself if not for a compulsion to watch the bird onshore, the Gentoo, who was beginning to baste like a Christmas quail. But, through all of this, Jake was still reluctant to swim ashore. He was adamant about not risking the lives of his comrades, by not allowing any of them to swim ashore to try and free their cousin. Jake sadly refused. It was the Gentoo or possibly all of them.

Acknowledging Jake's stance on this, Orca embraced the notion that he was a mammal and could live out of water for a fair amount of time. Orca hoped that he, if only out of sheer desperation, might be able to pull something off, or "out" in this case, meaning the pike holding Walder above the fire. Knowing this was Walder's final hope for deliverance, Orca was no longer trying to rationalize. He was emotional with the greatest of fear over the imminent death of this Gentoo, of which he'd grown very fond of, a paternal fear manifesting in an extreme fervor too great for words. Instinctively, Orca went for it with no real means of being mobile on land. He shot for shore with a speed he'd never managed before, firing through the water and hydroplaning up onto land for his beloved buddy and began squirming to inch forward. "Fly, Walder, fly! Oh, won't you please fly?"

The Jack Ass Penguins witnessed this incredible phenomenon—the inconceivable likelihood—of an orca trying to save the life of a mere penguin. They were stunned and they were captivated. But, moreover, this time they would be convinced now that this orca had not the slightest intention of devouring, yet alone scratching, this saturated-with-sushi Gentoo. With Orca beached on the governor's lawn and squirming like a Titanic tadpole, Jake resolved to go to shore by any means necessary to assist in the saving of a "brother penguin," their cousin Gentoo. This was to be the first time Jake was not to mention, demand, or expect any participation from his party members. He was unconditionally prepared to do it alone; he was going alone. But the Jack Ass Penguin army was right behind him. They were to assist Jake, it was a matter of honor.

Time was wasting. Soon the rare Gentoo would be well done. By now the base of the pole had been incorporated into the flames, had become part of its coals. And though Jake and his troops had finally made a mad dash for the Gentoo, there wouldn't be enough time for the Jack Ass Penguins to reach Walder in time, before his high heels would be fit for a hot snack.

As Walder continued to fade from the intense heat, he gazed into the desperate eyes of Orca. He watched, only to observe those eyes slowly losing hope. Walder could feel the passionate warmth and love in Orca's eyes that was all for him, from this Killer Whale that had once considered devouring him, devouring him not from hunger but out of "GP": General Principle, the code of the orca. The same orca, who'd just recently been ashamed to even be seen with the Gentoo, was now wanting more than anything else in the world to save him, still squirming uphill for the fire, risking his life, just dying to reach the Gentoo.

Orca was exhausted from being on land, out of his element, attempting to crawl on his "fins and 'knees'," using muscle groups he didn't know he possessed, in an effort to reach the Gentoo. But Orca knew he wouldn't be able to reach his precious penguin buddy in time. There was little more he could do; it looked to be the saddest incident ever to befall this big, bad orca.

In Walder's final moments of consciousness, he pulled his feet up to his chin and felt his bottom bake more intensely. His tail feathers were already smoldering. He thought it possible the stake _could_ burn completely through below him, into two pieces, allowing him the opportunity for a possible flight even with the upper half of the pole still attached. And even if the pole proved to be too heavy for flight, perhaps he might make it to the beach by dragging the thing down to the water where he could cool off and disappear.

Due to the heat, and his energetic activity at attempting to keep his feathers from the fire, Walder felt as if he'd already worked off the majority of his sushi indulgence. Factoring this in, Walder wished there would be a way. But the stake was still very much intact; he wasn't going anywhere; it wasn't going to happen. He was to be baked at the stake.

Just then, the newly freed captain and lookout of the Ecliptic emerged from below, dashing frantically on deck to witness what was happening. They'd gotten bits and pieces of the dope while being unchained by members of Jake's regiment. Joey already saw Walder, center stage, on the pole, brilliant from the fire's determination to reach him. He went straight for the gun. Without speaking, and without an infinitesimal degree of delay or doubt in his aim, eagle-eyed Joey found Walder in the gun's sights, aimed for the base of the pole and blew it out from under Walder—blew it into splinters! Walder somersaulted away from the fire as the pike, still binding him, catapulted from the force of the blast. Walder just sat there for moments, dazed, wondering if he had taken a quick route to heaven. _Must be; can't be hell; not hot anymore!_

First to make it to the scene was Jake and the Jack Ass Penguins, where a Gentoo Penguin was appearing surprisingly at ease. The charred post was still smoldering at the base and Jake instructed his army to untie the Gentoo. Walder felt his freedom, shook the cobwebs from his faculties, and began to recognize that these smaller penguins must be his long lost cousins—they were the first penguins he'd seen since leaving Antarctica. But not so fast! Walder looked around. He first had to confirm he was still on earth and not in some penguin heaven. Oh well, mother earth it was. The ephemeral qualities of nature seemed to still be boasting their presence; no eternal sanctuary for him at this time. After concluding this, Walder recognized the one with the lavender bandana from the posters and shouted to the little ones, "Are you guys the Jack Ass Penguins? Boy am I glad to see you—I've come to save you!"

Hearing this, especially now, instantly shell-shocked them. The Jack Ass Penguins just stood there in frozen bewilderment, their beaks agape, riveted with astonishment. The collective demeanor of the entire colony of these "Jacks" was demanding and explanation: "What?" They didn't understand; they couldn't understand. Walder's statement was the most contrasting, most contradictory, most non sequitur thing they'd ever heard. His appearance, alone, was contrary to anything they'd imagined. In fact, not only was Walder the most bizarre penguin they'd ever seen, or heard, Walder was the most bizarre "anything" they'd ever encountered.

Orca, on the other hand, was so very relieved that it was over, that Walder was okay, that the Gentoo would live. He attempted to hide his red, swollen eyes while wiping away the tears. What had just seemed to be, just moments ago, an inevitable disaster, a horrible way to go, was now okay. Everything was suddenly okay, just like that. He smiled and told the Jack Ass Penguins, "Don't ponder too hard on 'this _one_ ', Boys, he's a rare bird."

"Well, he was almost 'well done'," replied Jake.

"I know," Orca nodded, "and thank heavens he wasn't. I can't tell you why, for sure, but I do know for sure he's important to us, somehow."

"Us? We don't have no one or no 'thang' important to us. We hold our own!" declared Jake, reluctant to relinquish any figment of his imagined autonomy.

"Look, you cocky adolescent," the beached orca began to set straight, "some day you **will** need someone else, whether you like it or not. So suck up some humble pie!"

A few of Jake's older and wiser comrades began confirming this _possibility_ to him.

"Well, for now, we don't need nut'in'," uttered Jake, childishly, feeling the impulse to put in the final word, and knowing Orca was onshore and that he and company had time to make a getaway.

Jake motioned to the Jack Ass Penguins and they began heading for the ocean.

Orca, knowing that timing was everything and that never again might he have the Jack Ass army available for discourse, quickly thought and turned to Walder, "'Jack Ass Penguin' is the name that was given them by the humans, not one they freely accepted, Gentoo. You knew that. Right?"

"Then what are they called?" responded Walder. "I mean, what do they call themselves? Or...?"

Being on the inquisitive side, the Jack Ass Penguins had been listening in to the conversation and were intrigued with what was being said. Not wanting to miss out on a word between Walder and Orca, they began slowing their retreat a bit in hopes of catching all the juicy gossip. Then, they stopped dead in their tracks when Walder turned abruptly and shouted to them, "What do you call yourselves? What do you want to be called?"

The Jack Ass Penguins had never been asked this before, and began to stutter step a few feet as they thought, _Respect; could it be? This is a first_. Then they all sort of looked at each other and eventually slowed to a stop once more, and remained still. Was this possible? Without what had just happened, and the magic of it all—the magic of the moment—it would have seemed far from plausible. But the magic was still here. And not only was it plausible—anything was possible!

There they stood, backs turned to everybody, facing the water, flabbergasted that someone else was discussing what they should be called, what they wanted to be called, instead of what they had always been called, hoping that this time it could be real. Though still not actually lowering their guard, they were "listening."

Just then, Joey and his father came ashore in the lifeboat. As Joey and his father approached the group, the Jack Ass Penguins still remained. They knew it was these two humans who had saved Walder from the barbecue.

Walder, still in the midst of contemplation, blurted, "Why don't they be called what they want to be called?"

This time the Jack Ass Penguins turned around, faced Walder in awe, and generally appeared electrified over this brilliant new concept brought forth by the Gentoo. Joey and his father had arrived just in time to observe the Jack Ass Penguins doing this mental process thing. So deep in concentration were they as to not seem aware that two humans were in their company, not to mention an orca. Not knowing what was going on with these penguins, Joey began getting reacquainted with Walder. For a moment it remained fairly quiet. All that could be heard was Joey and Walder being chummy with one another, until all was disrupted by the sight and sound of the governor's troops moving toward the beach.

"Time to go," said Orca. "We'll be seeing you around."

Watching Orca turn and squirm rapidly downhill back for the ocean (in a trough he'd created coming up) prompted the Jack Ass Penguins to get back themselves, quickly, to ensure a significant head start on their big, natural enemy. It was back to Jack Ass Penguinville for them, as they would contemplate their new name, what their new name should be—shall be—as Joey, his father, and Walder boarded the lifeboat and began heading for the Ecliptic.

A miffed governor had phoned the troops ordering them to regroup and come at the contemptible ones again. This "encouragement," on the part of the governor, hadn't been easy after Jake's profuse firing had dulled their sense of duty. It seems the inflated egos of these brave ones had been deflated, left flat. The governor was so peeved that things had gone array, and how it'd taken so much time to convince these morons (his mercenaries) that the big gun had stopped, and for good. "It's out of ammo; the crew has taken back control of the ship!"

As for the crew, they were to be inundated with the realization that once again, yet again, things weren't to be their way. After finally making their way back to beach, and then onto the pier, the combined grumbling of the disconcerted crew was growing to a conspicuous rumble. "This was supposed to be that penguin's 'last supper'!"

Initially, the fleeing band of crewmembers had sought to escape the heavy fire by heading inland, for the backside of the estate, until spying the authorities donned in combat fatigues up on the periphery. They were completely corralled against the ocean by a virtual fence-line of troops and assorted vehicles. Realizing this prompted these pinned-in pigs to run back to the pier, hoping to board _their_ ship, their only refuge, and make haste out of there. Since the cannon fire seemed to have ceased for a moment, and had been targeting everything but the pier, this seemed to be a sensible idea. It was only now, while approaching the Ecliptic, had the crew been afforded the time to speculate what had happened aboard their ship with the cannon. As the crew began to consider what might have gotten into their comrade, the one they'd left behind to guard the two on the Ecliptic, they just could not figure it out. "What possessed him to 'go off' like that with the gun, Mates?"

Also unknown to the crew was that Joey's father had untied the remaining lines from the Ecliptic to the pier just before hopping into the lifeboat to head for shore with Joey, allowing the ship to drift well away from the edge of the pier. The captain knew this would prevent access to the ship from the pier, while the anchor would prevent it from floating off.

Stultified from what had happened, and from what was still happening, the crew were all trying to assimilate the significance of it all, what the status of things might be, where they stood in the scheme of things. Were they in some sort of trouble? But more importantly, where was _that_ penguin! The crew made their way to the end of the pier, where they expected "their" ship to be waiting, only to witness the Ecliptic no longer tied to the pier, but floating aimlessly back out to sea as far as the anchor permitted. Next, they observed the lifeboat containing Joey, his father, and Walder en route to the ship. "Well, if that don't beat all!"

It seems as though their young lookout, Joey the Crowey—the _kid—_ might be trying to save the penguin again, yet another time. "Oh no yuh don't! Not this time, by God. We gonna get yuh this time!"

The ruffled and rancorous crew wasn't _even_ going to let the Gentoo get away again. And they weren't at all willing to be captured and incarcerated before seeing that penguin "done." With the governor's troops closing in on the beach and heading for the pier, the crew knew they'd have to do something quick. But what? They couldn't find anything to work with. There wasn't a single opportunity, or any potential, to do anything. Soon it would be over for them. "But wait! What's this on the other side of the pier—the 'Satellite'—the governor's personal yacht, at our disposal?"

The Satellite, the governor's (pride and joy) yacht, had been specifically designed and built for the governor in the Soviet Union, his constituency unknowingly footing the bill at an exorbitant cost through taxpayer revenues. The governor had been made aware of the Russians' superior knowledge of bonding titanium, and the capacity to do so on a large scale, from an enormous nuclear submarine captured by the U.S. while this particular Soviet sub had been spying in U.S. waters. The U.S. government, under great secrecy, had dissected and studied the thing for years before information eventually leaked and unveiled technology that no one, purportedly, knew existed. In short, the governor had come up with the idea to bribe certain high-ranking Russian officials, for _them_ (in return for a hansom prepayment and eventual reward) to surreptitiously build him a yacht in accordance with the highest military standards—quality. It was to be of the strength and technology of a Russian nuclear submarine. This vessel, hull, and almost everything on her, was to be titanium—a regular maritime "Sputnik" if you will—the Satellite had been born!

This was getting more and more embarrassing for the governor. Actually he was already furious. The "sought-after ones" had managed to hot-wire his beloved yacht and were now harnessing the power of its two dynamic diesels, throttling the immaculate motors of his very own private, exclusive "excursion vessel"—making a getaway in his pride and joy!

The governor had instructed the media to commence at the beginning of his ingenious plan with coverage of the story he'd anticipated would have inexorable developments. But his carefully laid out plot hadn't been going smoothly and was threatening to backfire on him. The media was continuing its broadcasts, giving updates on the "Breaking Story," verbosely stating to the South African public that a band of mutineers ("as we speak") were in the process of poaching a prized penguin.

So the crew had already been incriminated by the spiel the media folks had given, and were still giving, to the South African nation, and the captain and boy were suddenly heroes, by virtue of them saving this Antarctic penguin, a Gentoo. The Gentoo that was, by now, already a national celebrity. And, little did anyone know it or could have expected it, but, within a fortnight Walder would be "International"—Going, going, gone Global—we're talking Cosmopolitan!

It didn't look good for the governor: the mutineers making an escape in his personal yacht while the media continued doing footage of everything. What would he say to the people? What would he do? But wait a minute! They're not trying to get away; they're not heading for sea. The fools are still trying to get that penguin!

Not surprisingly, the media was having a ball with this—this was only getting better by the second. They continued with their "informing the public" through commentary as the footage, which only bolstered their story, kept rolling. The entire country had stopped whatever they were doing to watch this "tragedy." A nation had become suspended in front of a television or radio, practically holding their collective breaths. "And, look, it's the captain and a boy 'still' trying to save the Gentoo from this crew of criminals, these mutineers, who have stolen the governor's yacht, the 'peoples' property', the taxpayers' boat." And so, in front of the authorities and country, the obsessed-with- _that_ -penguin crewmembers began showing their ass in royal fashion, making "their case" more air tight than ever.

While observing this series of erratic events, and wondering what the hell might happen next, the governor felt it necessary to take control of things and began to carefully interject "information" to the press and try to monitor what was being said on the air. The first thing that was to be "clarified" to the people was that it had been one of these mutineers that had done the firing of the cannon, and at extensive damage to taxpayer property (like anyone would have believed a Jack Ass Penguin had done it). But something else was about to grab the attention of the viewers and listeners.

As soon as the three in the lifeboat realized they wouldn't be able to board the Ecliptic, before their ex-mates on the governor's yacht reached them, Joey told Walder to "Swim for it!" thinking that with Walder out of the boat, and the media here now, they would be safe. But Walder didn't swim for the ocean. Walder began heading for shore. Walder wanted to ensure that Joey and the lifeboat were spared the wrath of these psychos. "What are you doing, Walder? No. No. Not that way!"

Walder intentionally swam on the surface to ensure the crew would witness his escape, still unaware that he'd always been the sole focus of the crew. The idiots followed. As Walder shot for shore at record speed, still, the poachers would quickly be directly behind him. With the sails of the Satellite furled, and it being driven solely by its massive motors, it was able to turn on a dime from the direction of the Ecliptic and shoot for shore after Walder. The mutineers were completely oblivious of everything else that was going on, even completely oblivious of the crowd of journalist and military flooding down to the beach—oblivious of everything but the Gentoo. They were going to get that penguin regardless of any consequences.

Walder came skidding onto shore; the governor's yacht came skidding right behind with the motors left churning and propellers digging into the sandy beach. The crew simultaneously jumped off the yacht and ran for Walder. Now on land, Walder couldn't move so fast and the crew would quickly catch him. It wasn't until practically having their greasy grips around Walder's neck did these morons realize they were surrounded by the authorities and media groups. At this point Walder finally decided to fly, just high enough to remain above the grasping hands of his would-be assailants, as an electrified nation watched in marvel.

Busted! The crew had been caught red-handed with everyone in South Africa witnessing.

Joey and his father had just reached the Ecliptic. Against Joey's will, the captain had kept the lifeboat heading toward their ship as they too were witnessing the drama onshore. Understanding the significance concerning what his crew had gotten themselves into, the captain instructed Joey to board the Ecliptic. He would come back to shore alone in the lifeboat to handle things.

The authorities were handcuffing the crew and loading them into paddy wagons when the captain reached shore. Walder was waiting for the perfect opportunity to spill the beans to the home-viewers and authorities. But the governor was already one step ahead. The governor had Walder whisked into an ambulance by a dozen paramedics all circled around him, blocking his face from the cameras and holding his wings in place. Then, after taking the stage from Walder, the governor explained to the nation: "This valuable bird has suffered a lot of distress, a great deal of physical and emotional abuse from these poaching mutineers, and is promptly being taken to a Trauma Treatment Facility to receive the finest medical care. And directly following its recovery, this splendid specimen will be on exhibit at our very own city zoo, for the entertainment and joy of the public."

Instantly there was cheering and clapping; the cameras remained on the governor and his dutiful entourage while his grateful constituency took it all in from their local television or radio station. But behind the scene, a handful of the governor's henchmen were in the process of quietly removing Walder from the scene. Everyone seemed preoccupied with the governor and what he was saying about the Gentoo, until a cameraman spied the captain coming toward the congregation from the lifeboat. Impressive as ever, his mere presence commanding and awe-inspiring reverence, the cameras instantly gravitated to their new hero. And as the captain approached a microphone, it was the captain who was on center stage. All eyes, and ears, were for the captain; he was the main focus. There was nothing the governor could do about it.

In front of the television cameras, the captain explained to the people of South Africa how the crew was his responsibility.

"By virtue of Maritime Law, these men are under the Jurisdiction of the Queen. Before the 'alleged' can be tried for penguin poaching in this great notion—I mean nation—here, they first, by law, must be extradited to the U.K. to face charges of mutiny; to stand trial there for a far more severe crime than kidnapping and attempting to roast a penguin. Albeit, this latter of crimes is nevertheless heinous in the extreme as well."

The governor had been beat to the draw on this one by the captain. And before he knew it, the public had already been sold on the captain's promise: "There will be severe punishment for the whole lot of them. We don't take lightly to mutiny, in England, you know?"

The governor was livid, but defeated and knew it. He sucked it up, regained his composure, and confronted the viewers saying, "Of course we'll fully oblige the heroic captain's wishes. After all, it's the legal and only proper thing to do; we were in the process of handing them over already."

After all, he would be rid of the lot of them. It was the penguin he wanted. And it was the penguin he had, signed, sealed, and being delivered now to a high-security medical facility.

Wanting to take it further, the captain refrained. He knew better. The entire nation had witnessed how the governor and his associates had "helped" to save the poor, prized penguin. The captain knew this. The captain also knew at this point that anything he said contradictory to what the governor had said, or might say, would only make him seem invalid, and possibly appear suspect. So, while the press was still there as "character witnesses" (moral support), the captain insisted the authorities hand over his crew to him, and ensured that they did so right away.

"But of course," the governor concurred. "My security personnel will deliver them to 'your ship' this instant," as he _personally_ saw to it that it was _he_ and _his_ personnel responsible for the chained and gagged crew making it to the "brig" (lower deck) of the Ecliptic.

As the condemned captives were being led to the Ecliptic, the entire crew began throwing a tizzy. Not only were all of them reluctant to board their ship but, also, attempting to mumble and gesture to the crowd and cameras, as if trying to plead their already convicted cases.

"The gags, by the way," the governor explained, "are to keep them from saying something that might hurt them—keep them from incriminating themselves—because they haven't been read their rights or received any legal counseling whatsoever. It's for their own good."

Like it or not, aboard the Ecliptic the crew went; it wasn't pretty.

Once again the governor attempted to hold the upper hand and remain in control of _his_ territories by assuring his followers and informing the press.

"Here, the mutineers are to remain," the governor began, and struggled to stammer on. "I mean, they are to remain over there—out there—you know what I mean. I mean within the confines of that ship, within the bowels of 'this' ship, this _mighty_ ship, the Ecliptic. These mutineers are to remain aboard this vessel until handed over to the proper authorities in the United Kingdom—Great Britain. You know, the imperialist we ousted from our great notion—I mean nation—years ago. Yeah **."**

So as the governor continued blabbing, and the Ecliptic prepared to set sail and begin her return journey, Joey was thinking that something wasn't "right." Joey asked his father what they were going to do about Walder. "We can't just leave him here!"

"We'll have to come up with something, Son," his father replied. "There's simply nothing we can do right now."

So, without another word from Joey or his father, the Ecliptic made haste from the cameras on shore while there would be plenty being said below. The ex-crew members of the Ecliptic, who had been permanently assigned to their collective area in the bowels of _their_ ship, were already not enjoying the trip. They weren't just hot—they were cookin'! It seems as though this crew might even be "boiling over": boiling over an empty pot of Gentoo stew.

# Chapter XVII

Everything seemed to be pretty much figured out. As the governor was concluding the details of getting Walder to the zoo, a haunting apparition continued presenting itself in waves. It was like a "wake up call," like cold water in the face. This internal harbinger wasn't the onset of paranoia or something, but, rather a call to arms, for the governor's consciousness to come aware of an element—"duh"—something he'd yet to factor in. So, in the form of a series of premonitions, "these waves" attempted to deliver a piece of the puzzle that had so far been omitted, an integral part of the equation the governor had inadvertently spared himself of, thus far. It was to be a dual message, though. For implicit in its warning was if the governor didn't heed its call, these waves could very quickly take the form of a far less desirable current: recurring riptides that could suck him out and hold him indefinitely while he prayed for deliverance; or an undertow pulling him down interminably. But the governor stubbornly resisted these notions by mentally fortifying the barrier walls of denial, walls that had been securely constructed in the tender years of this old boy's constitution.

The governor's mind, if we look back a bit, had been "cultured," had been securely implanted with (among other things) a disciplined adherence to protocol, something he liked to refer to as "diligence." This was coupled with an inability to admit to being wrong about anything, a convenient method of preserving his ego. And though no one likes to confront the fact, or especially hear from others, that they may be wrong concerning some matter, still a great deal of people possess the ability to deal with truth. Every child, for instance, is endowed with an unrelenting thirst for truth and an undeniable craving for what is real. How long and individual retains this enthusiasm is a question loaded with more ramifications than the moves possible on a chessboard. And in the case of the governor, as is the case with so many, this intrinsic dynamic had been nullified, somehow. For paramount to all else in the governor's ego, was that he not be wrong about something—about anything. And this, of course, would include being bested by anyone or anything. Yes, unfortunately, the governor had come "fully equipped" with this seemingly impenetrable fortress of "in denial," instilled into him by certain learning institutions from his parents' insisted education (the poor guy). Nevertheless, these waves continued to rock and roll. This onslaught continued, directed at the governor's consciousness, when _something_ finally began seeping in, began seeping into this vacuum of the governor's consciousness, a void often referred to as ignorance. And though this "something" happened to be an attribute that was innate to all humans, it would only be until now that it was beginning to "kick in," beginning to awaken the governor's awareness (and to think this may have never happened if not for a Gentoo).

Finally, this "fortress of in denial" gave way to the incessant pounding, and began to crumble—the floodgates had opened. In rushed these proverbial waters of truth, invading like a tsunami, until, like a slap in the face, it occurred to the governor he may have goofed on something. After realizing this, like it or not, the governor had to face the fact that he just might have some unfinished business he hadn't counted on. It was a looming nightmare in the making, as the governor began to concern himself with a shipload of witnesses he'd allowed to just float away.

What would happen if even one of these low-life salts eventually came forward with testimony against him? And what about some, most, or all of them doing so—testimonies—providing evidence concerning his foiled attempts at a hopeful plot? It could be very discrediting and possibly incriminating. Everything had gone so wrong all at once. Everything had happened so fast. He couldn't think of everything!

Although any "dirt" on the governor that might be imparted in a U.K. court of law by any, or all, of this crew, would only seem vindictive on their part and therefore invalid, still, the possibility for disaster loomed. Any possibility, a miniscule possibility, even one that appeared infinitesimal, was far too great a risk for the governor to sit back and chance. Governors don't allow such "things" to simply take their course (at least a governor who wishes to remain governor doesn't). What might be said against him in court, whether in the U.K., or god forbid after being extradited back to South Africa, was an inconceivable scenario, something the governor would never care to confront and therefore would _never_ permit to happen. In fact, as long as these penguin poachers were still alive (even after being convicted of mutiny in the U.K.) the governor would never be able to rest comfortably, not for the rest of his days—They gotta go!

He may have been called a fool once or twice, but he sure as hell didn't intend to be "anybody's fool," and he surely wasn't no damned fool. It just wouldn't do to have a shipload of potential testifiers sailing out of his jurisdiction for safe waters. _His_ peoples would be expecting a trial for them here, in South Africa, too.

In addition to the crew, due to the outcome of his carefully planned plot turning counter to what he'd expected, the governor knew he'd have to find a way to "accidentally" rid himself of the Gentoo as well, and for good. Before this penguin could do more damage, critical damage. Before this Gentoo gained too much notoriety, popularity, and possibly exposed the governor's dastardly deeds to the press, to the people. Yes, this Gentoo, too, would have to _go_.

# Chapter XVIII

Herman's new job at the zoo began wonderfully. So many people were coming to see him, to satisfy their curiosity, only to be floored. The adults were simply being "Wowed" by the Big Boy; even the teenagers were impressed. And the children were simply enamored with him. All the little children, at first sight of the Big Baby, just had to get in "there" to pet him, ride him, to try to tickle him. Things were real good. In fact, Herman felt he couldn't have asked for much more. Everyone was being real nice; he had his honey next to him; everything seemed simply "peachy." Until!

One day, this character showed up—a real "smart" kid. Yes, this devious little prick popped up out of the blue and, once doing so, continued coming back everyday (as if on a Seasonal Pass) to harass Herman, to "baby-sit the Big Baby a bit." And every day it became increasingly evident that this kid was dead set on destroying Herman's reputation as "The Hopelessly Happy Hippo." Everyday, Herman lost a little more of his sense of humor on account of this rogue adolescent. It wasn't long before Herman began telling his honey, "I'm tired of this perpetual pest; I can't take no more. I gotta talk to the zookeeper."

All of Herman's efforts to convince the zookeeper to ban this kid from admission were shot down.

"The audience is the customer," the zookeeper would explain. "The customer is king—our financial security—our sustenance. You'll have to live up to your reputation as 'The Hopelessly Happy Hippo'; it's your job! What do you think _feeds_ you in 'here'?"

"I didn't need nobody to feed me 'before' I came— _in_ —here," Herman would clarify in a somewhat confrontational manner.

In any event, the little devil (bright-eyed and "pointy" tailed) continued to show up, seven days a week, evidently hell bent for leather on discrediting The Hopelessly Happy Hippo. Monday through Fridays it was like clockwork (always after school). But on the weekends? Well, this was a special treat, for Herman didn't know when the little shit was coming, or for how long. This faithful patron would never let you down. He had a talent for bringing anything down, and his current aim was to bring Herman down and was doing so in an efficient and much effective fashion. Each time this impudent imp came, he came with a new bag of tricks. Tricks designed to annoy Herman and hopefully provoke this hippo into displaying emotions and actions contrary to what his disposition was suppose to "always" be, something (anything) contrary to the nature of what Herman's title dictated that he would (must) posses in perpetuity.

It would have been pretty obvious to an older person, witnessing Herman's ordeal, watching this reincarnate from hell trying to wreck Herman's reputation with the people. But this "slickster" would always make sure he was on his best behavior should any adult be present. Otherwise, this kid would throw things at Herman, tell hippo jokes, and even go so far as to entice other kids into turning against Herman, which unfortunately worked in some cases. Some of the children, who would have otherwise always loved Herman, were suddenly becoming ugly toward the poor hippo. By mimicking their provoking peer, they, too, were becoming pests from peer pressure.

It was having a slow, subtle effect on Herman, and this kid knew it. Herman slowly began to vent his frustration, at night, with his honey: "This place is for the birds!"

And even though it was her constant support that enabled him to make it through another day of this kid's badgering, Herman couldn't keep himself from venting during the evening. "That kid has rubbed me the wrong way, already—rubbed me raw!"

Finally, this perpetual punk figured out that Herman's heifer hippo might be Herman's support group, and began cracking jokes about her in front of Herman. Herman, understandably, became irate. The zookeeper, recognizing a problem, and hoping to prevent Herman from becoming hostile, attributed the trouble to Herman's heifer honey sharing his proximity, and had her moved to another ward.

"I need this space for a brand new exhibit, that needs to be right here, in the children's section," the zookeeper explained. "'The world's first—and only—Flying Penguin!'"

_Oh, this place_ _is_ _going to the birds_ , Herman concluded.

Then, before Herman could argue, plead, or cry, a tall, thin aviary was being constructed right across from him, right where his honey's stall used to be, where his hippo honey used to lay watching him as he did "his show" every day. "A penguin, a flying penguin—a bird—in place of my honey? How daft. How cruel!"

It worked. Herman stopped feeling hostility for anything, and instantly became depressed and apathetic. And this indifference led to a sudden noninvolvement with the children. Although Herman was unhappy and listless, the zookeeper knew the zoo would be leaving for another town soon and that this problem child would be left behind. The zookeeper assured Herman that in the next town he'd be reunited with his honey. But, for now, he was being forced to make room for this "most important bird."

No sooner had Herman began manifesting melancholy over this "all-these-things-going-so-sour-and-so-suddenly trauma," and feeling as if he were plunging into the depths of an unfathomable abyss of depression, did things mysteriously reverse for him. Herman was finding his state of emotional distress being displaced by a degree of astonishment. Almost instantaneously, Herman had become extroverted over all the activity going on around him, over how swiftly the humans were erecting the vertical cage across from him.

Initially, the going had been slower. The first phase was to tediously drill holes into the concrete slab, using diamond-tip bits, in order to place anchor bolts that were set in epoxy glues. But then, as soon as the glue had been deemed " _hard_ enough to work with," the foundation had been bolted to these anchor bolts, while the welders erected scaffolding that would be used to scale the entirety of it, level by level, in order to bond each section of these steel bars into the eventual shape of a perfect pinnacle. It was to be an airy—"lofty"—dungeon.

This thing was enormous, and these human craftsmen had practically thrown the thing together in a day. Before you knew it, the new celebrity was due to arrive that evening. Mobs of humans were already appearing outside, crowding around entryways and such, all evidently eager to see "The World's Only Flying Penguin," to see, in person, what they'd been witnessing on television reruns for the past few days.

Hearing a sudden roar coming from the mass of humans outside, Herman peeked through his ventilation window to see a black limousine arriving behind a phalanx of police motorcycles. Then, came a refrigerated car being escorted by an array of security vehicles. The passenger doors of the limo flung open before the limo could fully stop, and out stepped the governor surrounded by his entourage. The governor began to speak into a megaphone, and the crowds quieted. "So sorry for the delay, 'Folks'. But, we were duly obligated to ascertain the penguin's good health before allowing him to do any flying feats for uszzz. And now, without further ado, here, for you, today, 'The World's One and Only Flying Penguin'!"

The crowd remained quiet as the big rear doors of the mobile refrigerator opened, and as a large, rectangular block of ice was pulled out and stood upright before the crowd. Inside, embedded in this translucent block of ice, was Walder. Only his breathing orifices extended outside of the icy straightjacket, while enough space had been left hollow around his torso for his lungs to expand and contract. Walder had been forced to hold a gleeful expression on his face, his beak pried and held into a smile, while being frozen into this ice block. Walder attempted to make a sound through his breathing passages while the crowd was quiet. But, since his beak was frozen in place, only succeeded with some snorting noises. Seeing this, the governor began to speak again while the crowd was still quiet. "The block of ice is to ensure his comfort and health—Antarctic Penguins love ice, you know."

This block of ice, containing a partially frozen Gentoo (a statue of Walder), was placed onto a forklift and wheeled through the front doors of the zoo where Walder's aviary awaited him. Unknown to all in the crowd of these hopefuls, was that a tiny radio receiver had been implanted into one of Walder's ears, forcing him to hear everything the governor said to him, and about him. As Walder approached his personal, custom-designed aviary, Herman was observing, and through animal perception could tell that this penguin, inside the confines of the ice, was not a happy boy. As Walder was being slid from the forklift into the aviary, Herman suddenly recognized _what_ (who) it was— _That's the Penguin that visited my water hole!_

Walder had grown a little, but was still easily recognizable. Herman felt the impulse to begin telling the crowd of spectators that Walder hadn't been brought here from Antarctica by the governor, that he hadn't been "saved" by the governor, but, instead, had made it all the way to South Africa on his own and, furthermore, wasn't here now of his own volition. But Herman was picking up from Walder through animal telepathy, and feeling from instinct, that he'd best keep his big mouth buttoned for now, to lay low, before these loathsome ones take even more drastic action, which could involve him as well.

Herman looked around to observe the governor's rehearsed tactics with the people, sensing the shrewdness that lay behind his mask of joviality, this façade of feigned congeniality. He observed the willful, dutiful compliance of the governor's entourage, including that of the zookeeper's complacency among these higher-ranking humans and at all of Walder's unsuspecting fans. Herman would show restraint for now, by keeping it all in check, by practicing this newly found ability (discipline) and wait to see what might materialize.

Next, the zoo staff began the process of freeing Walder from his frozen cell by shooting warm, pressurized, water at the ice. As the ice began melting away, and Walder began to thaw, the throng of eagerly awaiting guests began storming into the zoo and swarming around the aviary. Never before had Herman seen so many people inside the zoo at one time, and momentarily felt a twitch of jealousy for Walder's stardom.

The governor had ensured that The "Flying" Penguin would be nice and lean, and "ready" to entertain the guests, by the time it was defrosted. Walder shook the final remnants of ice from his wings and kicked the ice booties from his feet. The governor was basking in this wonderful opportunity for gaining popularity with the masses, his round face glowing in the spotlight as he commenced the ceremonies. Walder attempted to speak, but the facility was a humming roar now, drowning anything he might say, especially when the governor began to address the spectators through a microphone.

"Good evening, 'Free Citizens' of Cape Town. Now, we shall begin preparing the world's First—and 'only'—Flying Penguin forrr... 'flight'. His first, **real** , 'official', flight in South Africa. His debut, right here, for your worthy witness."

After his introduction, the governor stepped back out of the limelight and permitted all eyes to fall on Walder. Herman was mesmerized, as was everyone (and "everything") present. With no one's attention on the governor now (all eyes were on the bird), and unknown to the audience, the governor began speaking to Walder via the radio transmitter, which was being heard loud and clear at the other end by the tiny implant still in place in one of Walder's ears. Through this "communication system" Walder was forced to listen to the governor's "input" while Walder was unable to deliver any "feedback." The governor began telling Walder that he could either make it _easy_ on himself, or he could make it as **hard** as he wanted to: "One way, or another, Penguin, _you're_ going to fly! I promise you. Even if 'I' have to strap electrodes to your butt—which we do keep on hand around here for zapping cooperation into recalcitrant exhibits like you—you're going to fly!"

Walder immediately began reacting to the governor's taunting by becoming very upset. His face was turning red and puffy, which the audience took to be an indication of Walder mustering concentration ("will of the mind") for his flying feat. But Walder refused to flap his wings. He just stood there shaking his head while glaring at the governor, expressing his continued refusal. This time, the audience took this to be a degree of apprehension on the part of the poor bird. They'd seen him fly once before, if only on reruns of the news, so they knew he could, and hopefully the poor thing would be able to do so again. After all, it had suffered through so much, recently. In fact, it was a wonder the thing was still alive at all, and it most certainly wouldn't have been, and therefore not here today, if not for the good governor. Thanks to their good governor.

"As you can see, Folks, he's a bit scared," the governor _explained_ through the loudspeakers _,_ "so, let's all give him some encouragement."

This "explanation," on the part of the governor, was making Walder furious, and his face and posture showed it.

"Okay, Folks, he's preparing himself," the governor informed further, "so, you all prepare yourselves as well!"

With the governor's last piece of information, Walder was simply feeling like going ballistic. But he still refused to fly. The spectators gasped and held their breath.

Next the governor decided to stop messing around. The governor began resorting to the tactic that had succeeded in compelling Walder to fly once before, by insinuating that Walder had been outcast by his own kind and was here, solely, due to his immense jealousy of humans. Then, before Walder could recover from that, the governor began to _elaborate_. "You're here, Penguin, just to try and prove somethin' to yourself; you'll never prove nuthin' to us humans. You're only trying to disrupt others, people of real importance—like _Meee_ —hoping it'll help you feel better about yourself. You just can't face the fact that we humans are better than you, smarter than yoou, more powerful than—uh hum—yooou, _and_ , more secure about ourselves, especially 'I'. You'll never win by trying to discredit us, us dominant humans, not me, not anyone, not ever! Ha, ha, ha,... ha, ha."

So, on and on, the governor continued with this petty diatribe, until Walder broke down and began flapping his wings violently, his head looking like it was about to explode from intense protest as to what the governor was saying about him. But Walder still refused to fly.

The spectators took this to be a dedicated termination on the part of the bird, an intense intention in order to prepare itself to fly.

Seeing this, the governor uttered under his breath, "Okay, Penguin, this time you made me 'let you have it'."

And then, the governor let him have it—"Don't make me have to 'have a talk' with _your_ **Mother**!"

The governor had given Walder both barrels—nailed one bird with a "double shot."

With his puffy eyes squeezed shut, and his puffy cheeks "clinching" his beak firmly shut, Walder's entire face grew beet red as he assimilated "the load." He flapped harder and faster as this wad of implication "connected." And boy did it ever connect! Like a rocket, Walder shot straight for outer space. The whip-like tips of his wings were breaking the sound barrier as he headed straight for the ceiling of the zoo. But this would be the first time Walder had ever attempted to fly with a "roof over his head." Walder was in his own world, and couldn't imagine that such an "arrangement" had its consequences. Before he could even reach the rafters of the zoo, he was to be intercepted by the steel-woven top of his very own aviary. Walder rammed headfirst into this network of metal bars, knocking him silly, and fell fluttering back to the solid floor of his towering cage. This was exactly what the governor anticipated (hoped) would happen. It was a way to "off" the penguin in front of everyone with no blame to himself— _How was_ he _supposed to know the dumb bird wouldn't be thinking about, or looking at, where it was going?_

Everyone present was shaken (except for the governor). These fine people had witnessed a penguin flying, briefly, as it launched itself forcefully, headfirst, into the top of this aviary. And just as suddenly as it'd done so, came plummeting down 60 feet to a horrible crash landing, bouncing three times on the concrete floor, to just lie there in a stupor, moaning and groaning.

"He'll be okay," the governor assured the stunned spectators. "We'll be taking 'it' right away to emergency medical services, and when its all better, I mean when heez all better, the penguin—uh hum—we'll have a much larger facility for him next time, ensuring no more problems for the penguin's performance. Oh, and so _very_ sorry for the accident, due to the inadequate structure size on the part of the engineers, due to _their_ technical errors."

After the governor finished casting blame on some innocent engineers, of whom had designed and built the aviary to his very specifications, it occurred to him that someone (may have) underestimated the design of a penguin as well, i.e. its durableness and so forth. Though their ruggedness wasn't always apparent, these birds, as cute as they were, and as harmless and wimpy as they seemed, were extremely hearty, a physical attribute honed to perfection by the harsh elements and predators of Antarctica. This depiction of a penguin couldn't have been validated much more than when Walder picked himself up, brushed himself off, and appeared in good shape in front of all, thus nullifying any attempt on the part of the governor to claim the penguin died of complications, internal injuries or something, later. Everyone could see that the Gentooman was just fine.

"Just as a precautionary measure, Folks," the governor insisted to the audience, "We'll be taking him by helicopter to have him thoroughly checked out. We wouldn't want any unnecessary problems to crop up that modern medicine could detect and rectify. Now would we?"

Before Walder could protest, once again he was surrounded, strapped to a stretcher, and taken out the back door for "observation." The governor's plan to destroy Walder, for the second time, had failed. With the second round behind him, what would the governor try next time—this time—the third, and possibly final time? There was to be no strike three! The governor would do anything and everything before striking out.

# Chapter XIX

It took some doing, but eventually the fans of the flying Gentoo were coaxed into leaving the zoo grounds. Reluctantly they finally began complying and slowly dispersing and going elsewhere to ponder the prized penguin. As soon as the governor's lackeys could determine that "all" had left, and after evening offered the dark opportunity to do so, the governor instructed his henchmen to bring the celebrity penguin back to the zoo, back into its personal aviary, for lack of a better place to keep it. It'd be the last place anyone would look for the prized penguin. Everyone had witnessed it leave, and rumor had it that every freezer truck, van, whatever, was under constant surveillance from the South African public, the press, or whoever. But unknown to the governor, and therefore of no consolation to him, was that the operators of these refrigerated vehicles in South Africa had seen the scene, had heard the news, and quite frankly weren't _even_ attempting to do any business tonight. They were ducking for cover, actually, wherever they could find it, laying low, staying home, to catch the updates on television.

With Walder no longer embedded in a block of ice, the governor knew he couldn't lower his guard one bit with a flying penguin. He had seen what this penguin could do when given one iota of opportunity to do so. At one point, in his desperation, the governor considered using a freezer drawer down at the city morgue, which was designed solely for a human cadaver, but quickly, and wisely so, deemed the security of "these premises" inadequate. Besides, this thing wasn't dead—yet—and so it was determined that the morgue presented to great a potential for a possible "unauthorized" penguin flight. Besides, what if someone saw something and word got out? Hey, hordes of humans might get the notion to motion down to the morgue—think about it! What would the governor do, or say, then? That wouldn't look _well_.

The aviary, after all, had been built specifically for containing this brazen penguin. At least (minimally) it would be able to do that—right? Right! So, after concluding "all this extraneous detail," the governor would have finally felt he'd earned a little breather, might have been able to breathe a bit easier—if it hadn't have been for a shipload of potential incriminators making their way back to England. At least the governor _knew_ the zoo would be secure and that nothing could infiltrate it. If no one was let in the zoo, then it follows (figured the governor) that no one could free this particular penguin. "No one is to be let in or out! Don't change anything; don't touch anything! Don't _do_ anything until I get back!"

And so, with a degree of certainty that even idiots could understand "that," and that no one would dare defy his orders, the governor felt he should be able to concern himself with other, more urgent, matters for a few days.

In fact, access to Walder had been made virtually impossible, _demonstrably_ impenetrable. Yes, the zoo resembled a nuclear production facility, in that it was thoroughly fortified with troops and everything these troops could possibly need. Helicopters, tanks, armored personnel carriers, Humvees; you name it, it was here. Nothing would be let in or out. With these security personnel firmly, and constantly, in place, the chances of the prized penguin escaping had been reduced to "next to never" (without assistance from inside). And no one, not even one of the zoo staff, would ever dare, or have the incentive, to mess with one of the governor's pawns (no human, anyway). The governor felt such extremes necessary under the circumstances because, unknown to all except for a handful of his cronies, he was being forced to take his eye off of this scene for an undetermined period of time. Yes, the governor had personal and pressing business to tend to right away—the Ecliptic.

It was a typical night at the zoo for the animals. For Herman it was just another bout with restlessness, ever since that darn zookeeper had removed his sweetie from him. "Lights out!" had been called hours ago and (almost) everything had been thoroughly tucked in. Herman was learning to "embrace" the night and the doldrums accompanying this period. He was even beginning to accept captivity to some degree, and wondering if it might be futile to do anything other. Things simply weren't the same without his honey. The wee hours of morn began to encroach. Deeper into despair Herman descended. This lonely existence reminded him of his solitude back at his beloved bog, his wondrous watering hole. Wouldn't he be better off back there? Oh, and to have his honey back there with him. How could anything be better?

Suddenly, Herman was literally yanked out of his melancholic muse by the unlikely sound of shuffling feet. Next, the rusty iron doors coming from the Animal-Entry-Only section moaned violently, announcing the arrival of something. _But now—at this hour?_ Every beast would either be asleep or quite. So, to hear the marching of human hooves well after "beddy-bye time," well, this was a first!

Until now, all of Herman's nights here at the zoo had been very consistent, in that no animals were to be disturbed during the night. So this was unusual. Up until now, these humans had always respected the fact that herbivores of the wild crashed at sunset (most herbivores). The zoo personnel had been very conscientious of the respective sleepy periods of most of these beasts, had always gone out of their way not to disturb them during these hours. Herman knew something out of the ordinary was happening but remained quiet, feigning complete sleep, as the governor's henchmen brought the bound and gagged penguin to its "performance cage" for a good night's rest.

But, unlike most of the animals in the herbivore section, the elephants and a few other herbivores were nocturnal—especially the hippo. It was the nature of the hippopotamus to roam the rivers at night, sleeping mostly by day. This was barely known or thought about by most humans, that the world's second largest land animal did most of its wandering and feeding at night, sometimes venturing scores of miles down a river or into marshland. And, practically, doing so anywhere, providing it wasn't far from water.

Here they came, straight for him, right down the aisle toward Herman, stopping right in front of the hippo's stall, all crowding around something. It was the penguin! They were removing the penguin's gag (duct tape wrapped around its beak, just below the nostrils) and twine from around its torso and wings. The Royal Bird was promptly thrown into its personal aviary and, as soon as it hit the floor, the gate was closed and locked, without these humans so much as asking the penguin whether or not the temperature was okay (cool enough), or if it needed water or something. Herman remained silent and waited for the humans to leave. It seemed odd that the governor was nowhere in sight or smell. After Herman was sure every human had left, Herman addressed the abused one. "Hey, Penguin, are you all right?"

Walder was very surprised to hear a voice. It was a vaguely familiar voice, a voice he hadn't heard for some time. _But where?_ So much had happened in these past days. Most of the voices Walder had heard lately were from the governor and his staff, or the zoo personnel, or other loathsome ones that had been involved in his abduction. But the voice addressing him now, though only faintly familiar, sounded friendly and safe, as if an ally was actually among them, was with him. Walder struggled through his delirium to place it: _From where do I know this voice?_

"I'm the hopelessly happy hippo," Herman informed, expectantly—"Remember? You know!"

"Hippo?" Walder asked, wanting to know more as a little light began to turn on inside of his chamber of nostalgia. "I haven't seen a lot of hippos, lately. What did you say your name was again?"

"'Baby'! 'Hermie Baby'! Don't you remember?" and Herman began to sing a few lines of a song that Walder was to never forget—"Mud, mud, glorious mud..."

As Herman, the ex-hermit, continued wailing the lines to Walder's favorite song, this little ol' bulb began to beam brighter and ever brighter, illuminating Walder's sense of recollection concerning this particular hippo and revitalizing his will to live. After all, it had been this song that had saved Walder's very life just a while back, back in the bush, in the wilderness of South Africa.

Upon hearing Herman's raspy, bass voice singing _softly_ , this time, Walder was pulled out of the stupor he'd "dropped" into, and an exciting sensation surged through his body. His instincts made "the connection," and his consciousness followed suit. Walder began reviving at a rapid rate. "Herman, 'Hermie Baby', is that really you, or is this just another one of the humans' tricks?"

"Yea, yeah it's me, you crazy penguin."

The hippo sounded for real, but Walder had to be careful. He knew there was only one Hippo like Herman, and only he ("it") could answer this question properly. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd always remain in that stinkin' waterhole—I mean your wonderful 'watery' hole. That pool of oozing mud that saved my stupid—stinkin'—life."

"So did I, Penguin, and I would have, undoubtedly, remained there in _that_ , well in that watering hole, what _was_ my comfort zone, if you hadn't stumbled in for an unexpected visit, a visit that, although unintentional, quite frankly saved me from my own device. I have to tell yuh, Penguin, now I realize that I was _withering_ away back there, withering away and didn't even know it, or didn't want to know it, or acknowledge it to myself. Anyway, I have to thank you."

The Big Baby finished, became quiet, as Walder came alive with hope. Walder really knew this was the same hippo, by his answers and so forth, even before "dialing in" to Herman and making a connection. Walder was finally developing acute animal senses, abilities of perception that (most) penguins would normally acquire before leaving the nest. Only "one" hippo could have given that answer!

It was to be the third attempt for the Ecliptic in making her way back home, to her homeport. Maritime tolerances were willing to accept something going wrong from time to time, but this was beginning to set a record. These authorities had actually thrown their proverbial hands in the air at this point, conceding to what they referred to as "perpetual ambiguity" coming from a captain that had a reputation for being blunt and to the point, not to mention consistency and punctuality concerning his voyages. "This guy's explanations are as vague and oblique as his ship's courses have been lately. Only getting sixes and sevens from this lot. I kid you not, Mates!"

After having not spoken "directly" to the captain of the Ecliptic for some days, these authorities, initially, had become somewhat suspicious. But the captain of the Ecliptic, who had such an outstanding record for discipline and predictability, finally did respond to them, and to their dismay with even greater "beating-around-the-bush drone tone" concerning these "hazy days." Now, the authorities were even more convinced that this captain and his crew had to be trying to cover their fannies regarding something. It didn't much matter anyway, as long as everyone was okay. It was the Ecliptic losing money, not them. Besides, anything worth doing that was more important than making money then "Hey, good for them; love to hear about it."

In short, the maritime authorities figured the captain and crew must be having one heck of a good time down there around Cape Town.

So, for many reasons, it was a good time for the captain to be high-sailing it back to the UK, especially since the authorities were becoming apprised of the mutinous ones. But with Joey constantly reminding the captain that there was unfinished business back there—"The Gentoo, what will he do? We have to do something for him!"—the captain would be forced to handle yet another ordeal.

His father, as gently as Joey had ever heard him speak, attempted to set things straight with his son. "Joey, sometimes there's simply nothing you can do in certain situations, and this is one of them. Now I'm expected to have this ship and its cargo in England ASAP, and our felonious crew appears to be the prime meat. The judge wants to throw the book at them for everything he can, from mutiny, to holding them accountable for the revenues lost due to our tardiness of delivery. You must understand! I would love to help you with that penguin—I mean your buddy. You saw the publicity he's getting. The people love him; he's got it made! He's in the public eye. The people won't allow anything to happen to it—I mean him. Now please, Joey, understand what I'm telling you and realize it's for the best. You'll get to see him again, someday."

Though regretful, Joey's father knew what he had to do. He regarded it as his duty, and it certainly was necessary under these delinquent conditions. The captain had the ship's only lifeboat under lock and chain, with the only key constantly in his possession and "Joe the crow" under his hawk-eye watch, lest there be another incident of AWOL (Crow and penguin "flight").

The longer Joey struggled for a solution, the further the Ecliptic took him from Walder and surrounded him by a fortress of infinite water, with no way out. Even the life preservers (any and all floatation devices) had been securely locked away. The captain wasn't in any way trying to be cruel to Joey, he was simply taking the necessary procedures which he felt were being demanded by the dire circumstances.

On, into the heart of the ocean the Ecliptic sliced its course, undaunted by an approaching storm. Greater and greater became the distance between Joey and his beloved penguin buddy as his father's ship continued, unwavering in its course, through the increasingly high seas. The captain was resolute to make it to the U.K. without any other delays. He wasn't going to let a _little_ squall get in his way, not in the least.

Storms were typical this time of year, as Walder had discovered when he and Joey had been taken by surprise by the season's first, and then taken for a "ride" in the lifeboat. Though intense that storm had been, spearheading the arrival of the season, at least it had been brief (all night!). And since then only smaller ones had been brewing intermittently. This was to be the first "big banger." And a tremendous storm it was, too, heading right for the western coast of South Africa—the governor was elated. What an excellent opportunity to cause a plausible "accident."

It was strike two for the governor, and he needed a home run! The governor prepared for a full and accurate swing. He was at full capacity, and beyond, in his intentions concerning the Ecliptic and _all_ of her crew. This had gone on for far too long. He realized this would be his last chance of destroying evidence concerning his previous plots and plans, evidence existing in only one place (except for the Gentoo), aboard this particular ship. The time had come ("Hell, it's way past time!"). The governor knew he had to rid himself of these nuisances once and for all, for every human aboard the Ecliptic to be deprived of his life—Dead men tell no tales.

The governor had involved too many resources and too many people in his previous plans, all in front of the eyes of every person in the country, albeit mostly via the media. For the first time, since being appointed to office (since taking "power"), the governor felt he'd have to do something for himself, by himself—almost. This would be the most brutal act ever before on the part of the governor, the most calculating, the most evil. It seemed the governor was only getting deeper and deeper into this. And the deeper the hole he dug himself into, the deeper (lower) he'd have to go, and at this point the governor was willing to dig as deep as necessary. We're talking "premeditated"—to go as "low" as man has gone before.

Before you knew it, the titanium hull of the governor's yacht, the Satellite, was being equipped with an "addition." The governor had come up with the cunning idea of mounting a large, jagged rock to the hull, at the bow, of his beloved yacht. It hadn't been an easy accomplishment.

The process had involved scanning the remote coastline, during low tide, for the purpose of finding an adequate (perfect) "specimen." After accomplishing this minor prerequisite, the hard part followed, which meant going "back," back into what was now violent surf, and drilling multiple times into the base of the "selected one" in order to insert just the right amount of dynamite in just the right places, to make a nice "clean cut." After having done this, the next trick would be determining a way to adequately attach this conical slab of stone to the front section of the Satellite, far enough below the surface of the water as to never become visible, even when rocking and rolling in choppy seas. But through great "encouragement" from the governor, not only did his minions bring this into fruition, but did so overnight. There was no time to spare. The Satellite would have to keep its big diesel motors constantly maxed out in order catch the Ecliptic, which was (hopefully) still being propelled solely by her single, yet awesome, sail.

The titanium-hulled Satellite screamed into the oncoming storm with a few faithful henchmen, accomplices who were sworn to the buck and who also loved being part and parcel to the power. Below the water, silently leading the charge, the new addition eagerly awaited its first and final victim. The governor's yacht was vibrating terribly, from its massive motors remaining at full throttle, with her rudder constantly directing the nose of the ship to an intercept-course with the Ecliptic. Running out of time, this storm seemed an excellent—final—opportunity for the governor to do "them" in out of the public eye, to finally put and end to the haunting possibility that these salts aboard the Ecliptic could incriminate him at sometime in the future. And little did the crew aboard the governor's yacht realize that, when this was all over, the governor would feel duly compelled to "off" any and all of his accomplices as well. Finally, there would be finality, a finale; prepare to draw the curtains.

# Chapter XX

It seemed such a fine notion, navigating something, navigating anything. But under these present conditions, which were only intensifying, Joey knew one had better be a master at it, a master like his father, or Humphrey. But Humphrey wasn't here, was he? Could a part of Humphrey still be with him? Joey wondered. What if something were to happen to his father during the course of this storm? Would he be able to step up and sail the Ecliptic successfully, on his own—by himself? It was already struggle enough for the two of them, for he and his father to manage their ship in these violent seas, with the crew being useless to them, shackled below. Could Joey rekindle the coals of a fire that Humphrey had bestowed upon him, within him, into Joey's mind, into his consciousness, into his very constitution? Was it still there? Would it still be there—had it ever _really_ been there? Joey began to doubt.

Since his "experience" with Humphrey, Joey had wanted so badly to try out Humphrey's philosophy of navigating by this alleged inner knowledge, by one's instincts. But Joey had been so doggone preoccupied since then, since when Humphrey had _shared_ "it" with him, to attempt it, to try to instrument it. And supposedly "this phenomena" wouldn't manifest—one wouldn't be able to incorporate it—unless one exercised it, until one believed in it. And this purported ability couldn't be developed without the necessity to do so, wouldn't come about in the absence of dire need. That was the key—necessity! These marine mammals hadn't had any other option, since time immemorial, but to cultivate their instincts into an infallible science, so it seemed.

For just a moment it occurred to Joey that Humphrey's "imparted wisdom" may have been a trick all along, a hoax, designed to entice Joey into a predicament he wouldn't be able to get out of, thus satisfying a hidden desire on the part of this Humpback for revenge. But after considering how everything had come about, he held his faith. Besides, it didn't seem at this rate he would ever have the opportunity to try this. But Joey was to never forget the feeling that'd been rendered him while cruising with the Humpback. It was a feeling too wonderful to put on the backburner, on a shelf, indefinitely. It would take an imminent disaster so tremendous that he would be left with no option or recourse but to put it to the test, to make this inner, innate, device work. Only in such a predicament, evidently, could it come to life. Then, and only then, would this ability spring forth from hibernation like a phoenix summoned from death.

Joey knew, however, his father was too wise and exacting to allow his ship and crew to be thrown into a catastrophe. His father seemed to derive his very strength, daily, by outwitting this widow-maker, the ocean, in all of her forms. It was what he did best of all, had spent his life doing, and what few men ever could do the way his father did, especially under the gravest of conditions in the world's roughest seas. Joey feared that even if the opportunity did present itself someday, either out of necessity or self-induced, by that time he would have gone back to being a regular human, would have forgotten about it, loss the inspiration, or just plain began to doubt it. Joey felt that he'd truly been given something that no other human he knew of possessed. It was a gift, an ability, from a marine mammal.

_Just how do they do it?_ Joey pondered, while actually feeling a little jealous for not being a whale, or some other "human like" marine mammal such as a dolphin, or even an orca.

_Just what are these marine mammals?_ Joey wondered _._

_What is Humphrey, exactly_? _What would they best be called? Might they be called_ _a "marinamal", or perhaps a "humanimal", or "humammal"; "humarinamal"; "humarinmammal"_?

Well, whatever they were, would he ever be able to relate to them or their methods, this method? Is there more?

In the midst of this muse, Joey was interrupted by his father calling to him, telling him to quickly check on the men below, see if they needed anything, get it for them, and get back on deck. It was already one heck of a feat for two men to be sailing the Ecliptic, and with the storm continually growing, the odds would be greatly worsened. The captain knew that in the event of these worsening conditions becoming too severe for just the two of them, the crew would have to be unshackled and allowed onto the main deck in order to save the ship, along with all of their lives. And so, he wanted to ensure the crew would be adequately fed and hydrated.

It was such an odd, awkward feeling for Joey to be humbly offering to assist them, to be asking the bound lowlifes what they needed as far as provisions and so forth. They all seemed to be taking it harder than ever now, after knowing they had been bested once more, and permanently, by that penguin and this boy. For so long they had taken such pleasure at tormenting their young lookout, and now they were all at his mercy. As Joey tended to them, the crew reluctantly requested what their bodies required, while finding it difficult to swallow the water and rations with their pride. The crew was as bitter as raw cranberries in early spring, and just as green with envy and resentment. So sour and preoccupied with spite were the crewmembers as to not be growing concerned with the increasing winds and swells. They were sailors; it was just another storm.

After seeing to the crew, and handling whatever had been needed from him, Joey started for the upper deck. He could hear their grumbling as they mumbled their miserable sentiments through the void of empty threats. Joey could only feel sorry for them, and his pity wouldn't help them one bit. It seemed as though these guys were getting just what they deserved—nothing (and worse)—for their dark deeds in light of their current predicament. But what had drove them to this fate? What made them this way? All of his attempts to be nice to them and get through to them had never been to any avail, had only seemed to make things worse, hadn't altered their destiny of doom one bit. It appeared that throughout their miserable lives these blokes had been intent on getting things the easy way, and resented those who achieved and obtained through hard work, patience, and prudence.

Upon returning back on deck, Joey checked with his father and then went back to his well-known tasks. Though knowing that at any moment his full concentration could be demanded by the storm, for now, Joey continued ruminating while managing his duties on the ship with _that_ part of his mind on "autopilot," and with the rest of his concentration contemplating the nebulous intangibles of the universe.

All of a sudden it hit Joey like a ton of bricks—this realization: Whatever you own, you earned! If you haven't earned something, you don't really own it, and never have; it's not really yours and never was. This couldn't be more pronounced than with ability, someone's ability. No amount of money in the world, for example, could buy an individual ability, an ability to operate an intricate machine, or to become accomplished on a musical instrument, or even the level of literacy necessary to read a book. Everyone (anyone) had to pay one's dues when it came to acquiring an ability to do something, and the desire to do so, or need, seemed paramount to all else. Every person on this planet was on the same terms as everyone else, regardless of one's economic bracket or social status, no exceptions. There wasn't a fast and easy way to become the captain of a ship. It took years of study and experience to manage a ship at sea. The _ability_ to assume "responsibility" for a ship and the safety of her crew was a tremendous ability in itself. But this was second nature to his father. One couldn't expect to navigate a ship, for instance, without a thorough study, background, and knowledge of water and land, and an ability to read any map, chart, or compass, etc. And the ultimate navigator, like his father, held the ability to guide by knowing where one was, and going, solely by observation of the cosmos—except for on a "cloudy" night. How would one navigate then, when unable to locate these stellar reference points, without modern navigational instruments?

Marine mammals didn't have any of these tools available to them and had been forced to "find a way to find their way," or else flounder about in huge bodies of water for eternity. So what if, maybe, (hypothetically speaking) a member of the species Homo sapiens, a.k.a. "human being," was cast into a situation that demanded _its_ best, or better? Could this person do something, learn something, earn something never before owned by a human, let alone approached or even known about—something born from necessity? If these marine mammals, which were so much like humans in so many ways, could navigate around the globe without assistance, then, it follows that a human should be able to do so. But not until this human was "forced" to be able to do so. Strictly speaking, only until a particular human found oneself in such a severe situation, while being completely alone and completely on their own, would a human be forced into procuring this ability. It could only come out of necessity.

This concept—theory—correlated with Joey's early youth, when he was perceived by the other children as different, when he was _alone_ and "forced" to devise a mechanism for individuating from the others, which led to the creation of new abilities. And conversely, as he eventually yielded to the wishes and expectations of the other children, because he wanted to be liked and accepted by others, over time, he stopped developing many of these abilities and eventually forgot they'd ever existed. So he'd lost some of his personal abilities, this collection of respective abilities. Or had he? Or could it be they had been merely lying dormant for all this time, until Humphrey had directed his attention to this portion of his life and woken "this" section of his consciousness from its slumber?

Joey was just about to explode from frustration over this. After reflecting back on his earlier childhood, and likening it to what Humphrey had imparted to him, Joey was growing more and more fixated on finding out if whether or not these purported abilities, which Humphrey had insisted do exist, really did exists and still do exist. And, especially, if they could exist in a human. It was an emotional amalgam consisting of him being "electrified" over this prospect and wanting more than anything to give it a go, coupled with being unable to do so. The emotion felt oxymoronic in nature: the hopeless feeling of being held captive in an inextricable void, while eyeing an immeasurable abundance of opportunity—extreme eagerness in a straightjacket.

But Joey was resolute to never let go of this feeling of exhilaration, this exuberance. Yes, and one day, oh, someday, attempt this process and stay with it until mastering it. And, perhaps, be the first human to do so. Joey began to wish with all of his might for the opportunity to get started with this, right away (now!), when his concentration was disrupted. Out of nowhere, the faint glimpse of an object was appearing, and doing so with a remarkable promptitude. Out here—now? It was a small vessel, and could only be seen when the Ecliptic and this approaching vessel were simultaneously riding high upon a cresting surge. Right when Joey was to alert his father, a foghorn blasted its obnoxious warning, followed by a shout coming from his father: "Approaching vessel—starboard."

It was the Satellite, the governor's yacht. What could "they" be doing out here? Joey quickly got out of sight.

Before you knew it, the Satellite had closed the gap between them and came abreast of the Ecliptic. Sure enough, it was the governor, who was always recognizable, who began speaking to the captain through a megaphone. "Ahoy, Ecliptic. Request permission to come aboard."

They were already preparing a lifeboat and readying to come over and board the Ecliptic as if permission had been granted, as if a refusal to do so would be "unacceptable." The captain wasn't accustomed to being pushed into a corner by anyone. Furthermore, he felt alarmed and considered the Ecliptic's big gun. The captain knew he still had a chance to put an end to this fishy situation. He could either deter or sink this titanium tub by himself, with the cannon. The captain also knew he'd never be able to explain to the authorities (in a million years) why he sunk, shot at, or even threatened the governor's yacht. He'd be incriminated for sure. But concerning the captain most was the knowledge that once invaders board a ship, they own it, and all aboard. This was a well known truism of the sea. The captain knew that soon it would be too late; he'd be at the mercy of the governor's henchmen. He needed more time to think.

"Purpose for wanting to board?" _asked_ the captain, trying to stall and discourage their attempt.

"We heard of the storm, and knew you'd need some assistance manning your ship, to get it through to safety," outlined the governor. "Given the fact you've hardly a crew—you and a boy—I've brought trained personnel to supplement yours. We're coming aboard!"

The captain knew the governor had a good point, and that he simply wouldn't be able to refuse this "gesture," or find another way around this insisted assistance. Yet, despite his apprehension, the captain maintained a firm face, resolute in not letting on to anyone his uneasiness. He would simply have to allow them to come aboard and join him on the journey back to his destination, to the U.K, and hope the intentions stated by the governor were sincere—yeah, right—he had little choice. If anything were to happen to his ship or crew, from him refusing this "help" from the governor, it would be the end of his career at sea, a concept far more intimidating than death itself. There was little more terrifying to the captain than the possibility of him losing his license, his formal sanction to roam the seas. He was, without question, someone who'd never been questioned, had never needed to be questioned. And, dammit, since he'd never been questioned before, he sure as hell didn't want to be questioned now. For his qualifications to be in question, he'd rather die. But then there was the matter of his son and what his wife had asked of him, of both of them, on her deathbed. Paramount to all else would be the safety of his son. For, far more mortifying than anything was the mere thought of something happening to his one and only son, through whom his wife still breathed and her heart still beat.

To return the governor's display of concern, the captain, in an act of appreciation, threw a few ropes over to the Satellite, to fasten to the lifeboat, so there'd be a safe, expedient crossover between the two ships. The lines were tied to the lifeboat as the crew of the Satellite negotiated a workable means of setting this over-sized canoe into the violent surf. Preferably, this would be done without it being engulfed in seawater. Sooner than what seemed practical, four men boarded it, and began making their way through the swiftly swelling waves over to the Ecliptic.

After making his way to a secret hideout, Joey sat in silence as the lifeboat approached. He would have preferred the crow's nest (even though the wind and rain was fierce and the ship rocking violently), but couldn't risk the chance of being seen scaling the mast, and also suspected it might be one of the first places someone might look for him. But Joey had options. Thanks to the incessant badgering he'd endured from his crewmates, Joey had been duly compelled to locate various forms of refuge ("sanctuaries") during his stint aboard this ship. And, due to the Ecliptic being a custom-made job, there were plenty of them: lots of nooks and crannies atypical of a generic line of sea vessel. Earlier on, during his time aboard this ship, Joey, on happenstance, had stumbled upon a hideout that would prove to be his favorite (except for his beloved crow's-nest). It was a place no one would find him. A place no one since the making of this ship had considered, not even his father **.**

It had hardly occurred to anyone, except for the captain, its architects and builders, that the custom design of the ship's single mast was hollow, which tapered in width from the base up to its tip, leaving it particularly "roomy" inside where it united with the ships three decks.

Indeed, this single mast of the Ecliptic, massive in its own right and capable of suspending the Ecliptic's fabulous sail, was hollow. A composite of carbon fiber and polymer, it was infallible in design and construction. So exceedingly adequate in strength was it, as to not require a solid-bodied constitution and, moreover, this hollowness attributed to a far lighter structure. This incomparable composition of the ship's sole mast had, in turn, been securely incorporated into the woof and warp of the Ecliptic's "heart and soul," steadied in place by being bolted to the top two decks, and "woven," literally, into the third deck. Yes, at the third deck (into the "floor" of the third deck), the bottom of this mast opened up, resembling a male peacock's posterior, fanning its feathers of fiber into the adjacent network as a tree might anchor surface roots into surrounding soil. It was here, where this floor also acted as the ceiling above the base of the hull, that a _crypt_ of about six feet tall of "crawl space" had been left for access, where one could inspect this network of braided carbon fiber/polymer "tentacles" to ensure that each was still secured in place with a string of U-clamps. It was also here that Joey would completely disappear, without so much as a trace. For just above the center of all this "focal point" was a rectangular grill cover, which appeared to be for a ventilation duct, with the sole purpose of keeping the rats out. And just behind this was the only entrance into the chamber of the mast. When entering through this rectangular opening, Joey would jump vertically in order to grab hold of a pipe mounted to the ceiling that supplied pressurized water to fire sprinklers. Then Joey would push this grill cover up and out of place with his feet, and pull himself inside. It wasn't easy like this, but Joey was strong, lean and lithe. Besides, who would want to be lazy enough in employing a stepping device, which would only rob the fun from it, not to mention leave a telltale as to where someone might be. Once inside, Joey would replace the grill and crawl into the base of the mast. From the inside, the mast was a gothic-like towering sphere when Joey would shine his flashlight up into it.

Here, in this unlikely sanctuary, Joey would sit quietly within the creaking of the mast, while contemplating something or reading any one of a number of books he'd collected. Except, this time, it wouldn't be to escape the burden of his crewmates. This time it was for real, and Joey knew it. Those blokes out there play for keeps.

Now, Joey would seek refuge behind this unlikely point of entrance, inconspicuously situating himself behind his personal veil of secrecy. Behind it—within it—Joey nestled himself, to wait, to remain, cloaked in sheer unlikelihood.

Once aboard, the additional four ("supplementary crewmembers") went straight to work. Not with assisting the captain with his ship, but with an attempt to comb every square inch of the Ecliptic.

"Where's the boy!" was the first thing said by one of them, while the other three went below, to assess the condition of the crew, to ensure everyone was in place, to ensure things were the way they "should" be.

"Oh, the boy...?" the captain stuttered for a moment. "Why, the fool kid made off in one of the lifeboats, after the penguin I suspect, leaving me to manage this ship on my own—So glad you're here."

Spying around, one could quite plainly see that one of the ship's two necessary lifeboats was indeed missing. But he didn't buy it. This chap remained on deck keeping an eye on the captain while the other three led a thorough search for the boy. After a substantial amount of time the three reappeared on deck, appearing exhausted, and satisfied with their attempt. "Things do seem to be in place," one of them commented, after their efforts failed to produce a boy.

Without answering, the one who'd remained on deck the whole while, and appeared to be in charge of the other three grunts, motioned to the governor as he pulled a walkie-talkie from his coat. As soon as he began delivering his ("progress") report to the governor, the governor began screaming back through his walkie-talkie; everyone could see his face swelling and turning red from across the span of the two, divided vessels.

At this point it would have been obvious to any fool that something was up, that foul play was in the plan. The captain wondered where Joey might be hiding, how long he could remain hidden, or if he were even still aboard. It was a good thing they hadn't found him, and hopefully they wouldn't, because what these guys seemed to have in mind didn't look pretty. And what about him? The captain began considering his means of escaping (which were next to none). In fact, jumping overboard into the cold water without a floatation device during the onset of a storm didn't seem to be much less of an option than remaining on board. It didn't matter anyway. The captain's son was aboard; his crew was aboard. Escaping, by his self, would be an inconceivable notion. A captain doesn't just leave his ship, and certainly doesn't leave his crew to the hands of strangers. And a father doesn't leave his son, his only son, his wife's son—the only thing he had left of her.

The captain began to hope for a way to thwart what appeared to be a horrible situation forming upon the decks of his very own ship. He wondered, _Might there be anything, anyway, to either avert or impede this tragedy?_

After speaking with the governor, these "four" made an even more thorough search of the ship for the boy, which, after said and done, was fruitless. Still not satisfied, and conscientious of time running out and feeling forced to get on with it, the governor prepared to bite the bullet, to make the perilous journey (in a lifeboat) between the two ships, himself. The storm was "pulling in."

The governor's accomplices had been encouraged into trying to intimidate the captain of the Ecliptic, to try and squeeze the truth out of him. But, none of them had the guts to do so, even with it being "four on one," possibly due to these lowlifes realizing that they were "out-classed."

Witnessing the "posturing" taking place aboard the other ship, and observing his four idiots being subdued both emotionally and intellectually by the captain ("psyched out"), the governor felt he'd better get over there fast, before this captain defeated everything the governor had planned. Fully burdened with the haunting possibility the boy could still be aboard the Ecliptic, the governor reluctantly made his way over to "make sure" for himself. This would be his last opportunity to make things "right." He tried to convince himself that the plans he had in mind, this time, would nullify any attempts from any "one," at escaping, especially from a mere boy, should he still be in the picture. The governor continued attempting to reassure himself, _If he's still aboard this ship, he's going down with the rest of them. How could a boy save them? He's probably already dead or in trouble with the sea._

But deep down the governor knew this could be a critical error. At any rate, they would search for the boy on the way in and inform the authorities all along the coast. "Should you find him, a boy in a lifeboat, hold him! This ungrateful kid, I mean 'crewmember', abandoned his ship, leaving it for his poor father to manage by himself—I mean the captain—which, by the way, _has_ cost the life of everyone aboard! We simply weren't able to reach the ship in time."

After making it over to the Ecliptic, the governor ordered his henchmen to, "Get on with it, so 'we' can get out of here!"

At gunpoint, the captain was told to lie face down. A sedative was administered to him, to keep him out of the picture until "things took their course." Next, the captain was taken below to a cold, dark room. It was a separate chamber that the captain kept under lock and key, where special supplies were kept, supplies such as assorted varieties of libation ("spirits") and other treats, which were typically kept from the crew until the captain deemed the time appropriate for them to partake in such substances. There was only one way in and one way out, and the hatch door to this crypt was, of course, always locked. But the key was quickly located on the captain's person and down (inside) they went. This only opening was located at the top of a steep staircase, leading to the storage below. Here the captain was thrown down these steps to further ensure he wouldn't be awakening any time soon. It would appear the captain must have lost his balance during the storm, on this flight of stairs. To add to this likelihood, the governor had his men throw barrels of rum about the place, along with cases of wine and bottles of whiskey, splattering booze here and there—Yes indeed, it sure seems the Ecliptic had to have met with the thick of the storm.

If that wasn't enough, the hatch door was closed (but not locked) and covered with piles of "debris," anything that might have floated and settled on top after the sinking of the ship. Even with the door not locked—locking it would arouse suspicion should the ship be recovered—access leading above had been made impossible for one person trapped below by the shear weight piled against it. This "interior design" would make it appear like a freak accident, as if the storm had brought this about, just in case the authorities actually did recover this ship in one piece. Yes, the good captain was going down to check on the prisoners, after his worthless son abandoned him—leaving him to manage the ship all by himself—when he became disoriented in the dark and went through the wrong hatch door, thus falling down these steps and being rendered unconscious. Of course, to further eliminate any suspicion of foul play, the sedative would be too diluted with seawater to be detected, should the body be found (before the crabs ate him) and an autopsy performed.

It was a perfect plan—almost. That kid, the captain's son, kept looming in the governor's mind. Everything else had been precisely put in place—the table was "set"—except for one piece of the equation, this "one" integer that hadn't been "factored out," hadn't been (completely) cancelled out. After all the meticulous planning and disciplined instrumentation, there was still something the governor was unsure of, and this one boy, who he'd been unable to make perfectly sure of, was a proverbial viper in the bed. The governor couldn't believe this was happening, again; he was beside himself with frustration. _Well, if this isn't just fine. I can't even finish the job fully this time either; again! I'm going to have to find that boy—get him dead or alive. He knows too much. If he really does go for the penguin, I'll surely get him then, if he doesn't drown in the process. And, if by some chance he_ is _still on this ship, he's going down with it, with the rest of them,_ in _the storm. Nobody can save this ship from what I'm gonna do with it, not even an entire crew._

After all floatation devices aboard the Ecliptic had been stuffed onto her only remaining lifeboat, the governor and his retinue prepared to return to their ship—with an extra lifeboat. But just before doing so, the governor took an axe to the big compass located at "the wheel," more as a statement of his frustration than out of concern for anyone possibly navigating by it. It was simply an incredulous—they hadn't found the captain's son!

Once returning to their ship, the lifeboat was tied to the back of the Satellite like a dinghy and would be released later—"timely"—in an area where the Ecliptic quite possibly fell into the heart of the storm, giving investigators an (apparent) idea of where the Ecliptic went down. It might appear that some may have tried to board this lifeboat, when forced to leave their ship, and evidently a mishap occurred at some point, causing them to perish. This would also lead any rescue teams searching for the Ecliptic to an entirely different area from where she actually went down. It would seem that the Ecliptic had made a dash for shore, got in trouble, and it's only obvious she succumbed to the sea, somewhere along the coast.

The Satellite, fully equipped with an elongated, jagged rock mounted at the bow of its titanium hull, jutting before the ship like a primitive battering ram, began preparing to do what it had come here to do. The victims of this unique implement, as planned, would be concluded as having collided offshore with an unexposed rock, a plausible, if not undeniable, explanation. Not only would this submerged prominent proboscis leave an "impression" that would be untraceable to the Satellite (once they abandoned the attached "fixture"), but a puncture into the hull of the Ecliptic below her water line, a gouge so convincingly "natural," thereby instantly eliminating reason for suspicion of foul play.

Even though the Ecliptic was completely unmanned and at the mercy of the violent wind and water, still, it wasn't going to be easy, by any means, in these high seas, to make a clean stab at her. The storm had only been worsening, yet the governor invited this with open arms. These intensifying conditions of the weather was actually consoling, in some ways, to the governor, for it'd only make the tragedy of the Ecliptic seem more credible, and the likelihood of a boy in a lifeboat getting very far (at least above water) very unlikely— _That kid is fish food_.

One person couldn't save a large ship like the Ecliptic, in this storm, by himself, after his son abandoned him. It seems that the captain must have waited too long, until it was too late, before going below to free some, or all, of his crew to "help" him with the ship.

The massive motors of the Satellite churned violently; the rudder swung the yacht about and pointed her nose directly at the Ecliptic, as the boat prepared to ram the ship. By now, waves were rolling over the main deck of both vessels. The governor knew he was running out of time, but also knew he had to do this right. There could be no evidence of his ship colliding with the Ecliptic. One wrong move and the titanium ("rare" metal) hull of the Satellite could blemish the hull of the other ship with its identity—"engrave" into it its very signature. He'd have to ram the Ecliptic in her side, hard enough to mortally impale it, and back away before the swells might push the two ships together in the unintended places. He thought he might come at the ship in three different places. Once in the front, once in the middle, and once in the rear, but— _No, no, that could appear to be "too" symmetrical of a pattern_. _Let's see. Maybe if we ram her twice, and "good," either toward the front, or the back. Or might it be better, possibly, at the midsection? Hmm_.

After considering what might be the best judgment concerning this, it occurred to the governor that (under most circumstances) a ship would be most inclined to strike something, first, in the front. Besides, he didn't have time to ponder this quandary for much longer, he needed to get on with it—But wait! Considering the fact an unmanned ship wouldn't be under anyone's control, would be completely out of control, led the governor to deem it therefore entirely possible, and even highly likely, that such a ship could approach the coast broad sideways, or backwards for that matter. Such a ship might be shoved into the jagged coast, ultimately, in any sort of fashion— _Could have come in upside down for Christ's sake; any which way but loose._

Besides, if this ship had been under the control of somebody, not only would it strike something in her bow, but also the angle of the wound from the forward impetus would have to be just "right." He was lucky; it was an unmanned ship; therefore anything could happen— _I'll stick 'er in the rear, by God! She's mine; I got 'em!_

There would be no "little break" in the storm. Therefore, without further hesitation, the Satellite charged the opposing ship through the opposing waves. Not too fast, not too slow—gotta do this just right—the ocean wasn't helping. Into the backside of the Ecliptic rammed the Satellite, and then quickly pulled away. It was a nice clean stab; the governor breathed a sigh of relief. Now, should he chance another one, one more, or would this one alone suffice. _Ah, let's give 'er another one! Two's a charm._

Again, like a ravaging rhino, the Satellite charged the rear side of the Ecliptic. But this time a violent gust pushed the yacht a little closer to her midsection. It appeared to be another successful blow when, all of a sudden, a tremendous wave struck the Ecliptic, before The Satellite could pull out. Instantly, the two ships were forced into a great big hug.

"Shit; I don't believe it!" screamed the governor. "Pull back! Pull back, you idiots!"

It was too late. The Satellite had signed an admission of guilt, had impregnated the Ecliptic's hull with its own proverbial DNA.

"Gotta sink her out here," the governor demanded, hysterically, "out here where it's nice and deep, where no one can find her! What the hell, might as well give her another. Okay, let's give her another!"

As the Satellite prepared to do so, while approaching the other ship, an enormous wave lifted the Ecliptic so high that it appeared to the crew aboard the governor's yacht that the larger vessel was to land in their laps. After narrowly escaping this one, a few men asked to be excused for a moment, hoping to change into a fresh pair of undies.

"Time to get out of here!" proclaimed an extremely anxious governor. "She's got enough holes in 'er."

The Ecliptic was indeed already beginning to sag in the rear and list to her punctured side. There would be no (apparent) need for a coup de grace today, thankfully.

What a sweet and sour sort of relief for the governor, an aggregate of highs and lows, many emotions, gut wrenching sensations and haunting realizations all combined into a deep sense that things had been taken care of but, still may not have been done well ("clean") enough.

Keeping their distance, the crew aboard the governor's yacht observed as the Ecliptic came in to more and more trouble with the sea. Fortunately these humongous waves seemed to give the impression the ship was much worse off than it actually was, an illusion, a faux-exacerbation concerning the apparent state of her. The swelling seas continued to roll over her deck, swallowing portions of her at times, slapping her around aimlessly, as she continued to face the onslaught of wind and water from her port side.

One saving grace for the Ecliptic, however, had been instrumented during the governor's attempts at making this tragedy at sea appear to be as genuine as possible, from every perspective. All hatchways on the main deck of the Ecliptic had been shut and locked tight, except for one. It was the way things should have been, would have been, under such circumstances. The governor, while he'd been aboard the Ecliptic, had ensured the thoroughfare from the bridge to the lower decks be left open, the access the captain would have "evidently" used to get below just before getting into trouble.

Joey knew if he could stop the water in time, then he might be able to seal in enough air within the hull of the Ecliptic to prevent her from going down. It would be a race with time. From out of his hiding place he emerged, as he raced to achieve this objective as quickly as possible; he knew this ship like the back of his hand.

First he would latch and seal all secondary (inside) doors in the vicinity surrounding the two puncture wounds. Once doing so, these "thoroughfares" would be totally watertight, and the greater the pressure against them from the outside force of the water, the tighter the seal would become. It would be a design analogous to that of a submarine. Should a problem occur in one quarter, it'd simply be the process of sealing off that section from the rest of the vessel. This design had been instrumental during the creation of the Ecliptic, something the Titanic had purportedly achieved but unfortunately, and demonstrably, had only hoped to achieve.

Only the immediate chambers in the proximity of the gashes, those narrow areas next to the hull, would become flooded, less than a third of the ship theoretically—hopefully. The Ecliptic was to see if she was worth what her captain "knew" she was worth. But, the captain had been sedated. So deeply "out of it" was the captain that if he'd been a dental patient being addressed with a hammer and crowbar, he'd been as unaware of what was occurring as he was now.

Then it occurred to Joey, _We have to take on water! Enough water to submerge us, as if we were a mammal, a sea mammal, but not enough to sink us!_

It was simply brilliant. Why did a sea vessel need to be above the surface in the first place? Why couldn't something simply remain just below the surface, like a whale? Why did human ships need to be constantly "on top" of the water? _This ship doesn't need to be above the surface, taking the onslaught of the storm. Hell, we could be just below it, like a submarine, like a whale for heaven's sake. So why don't we?_

But how would he ever convince the crew to assist him with such a controversial notion, an unlikely plan, especially with the crew already scared to death of going down with their ship? It was here that Joey realized that if he was "to be able" to push the envelope with his idea, he would first have to somehow gain the cooperation of his fellow crewmembers—he'd have to shove it home to the morons. But how?

"Help us, Kid," the crew screamed, "please help us; we're drowning! Can't you see we're all going to drown?"

"Look, we're all going to make it 'if' we stick together. Now look, I need you, and you need me, and we all need each other. Regardless of what you think of me, if you don't do exactly what I say we're all sure to perish."

"Sure, Kid, whatever you say—Where's the captain?"

"I'm not sure. I've only been concerned with saving this ship and as many aboard her as I can."

Members of the crew had already messed their britches by now. They could feel their ship taking on water and they knew what was happening; they were "all" ready to listen. These were quite some words coming from a kid, the captain's son.

"Now it is imperative in the extreme that you do exactly as I say, or otherwise, we are all 'History'! I **am** your captain right now. You must understand that. Right now, I am your captain; I am your commander and chief!"

"Sure, Kid—I mean Captain—whatever you say."

"Now I'm going to free all of you, each and every one of you, because I need all of you, and right now we all need each other, every one of us does, to work together as a team, to save this ship, to save our lives, all of our lives. Now what I'm going to be asking from each and every one of you is going to appear out of the ordinary, at first. But it you don't do as I say and work together with me on this, this ship is going down, along with all of us. Now listen up—we're going to invert this ship!"

"Kid, you're crazy! No way!"

"We have to; it's our only way out of here! Now the rear end is sagging, so we're going to have to let a little water in the front quarter in order to balance her out!"

"Kid, you're bloody crazy! We've already taken on enough water, far too much water for me, be it."

"You don't understand. If we don't do this, we're all victims of the sea. Do you wish for your women back home to refer to you as 'fish fodder', as some other bloke replaces yuh: sleeps in your bloody beds; beats you're bloody children; does what he may to your wife? You can imagine the rest."

"How could you know all this, Kid? We thought you were but a kid."

There was some evidence that Joey had struck the right nerve with his crewmates, for this very concept seemed to frighten them much more than dying. So without delay, before the crew could sidetrack themselves, Joey continued the momentum he'd somehow managed to initiate.

"Time to get to work, Comrades—it's now or never! We're gonna need fresh water and flashlights; lots of flashlights. It's gonna get dark in here, so get every flashlight and battery you can find!"

Joey began explaining the procedure to the crew, and as they were listening, not surprisingly, many questions were aroused. Joey reiterated, "I don't have time—we don't have time—for me to explain everything. I've got it all figured out. This can work; it will work, _if_ you do what I say."

One by one the crew began to acquiesce. They were preparing to carry out their orders when one of the crew asked, "Where's your father, Kid!"

"Oh my God! Where is my father? Where is my father? Help me find him, please, all of you, help me find him."

It was at this point that the entire crew realized their young lookout was for real. It was "now" that they realized they had a new captain. "We'll go find him, Boy—I mean Captain. You just continue on with business, Sir."

Down through the hatch doors they raced in search for someone they'd always admired, always respected, continually depended on for their safety, but never liked.

The governor couldn't stand it. Atop the main deck of the Satellite the governor continued pacing and shouting, "What the hell is going on? Why the hell isn't she going down? How come she hasn't gone under by now? Shit, I don't believe it! I can't believe it!"

There was no way anyone was going to attempt to board the Ecliptic at this point. That notion was inconceivable. It was actually completely inconceivable to even try to ram her once more. In fact, if the Satellite didn't get out of there soon, than it wouldn't be beyond probability that the governor and crew could find themselves in a jam, too, due to this storm only continuing to intensify.

The only thing that was "really" _concerning_ Joey, apropos to his design of flooding major portions of the ship and thusly inverting her, was the mast, the darned hollow design of the ship's single mast. When the ship became inverted, would the mast be watertight? Would the mast remain watertight? Was it really capable of sustaining such pressure, submerged below the ship, upside down? Just then a few crewmembers emerged from below, as if attempting to resurrect a 200-pound sack of potatoes. It was admirable someone had managed to locate the captain. "Boy, our captain sure was livin' it up downstairs in the booze room," one of the more stupid of the crewmembers remarked.

"You idiot. My father rarely drinks," Joey barked, in defense of his father. "And if he'd had a mind to do so, it wouldn't have been under these conditions. While you were all chained below, they drugged my father with something; I don't know what with. And then they threw him below to bring on the demise of this ship and everyone aboard her. Get my father to a secure area, now, at the other side! We're gonna flood this side."

For some reason the crew didn't mind taking orders from the kid. It was the captain's kid, and the captain was still "gone."

Through a few of the starboard portholes, near the bow, Joey ascertained they still had company, observing the Satellite bobbing like a buoy atop the massive swells. All the work would have to be done below, out of sight of the governor and his henchmen, which was just as well because no one wanted or needed to go on deck. Nor could they trim the massive sail without giving themselves away, which was catching the wind and water like a parachute in a hurricane. This single sail of the Ecliptic would be highly instrumental for the plans Joey had for their redemption, and would need to be open to facilitate this function. But first, and most importantly, every crack, orifice, whatever, would need to be completely sealed water tight, for the main deck was to become, in effect, the bottom, serving in place of the ship's keel. The flying bridge and higher superstructures of the Ecliptic would soon become the "lower" sections, and would contain the majority of the water that Joey intended to allow into the ship, in essence her new ballast. Joey and the crew would have to quickly move all heavy items from below, to the top of the ship, working furiously to accomplish this, due to time running out. It already felt like the Ecliptic might break apart if she continued to confront the worsening storm from her side and with a full sail. It was exhausting work, but in a short period much of it had been completed. Only a few heavier items were deemed unnecessary for now, and once the ship was inverted it would be far easier to manage them, by virtue of gravity, should the need to do so become evident.

So here they go. First the thoroughfares on her gashed, starboard side would need to be reopened to allow the entrance of seawater, flooding that side of the vessel and literally turning her 90 degrees on her side. In addition to the weight of the water would be much help from the high wind and water striking the ship's port side, into her full sail, and pushing the sail into the ocean. Once this was accomplished, the next vital feat would be to open the thoroughfares through to ("just below") the main deck, allowing water to rush into that quarter, thus flooding it, and theoretically completing the inversion of the ship. As soon as this had been completed, the next imperative would have to be resealing the openings that had invited entrance of the seawater. At this point the ship's mechanical system could furl the sail under water without knowledge to the governor and his crew, who were all just dying for a good excuse to make haste out of there.

It would prove to be a more gradual process than what Joey had counted on. The design of the Ecliptic didn't seem to agree with what Joey had in mind, partly due to her massive, hollow mast. Initially she quickly refuted this notion. But, after a bit of persuasion on the part of Joey's insistence, the big ship would grant full permission to Joey's plan by rolling over on her back like a little puppy dog. Step by step, the crew followed their replacement-commander's instructions, as if all had an innate need to be commanded by someone. Eventually their ship would consent to Joey's gentle persuasion. The crew didn't seem to notice their orders were coming from a boy. Fortunately their training to follow orders and work as a team quickly "kicked in" and they simply followed the systematic pattern Joey had explained to them. It was no different from any other crisis, the many times Joey had observed his father and crew pulling together to prevent disaster from the sea.

Over the Ecliptic rolled, another 90 degrees, to a full 180 degrees from her "upright" position. It was time to lock and seal everything capable of permitting in any further seawater. Joey quickly reiterated to his crew that they "Check, and then recheck, every opening!"

They'd taken on enough water and surely didn't want to take on too much. Now down was up and up was down. It was confusing; it was dark in places. All about the inverted ship the crew scrambled—the ceiling now the "floor"—checking everywhere and everything, over and over, knowing they'd have to continue doing so for the duration of the journey.

Finally the fact that they'd actually done it really began to "sink in" on the crew. Some of them began to imagine the worse, while speaking amongst one another, realizing just what the boy had "hypnotized" them into assisting him with. "Okay, we're upside down now, Kid. Now, what the hell are we supposed to do? Do you _even_ know what you're doing?"

"Look, we're all here, and we're doing this because this is the only way out. Get a clue—I'm tired of you all's stupidity!"

Joey felt he might be able to speak his mind a bit at this point, since the first stage of the mission had been accomplished, and that they were all "in it" together now, like it or not, sealed like a tin of sardines.

This crew, though not accustomed to being lectured by a boy or being directed by a fifteen year old or being told that if they didn't do exactly as told they were all to perish, seemed to be doing okay with it. Joey understood that it was mostly their anxieties causing them to question a captain's command. He knew he must remain in control of everyone, for the survival of everyone.

"Look, we're all going to be fine, if you do exactly as I say. The ship is secure now, and I know we'll be able to ride this storm out, like we're currently doing. But you must continue obeying **my** command! So, I'll reiterate. Either you do exactly as I say, or we can all cash in our chips. It's as simple as that. You're wives and family will never know what befell you, unless you listen to me. And as crazy as what I have to say to you might seem, if you don't do as I say we're all going to die. And fellows, I can assure you, I'm just as afraid of dying as you. I'm not crazy; you have to follow my orders or else!"

Then Joey thought about it. Leaving his lecture on a "malignant" note might not be the most tactful way to end it. These guys were scared enough. They needed some optimism, something to help allay their fears, something to give them some hope. "But guess what, Guys? We are going to continue working together on this, and we're 'all' going to make it. And if the captain were conscious right now, he'd tell you the same thing. Just wait until he awakes."

Poor Joey's dad was still completely out of it. Joey and a few of the crew hauled their unconscious captain to a safer area of the ship where they would continue trying to speak to him and revive him.

With only her keel bobbing sporadically above water, the Ecliptic resembled a submarine skimming the surface, and at times, during an enormous wave, a whale surfacing to clear its blowhole. The power was still on in some places. But for how much longer? It was critical that someone get (swim) "down" to the controls in the bridge, find and activate the mechanism governing the mast, and completely furl that sail; wrap it tighter than a bun. This way the current under them, upon the sail, would have little bearing on the Ecliptic. Joey also hoped this single mast would be the first indication they were nearing shore, when (if) it happened, when it would drag the bottom in shallow water, and even possibly act to some degree as an anchor. But then it occurred to Joey, should the power and mechanics continue to function, this giant sail might somehow be used for what it was designed for: a propulsion device (harnessing water, instead of air). And even perhaps a rudder, to keep the ship's rear end directed at the onslaught of massive waves. He would have to play with this idea a bit, see how the current played with the sail, to determine whether this would work or not, whether or not it might be a completely bad idea or offer some "potential." Potential anything, now, translated to "everything." Perhaps, if by opening the sail just the right amount in the right direction, they might not only be able to propel their bobbing vessel somewhat by the current but hopefully direct the ship on a course, by rotating the sail under water. After all, this sail was designed for an "ocean of air." So, why couldn't an ocean of water, in some way, produce a similar effect, i.e. influence the sail and therefore the ship, if done correctly?

Joey knew he didn't want to put any undue stress on the single part of the ship he wasn't entirely sure about. Theoretically, this design of carbon fiber and polymer, which constituted the entirety of the mast, would hold up, should hold up, under water, under minimal water pressure, provided it didn't have any openings of any kind anywhere. And, ironically, should there be an opening in the form of a crack somewhere in the mast, substantial water pressure against this area could actually serve to seal it, by pressing it together. Of course, the further down into the water something was, the more likely anything could happen, and the tip of the mast was "down there!" As far as Joey knew, the hollowness did extend all or most of the way to the tip. This, coupled with the stress being placed upon the mast by underwater turbulence striking the sail, could be too much. Should this mast be put under excessive strain, then, it could be entirely possible for a problem to ensue. And Joey knew that by allowing a problem, there would be consequences. And, as with all consequences, one had to deal with them, which were often in the form of very unwanted circumstances. One significant opening in the hollow mast and the Ecliptic could go down with both lungs full of water. Nothing had happened yet— _Gotta get down there and trim that sail!_

After several attempts, Joey was able to get it done. It was a matter of clearing his lungs, taking a few deep breaths to oxygenate the body, then, taking two-thirds of a lung full to go below (Joey had been trained that a full breath of air would only expand in the lungs prematurely). Joey swam below to the controls, did what he could before coming back up for air, and repeating the process. Everything was inverted, and dark, so one had to know the ship and these controls cold. Yet the greatest obstacle was the profuse debris being sloshed around, some of it partly buoyant. One didn't want to get trapped or crushed by any of this "flotsam." Finally, with his crewmembers watching in astonishment, Joey demonstrated his ability to think and achieve the improbable. Indeed they were impressed, and left in a bedazzled state of wonder. Was this really the tyke they'd been badgering all this time? Was the captain's son truly becoming a man, or had he already arrived?

Quickly the ship stabilized and it was determined the Ecliptic wasn't taking on any more water at this point, and what water she had accepted was acting as sufficient ballast. The Ecliptic was still listing some to her starboard side, where seawater would ebb and flow from the two cavities in this side, but otherwise she was doing okay. These two puncture wounds, though an unlikely "saving grace," would ultimately prove to be what Joey had calculated (and prayed) as their only means of exit. For it would be through these perforations that he and the crew might eventually escape. If not for a least one of these two gashes in the side of their ship, the crew may have had no other means of "aborting mission" when it would become necessary to do so. They would have been trapped interminably in a hermetically sealed can. One of these two gashes, in her lower (now upper) side, would be a means of "depressurizing the cabin." Some of the force of external seawater surrounding them would be "duped" into entering the appropriate areas. By allowing "some" water to enter an authorized entrance (the adjacent gash), in which they intended to escape their ship through, this area would momentarily be rendered pressure and vacuum free. The water pressure against all other openings on this ship, by virtue of them being scores of feet under water, was far too great for an exit. Pressure that was sealing in the very air they needed to remain afloat, to breath, and to prevent the encroachment of further seawater. Only the openings to these two gashes, bobbing just above and below the surface, could be opened. All other openings, if opened—even if they could be opened—would introduce a blast of water equivalent to that of a hundred fire hydrants, thus knocking the crew silly and sinking the ship immediately. It would be only in the area of the two gashes that their crippled ship would allow them an exit. So eventually the process would be reversed, hopefully, and allow them access from this pocket of air within the Ecliptic's hull, this veritable dungeon, and freeing them from this. A dungeon to be correct, but it was better than death, for now.

Joey calculated they had at least several days of "fresh" air trapped within the hull of their submersible and told the men to, "Kick back, relax—try to **not** exert yourself," though he didn't bother explaining why.

They'd managed to salvage plenty of provisions, most importantly drinking water and sports-type beverages with electrolytes. Most of the foods wouldn't be encouraged due to them requiring more fluids in order to aid digestion, and the knowledge that this would increase the metabolism within the body, increased metabolism they didn't need during this motionless period, not to mention additional sanitation issues. Though the crew brought to Joey's attention there was an abundance of "spirits" aboard, "Might as well make use of it, Sir."

Joey emphatically clarified that the booze was strictly "off limits." Though he knew that some alcohol might have calmed their jitters some, he also knew it would quickly lead to dehydration, that alcohol "ties up" the body's ability to assimilate water. Besides, they couldn't take the risk, for the fools would need their full wits about them. Everyone was being surprisingly cooperative. In fact, it might be an understatement to say the entire crew understood, inherently, the "gravity" of their situation. The barrels of rum and so forth continued tumbling around with the seawater below, adding to the ballast, while the crew sat on the ceiling of their ship's bottom deck, staring above at what had been "floor space," for storage and ballast—the bottom of the Ecliptic's hull.

As the governor witnessed the Ecliptic doing a 90 degree roll, and then another "90" to a complete 180%, and appearing as if she were preparing to go completely under, he and his crew were keeping a sharp eye out for any glimpse of the captain's son, hoping the kid would flee the sinking ship and emerge tangled in one of these enormous waves. When no such sighting of a boy was presented to any of them, the governor moaned a sigh of relief while a sense of momentary gratification beamed from his exhausted face. Could this be real? What he was witnessing—was it really real? Finally, the heavy load, the governor's burden, the worry in his stress-ridden face, seemed to vanish suddenly, for a moment, and would have vanished almost completely if not for the realization that the kid could be on the high seas somewhere in a lifeboat. _If he was on that ship, he's dead, or soon to be. But if he wasn't, where is he?_

This constant reminder of that damned kid, of the one thing he hadn't handled ("terminated"), was a major thorn in his side, wouldn't stop haunting him, and it'd already been a rough couple of days. And if that wasn't enough, now, the keel of the Ecliptic was refusing to go under. It continued pulsing in and out of the water like an enormous whale, reminding the governor that everything might not be so perfectly peachy and rosy. And the strangest thing—the Ecliptic had mysteriously turned 180 degrees, and was now facing the brunt of the storm with its stern. How odd. The governor didn't dare bring his ship any closer to the much larger Ecliptic for another shot. It was getting dark, and the waves were still growing, tossing both ships at will. For the governor to keep his ship within proximity of this unlighted, incapacitated vessel, after dark, was to risk colliding with it at some point. Besides, there was pressing business back home. He would leave this scene and head for home, hoping to catch a few winks of sleep, the first in a while. But, despite leaving the storm, there wasn't to be any peace for the governor. Not for any foreseeable time, anyway.

For now, Joey and the crew would sit tight, conserve energy, and hopefully not be forced into having to "take care of something." They'd simply ride the storm out, hope they weren't entering any trouble, and wonder what the heck might happen to them. It was so strange to hear the wind and waves striking the keel. It was a type of wrenching, whistling hiss never before heard by any of them. And when a massive wave would strike the base of the hull, as it would when the Ecliptic would surface with a surge from the ocean, the sound was typical to that of a thunder clasp reverberating all around them. But the immediate concussion was that of a quadraphonic sub woofer system from hell, as if the air pocket in the hull surrounding them was acting as an enormous bass drum being kicked by the heel of Neptune himself.

The temperature wasn't too bad for them, within their wet suits. They were as ready as possible for anything, knowing that anything could happen at anytime. They all felt so powerless, so unable to alter their fate in any way. Even if they could propel or direct the ship with the sail at some point, how in the world would they know which way to go, or which way they were heading? Though the rest of the crew was oblivious to this one key factor, Joey was not. He had observed this "ace in the hole" and hoped to capitalize on it. The storm was sweeping across the ocean in the direction of the North African Coast. By keeping their ship's stern facing the onslaught of the wind and water, this would be, in effect, giving them a shove in the direction toward the prospect of eventual landfall.

As each continued to sit in silence, pondering their respective concerns, Joey began to think about Humphrey, and what the big Humpback had insisted was, or could be, in the power of someone, even a human.

# Chapter XXI

After "taking care" of the captain and crew aboard the Ecliptic, the governor raced back to Cape Town to take care of yet another urgent matter, while constantly on the lookout for a boy in a lifeboat. The governor figured he might have to let the Gentoo "slide" for awhile, thinking that if the boy happened to still be alive, then as long as the Gentoo remained alive, the boy would eventually come for this "particular penguin." So, for now, another would become the immediate target of the governor. It was to be yet another penguin at the top of the governor's "hit list"—Jake.

The governor would need to keep his faithful accomplices around for a little while longer. They would need to remain "healthy," in order to assist him with a quick and clean job, until the governor could finish things properly (this time), until all problem penguins could be terminated properly.

So much had happened in the last day or two, while the governor had been away on a "rescue mission." It seems that (miraculously) some media nerd had actually captured footage of Jake behind the cannon, while the cocky Jack Ass Penguin sporting the lavender bandana had been chiseling away at the governor's mansion. This footage had been broadcast repeatedly around the world, and not so surprisingly a great deal of people had found it amusing—but not the authorities who'd found themselves in the crosshairs of the cannon on that night. Animal rights advocates around the world were already assembling in defense of the ballsy Jack Ass Penguin, and the governor felt he had to think and act fast in order to retain the upper hand. Hey, how about something at the zoo? The zoo might be perfect. That way the little nuisance would be under lock and key and constant surveillance. As soon as returning to South Africa, the governor would go on the air, address the nation, and proclaim, "This particular Jack Ass Penguin, in paying his debt to society, will have to 'help out' at the zoo. He'll do a stint of time working there, shoveling manure in the large mammal stalls!"

But these new "advocates for Jake" were springing up like mushrooms in peat after a rain, and were already advocating a defense for "the accused," informing the world that this particular Jack Ass Penguin was a mere bird, an unconscionable animal: "Couldn't have known what it was doing—must be 'pardoned' immediately!"

For the governor, this simply wouldn't do. There would have to be some sort of punishment for the bird's previous action. Actually, the governor had always held a deep hatred for these damned activists. It was the same as for anyone that would defy him, but much more so for this group. It seemed that every time something happened, whether it was birds caught in an oil slick, or sharks caught in a fisherman's net, or whales "inexplicably" washing ashore, it was these types that had always had something _revealing_ to say about him and his current policy on matters concerning the environment. Not only had the governor grown tired of this incessant criticism directed at him, which he referred to as "mindless drool," but, moreover, secretly he'd always wanted a way to get back at "those socialist bastards." And for the first time, the governor was feeling he might have a way of doing so. The governor wondered if he were able to get these environmentalist morons really riled up about something, really up in arms over something ridiculous, then maybe society would start seeing them for the "senseless fanatics" they really were. He knew he'd have to act fast, but couldn't go as far as having the dumb, derelict Jack Ass destroyed—yet. But what could they do to him if he _merely_ had a little corporeal punishment administered to the "mischievous tyke?" The governor would feel better knowing he'd had the last laugh with the little devil, and these damned Animal Right's Advocates (for now), by chapping the Jack Ass's hide, live, on camera, by spanking his little jack "ass" in front of the world. This should create quite a stir with the activists—"really 'get 'em going'!" Then, after his spanking, every activist in the world can come down to the zoo and witness the little shit shoveling shit. Let' see what they have to say about that. That should make a scene.

Unfortunately this would have to do for now, until opportunity could present something better, something more; until he could do the job "fully" at some later point.

From the Satellite, the governor declared to the public (Animal Right's Advocates), via the media, who in turn decided to disseminate the governor's message all over the globe: "Okay, if you feel the bird is but a child, then we'll treat him as a child. We'll give him a spanking in public—punishment for destruction of 'tax-payer' property!"

These advocates felt this notion horrific in nature and began voicing their protest worldwide, threatening to rally in support of the little penguin should such an action actually appear imminent. But the South African authorities were with the governor on this one (it seems as though they too had a score to settle with the bird). So, the governor began arranging things from the Satellite, as he and his henchmen raced back to Cape Town for the "event." The governor considered having a helicopter come for him, to hasten his journey, but realized the wind and waves were too violent to lift him from his ship safely. Besides, only until they were completely out of the storm would someone be able to hop in the water for the purpose of disconnecting the jutting shard of boulder, which was still firmly intact, from the front of the Satellite. At the cost of another sleepless night, the governor felt it necessary to stick around during this process to ensure the crew did indeed "pull it off"—lest the idiots pull into port with the damned thing still attached.

First a messenger would be sent to the Jack Ass Penguin colony with a decree from the governor ordering them to turn in their comrade. "Jack Ass Penguins—'illegal aliens of Africa'—hand over Jake at once or the whole lot of you will feel the wrath of the governor's fury!"

The event (spanking) would be televised with Jake's peers present, the whole Jack Ass Penguin colony, and a few other "special" guests, at a secret location to prevent any interruptions, especially from those friggin' activist. These activists were to witness on international television what they'd sought to stop, but had failed to stop, making them all madder than hell. Oh, the governor was simply loving it already.

Not being sure of how cooperative the timid Jack Ass Penguin colony might be with his current plan (threat) concerning his mandate for them to turn over their comrade Jake, the governor thought he might as well be as persuasive as he could. The governor ordered military personnel to post signs and banners already advertising the event, and had them patrol the region The Jack Ass Penguins often occupied. The Jack Ass Penguins, collectively, were already evidently intimidated because none could be seen on land, a sure indication they were either hunting or hiding, and they wouldn't have been hunting all day. Indeed these poor little penguins had gathered for a meeting in a remote location to discuss their impending predicament, all voicing their concerns and considering various options, to decide what the solution might be, while waiting for Jake to join them. When Jake finally arrived, he was made aware of their situation and told that the only logical solution would be for him to simply take his spanking in public, and then it would be all over with. Just like that, they'd all be able to return to business as usual with no further consequences.

"What? Are you crazy? I ain't gonna be no whippin' boy! Ain't gonna be no whippin' boy and play the part of a rich pig's toy!"

"Ah, come on, Jake. It's no big deal. Think about the rest of us. What about us, huh?"

"What about Y'all? You all ain't never been nuthin' but a bunch of wimps, no how."

"Jake, you're impossible; you've always been impossible to reason with. Please, won't you listen to reason for just once?"

"Me, listen to reason? What's so reasonable about bowing down to this 'pig' of a human like a bunch of spineless cowards, huh? You're all spineless. You're not penguins, your crustaceans—shrimp, krill, or somethin'."

"Jake, we're going to ask you again. We don't want to have to turn you in; we were hoping you'd come to your senses and do it yourself. In the first place, you didn't have to 'go off' like that with the cannon, Jake. Everything could have been handled nice enough without you blowing the hell out of everything the way you did."

"Turn me in—you miserable rats—you'd actually turn me in?"

"No, no, Jake, we'd never turn you in. We simply need you to listen to reason and do what's right, what's best for everybody."

"You pathetic rats; you'd actually turn me in! Actually, you're not rats; rats would be too good for yuh. You're mice."

"Jake, we don't deserve it."

"Yes you do. And I'll tell you what else. We're through. Me and you are through. You peasants are on your own, now. I don't need you. I tried to encourage you into showing a little 'ruffled-feather' from time to time, but you want get it; you're all spineless. You wait and see. You're gonna be sorry for your lack of courage, for being as yellow as a baby duck. That's what you are, you're all ducks. Ducks, not penguins, ducks—'baby ducks'! Can you say: 'Quack, quack'? I'm sure you can."

"Jake, don't go. We all love you and admire you. Not everyone is cut out to be as fearless as you."

"It's not about being fearless, it's about conquering your fear; about not letting your fear conquer you. Fear is one's own worst enemy. It's what your enemy uses to conquer you. I hope some day you guys develop some spine, for your own good. Goodbye."

"Jake, wait a minute. Let's talk about this some more, please."

"I'm through talkin', and I'm leavin', and don't none of y'all try to stop me. Good luck; good life."

With that, Jake turned for the final time for the water and disappeared. His colony knew there was nothing they could do; they'd apparently crossed the Rubicon with him this time. It was the saddest moment for all of them.

They were an unusual pair, an unlikely combination, a hippo and a penguin, especially an Antarctic penguin. Already, in just two days, this motley duo had generated plenty of suspicion amongst the zoo staff concerning themselves. In fact, enough suspicion that if it hadn't been for the governor's strict orders for them to "not change anything" until he returned, the zookeeper would have already moved the "not so" Hopelessly Happy Hippo to another quarter. Walder knew they had to act quickly, and so convinced Herman to "do this" with him—tonight.

"Oh... Okay, Penguin. You've been good luck so far. Not easy luck, but good luck."

Previously, Herman had held the notion that his best odds at an escape would be after the zoo had packed up and left, when they would be in the wilderness on the train, where the train would stop at a water-tower for instance, or be making a slow, uphill climb somewhere. Then and there he'd "go for it;" he and his honey would be able to make a clean escape. This seemed like a sensible, workable, plan to him.

But Walder quickly pointed out the possibility that the train may not stop in an ideal location, that they may not even be on the same tracks that brought them here, going by the water-tower next to the pond, in the bush. And indeed the train may not even stop or slow down at all. He could end up in the next town before he knew it and have to wait indefinitely for another opportunity. However, if he were to explain the plan to his honey and escape now, then it would be his call as to where the train stopped. He could barricade the tracks in an ideal location, stop the train, and make a clean break with his honey.

"Here's the deal, Herman. I can just sense the governor is going to be back anytime now, by the way the humans are acting. When the cat is away the 'mice' will play. They're going to be getting in a little 'last minute festivities' tonight, if you know what I mean. So I just know the governor's gonna be back sometime tomorrow; I can just feel it. So, It's tonight or possibly never. When they're outside raising cane, you break the lock to my cage—while they're being loud. And, after they're asleep, sometime late, I'll come out. I'll need to fly through the air vents in the ceiling and somehow figure out a way of unlocking the back door. I know the zookeeper has a key to that door, even though I haven't figured out exactly how I'm gonna get it."

"Oh, if worse comes to worse, you make sure you save yourself, Penguin. I'll be okay."

"Well, let's think positive here. Hmmm... Wait! I may have an idea."

There were many options (with so many variables) seeming to offer a fair amount of opportunity to do this, to do something. But there'd only be one shot at it. Walder struggled to recognize what their best shot might be. If only there was more time. He'd seen Joey do this, how Joey considered all the ramifications and so forth and would miraculously come up with something spectacular, something ingenious. _Hmmm..._

Herman, on the other hand, had always advocated the use of force. "Ah, heck, I can just break that door down anytime I want to."

"Yeah, I know you can. But you might bring so much attention on yourself as to not be able to make a clean break for it."

Walder was right, of course, and Herman was bright enough to realize it. Although Herman had always known that he could trash this zoo, rip a hole in any part of it and escape, he also knew that once doing so, when outside on the street of a city, he'd still be within the confines of a mega mass of asphalt and concrete? He would certainly not escape that. What would he do then? Who knows, when captured, he might be classified as "a dangerous animal," even fall under the criteria for being a "candidate for euthanasia" by one of these cold-hearted humans.

"Herman, you see that personnel carrier over there? That thang's supposed to carry up to twenty or thirty men, in full battle gear, all at the same time. Do you think you could fit in the back of that thang?"

"Not comfortably, but I could get _in_ it—on it."

"Okay, maybe it'll fit into the plan somewhere, somehow."

"Well, how you gonna to get a key for it?"

"The key's in the ignition, twenty four hours a day, along with everything else around here, even the tanks."

"Oh."

Walder was wondering if he created a ruckus somewhere, maybe west of the zoo. _No, that might cut off they're access back to the ocean._ In fact a commotion anywhere would only serve to alert the troops outside, and they were beginning to appear as if they were lowering their guards for the first time in two days. Hopefully something would come to him, come to him soon enough.

Just as Walder had predicted, the security outside began getting boisterous, and eventually engaging in a bit of a partying. It had been so boring just hanging around the zoo for them, for several days and nights. Nothing was going to happen to that penguin.

Soon it was getting pretty loud. Loud enough (hopefully) for Herman to rip the lock off of Walder's birdcage with his massive jaws.

"Wait a minute, Hermie Baby," Walder whispered. "You might hurt your gorgeous teeth that way. Just tear that top post off your corral there, stick it between the bars of this cage, and pry the bars open with it."

Well, if the hippo could pry a railroad track off of its crossties with a metal shaft, then the wrought iron network of this aviary should present little difficulty. But what would be the best way of removing a rail from his corral, without the risk of snapping it in two? _Hmmm_ , Herman thought. Then, without a second thought, Herman lunged headfirst toward this top rail at the entrance of his corral, striking the rail at its ends a few times until the thing popped loose at one end. Then, by grabbing this freed end with his powerful jaws, Herman was able to wrench the other side free, utilizing this maximum leverage, with barely a tug—oh, the raspy sound of heat-treated, pressurized lumber being ripped from the anchor of large nuts and bolts: _Screeech_ —Pop!

Next, would be a few vertical bars of Walder's confinement structure. Since this aviary had been constructed to contain a mere penguin, and since an excessive degree of metal would have served only to block the spectator's view of the Gentoo during its "performances," the selected two bars, midpoint between their horizontal reinforcement, acquiesced to Herman's tonnage with barely a whimper.

"Good job, Hermie Baby. Good job and 'thank you'."

Now it'd be a matter of time, of sitting it out, waiting, until the right time arrived. Hopefully no one would enter the zoo and see the bars of the aviary pried askew. The zoo staff didn't have the incentive to enter the zoo in the late hour, and the governor's boys were all on their way to becoming sufficiently sloshed.

The hours ticked on. What would Walder do once leaving this enormous zoo facility? He'd be floundering around like a chicken in a fox den. How would he be able to free Herman? Would something present itself or would he remain stumped for a solution?

On and on the night progressed. The boisterousness outside the zoo had quieted to a rumbling, collective snoring. This might be the last chance for any of these men to get some shuteye, before the governor returned, and they seemed to be capitalizing on the opportunity to do so when— **Cabooom...!**

"Whoa, what was that—Did you hear that, Hermie?"

"Hear it, how could I not hear it? It shook the whole joint—my bones are _still_ rattling!"

The entire zoo was reverberating from the blast, for moments, and moments—but calm was never to return. Every animal was testing the strength and design of its enclosure, flexing to capacity the steel and timber securing their confinement, bellowing and roaring at the top of their lungs, desperately seeking a way out.

Next, an object, accompanied by its shadow, began whisking about the place like a field mouse in the kitchen of a farmhouse— _Who, or what, is that?_

Much to the surprise of this "thing," Walder hopped through the open bars of his aviary to confront this, this whatever it is. "It _"_ was a Jack Ass Penguin!

"How'd you get out!" _it_ demanded.

"Hey, what are doing?" Walder demanded in return.

"Well, since you're already free, I want need to concern myself with _you_ ," _it_ explained, while continuing to release latch after latch on the doors of the big mammals "pads" and swinging them wide open. Once freed, these beasts, eager for an out, began congregating toward the center aisle of this enormous facility, eyeing the path leading to the front entry.

"Hey, I know you," Walder exclaimed! "You're the one with your picture all over those 'wanted' signs that I saw. You're the one I finally got to see back there when those humans were trying to roast me on a pole. Where did you go so fast? I've been looking for you; I've come to save you and the other Jack Ass Penguins."

Once again this came as the most bizarre and incredible statement to Jake. But this time, instead of just standing there appearing dumbfounded, Jake voiced, "Well, how are you ever going to save anything if every time I see you you're in a jam of your own?"

"Hey, we ain't in no jam," Herman assured, glancing over at Walder. "We can leave this place anytime we want to. Ain't that right, Penguin?"

Before Walder could even think about a response to Herman's "assurance policy," Jake broke in with a _little_ "update." "Well, that's mighty coincidental—' _Dudes'_ —because everyone in here is fixin' to leave whether they like it or not. These big, bad, babies are already 'majorly' stirred up—hell it's like a hornets nest in here—so now that they're free, one more blast should do it."

"Huh, what d'yuh mean?" the _dudes_ anxiously inquired.

"Just watch!" Jake replied, as he hopped up into the turret of something, something with a long barrel.

"Oh my gosh," Walder whispered to Herman, "Is that one of the humans' tanks?"

The two looked at each other momentarily. It certainly was. The "Caboom" had been from Jake blowing the rear door of the zoo "wide open" with _this_.

After _freeing_ every beast from its "station," Jake's plan was to stampede these "subjects" (the animated contents of the zoo) straight for the humans, who were all still outside, trying desperately to collect their wits after such a _rude_ awakening. Yes, these animals had been sufficiently stirred up, from the initial blast, and one more concussion of sound emanating from the rear portions of the zoo would most certainly prompt them all toward the front, quickly and frantically, through any opening.

"Okay," Jake shouted, as he aimed the gun of the tank (this time) for the two, massive, front doors of the zoo. "The governor wanted to give me a _little_ job at the zoo, 'shoveling shit,' huh? Well then, let's just let a 'little' shit fly!"

**Cabooom...!** The "borrowed" assault vehicle blasted for a second time. With a single round from the tank, the doors to the main entry of the zoo were no more. Without a hint of resistance the confines of the zoo had fallen. In fact (after the smoke cleared), the front of the zoo resembled the façade of a "fallen" Alamo. Debris from the blast "peppered" the awakening troops outside, who were still in a state of incredulity, bringing them to their senses just in time for them to witness the onslaught of many massive mammals "trampling" straight for them.

Upon realizing that this surge of muscle, hooves, and horns would crush and cut them all beyond recognition, these troops dove for the sanctuary of their military vehicles, hoping to "pull out of there." But they weren't going anywhere. For it seems that Jake, before commencing his assault, hadn't forgotten to remove the keys from all remaining vehicles. Here the governor's guards would stay, for now, taking cover in their incapacitated vehicles, quickly making use of any vacant space within them, wherever they might find it. First it was one of the _other_ tanks and Bradley fighting vehicles to "fill up." Then larger vehicles such as the many types of personnel transport carriers went fast, to the Humvees, to finally people diving under jeeps as a last resort, at the last moment.

Leading the charge was the "high heels" of a couple of zebra kicking up plenty of dust. Evidently these feisty, striped horses of the Serengeti had witnessed some very large, striped cats, as if these Bengal Tigers were the largest lions and leopards they'd ever seen. They seemed to be making haste from these Bengals, even though the two were from separate continents and could have never met in the wild.

Right on the heels of the zebra, wasting no time in their own right, were the antelope, gazelle, and other horned plains grazers. And directly behind them were wildebeest and water buffalo continuing the foray, tearing through gaps between military vehicles. All the while, a few male elephants (with a "disregard-for-anything" attitude) began nudging and rocking personnel carriers onto their sides. This prompted the ornery camels to come over and rip and tear at the canvas, the only thing concealing these troops from the marauding mammals. Even the helicopters were to be grounded "for good," as the propellers and glass would be no match for the charge of nearsighted rhinos.

By now, an unlikely creature began wreaking its own sort of havoc. For even the timid-natured giraffes were creating a great deal of consternation for those troops not fortunate enough to make it into one of the coveted tanks or a "Bradley," who'd opted instead (willingly or not) to flee into either a high or deep corner of a less protected vehicle. It seems the zoo had been keeping much of the "grazing-type" animals (including the giraffes) deficient in salt for some time now. For the sandpaper-like tongues of these curious "long-necks" were tantamount to a bastard file, chaffing away at the delicate hides of these terrified humans, in an attempt to lap up every salty sweat bead these trembling epidermal layers could produce.

Last, but not least, would be the primates. The monkeys were creating quite the scene by tormenting the exposed troops. It was as if every abuse that a human had ever directed toward these monkeys, while they'd been behind bars, was now being dramatized by them and directed back at these troops. These monkeys were spitting, poking, heckling, and throwing things at the poor Homo Sapiens. These humans didn't dare move, for next to come was the vicious baboon, with teeth and claws galore. Right behind them came 100-plus pound chimpanzees, with the strength to rip a man in half. And if that wasn't enough, the gorillas were taking their dear, sweet time leaving. The troops were especially concerned with these great apes, anxiously waiting (hoping) for them to leave, cowing as low as possible to avoid any eye contact with them, and remaining motionless until they did so.

Whew, what a show it'd been. Jake had loved every second of it. If only the governor could have been here to see this one.

"Oh my gosh. What has happened?" Herman began voicing anxiously. "Penguin, Penguin, this 'other' penguin is screwing up everything; my plans. Honey, Honey, where are you? Where are you? Penguin, this friend of yours is one _sick penguin_."

"I know, Hermie," Walder tried to console, "but he has his reasons for being so. Trust me."

"Yeah, well how is that going to help anything—now what am I gonna do? All my plans are foiled. She could be anywhere—my honey. The zoo may never come together again. I may have lost her forever. There's no telling what the humans might do to her when they find her. They might say she's violent or something. They might consider her a candidate for euthanasia."

"Chill out, Hippo!" Jake demanded, "Geeez, can't yuh see she's still in her stall? I didn't unlatch her door; not that she would 'uh left anyhow."

Sure enough, there she was, still in her stall, looking up with those big buttercup eyes, just as pretty as ever.

Then the strangest thing began to happen. The animals, after roaming around outside the zoo a bit, began returning to the zoo. But why? Could it be because the outside of the zoo wasn't consistent with "the wild," the habitat they knew and felt safe and natural in. Because the city they'd fled out into was foreign and uncomfortable to them. This being the case led Herman to surmise that these beast had become somewhat accustomed to the confines of the zoo, that they actually felt more comfortable inside the zoo than outside it, even after what they'd just experienced inside of it. Maybe if the outside had been the wild, then perhaps they might have taken off into it. But this alien environment outside had left them not knowing where to go, or what to do. It was as if they knew they didn't have anywhere else to go. As if they were disoriented by not being in captivity—as if they'd lost the desire to be free! The thought that this could possibly happen to him, too, that he could become like this, terrified Herman immensely. And though the thought of this would continue to haunt him, Herman, for now, could at least rest easy knowing the zoo animals were coming back, that the zoo would be together again.

It was time for a stealthy backdoor exit, before the dust settled, before the troops outside could regroup and call for reinforcements. The three looked at each other. Which mode of travel should they use to make their way back to the ocean? The tank wouldn't be large enough to accommodate Herman on the inside. But what about the outside? If a tank could plow over and through just about anything, then certainly it could drag the hippo down to the coastline. It'd just be a matter of Herman hangin' on.

After profuse crying and "goodbying" between Herman and his honey, still, it wouldn't be any easier for the two hippos to part company, for Herman to leave his beloved women behind. The two still couldn't seem to let go of each other. Herman was seriously thinking about staying here with her at the zoo, worried something could happen and he'd never see her again. But Herman also knew that if he remained here, by him remaining "in" the zoo, he might never be able to "spring" the two of them in the wild. He could lose this option forever. It was a hard call.

"C'mon, 'Big Guy'," urged Walder, "We gotta go!"

Unconcerned with Herman's perceived dilemma, Jake hopped back into the tank, tacked it around, pointing the nose for the back door. The diesel turbine of the tank was revving to a determined whine as it began exiting the zoo. Then, with a surge of spontaneity, Herman delivered one more, big, wet, smack of the lips upon those of his honey and ran to leap onto the tank.

Off they went, with Jake at the helm, Walder riding "shotgun," and Herman clinging frantically to the racing tank as it roared down the deserted streets of Cape Town for the ocean.

Not until reaching the coast did any of the three say a word.

"We'll ditch the tank here," Jake instructed, and the three began strolling down the coast. Again all three were silent, until reaching a point amidst some large rocks that allowed good visual from all directions. Jake stopped, looked around a moment, and then turned toward Walder and began looking him up and down. "So, I hear _you_ might be a penguin with some gumption."

"What's gumption?" Walder asked.

"You know, 'gumption'," Jake reiterated.

"No, no I don't know. What's gumption?" Walder persisted.

"Penguin," Herman broke in, hoping to help, "you got it. Okay? I don't know how to explain it to yuh, but I do know what he's talkin' about, and you definitely got it. And 'Other Penguin', what are you doing here and why are you doing this, and what did you say your name was?"

"Well, firstly, I've 'always' been _here_ , and secondly, why I'm doing _this_ is none of your concern. And, lastly, my name is Jake: J; a; k; e—'Jake'. Any problems?"

"Oh... no, no, Mr. 'Other' Penguin, Sir, ha, ha," Herman answered, amused at the pint-sized bird's forwardness.

"What's so funny? I'm serious about everything I say and do."

"Oh, yes Sir, Mr. Other Penguin, Sir. I'm sure you are, or do—whatever."

"I said my name is Jake: J; a; k—"

"I'm sorry, I guess I must have forgotten to acknowledge your ability to spell your own name, a four-letter word. How are you with five-letter words, Jake?"

"Oh, you funny; you make me laugh."

"Yeah; whatever, Jake. As long as you get my drift."

"Just what do you mean by 'drift'?"

"Ah, come on. Do I have to spell it out for yuh? Speaking of five-letter words; I said drift: D; r; 'I'; f—"

"Oh, that's funny; you very, very funny. Actually, you don't need to try to be funny, your looks are funny enough."

"Oh yeah, you little pip squeak? Like you aren't funny lookin' yourself."

"Come on, you two," Walder interrupted, "I think we may **all** have a lot in common here, if you'll just give it a chance."

This was a suitable notion, actually, due to neither of them, Herman or Jake, really wanting to continue on with "this" anyway.

"Ah, come on—please don't stop now," came a strange voice out of nowhere.

Who was that? All three turned in astonishment to see an enormous head bobbing above the surf.

"I was just 'gettin' into it'", _it_ continued, "really beginning to enjoy it—the mindless chatter of children, like that of your typical playground."

"Orca; Orca," Walder shouted in glee.

Herman was in a state of total bewilderment. First he'd just been insulted by something he'd never seen before, yet alone ever imagined existed, to suddenly see his only comrade acknowledge this "thing" with immense admiration and affinity. He was very confused. His sudden anger had been combined with an acute feeling of jealousy, concerning Walder displaying such affection for the rude stranger. Herman felt he had to say something to establish superiority. "Well, it's a good thang that Penguin knows yuh, or, otherwise, you'd be hurtin' for certain, Fella'!"

"I don't believe I know what hurtin' means. Why don't you try to explain it to me? You're obviously 'well' _educated_."

"I'd be happy to show yuh—demonstrate it to yuh personally—yuh big fish."

"Fish? Well, if I'm a fish, then just what might you happen to be—a giant, mutant, salamander?"

"Why you—I'll show you what 'I' am."

"Hold it, Herman," Walder begged, "let me explain it to 'em.

Directing his attention at sea, addressing Orca, Walder began explaining to the big fish—"Herman's a good friend of mine, just like you, and happens to be a hippopotamus; they're known as the 'River Horse' by the natives of the bush."

"Well, he looks more like a 'Sea Cow' than a river _whatever_ ," Orca opinionated.

"That's it; that does it!" Herman proclaimed, as he prepared to "charge."

"Why you big, stupid, unrefined, river-roaming recluse," Orca launched, becoming irritated.

"So what if I'm a recluse—was a recluse? What's it to you?" Herman wailed.

Orca had inadvertently nailed a major button on the part of the Hippo. Herman broke down and began crying profusely. Instantly a proverbial dark cloud fell upon them and was recognized by all.

At the sight of this, Orca felt his heart sink so low that it might have carried him to the bottom, for a moment. Just when had he come to have a sense of remorse? Things would definitely never be the same again. Not now. First it had been a Gentoo, then a colony of Jack Asses. Now, a neurotic hippopotamus beckoned his best behavior— _What next?_

"He didn't mean it," Walder tried to explain.

Suddenly, Herman sucked it up and plunged into the surf directly for Orca at an astonishing speed. Orca didn't know what to make of it, at first, until seeing those two ivory tusks. This tonnage wasn't showing an ounce of hesitation. There wasn't any fear in those two beady eyes, either, only sheer determination. Orca's instincts informed him to get the heck out of the way. Not ever having been subjected to such aggression, nothing anything like this in his entire life, Orca hesitated for a moment—it was almost a moment too late.

"He didn't mean it, Hermie—Orca look out!" Walder cried in desperation to the two.

At the last nanosecond, Orca "sidestepped" the big brute's battering ram of a body by spinning around under water to avoid mortal injury and returned to the surface, bobbing a "safe" distance from the hippo.

"Whew, that was a close one," Walder sighed.

"Not as close as this one's gonna be," Herman proclaimed, as he lunged for the big, rude, fish again.

Once again Orca spun out of harm's way, this time with far less hesitation.

Seeing that the hippo was remaining on the surface, floating like a hermetically sealed barrel, Orca got the idea he might swim below this bellowing belly to take a little nibble on its toesies. Under Orca went, to teach the thing a lesson about "messin' with big fish." But just as soon as Orca went to do so, he was confronted with those same yellow eyes and ivory tusks. Holy sea cow—this thing was a much better swimmer below the surface than above!

Having his pride really challenged now, Orca's first reaction was to redeem himself by clashing with this thing in a major—knockdown, drag-out—tooth to tooth. But Orca, being the sensible type, also realized that in doing so he could receive mortal wounds as he sought to inflict injury to this opponent. The sensible thing would be to remain out of this things way. And, if at some point he decided he really wanted this hippo so bad, Orca knew he could, over a period of time, by enticing this thing into an inextricable predicament. The ocean was his element, after all, and not that of this river horse.

Knowing his message had almost come a little too late, the first time Herman went for Orca, Walder flew between the two dueling giants, just as Herman was preparing for another charge. It would be his obligation to mediate and mitigate the grounds for these two fighting to the death.

"No, no, stop it—you'll only succeed at killing one another! You two were never designed to be rivals. Normally you would have never met in the wild, in nature—it's not natural! You're not at odds with one another; you got no problem with each other. Orca, you're the King of the Ocean, while Herman here's the King of the Land."

"Well, he seems to be doing pretty good in water to me," Orca commented.

"Yeah, but he's strictly a 'freshwater' mammal—mostly rivers and marshes, and stuff like that. Herman, would you please come out of there, back over here, now? Pleeeze?"

"Nobody insults me. I don't care who or what it is. Not even a hundred crocodiles would even dare to insult me. I'd trash 'em all!"

"What's a crocodile?" Orca asked, being careful not to sound _insulting_.

"It's one of those dinosaur-like lizards with lots of sharp, jagged teeth," Walder informed. "Orca, you may have seen some around the estuaries in Australia; that's the only place I know of where they actually go into saltwater."

"Oh yeah, yeah, those gnarly things. They're actually quite tasty... well, the younger, more tender ones are."

"You eat crocodiles?" Herman asked in astonishment.

"Yeah, a few of my friends and I tried 'em once or twice, mostly out of curiosity and for some variety. Just to amuse ourselves, we would grab 'em by the tail and see how far we could fling 'em. It's funny watching their jaws smacking while they're whirling through the air."

"Oh yeah. I did that too—but not for the fun of it—to teach 'em a lesson. I'd chomp on one or two of 'em, from time to time, to keep 'em in line. But I'd always spit 'em out."

"Well, I have to admire you for you're honesty, and nobility, concerning these _primal_ species, Hippo. I really do. But for me, I have little tolerance for such behavior, behavior they exhibit in an element devoid of 'law and order'."

"What's primal mean?" Herman was hurtin' for an explanation.

"Well, for us, because we're mammals, we have an obligation to protect other mammals, even humans, if you can believe that. There were times, countless times in fact, that me and my pod actually saved humans, without them ever even knowing it. Mostly from sharks, but also from those crocodiles down there around Australia. We would grab 'em by the tail, pull 'em under, and point them in the direction they came from, with a piece of their tail missing, of course. I wonder if those stupid humans—well some of 'em are stupid—will ever know how many times sea mammals have saved them. Whether it be by dolphins driving away sharks, while these 'land dwelling humans' left their own element for some 'excitement' on their stupid mini-rafts, riding the surf in dark 'coverings' that make them appear like a disoriented seal, or something. Or whether it was the _big_ whales trying in vain to 'connect' with one of these humans aboard a ship that was heading for disaster, like rocks, or icebergs, just below the surface, or whether they were just plain lost. And get this! The big whales still did this after humans had hunted them for hundreds of years in their ships with long, jagged-edged spears—and still do."

"Wow, I never did any of that before," Herman acknowledged, as if mostly to himself. "I guess I've just been thinkin' 'bout myself all this time."

"Hey, you can start anytime you want; it's your call, 'Big Guy'," Orca assured, very "careful" like.

Feeling unsure of about what it was that he was feeling, Orca was sure of one thing. Orca knew, regardless of anything else, that he couldn't allow another "misunderstanding" to come between him and this new, and quite fascinating, beast.

This was simply incredible—the two were participating in "civil" discourse. It occurred to Walder that these two bad asses were actually showing some respect for something—for each other. They were suddenly speaking to each other as if a brotherhood had just been formed. _Oh my Gosh, these guys have found some common ground all on their own, all by themselves._

Walder thought frantically about what the right thing to say, or do, would be, before something happened, while things had eased up a bit. But then, maybe he shouldn't say, or do, anything.

"So, you're the biggest land animal, huh?" Orca continued, trying to be nice and continue the conversation.

"Actually, Orca," Walder clarified, "he's the second largest, next to the elephant, but the 'baddest'. And he's a totally cool dude—yuh just don't mess with him—like you."

Herman seemed to have calmed down significantly. Orca found it easy to put his arrogance aside for now and be a little tactful and considerate around the ultra-sensitive hippo. Walder kept thinking about whether of not there was anything he could do to ensure things stayed okay, or if he should do anything at all.

"So what's the hippo doing so far from home?" Orca wondered.

"Oh, he just escaped from the zoo, and he's gotta go inland to barricade the zoo train somewhere so he can free his honey and they can live happily ever after."

"I see; sounds ambitious!"

"Oh, spending another day in that zoo would 'be' ambitious," Herman informed. "I'm never gonna take my freedom for granted ever again. When I'm reunited with my honey, we're gonna roam the wilderness, all over, forever. Never again am I gonna stagnate in one place."

With that, there was only silence. It seems Herman had done some therapeutic venting. So suddenly had the tension vanished as to leave a vacuum of calm surrounding all of them. Whew, that had been a close one.

And through all of this, still on the sidelines (the first person to get "in" a fight), stood Jake, quiet with astonishment, stunned into silence. After witnessing the most amazing drama of his young life, unfolding before him like a rehearsed and choreographed Shakespearean play, suffice it to say, Jake had gotten his answer. _Yeah, "this" Gentoo's definitely got gumption!_

# Chapter XXII

The ("remaining") members of the Jack Ass Penguin community, due to Jake's sudden and crushing departure, were devastated now that Jake was still gone; each was simply miserable with itself. When Jake had walked away from his colony, it was as if an internal bomb had exploded within each and every one of them. All were in such a state of self-loathing at this point as to not be able to "stand" seeing their own reflection in the water. Not only were they not looking for it, they were avoiding it.

Jake, fearless Jake, the tribal member who they'd all speculated would someday grow up to be their brave and brilliant leader, had been driven away, driven away by them, by their own pathetic cowardice. All of the "reassurances" they'd managed to conjure up for themselves—Penguins weren't cut out for fightin'; we were never meant to be an "in-your-face type"—after said and done, had left little consolation for any of them. Sadly to say, there wasn't any reassurance after the reassuring.

At this point the Jack Ass Penguin colony, being completely "in tune" with one another, had collectively gone beyond a fear of dying. They were actually beginning to welcome death as a sort of an end to their suffering. This unmitigated suffering, which was only intensifying, had become a catalyst for transformation within them. A mental metamorphosis was occurring—morphing their minds into a type of craziness—the sordid, suicidal nothing-left-to-lose mentality. Jake had done this to them. Or were they doing it to themselves? (Could this be a necessary thing in times of war?).

"I'm tired of feeling like a coward," said one of the younger Jack Asses.

"I think I know how you feel, Son," reciprocated an elder.

"Well, if I knew what to do, I'd do it," the youngster guaranteed.

"Well, I know what to do, but being at my age I'm not sure I'd be able to pull it off," the elder informed.

"Well, if you know what to do, why don't you tell me, so then 'I'll' know."

"I'm not sure I want you to know—not sure you're ready for it—not sure you really realize what you'd be gettin' into, Sonny."

"Gettin' into? We're already in it. Can't you see, Ol' Timer?"

"Yes, I guess we are already 'in' it—I just didn't want you to have to grow up too fast, the way I had to."

"Why, what happened to you, Man."

"Oh, you don't want to know. Trust me, you don't want to know."

"I do wanna know, so tell me!"

"Look, you young 'whippersnapper', don't you ever tell me what to do! Why, I've seen things that would curdle the milk in your tummy."

"With all do respect, Sir, I ain't got no milk in my tummy, so 'spill the beans'! I mean let me know. I gotta' know. Pleeeze, Mister?"

"Well, okay, 'Wrango', okay. I can see you're going to 'make a man' someday; might as well be sooner than later. I hope I'm doing the right thing."

With that ( _conclusion_ ), the "Ol' Timer" looked over both shoulders and, after deeming it safe to speak, the wise one whispered to Wrango, "It's called 'The Element of Surprise'. We'll have to strike tonight!"

Since the evening of the attempted penguin roast, the governor had been residing (when not on his yacht) at the only structure left standing on his beloved estate, the only structure to have been spared Jake's trigger finger. With his mansion and adjacent structures reduced to rubble, and subject to massive efforts involving daily demolition and cleanup crews, the governor had ensconced himself to the clubhouse atop his massive pier. It was still business as usual. Unknown to the governor however, by virtue of his wharf-style clubhouse sitting significantly out at sea on the pier, his meager dwelling was vulnerable to surveillance from ocean dwellers. The Jack Ass Penguin colony had found it far easier to keep tabs on the governor now than ever before. Up the ladder to the top of the pier they would climb, eavesdropping on the governor and his conversations, hoping to monitor his intents and stay a step ahead of whatever his plans might be, especially if these plans involved them. It'd been here that the Jack Ass Penguin colony had first learned of the governor's intent of capturing Jake. But this time, instead of planning to "off" the pesky penguin, it would be for the purpose of having Jake "spanked" in public, to administer corporeal punishment to him in front of his peers for the purpose of humiliating him and infuriating "those Animal Rights Activist." While the governor had been returning from his "rescue mission," the governor had called the clubhouse from the Satellite to speak to his houseman, Withers, before setting up the "event" with the press and the authorities. The next day, the validity of their "intelligence" gathering had been confirmed by the posters concerning Jake's proposed spanking, and a little visit from the governor's boys.

But this time there would only be the two of them, Wrango and Ol' Timer, and the old-timer was making this disadvantage clear to his young soon-to-be accomplice. After Jake had become estranged from his colony, the rest of the colony, who were no longer in the company of their fearless leader, had been left to wallow in an eternal bog of sorrow. And Jake, was heaven knows where doing who knows what. It would be up to Wrango and Ol' Timer this time.

Tonight, outside the window of the clubhouse, these two Jack Ass Penguins were listening closely to a message, which was emanating from the radio aboard the Satellite, coming in loud and clear over Wither's speaker phone. The governor was calling to inform his trusted butler that he was soon to be home to finish business.

It seemed that this time it was personal—real personal! With the governor's mind finally (almost) free from preoccupation concerning the Ecliptic, and her crew (except for one), another matter began presenting itself as a target in the crosshairs of the governor's arsenal. For every time the governor thought about it, thought about his once-sprawling array of structures, the multitude of statues, his cottages, guest homes, 40-car garage—his mansion—which were all now in ruins, he would simply begin to lose it. The governor would practically foam at the mouth when venting over the loss of his beloved estate. _My home, selected as cannon fodder by a Jack Ass Penguin!_

As Ol' Timer and Wrango listened to the governor's sentiments concerning Jake, they knew that what the governor intended to do with Jake would involve more than a spanking. They knew this could only mean that Jake would be seriously "in for it" this time, if somebody didn't do something, if the two of them didn't do something.

So here they were, at a window, outside of the governor's clubhouse. Ol' Timer was anxiously waiting to hear something "juicy," hoping for any bit of information that might assist them with a plan. Wrango, whose youth made him inherently impatient, was really becoming restless at this point.

"Hey, Ol' Timer, why's it so necessary to do all this not-so-fun stuff? I want some action! When we gonna do sumthin'?"

But the wise old-timer continued to reiterate to the youngster the importance of reconnaissance—"nothing more vital to victory than information, Sonny. It's called, 'intelligence'! Besides, I'm too old for the rough stuff these days; gonna have to think 'smart' this time, Young Fella."

"No, really, I mean it. I'm ready for some action!"

"Shut up, Boy! Don't you start disappointing me now! You agreed to listen to me. This is serious business, and you and me are fixin' to be in it up to our necks. Besides, I've finally come up with a plan—you're gonna get your _action_."

Reluctantly the junior "jack ass" acquiesced to the wiser Ol' Timer's insisted game plan, and the two remained at their guard as the wee hours of morning approached. Off in the distance, in the direction of Cape Town, the two could have sworn hearing a "caboom." And later, hearing another similar concussion of sound through the quite of night. But neither of them could have imagined what might be happening way over there. The hours passed; the sky began a slow illumination. Finally, the two were jerked to consciousness by the phone ringing. Quickly the two perked up, pressing an ear to the window, intent on catching every word that might be said.

"What's this," the butler screamed, "you've lost ' **the** penguin', and a _hippo_? Do you realize what this means? You idiots!"

Then, appearing out of nowhere, the governor's yacht approached, its enormous diesel turbines roaring determinedly for the pier.

"Quick, its time for you to leave, Wrango," Ol' Timer suddenly insisted.

"Why? What's up?"

"I'm fixin' to do something now that's only going to involve one of us. So 'get lost'! Go catch some shut-eye or something; just don't let yourself be seen. I'll explain later."

This wasn't fair. Now the young Jack Ass was really feeling left out. Wrango took a deep breath, sighed, and obligingly hopped off the pier and into the ocean. But he wasn't going anywhere—By golly he was gonna see what was gonna happen!

As the Satellite pulled up beside the pier, and two of her crew began mooring the vessel, the governor emerged from inside and wearily began toward the walkway leading to the clubhouse. It was here that Ol' Timer made his move.

Out onto the deck of the pier, standing above the governor and his henchmen, Ol' Timer addressed a very surprised governor. "Good morning, Governor."

Wrango was simply astonished— _Has the old bird gone nuts?_

"What can I do for you?" the governor inquired, anxious for a reply.

"I've come with good news for you—you're gonna like it. We've convinced Jake to turn himself in. He'll be waiting for the proper authorities, high-noon tomorrow, just south of here on the tip of Cape Good Hope."

"Well, I'm glad to see you blokes are finally doing something sensible for yourselves," the governor _complimented_.

"So, if you still want 'em, you better come and get 'em. He's been known to change his mind, and he's mighty stubborn as well you should know."

"Anything else I _should_ know?" asked the governor, defensively.

"I think I'll let your house _man_ fill you in on 'that'," concluded the Ol' Timer, sarcastically.

"Huh; whadda ya mean?"

Right then, Withers burst through the front door and came running down the pier toward the Satellite. "Sir, Sir. I need to speak with you immediately!"

With that, the Ol' Timer leaped off the pier and into the ocean that would deliver him from the possibility of a forced interrogation from the governor and his flunkies.

Wrango was simply ready to explode with curiosity concerning what Ol' Timer could possibly be up to. This simply didn't make any sense. He remained under water until the two were out of sight of the pier, and, just as soon as they were, began bombarding Ol' Timer with questions as to what the heck he was up to.

"You see, Wrango," Ol' Timer explained, "the hope is to sucker this governor guy into a trap. I've just 'set the bait'. All we should need now is the proper 'decoy'."

"You mean like a duck—quack, quack?"

"Precisely."

"Who yuh gonna get to do that?"

"Uh, that would be—'You'!"

"Huh...?"

"Think you can locate a lavender bandana?"

It'd taken some time for the boys in uniform, who'd been entrusted with the task of "protecting" a Gentoo back at the zoo, to muster enough courage to inform Withers that "'The' Penguin" (and a hippopotamus) was no longer with them. Understandably, Withers, in turn, had dreaded his duty of delivering unpleasant tidings to his boss (shoot-the-messenger anxiety). And the governor, not surprisingly, was smitten with disbelief and sudden consternation. How had this happened? Totally beside himself with this "breaking" news, the governor had to see it for himself. He stormed into the zoo to witness several vertical bars of the prize penguin's aviary pried askew, and at first wondered which one of his many pawns would have dared to free his trophy. Then he saw it: the top rail of the hippo's stall lying on the ground, the large bolts that had held it in place torn and bent beyond recognition. Indeed it would have taken great force to remove this rail in the fashion it had evidently occurred. How could _they_ have been so stupid? Then, who would have ever thought that a Hopelessly Happy Hippo would befriend a penguin? Damn!

"That hippo's girlfriend is over here, Governor," the zookeeper informed.

With raised eyebrows, the governor marched over to the heifer hippo's stall and glared into the buttercup eyes of Herman's honey. "Do you know where your boyfriend is—where he went—He freed that penguin, didn't he?"

"My boyfriend—what boyfriend? No, no... boo hooo. He left me. He just left me in here, booo hoooo... What will I do, now that he's gone? Booo, hoooo, hooooo..."

"I think she's lying," stated one of the governor's entourage.

"Don't be ridiculous!" replied a zoo helper. "Can't you see the poor thang got dumped by the jerk?"

"Gotta respect him for that," commented another one of the governor's henchmen. "Anything that would break out of here, and just leave his heifer without hesitation. Hey, the dude's got gumption."

"What's 'gumption'?" inquired the zoo helper.

"Go get some and you'll know," replied this henchman, sarcastically.

"Yeah, but where do I get it?" the zoo helper inquired, oblivious.

"At the local hardware store, 'Einstein'," _informed_ the henchman, snidely, as his colleagues chuckled a bit.

"Oh, okay. Which one do you recommend?" this zoo helper continued, earnest and clueless.

"Get out uh here, you moron!" screamed the governor to the zoo helper, irate from the petty dialogue between the two, during a situation that should be demanding utter seriousness. "And you," now directed at this henchman, "don't you think you have something else you should be discussing—Like where we're gonna find this penguin!"

After some moments of silence, and when the governor turned his attention back on to the heifer hippo, another henchman hoped he might have a useful idea. "A little _probing_ with an electric cattle prod might produce some answers with her, Sir."

The governor said nothing, his glare turning into a faraway muse while the heifer hippo sobbed relentlessly. Even if this cow could cough up some answers, it didn't much matter now—the penguin was gone! But might she help in some other fashion...hmmm?

"Some good news, Sir", informed one of the governor's lackeys while running toward the governor with a radio in his hand. "The copter has spotted the tank."

"I don't give a shit about no lousy tank—I want _those_ penguins!" thundered the governor, as he stormed out of the zoo for his limo. "To the coast!"

It seems the governor's casual intentions to remove the Jack Ass Penguins from South Africa had turned into an obsession against all penguins, at least in the eyes of the Animal Right's Activists. The governor's dictum—"If the Jack Ass Penguins are to be permitted to stay in South Africa, they must first have to learn how to 'behave'!"—was quickly countered by "this" opposition. Not only did these activists maintain that "Jake" (referring to the Jack Ass Penguins collectively) was here to stay, but they were even entertaining the notion that "other" penguins, Antarctic penguins for instance, migrate to South Africa if they wanted to. This encouragement that other penguins move to this region, (his jurisdiction) was understandably driving the governor off the deep end. And moreover, there was some indication the governor might have drastically underestimated the perseverance and influence of _those_ Animal Right's Activists. It was currently the widely held belief among these activists that once they allowed a spanking of a little penguin, in public, who knows what might follow, what the governor might pull next. Only recently, 20 thousand of these poor birds had been rescued from an oil slick off the coast of South Africa, and they couldn't allow any further ill fate to befall these little cuties. Therefore what the governor had in mind for Jake was simply out of the question. So, in response to this outrage, it was decided that over twenty thousand "supporters" would need to show up in defense of these poor penguins, a number symbolic of the previous catastrophe a little while back (and just enough to get the attention of the press). Given the urgency, due to the impending spanking in public, the quota of people that had gathered in short order was far from disappointing—over 20 thousand strong—some suggestion of the fanatical dedication and resolve of these folks. Not only had these activists materialized so quickly, they were already rallied in their protest and marching staunchly as if in some "Freedom Crusade" or something. Southward of Cape Town they began heading, down the coast of South Africa, in the direction of the Jack Ass Penguins where a "sighting" of Jake had been reported.

Ol' Timer's plan seemed to be going fairly well, so far. All he'd hoped for, at most, had been for a news crew or two to show up in order to witness the abduction of a penguin. All he'd done was inform the local media where "Jake" would be when the governor would come for the poor little feller. He never dreamed that throngs of activists would appear as well. And in response to over twenty thousand people collected on the coast here, the press, T.V., and radio stations had all been arriving in conspicuous groups (it's hard to _miss_ them). This was just too incredible to be happening for Ol' Timer; he was having a hard time holding the contents of his bladder "in public." Yet, little did any of these activists or the media realize, however, was that the real Jake had been, and still was, keeping a low profile. What the helicopter had spotted was an imposter: "Wrango."

Before falling for Ol' Timer's bait (hook, sinker and line), the governor had a helicopter fly over this bit of coastline, from the southern tip of Cape Town all the way down to along the Cape of Good Hope, for a little "preview." Actually, this helicopter was serving a dual mission now, for yet another penguin (and its _accomplice_ ) was now on the lam. Fully equipped with state-of-the-art optics, the viewer aboard this helicopter would be able to differentiate the facial hair between twin-sister chimpanzees from a thousand yards. It had been en route to determine whether the infamous Jake would be where it'd been reported to be, waiting for the governor, when the pilot spied a large, male hippo and reported the sighting immediately to the governor. Everyone knew it could only be one hippo, _that_ hopelessly happy "has been." Because, for one thing, there were no other hippos of any kind running loose on the South African coast, anywhere. The governor got to thinking. _Where that hippo is, just might be where the Gentoo will be._ "Did you see the penguin—the Gentoo?"

"Nope, no sign of an Antarctic Penguin yet, Sir," came the pilot. "That's a big ocean out there."

"I know it's a big ocean, Moron, but the damn thing could be on shore, or flying for that matter. So keep your eyes peeled for 'em anywhere—everywhere!"

Then it occurred to the governor that capturing the Gentoo would be highly unlikely without cooperation from others, from something—from that hippo. But how in the world would he ever get that ornery hippo to participate in a plot against his "slam buddy."

Then, just a little way south of the hippo, the helicopter came over something unbelievable. It was just something highly unlikely to be happening. Upon witnessing this massive army of protesters marching down the coast, the pilot could only wonder what could be going on. He hadn't been made aware of any convention of some kind or another, or an event of any kind whatsoever, especially on the scale of this one. What in the world were so many people doing wandering along the coast? Does the governor even know about this? Or was it part of a plan he hadn't been told about?

"Holy Cow," came the pilot. "I don't believe it!"

"Believe what—what is it this time?" the governor bellowed, in anxious irritation.

"You're not going to believe it!"

"Believe what, you moron?"

"There are thousands of people down here—tens of thousands of people—marching south on the Cape of Good Hope!"

"What?"

"I said, there's—"

"I heard what you said, Idiot. What the hell are they doing there?"

"You didn't know about it? I mean, I don't know, Sir."

The governor suddenly felt like ordering this helicopter "shot down," literally having a fighter-jet called in to blow it out of the sky. Yep, it was a case of the old Napoleonic shoot-the-messenger syndrome, all right. And the governor had a bad case of it. In fact, if this helicopter pilot had been in front of him at this very moment he would have done the job himself, would have shot him, or surely attempted to strangle the man. Not only had the pilot not brought much of any good news, but, _other_ news—more uncertainty. Who could it be? What could it be? What are they doing there? Who are they?

Feeling the tension mounting with every moment of radio silence, tension as palpable as razors slicing into his butt cheeks, the pilot hoped to break the ice with a helpful suggestion. "Shall I continue circling, Sir? See if I can make something out?"

"No, no. Get your ass down to Cape Point and see if that jackass Jake is there waiting for us like he's supposed to be. And keep an eye out for that 'freak of nature', the Gentoo, while you're at it!"

Fortunately, between Wrango and Ol' Timer, the two had been able to do a bit better than a mere bandana. For not only was Wrango adorned with Jake's trademark lavender bandana, he was also decked out in a pirate hat, topcoat, and equipped with a long, curved dagger jutting out before him and held in place by a red sash drawn about his waist. It was a spittin', pissin' image of the defiant Jake, as the young Jack Ass Penguin stood there like a grand statue atop the highest peak on the tip of the point, at the dead end of Cape Good Hope. They'd taken it further: not only was _this_ convincingly "Jake," but provocatively so.

"Looks like Jake; could be him, not sure," came a message from the helicopter to the governor.

"Damn! That's just what I need—more ' _Non_ -information'," the governor blasted.

The governor couldn't stop thinking about the mass of people that'd been spotted by the helicopter. It continued to nag on his nerves and curiosity. Who were these people? What could they be up to? Then it hit him. Why it's those damned Animal Right's Activists. I know what they're up to. I gotta get to that jackass Jake before they do. "Pilot. Come and get me immediately!"

"On my way, Sir."

Next, from the phone in the limo, the governor informed the zoo staff that he would be back at the zoo directly, and to prepare the heifer hippo for a little "outing."

It wasn't difficult for an orca and two penguins to remain out of sight, submerging indefinitely at will, only needing to come up briefly for air. Though these three were all aces at it, Herman was still "in training." Wherever the big beast might be, he was obvious, whether on land or in water. Even while mostly submerged in the ocean, Herman was sticking out like a grizzly bear in a goldfish pond. Though Jake and Orca realized Herman could be a visual liability for them all, neither had the heart to mention it to Herman or discuss the matter between any of them. For all four knew that this unlikely combination—a land mammal, a seal mammal, and two penguins from different continents—was far more intriguing than some mysterious coincidence. They knew, that by whatever force, they had been united in a common cause. And that this was far more than unique and interesting. This was magic!

Down the coast for the governor's estate the four headed, while not at all certain what they would do once getting there. But, all knew, that whatever the action would be, it would involve the governor, because the governor would surely involve himself. That they could count on. But who would find who first? Soon, the answer to this question came with a helicopter flying over them, turning around, and then circling the annoyed hippo several times before carrying on.

"I guess that does it," Jake stated to the others in an all-knowing fashion. "They've seen you now, Hippo, and they probably figure the Gentoo's not far."

Orca knew this was undoubtedly the case, Herman wondered what the big deal was, while Walder became worried about what they should do about it.

"Not much we can do about it, Guy," Jake assured Walder, as Orca concurred.

"What I want to know is," Herman broke in, "what's the big deal? So what if they seen us?"

Without answering, the others simply looked at one another momentarily, and then turned to continue their venture to the governor's estate. Both Jake and Orca knew it'd be a mighty good time for the hippo to high-tail it for the bush, for the sake of all of them. But the two also knew it was highly improbable Herman would understand, yet comply with such a notion, at least not until a plan to nullify the governor had been devised and accomplished to a successful end. For now, they could only hope for the best. And who knows, maybe the hippo might even become useful in some awkward circumstance. Herman was the only one of the four possessing brute strength (on land).

It was in and out of the water for Herman. When his big legs began to tire from galloping along the shoreline, back through the waves he'd plow to join his three companions in this cool, frothy world of wonder, to tread the soothing buoyancy of ocean water down the coast. The ocean was so unique from any fresh body of water Herman had experienced. It was a treat he'd experienced only once before, and that time he'd had three human passengers. The ocean differed from anything Herman had ever known, not only from the obvious differences, of how infinitely enormous it seemed, or the succession of waves rolling in from out there, but additionally from the high salt content of the water. Herman was finding it more difficult to dive and remain below the surface and, of course, easier to float atop the surface. He noticed his body remaining significantly higher than what any freshwater had allowed him. This, coupled with the ebb and flow of the surging surf, was making for a truly special—unimaginably fabulous—experience. It was kind of funny how Herman hadn't noticed it so much, the time before, when he'd come down from the estuary toward Cape Town. This time, however, he was really enjoying it. But when the salt began to irritate tender areas, he'd come back out to tromp the sand and rocks onshore for a while. At first, after coming out of the ocean, the saltwater would leave a sticky residue. Then, after drying sufficiently, it'd leave this luxurious talcum powder sensation.

So many strange looking objects attracted Herman's fancy, while others reminded him of familiar freshwater objects: the mussels he used to find in the shoals of rivers; the lobster-like crawfish in the sandy shallows of creek beds and so forth. But the larger shelled critters with pincers didn't flee for their lives like the ones back home. They held their ground, as if welcoming trespassers, and administering a smart pinch on the snout of the curious hippo. And this seaweed didn't taste anything like the lush, freshwater vegetation of home. It only served to tease him. But he was free! He felt alive. Like a hound dog that'd been caged for months and finally set free to pursue the hunt. Herman sniffed and examined everything in his path. He thought about all the things and places he'd yet to see, and someday would see, along with his honey, just him and his honey. Never again was he to be restricted in any way to practice his freedom, his priceless, wonderful freedom.

On the fearless four continued down the coast until the big baby indicated his hoofs were getting a mite sore. The sun had been steadily climbing and Herman was hot, tired, and thirsty, and beginning to develop sunburn in certain areas. It hadn't occurred to any of them that the big River Horse would typically plaster its sensitive skin with mud to prevent the sun's rays from doing damage, and that there wasn't any mud to be found. And, that a river consisted of fresh water, and a River Horse would eventually require freshwater. "Can we stop for a while? I'm tired, and thirsty," Herman moaned.

"Great!" expressed Jake to Orca and Walder. "Just when we needed to keep moving."

All of a sudden a tremendous pulsating thunder came from out of nowhere, just above them, right over the cliff. It was a helicopter, flying exceptionally low—and there was something else. That's odd! What is that? Oh my God! It's Herman's honey, harnessed and hanging from the helicopter by some sort of chord, or cable, or something.

Indeed it was. The governor had really gotten creative this time. On an enormous nylon harness, just above Herman, Herman's sweetie was hanging from the helicopter by a steel cable, sobbing horrifically over this unmitigated torment. Herman, from a recumbent position on the beach, was instantly ambulatory and going ballistic. But there was nothing he could do; she was scores of feet out of his reach. He jumped into the air higher than his enormous body had ever before. He whirled about on his hind legs like some dancing bear in a circus, growling ferociously at the alien object holding his honey hostage, all to no avail.

For years the governor had been attempting to capture certain penguins, and a penguin in the ocean was more illusive than a butterfly in a tycoon. And this time it wasn't only Jake, it was the Gentoo as well. He needed that Gentoo, and he knew his chances of recovering the world's only flying penguin were next to none—without a bargaining tool. It'd taken a little longer than usual for the governor to realize how this heifer hippo might be "useful" to him. But it came to him, as soon as this hippo's boyfriend had been spotted along the coast. He hadn't wasted any time. This was it; she would be the governor's only chance of remedying a situation his flunky troops had screwed up.

"Hey, Hippo," the governor called from the helicopter, speaking through a loudspeaker, "I know that penguin's with you, the Gentoo. An if I don't get that Gentoo, and fast, I'm gonna splatter your girlfriend's guts all over these rocks quicker than you can say 'hopelessly happy _goodbye_ '! Do you understand—do you think I won't?"

Herman, standing on his hind legs and leaping for his honey, could be heard drowning out the incessant, thunderous clapping of the helicopter with his mighty roars. With that, the governor directed the pilot to put on a little show, perform some persuasion tactics—add the convincing factor into the equation—lest the hippo not be taking things seriously enough.

Suddenly the helicopter took off for the sky. So quickly it shot for the heavens with its dangling passenger as to become "two" tiny dots, in only moments. Next, it plunged for the ground so swiftly that the cable attached to the harness holding the hostage went slack, with the heifer hippo's head almost bumping the bottom of the helicopter. Giant biscuits of hippo dung began raining from the sky, as the terrified hippo released the remaining contents of her bowels. Then, the helicopter swerved from contact with ground and headed directly for the cliffs. Surely, in a matter of seconds, Herman's honey would resemble the remains of a "spent" piñata. But, at the last second, the helicopter lifted high enough to leave the petrified hippo merely dragging the pads of her feet against the jagged cliffs, and then turned to bring her back to the shoreline to see if there'd been any attitude adjustment with the big boy below.

Indeed there had been. Herman was on his knees, with his front feet (hands) together at face level, looking up at the helicopter with imploring eyes, as if he were but a pariah under the wheels of a juggernaut, and the governor was Krishna himself.

"We gotta do something!" Walder exclaimed to Jake and Orca.

"This time, you may be the only one that can," informed Orca.

Upon hearing this, Jake turned to Orca, surprised and furious at what he _thought_ Orca was implying, and demanded an explanation. "Huh...whadda ya mean? You mean let em' turn himself over to that pig human? No way!"

"No—I mean 'not exactly'," Orca stammered, trying to explain, struggling for the right words while, leaving Jake momentarily nonplussed.

"Walder," Orca continued, "you see that cable holding Herman's honey?"

"Yeah."

"You see where it connects to the helicopter?"

"Uh yeah; uh huh."

"Well, right there is a lever. And if someone were to pull that lever, it would release the snap holding the harness to the cable. That someone is going to have to be you."

"Yeah, but how?"

"As you heard, the governor wants you. But even if he gets you, he's still not going to let Herman's honey go—alive anyway. You have to convince him that you're willing to give yourself up—that you're turning yourself 'in'—to save Herman's honey. Tell him your gonna fly up there to 'em, and as soon as you get to the lever, pull it, to release Herman's honey. Only one thing, Walder, speak to him out here. Get him to come over here, with the copter, so when Herman's honey drops, it'll be over water, not where she'll be hurt severely.

_Wow, what a plan_ , Jake thought. _This Orca guy really has got a lot upstairs—boo coo brains._

But would Walder be able to _pull_ it off? Jake and Orca both wondered.

"Well, what's it gonna be, Hippo?" the governor demanded, realizing he had the hippo right where he wanted him.

Herman was crying hysterically, trying to give his honey some hope that he'd get her out of this somehow. Herman's honey, however, was so traumatized that the governor worried if they didn't hurry up the damned thing might have a cardiac arrest or something. Then what would he do?

"Hey, I'm over here," Walder called out to the governor. "Come and get me over here!"

Without hesitation, the helicopter left Herman on the sidelines to go and negotiate with the Gentooman.

Surprised, and stricken with panic, Herman began crashing through the surf to get out into deeper water, where the helicopter began hovering with his honey.

"Oh no. I hope this hippo doesn't screw everything up," Orca muttered.

"For real," Jake concurred, showing mutual concern.

"Let the Hippo go, first," Walder demanded, testing the governor's bargaining stance and trying to appear less gullible.

"No way, Gentoo. You have to come up here, first!"

"Oh, okay," Walder agreed, seeing Herman closing in on them fast, hoping to expedite the process before "something" else could present itself as further complications.

_Good show, Walder_ , Orca thought— _Now do it!_

Walder flew up to the anxious helicopter, desperately searching for the purported lever while pretending to prepare for a swap, as the pilot concentrated on keeping the helicopter stationary, hoping for a quick and easy "reception." Then, Walder saw it. There it was, the lever, right below the governor's feet. The governor's eyes had this beam about them, as if he knew there might be a trick of some kind in the works. Walder knew he must act fast—had to act now! With an all-out effort, Walder struggled to reach the lever. But, with the fierce, turbulent wind from the rotor blades beating down on him, Walder was having a terrible time making it the last few feet to the landing platform of the awaiting whirlybird. Detecting this problem, the pilot lessened the motor as much as possible without losing altitude, keeping the heifer hippo a "safe" distance above the surface of the ocean. Finally, Walder was able to set his feet atop the base of the helicopter, stabilize himself somewhat, and Walder lunged for "it."

Seeing this, the governor instantly bent over and grabbed Walder by a wing, "Oh no ya don't, you friggin' penguin!" while pulling him up and into the cabin of the helicopter.

Orca and Jake suddenly felt the preponderance of hope yanked from their will. Was this it? Was there anything they might do in these final moments, before it all was to be over?

While Walder was trying desperately to pull away from the governor's firm, determined grip, the pilot stabilized the helicopter, then left the controls and rushed over to help the governor subdue the penguin. Walder had only a moment to do something. Instinctively, and without an ounce of hesitation, Walder went straight for "the grapes." Within a nanosecond, Walder used his knife-like beak to peck fiercely (no less than five times) into the gonads of the governor, leaving him writhing in pain and gripping elsewhere. The pilot, after witnessing this, made a dash for Walder, who was just exiting the door, but only ended up with a fist full of air. Next, with the pilot holding on to the side of the door with one hand and bending to reach the penguin with the other, Walder grabbed the coveted lever, pulled it, thus releasing the tonnage of "cargo." As the copter lost its payload, so, too, went its stability by virtue of the previous settings on the controls being no longer compatible with the lack of anchor weight. With the cable dangling helplessly below, the copter instantly went into a swirling frenzy, sending the pilot tumbling for the ocean. Miraculously though (merely by fluke chance), the pilot was able to grab hold of the cable, which was flapping erratically below him, and prevent himself from landing into the laps of what would have been some very inhospitable hosts. Yes, all three were glaring up at the pilot, irritated by the notion they were being denied the opportunity of this unexpected guest dropping in for a "surprise" visit, while the pilot maintained a tight hold onto the cable with white knuckles.

Herman had just arrived to catch his honey as she fell into a mattress of water. He began growling into the roar of the copter with "fists a shakin' and jaws a gapin'." Orca's current temperament, at this point, wouldn't have been much better than that of Herman's. He, too, would have been quite displeased with this "guest" (not to mention Jake, who was feeling inclined to administer some sharp pecking into the pecker as well, after being thoroughly impressed with Walder's performance on the governor).

The pilot didn't seem to notice the severe animosity drawing a bead on him from below. He had been primarily concerned with maintaining his grip on the cable as he continued swirling in unison with _his_ aircraft, swinging to the beat of this Dervish waltz gone wrong.

Walder had nearly gotten a "haircut" from the rotor blades during the moments following the freeing of Herman's honey. But had managed to duck from harms way and was now flying about, taking it all in from the air.

Round and round the helicopter continued, veering down the coast and away from the celebration party, the pilot still clinging to the cable and the governor trying desperately to get to the controls (though he hadn't a clue what to do should he reach them). Heading inland, the helicopter left their sight as it just barely made it over a cliff. All anticipated hearing a crash at any moment. But after hardly any time at all, and nothing was heard, it was "out of sight, out of mind" regarding the governor.

It was almost as if the governor had never existed. All of a sudden it was as if a great force from another "dimension" had vacuumed away a massive network of problems. So quickly had so many complications dissolved. It was simply unbelievable. Herman had his honey now—she'd been delivered to him in the most inconceivable fashion—and found himself without a single reason in the world as to why he wouldn't be able to return to the wild and pursue his dreams with his soon-to-be "wife for life." They were both finally free, and together. This was quite the relief for Orca and Jake, realizing they had one less big baby on their hands. But Walder, on the _other_ hand, was being struck by a different notion, the notion that this might be the last time he'd ever see his beloved big buddy, and began doing a flashback to the first time he saw Herman. And then, there he was! Walder suddenly found himself back to when—where—they'd first met, at the waterhole, just he and Herman, when and where this hippo had saved his life. That infamous, yet wonderful, waterhole (infamous in that the appeal of the waterhole had been an insidiously destructive "security blanket" for Herman, and wonderful due to the fact it'd saved Walder's young life).

This entire sequence of events, since the "infamously wonderful" waterhole all they way up through to what had just happened, was now piling into Walder's recollection faster than he could digest it all. Walder never dreamed something could be over so quickly. It seemed impossible that something could. So quickly Herman's problems had vanished. So quickly had it become time to say goodbye and allow Herman to go his merry way. Walder had anticipated there would be more time, much more time: time to spend together; time to talk; time to ponder the past and relish the good moments; and, finally, time to laugh at times that had been—what they'd conceived to be at the time—"bad times."

As Herman and his honey began heading for shore, Walder flew down to the water's edge to meet them and congratulate the big boy on being reunited with his honey. As the two hippos climbed out of the water, the two seemed to only have eyes for one another. This made Walder feel even more anxious. He didn't know what to say. Too stunned to feel like crying (yet), Walder began by stuttering nervously, "So, I, I... guess this is it. Huh, Big Guy?"

Upon hearing this, Herman tore his gaze away from his honey while realizing the significance of what the penguin was trying to say to him. Now, Walder was the aim of Herman's two beady eyes, as they began to water, and then flood.

"Oh, I had no idea someone could be so happy and so sad at the same time," the Hopelessly Happy Hippo lamented. "I'll never forget Yuh, Little Buddy. We'll meet up again someday; promise."

Even the hardened Jake, and the aloof Orca, began feeling somewhat choked up as they watched this display of emotion between the two, a display so genuine, and therefore so rare, as to be the first of its type ever for either of them.

Now, it was Walder's turn to break down into tears; it was the first time of his young life. He lowered his head and began weeping shamelessly.

"Oh, don't cry," Herman pleaded, as he sat and lifted the pint-sized Gentoo up to his massive chest with one "hand," while gently caressing Walder's downy neck and tummy with the other.

But Walder couldn't help it. He continued sobbing and sobbing.

At this point, both Jake and Orca didn't dare let the other see their respective faces. For they, too, were finding it impossible to contain the tears and swollen eyes.

Then, Herman turned to his honey and asked, "Sweetie, you think you and me might be able to stick around for just a little longer; give the little guy some time to sort things out?"

Through the agency of only her eyes came an answer loud and clear: _Whatever you say; you call the shots; I listen only to you._

At that moment, it all seemed to come together for Walder: What must be; what had to be.

It was time to say goodbye and let the two hippos get on with their lives. Besides, if something were to happen to either of them, on account of their sticking around in behalf of him, Walder knew he'd never be able to forgive himself. With his wings spread to the fullest, Walder attempted his biggest and best hug around the heroic hippo's neck, and with a first and final kiss (peck on Herman's snout) Walder leaped off the palm of Herman's paw and into the water for Jake and Orca. Walder never turned around once, or even glanced over toward the shore. He simply fixed his gaze down the coast and headed determinedly for the Jack Ass Penguins.

# Chapter XXIII

It was tempting for Joey to _consider_ opening the Ecliptic's sail a little more, play with the current, and see how his theory of propelling the inverted ship via the ocean might fare. It had been just hours ago, before the confrontation with the Satellite, that Joey had been paying close attention to the direction of the wind and water, as any "would-be captain" would. And, since this storm at that time hadn't been a "swirling" sort of a storm, which is to say had remained fairly constant in its direction, Joey figured it should probably still be moving pretty much as it had been doing all along. With a little bit of impetus (from the sail), Joey felt he might be able to bridge the gap from their location out at sea, to land, in short order. It would be pretty hard to miss a continent the size of Africa. But Joey didn't dare. The sail below them had been opened just enough to serve their necessities. Only enough to propel the ship (just enough) in order to keep her heading "with" the storm, to keep the Ecliptic's stern facing the brunt of the storm, giving her a little push while keeping her water dynamic as she harnessed the speed and direction of the ocean surrounding her.

Along with the temptation to "try" something, was an irony. It was ironic in a way to Joey, to have a pretty good idea of which way the storm was moving and therefore a desire to employ the means of capitalizing on it, and then the frustration of having the good sense and discipline to know not to try anything of the kind. It was at least consoling for Joey to have a great deal of confidence in the theory that if they simply continued on the course they were currently going, and even at their "current" speed, they'd eventually end up on the African coast somewhere around upper mid-continent.

Even after determining the mast wasn't taking on water, Joey couldn't risk the possibility of creating a far worse predicament than what he and the crew already faced (curiosity killed the cat). One faulty move and he and the crew could have an immediate, life-threatening crisis on their hands, as opposed to _merely_ an impending one. Joey knew that turbulent water upon even a moderately opened sail, if it were to get caught "wrong," could stress the mast to the point of creating a fracture somewhere. And even a tiny fissure, anywhere, could be disastrous for the mostly-submerged vessel. It might be a better idea to sit tight. They had plenty of water and rations, and, most importantly, air. Hopefully this theory would prove to be their best, or a least adequate. In any event, the Ecliptic's interim Captain would not stop thinking about their options, or the possible disasters that could happen and what they might do should something occur.

All of a sudden, Humphrey popped into Joey's mind. _Humphrey?_ Then, for some reason, Joey couldn't stop thinking about Humphrey. _But why Humphrey? Why now?_ _Okay. Let's think about it. What would a whale do in such a predicament? And just how do they navigate, anyway?_ If he knew what the Humpback's knew, would he be able to deliver his ship and crew from this quandary? But then Humphrey had said it was more of a "something" that one "feels"—you _feel_ the knowledge.

This was very difficult for Joey, who'd always been the type of person to rationalize everything so completely. Furthermore, how could he think like a whale—feel like a whale— when he wasn't a whale? He was a human. But they were both warm-blooded mammals, and had a lot in common with one another.

Just then Joey realized he'd been pacing back and forth and reminded himself he needed to remain as still as possible, as did everyone else, to preserve air. Finding this difficult, due to his level of inexhaustible energy, he, nonetheless, took a seat off to a corner away from everyone. The other crewmembers were either leaning against something or were sprawled out on the floor. Some seemed to be in their own world while a few seemed to have been observing him, as if monitoring his "state of presence" and thereby using this as a criteria for the "state of affairs." Joey quickly realized that his actions were having an affect on some of the crew. It wasn't a vicarious sort of influence that they were experiencing from observing Joey, however. It was detached, and objective, which made it all the more deadly. He looked over at his father, who was braced upright by two 80-lb bags of dried beans on each side, to ensure his father was still breathing normally. His father looked peaceful. Joey realized there was nothing that could be done for him; he'd simply have to wait for the drug's effect to wear off. Joey went back to his thinking. He had plenty of time, plenty of time to do nothing. He thought and thought; he could do nothing but think. It felt as if a straightjacket had been woven around him by the fabrics of time. It felt awful, but coincidentally it was something to feel. Joey was beginning to feel something. As time passed, Joey began to lose his sense of how much time had passed. He found himself not knowing if it'd been hours or simply minutes since he'd taken a seat. Soon, time began to lose its significance and eventually lost all significance until, time didn't matter. Time didn't matter anymore! And then Joey increasingly began to disregard the physical sensations upon him. It wasn't a conscious choice of his that was making this happen. Joey simply became out of tune with every "thing" around him, even his body. Then, Joey began to feel—really began to feel.

An incredible sensation began to immerge within Joey. At first, Joey didn't consider what it was, or what it wasn't. He couldn't tell if it was his body or if it was "him." Whatever it was, it felt good, it felt exciting—exhilarating—it felt good to feel, and it felt familiar. Oh yeah. It felt like the way he'd felt back when he'd been in the lifeboat, while riding in the lifeboat, when the lifeboat was being pulled by Humphrey, and when Humphrey had mentioned this purported ability to know things just by feeling the truth. At first it'd felt real. Then there'd been periods when Joey had had his doubts—the ol' scientific skepticism thing. But right now there was no room for doubt, for all of Joey's "being" was being overwhelmed with this feeling. This felt real, and it felt good. It felt too good to be anything but true; it felt to be irrefutable truth. Joey found himself feeling as if anything was possible, that he could do anything. He somehow knew exactly where he was, where he was going, and felt as if he could guide and propel this ship by his very will. All of a sudden, Joey thought he heard something—felt something.

" _You have_ _arrived_ _, young human."_

_What was that?_ Joey thought, as if speaking to someone, or some "thing."

" _I said_ ," came the _voice_ again (from somewhere), _"'You'_ _have_ _arrived!"_

" _Arrived where—who is this?"_ Joey asked, while realizing he wasn't "speaking."

" _You've somehow acquired some basic skills of the 'marine mammal'—quite remarkable for a human_. _"_

" _Oh my gosh—are you a whale?"_

" _Quite thoroughly indeed I am. A 'Humpback' whale to be precise_."

" _Oh wow. Do you know a Humpback named Humphrey?"_

" _Well, as a matter of fact I'm afraid I do—the poor coward_."

" _He's the one that told me that 'this' was possible."_

" _Oh, he must have wanted something desperately in order for even him to have done that. Normally no marine mammal, especially a whale, especially a Humpback whale, would ever impart such wisdom to a human. You can consider yourself very lucky. You could quite possibly be the only human ever to have achieved this 'state'."_

Joey didn't know what to say. He instinctively opted to remain quiet and see what else he might learn from this whale, as the whale did indeed continue _. "It seems as though you may have come into a bit of trouble, somehow. You see, 'we've' been listening to you now for some time."_

"We?" Joey asked, hoping for clarification, surprised to hear there might be more.

" _Yes, I'm here with some comrades. Anyway, allow me to get straight to the point. I'll make a deal with you. My mates and I will give you a shove in to shore, keep you warm, safe, and 'dry', on the agreement that you'll keep a cap on 'this'. We wouldn't want humans to be able to tap into this universal language thing—it could put us marine mammals, particularly whales, at an extreme disadvantage. You see, whales can't move quickly, for an escape, like dolphins and orcas, and humans don't eat dolphins and orcas like they do whales. And, besides, whales don't get chummy with humans the way dolphins, and even orcas, do. We don't possess their P.R. skills. I'm getting the picture that you are 'one' human that can understand this."_

" _I won't say nuthin' to no one,"_ Joey assured, solemnly.

In only moments, this Humpback was able to convince his entourage that this "ship" could be of no threat to them, since it was upside down, and submerged (some indication that humans had never hunted whales in submarines). So, in a collective effort, this pod surrounded the ship and began nudging her along, while applying equal pressure to both sides, keeping the ship aligned with the storm. The gentle push from these Humpbacks could hardly be distinguished from the grinding current of water engulfing the ship. The crew of the Ecliptic slept (except for Joey) throughout the night, unaware that their ship was quietly, and softly, being escorted to the African coast courtesy of the brute power of an armada of Humpback whales.

As for Joey, it was hard for him not to think (out loud) about the incredible phenomena happening around him, within him, and, of course, the notion that "there must be more!" For even now, during all that was happening, this incredible sensation was being alloyed by an irritating realization. The whales were guiding his ship to safety—not him! Could this be a trick on their part to deprive him of the opportunity of further developing his skills concerning these new, and electrifying, phenomena? By depriving him of the _necessity_ to do it on his own?

As the captain started coming out of it, which is to say awakening from his drug-induced dreams, he'd actually thought he'd died—he nearly had—due to the drug that had been administered to him being a powerful opiate. He'd really had some crazy dreams. Relieved to know he wasn't dead, yet feeling as though death was still imminent, as if mortality was lurking over him like a hopeful vulture, the captain fought to shake the cobwebs from his faculties. Never before had the grand, finely polished mechanisms of the captain's mind ever felt so rusty. Never before had this veritable Byzantine fortress of strength and autonomy, on the part of the captain's makeup, felt so vulnerable, and moreover, so strangely invaded. So many odds had been stacked against the captain—the governor had been playing (hoping) for keeps this time. First by injecting the captain with an almost lethal dose of morphine, then throwing him headfirst down a steep stairwell, leaving him with convincing gashes on his face and head, not to mention bruised "ass and elbows" as well. But on top of that—he was to sink! He was supposed to have sunk, along with his ship, and with everyone and everything else. It was a good thing the crew had found their captain when they did. For not only was his heart beginning to falter, but even more likely were it that he may have choked on his own vomit, due to this alien substance intoxicating his body. But now he was finally coming back, back from incredible dreams that had placed him centuries in the past. Throughout the course of the night the captain had lived lifetimes of realistic fantasies in these opiate-induced dreams. He'd challenged medieval knights and won every battle. He'd slaughtered fire-breathing dragons; he'd freed his comrades from cave dungeons; he'd had the most wonderful romantic escapades in the most exotic places, during the finest eras, on earth. He'd lived out the most fantastic aspirations of any man. It had been awesome in the extreme, but the drug was wearing off, and now he was being reduced back into a mere "mortal," back into the fears and normality of human existence. As the captain, little by little, continued to return to the real world, an apparition of death ebbed and flowed from his consciousness until it began to lift and eventually fade from likelihood. Soon he'd be somewhere a bit closer to present time—his childhood.

The captain suddenly found himself reliving his childhood, as though it was happening right now, in "real time." He could see his mother's pretty face; he'd forgotten how young and vibrant she'd once been. But where was _his_ father. Oh yeah. He was due to be home any day now. It'd been several months since seeing his father. His father was a seaman on a merchant ship, and every time his father would come home from such a stint at sea he'd bring his son a wonderful gift. But the most wonderful gift he could ever possibly bring his son was his self, his person, for son to be reunited with father. What a wonderful relationship he and his daddy had.

The phone rang. He could still remember the clanging tone of that old "rotary dial." His mother answered, while he remained anxious from any word from his father. His father would always call to be picked up as soon as he made it to port. It was to be a call that not only was he never to forget, but would haunt him for the rest of his life. The next thing he was to hear would be wailing cries from his mother as if they were coming from the chambers of hell itself, as if her screams and moans was that of a multitude of victims being tortured in a bedlam during the Dark Ages. He could hear his mother's "'No!'s" echoing through the halls of his mind and being amplified by the horror that struck him, striking him with a force so overwhelming, as though a freight train was running through everything he was and had ever been. His blood ran cold. Instinctively he knew he was never to see his father again; the shock was too great for emotion just yet. Over time, this emotion would harden and would envelop him, forming a shell of callousness, and thus protecting him from potential pain from a loss in the future. It had become his destiny, from this time on, to never be the same, and, unwittingly, to never be like his father.

Yes, the ocean had robbed him of his father, had cheated him out of his happy childhood—any childhood actually. The ocean had taken from him his entire family in that his mother would never smile again, nor would he. And he was never to forget it, never to forgive that bitch-of-a-bitch ocean. His father had been such an easy going, nice and cheerful guy—the kind of guy that permits a cold, brutal body of water to best him, evidently. _Well, if that's what happens to nice guys, then from now on, so much for being a nice guy, ever._ That wouldn't be him; it would never be him— _That will never be me!_ He was going to beat that ocean for the rest of his life. Show _it_ that it would never get him. Even though his father had succumbed to it, he never would, and he would remind the ocean of that every day, for as long as he lived. After all, the ocean continued to remind him, like a hard slap on the face, every day. Every day, like a cold bucket of water thrown onto him in bed early morning, he would awake and remember. The ocean would remind him of what it had taken from him, what it had done to him. But the score was far from over. For the ocean was to know that he was, and always would be, smarter and stronger than the ocean. And, to really drive the point home, he was going to sail the seas of the world without fancy modern equipment. He was going to do it the "old fashioned way" (just like his father had).

So this is why the captain had been the way he was for all this time, for most of his life. It'd all been due to his father being out at sea, while he'd longed to be with his father (his daddy), when he'd lost his daddy for good, to the ocean. The single most compelling factor that'd abruptly changed the mold of this young boy's life and drove him to adopt the life he would choose to live—a spiteful-hate "relationship" with the ocean—for taking his father from him and leaving him with a determination to beat this ocean constantly. To forever be attempting to exact some sort of revenge by never letting the ocean do to him what it had to his father— _My God, is this how I became such a "desperado" of the seas?_

After reliving this traumatic portion of his childhood, it began to occur to the captain that since this horrific loss, which had changed the course of his life, he had been living a desperate life. Living as desperately as any desperado— _Oh my God, I'm a sick boy!_

As the captain left his childhood and sprung to present time, he became somewhat more coherent and began mumbling to himself. "It doesn't much matter, anyway. I've been beating a dead horse all along, all these years. I've been so stupid. So stupid: when I could have been spending time with my family, with my wife, when she was still alive, and with my son, Joey during his formative years. I've been so stupid, blowing it all on trying to beat the ocean, everyday, when I couldn't even remember why. But now I remember why. Oh yes, now I remember: 'My' father!"

He'd chosen to sail the way his father had, without G.P.S. or any other form of "cheating." He hadn't been concerned with making a lot of money, necessarily, but plenty enough to keep doing what he was doing—had to do—to keep beating the ocean.

Joey had never known about his grandfather. His father had never told him, due to his inability to speak about the matter to anyone, deeming it probably "best," given Joey's age and the sensitivity surrounding it all. "Oh, but one day I must tell him," the captained continued, mumbling louder and more clearly now. "It will be best if, someday, Joey does know these things." This was a part of his son's heritage after all. "One day I must tell him; I must tell Joey!"

"Hey Mates, the captain's snappin' out of it—he's 'coming to'!"

This "news," coming from one of the crew, shattered Joey's concentration like a cannonball through a glass house. Joey stumbled over to his father while hearing his name coming from his father. His father's eyes were opening now; his father was going to make it. Just as Joey began to gaze into his father's eyes sympathetically, and as the rest of the crew gathered around their vulnerable captain, the captain blasted, "Can't a man get some water around here? And jeez, how about some fresh air—you guys smell as bad as a pack of wolves around a carcass. Hell, can't you see I'm not dead?"

The men quickly dispersed, after being reassured that their captain was still the iron fist he'd always been, and Joey quickly brought his father some water and cautiously inquired into any other "requirements." "How about a bottle of aspirin?" the captain answered, implying he had a massive headache. As he rubbed his head and looked upward to stretch his neck, the captain suddenly stopped and gawked. "What the hell?" the captain wondered out loud, as his vision grew clearer with a fixed gaze on the "vaulted" _ceiling_ above.

"Oh, that," Joey replied. "That's the bottom of our ship. We're actually sitting on the ceiling of the lower deck—this is gonna take some time."

His father said nothing, just stared at Joey in astonishment, while beginning to wonder again if he had actually "made it." Upon seeing the incredulous expression on his father's face, without delay, Joey took a deep breath and began the task of explaining to his father how the Ecliptic had managed to end up topsy-turvy, and of their current state of affairs. At first the captain wasn't completely sure he was actually experiencing reality again. But eventually the surprise would lead to disbelief, and then from the incredulity of it all to a fascinated acceptance. It would be an acceptance bolstered by the demonstrable proof of his very surroundings, from the tangible sensations in this _real_ world.

Joey had always wondered why his father was the way he was; something had never really added up. For instance, that his father had frequently been away from him for long periods of time until his mother had died. Now his father would tell him; he was finally to know. Joey was now to find out that, all along, it had been all because his father had actually been afraid of knowing, or loving, his own son. For all of those years, it'd simply been because he was afraid of losing his son, afraid of being hurt, again. Additionally, Joey's father never wanted Joey to feel the pain he had, when he'd lost his father. And so, subconsciously, the captain had attempted to keep Joey "unattached" to him, hoping this would insulate his son from what he'd experienced, should something happen to his son's father.

The Inverted Ecliptic seemed to be "riding" more smoothly than expected. One could tell the storm was still raging as fiercely as it had been. Was their ship becoming sluggish? Was she possibly sagging some (more)? As time went on it was hard to be sure whether or not tricks were being played on one's imagination. Members of the crew kept insisting that they were hearing moaning sounds outside the hull, and that they had to be coming from underwater. Only Joey was aware of the pod of Humpbacks, and continued suggesting it was probably the mast, or a part of the ship's superstructure. One would have thought they might be taking on more water. But an assessment of their ship's ballast water didn't indicate that to be the case. It was a subtle, eerie, feeling.

_Wait a minute_ , Joey thought. _The mast! Could the darned mast, way down there, be taking on water?_

Quietly Joey went to his perfect hiding place; he didn't want to alarm his father or the crew in any way. With the ship inverted now, Joey wasn't forced to climb up into this hollow, rat-tail shaped mast, but merely stare down into it, a veritable abyss. One slip and it'd be a long way down, with no way back up. First Joey would drop a solid object down into the mast, to see if he heard the object strike water and, if so, how long it might take. Joey looked around and spied an empty wine bottle. Joey figured this should make a bit of a splash. And if there wasn't water down there he should surely hear the bottle shatter toward the bottom. Not wanting the bottle to strike a side of the mast on its way down, Joey dropped it dead center at a time he felt the ship was relatively "balanced." Indeed, the bottle did ricochet off the inside of the mast on its way, and two or three seconds later Joey heard a splash when this bottle struck water, though fortunately it was way down there. But this was not good. How long had the mast been leaking, and how fast? There was no way he'd even consider putting any more stress on that mast now, and boy was he glad he hadn't previously. His instincts and common sense had probably saved them all, by not giving in to temptation. But now he had another concern. If they didn't make it to shore before the mast "filled up" and began flooding their living ("breathing") quarters, it would be all over for them. Perhaps, if by dropping an object of similar constitution down into this "well" from time to time, and keeping a record of how much time it took for it to make it to the water, Joey would be able to determine if seawater was making its way up, and, if so, how fast. Or, he could fashion a "sounding line" by tying an object to a long-enough line, and using this over and over. Or, what about tying a floatation device at one end? By lowering this line down the mast until the float rested on water, and then measuring the amount of line required to reach this encroaching water, one could keep tabs on it this way. By doing this, coupled with knowing the inside dimensions of the mast, one could extrapolate how much seawater they were taking on down there. So in this way, too, by closely monitoring this over a period of time, one could keep tabs on the speed at which they might be taking on this unwanted—excessive—"ballast." Though this would be a basic, if not crude, tool, it would still be an accurate means to this end. But all the ship's lines had been left aboard the top deck. By now these ropes would surely be unraveled and be being flung around aimlessly by the current, dangling like tentacles from an enormous Portuguese man-of-war. So, for now, it looked like Joey would have to instrument the previous method, by periodically dropping objects down this shaft and keeping a record of the time each took to reach bottom. Joey scrambled around to locate another empty bottle, and, as before, dropped it dead center down the mast. But this time he'd set his "diver's" wrist watch to count down the time in hundredths of a second, and as soon as the bottle hit water he stopped it: _2 seconds and 63 one hundredths_. After noting this, Joey hurried back to the captain and crew. He didn't want to alarm anyone to his concerns, something no one could do anything about, anyway. Only he really needed to know, and possibly, at some point, his father.

Upon returning to the captain and crew, Joey found some of the crew beginning to get anxious again about their predicament: mainly if they were headed in the right direction, or even going anywhere at all. And, paramount to all, if they were to ever see land again.

"'Brothers', let me tell yuh something," one began. "If I ever make it out of this one, I don't believe I'll ever take to the sea, ever again."

"I hear yuh; my sentiments exactly," another concurred.

"Okay, Guys," Joey interrupted. "I happen to know we are on course and making good time for land. We've got plenty of provisions for the trip, and, most importantly, adequate air. We simply remain calm until our ship delivers us. This storm is still at full force and pushing us at a 45% angle for the coast of Africa."

"Yeah... But what if the storm dies down?" came a concern from one, and echoed by others.

"It won't!" Joey reconfirmed. "This storm's packing enough punch to shove us straight into the gut of the continent. There should be no concern over that."

A little mumbling ensued, but no one challenged Joey's theory or authority, not even the captain. Though the captain held plenty of questions and doubt concerning his son's reassurances, he knew better than to say anything now. It'd only serve to further incite the crew. But what was most vexing to the captain was his son's sudden command over _his_ crew. This was indeed most astonishing, if not a little disturbing. Had he been supplanted—by his own son—as skipper of the ship? Or was this just some sort of a "transitory arrangement" due to his previous incapacitation? Surely it would be _only_ temporary. In any event, this was extraordinary: his son's convincing elevation in status above the entire crew, and the crew's evident respect for Joey and acceptance of their new interim leader.

Joey would have loved to tell everyone what was happening—Oh, by the way, we're _currently_ being delivered to land by a band of Humpback Whales!

That should really go over well. They would surely think that he, and everything he'd done, was nuttier than a fruitcake—The kid thinks he's some kind of modern-day Jonah!

Would they go ballistic, or merely drop into complete apathy? One could only imagine it wouldn't be pretty. Anyway, that _option_ was completely out.

Once again it was back to sitting tight, preserving whatever they could (body energy; food; water; air), and riding the storm. Joey felt his father's eyes upon him, and Joey eventually glanced over to where his father was sitting and witnessed this being the case. Through the light of a single battery-type lantern, his father was gazing at him in a way he'd never seen his father look at anyone. There was a brilliant twinkle emitting through the glossy exterior of those wise old eyes, eyes that were typically never watery but flat, cold and gray. Joey looked away. It was very uncomfortable in a way; he wasn't sure what to make of it. There seemed to have been an amalgam of emotions that he'd just witnessed within his father, revealed momentarily by the agency of his father's eyes. Had Joey detected a hint of pride for his son in his father's eyes, with perhaps a touch of amazement? Or was it bewilderment? God forbid there be any form of fear or resentment for him coming from his father. This, along with everything else that was happening, would be almost too much for Joey to assimilate. Joey couldn't remember a time in his life when he'd been bombarded by so much mental stuff—and the associated emotion—all at once. He could only take some comfort in knowing his father was okay, and that their ship wasn't alone "out there."

Once again Joey embraced the quiet stillness of his direct surroundings. It was a quiet stillness surrounded by nothing but noise and motion just on the other side of the ship's hull. Surrounding him, engulfing him, this infinite sea of air and water continued its relentless assault on what little sanctuary they had, permeating their peace. Yet here, amid these exterior forces, Joey would "exteriorize." He would go beyond this chamber of safety to "out there." He would begin to feel again.

It seemed to be coming much easier for him this time. Soon he would feel the truth, until he seemed to know all, without reservation.

# Chapter XXIV

There he was, the veritable image of Jake, standing tall and proud atop the colossal rock. Wrango was still equipped with a pirate hat, topcoat, and dagger held to his waist by a red sash. But standing out above all was a lavender bandana—Jake's ever-brazen trademark—adorning his neck. This, along with the ostensible purpose of turning himself in to the governor (in order to spare his colony of Jack Ass Penguins the wrath of the wicked governor), only added to the credibility of _this_ iconic Jack Ass Penguin.

Slowly the hordes of activists began surrounding this icon, moving in until close enough to insure that it was "the" bird. Then they maintained an adequate distance from it, witnessing in awe, concerned with the possibility of scaring the poor thing in some way.

Wrango was basking in the admiration. Never before had he received so much attention, so much adoration and concern. He felt a warm, proud, and excited feeling run through him. He began to pose.

"Ahhh. Ohhhh, oooooh," came the collective call from _his_ admirers.

The Jack Ass Penguin community had spied this mass of humans too. They had been still fixated with the loss of Jake, and their cowardice, when the sight of thousands of humans moving in a giant wave down the shoreline had yanked them from their melancholy. Wondering what was up, they had followed these humans for miles, while maintaining a significant distance out a sea, until arriving where the imposter awaited.

"Who _is_ that? Could Jake have had a change in heart?"

It wasn't possible. Not the way he'd sounded the last time they'd seen him. They tried getting in a little closer to see if they could make out the detail and get a "positive" identification.

"Could it be Jake?"

They were still reluctant to get in close enough in order to make sure. Still, the imposter posed. The crowd couldn't get enough. Wrango couldn't get enough either, and wasn't about to _even_ try to stop himself from loving every second of it. Now, he was really, really posing!

Taking this all in, from the sidelines, was Ol' Timer. He was starting to feel just a little "left out." After all, it had been his plan. Just when Ol' Timer was getting a bit jealous over his young accomplice's instant stardom, something shattered the serenity of the show. Straight over the cliff, right above them, came the roaring sound of a whirly-bird. The thing was circling around and around, with someone dangling from some sort of a line, or something. The governor had just managed to get to the controls, and his first objective had been to keep the thing from going down and crashing. Now he was desperately trying to figure out how to keep the thing from spiraling fiercely (not that he was remotely aware of the pilot hanging on for dear life below and not that he could have given a darn about the poor pilot). The collective consciousness of these activists immediately took this as an attempt on the part of the helicopter and dangling person to abduct the poor penguin—to scoop Jake from the top of the rock.

"Stop them! Stop them!!" the activist screamed, as the multitude of humans rushed for the poor, heroic little bird.

The governor had just gotten a grip on another control of the whirling helicopter and managed to straighten the thing out. Upon achieving this, the governor, for the first time, became aware of the unlikely convention of people just below him. He wondered what the heck was going on. Then he saw the media vans and promptly decided to scat out of there—but not before scores of cameras had captured his notorious mug behind the controls of the helicopter, the helicopter allegedly attempting to abduct a defenseless Jack Ass Penguin.

"Did you see that? It was the governor! We surprised him; caught him red-handed!"

Yes, the governor was to make the Evening News—"Breaking Story"—and the revered "Front Page" of every newspaper in the world in the morning (it just wouldn't be quite the way the governor would have wanted it).

The activists began a mass celebration by everybody congratulating everybody. The hugging, kissing, and patting of the back, was just something reminiscent of the "love" during the concert at "Woodstock." They'd succeeded at running the wretched governor away and ruining his dastardly plot. The Media was in the process of "gittin' it all" when the Media began being informed of another "Series of Events Unfolding." It seems a ship, in most peculiar fashion, was washing up onto shore along the Ivory Coast. Rumor had it (already) that dozens of Humpback Whales had been seen around this ship. Eyewitnesses swore the damn things were pushing this inverted wreck toward a relatively smooth, sandy section of shoreline, as a mighty storm continued pounding this portion of Africa. Fancy that.

Finally it occurred to one of the governor's boys, after he'd witnessed the governor struggling to control the helicopter "live" on television, to get on the radio and inform the governor how to land the damn thing, and—"Oh, by the way, the pilot's still hanging from the line."

Yeah, fortunately for the pilot, he'd been able to wedge a foot into the snap at the base of the cable, and had been just barely able to still hold on when the governor began attempting his landing. Upon recognizing the ground closing in on him, the pilot let go and dropped a safe distance and ran from the descending helicopter before it could land on top of him or slice him into pieces. Just about the time the governor made a successful, yet awkward, landing of the helicopter, and began to take a few deep breaths, he was being informed of the shipwreck along the Ivory Coast. Could it be "that" ship? Could anyone still be alive? Damn! The Ivory Coast was well out of his jurisdiction, and far from international water. He thought for a moment. Then he saw the pilot, who was a rather traumatized bloke by now and still keeping his distance from the helicopter, and ordered the reluctant operator back over and into the helicopter. "Get us back to Cape Town!" growled the governor.

"But Sir, we must be dreadfully low on fuel. I'll have to first assess the—"

"Assess, my ass. Get us back now! I'm gonna need to go on television at once," commanded the governor, not realizing he'd just been on television, and radio, and was already the talk of the town.

The media crews, who had gotten back to Cape Town just before the governor, were more than happy to cooperate with the governor's insistence of blaming the shipwreck on "those rogue whales." There was already plenty of focus on carrying the story concerning this shipwreck, anyway, and so many theories were already being generated. So, hey, why not throw another twist in the mix of profuse speculation on the matter?

Unknowingly, the governor was generating a lot of headshakes. He didn't realize it, but he had been slowly "losing it" for days now, ever since that damned Jack Ass Jake had shelled his mansion. He'd been under a lot of pressure lately, missed a lot of sleep from having to cover his own ass and feeling duly obligated in keeping a close eye on his bungling Bozos. Damn! Did he have to do everything himself? And by now he'd done so many dirty deeds, and told so many lies, that his memory had become unable to keep up with them all. But, thanks to his delusional, inflated sense of his own intelligence and ability, it was utterly inconceivable to the governor that any of his fine attributes could ever wane in any way. Yes, the governor had been afforded the luxury of never being permitted to doubt himself, even for a second, on anything, in any way. So, "knowing" he could never be wrong about anything, the governor, fully equipped with his massive ego, stood before the cameras, as confident as he'd ever been, to inform an international community on the present situation. "These 'Man-Eating' whales, I mean man- _killer_ whales, I mean man 'killing' whales, must be destroyed immediately! We haven't any time for discussion or the like on this matter. 'We' will have to act immediately. We'll need to bomb the entire area at once, before they can get away. There's no chance of anyone surviving in that wrecked ship. I mean—that could have survived that wrecked ship. Such a wrecked ship it was. I mean—I'm sure it is—that it is. Anyway, it'll just be in the way of those **Man-Killing** whales."

The fine people in the News Room, from the editor on down, began looking over at one another as if—Does anyone have any idea what the hell this lunatic is talking about? Then one reporter asks, "Sir, what are you 'getting at'? Bomb them? Do you mean these whales? Bomb them _how?_ "

"I've already 'gotten to it', Sonny. Within minutes they should all be finished!"

"Yeah...? But why—How?"

"Whadda yuh mean, whyyy...? I already told you—they're a menace to society, to ships, to our fine men of the... to our fine men 'and' women of the seas, that sail the seas in behalf of all of us."

"Sir, throughout all of history, there has never been an instance of a 'Humpback Whale' ever attacking a human. Never—Ever!"

"Well, what about Moby Dick? Don't forget about Moby Dick!"

"Sir, everyone knows that the great white whale we _think_ you're referring to is **fiction** —as in fake, fallacy, pretend, etc."

"Oh, how could you say that about such a classic, a part of history, an integral part of our very culture and heritage: 'Moby Dick'. Yeah. That's what I'm talkin' about—good ol' Moby Dick. But yes, not so good in this case. No. In fact, not good at all. These are bad whales—very bad whales—'Man Killers'! Don't let 'em fool yuh. And don't let those bloody Animal Right's Activist fool you either. They're in it together, by golly. I'm tellin' yuh—there in it together. That's what the good governor—your governor—has just told you. Yes Sir! And you know you can believe your governor, your good governor. Good golly your gracious governor has golly...I mean 'jolly' well spoken. Well then, I'm glad I was able to answer all of your questions, and good day to you all."

"Governor—Governor—Governor—Governor—Governor—Governor...!"

It was too late. The good governor opportunistically leaped into a readied limousine and had his self whisked away from the Media and the hell out of there, pronto. What could he have been talking about? Bomb the whales? Just about that time the News Room began getting a report that a fighter-jet had taken off from the Cape Town area and was racing through international air space in the direction of the Ivory Coast Republic. What the hell was going on?

After the cold war, and the subsequent dismantling of the USSR, the governor had used his auspices to wheel and deal with some Russian officials. He'd managed to make a few friends after having his beloved Yacht "The Satellite" designed and constructed in the former Soviet Union. There had been so much weaponry available, even nuclear material. But what the governor had always wanted to do was to fly in a fighter-jet. And after experiencing the ride of his life, it quickly got under his skin. And within a half dozen flights he'd become fully addicted to the sensation, the whole experience. So it was only fitting that he'd eventually come to own one of these roaring, soaring beauties. It hadn't come easy, but at the right price the governor had finally managed to purchase (bribe) a refurbished MIG, fully equipped with plenty of its relevant artillery—and a "pilot" to boot.

This pilot loved his new "job." He loved living out of the Soviet domain—out from under the iron fist of residual Stalinism—in warmer, safer territory. He loved lounging around, maintaining "his" plane, which remained securely hidden and always at the ready.

Today had been pretty much the same as any day, until receiving a call. This military-trained fighter pilot had been informed that he was in for a bit of a "treat" today. He was to perform a little exercise mission by flying halfway up the continent to an "unmanned" wreck, which the authorities over there were concerned about. He was being ordered to prevent it from washing aground—he was to sink it. Actually, as the governor had put it, "Get over there ASAP and blow it to smithereens; incinerate it; vaporize it where it lay; leave no trace of nuthin'!"

At a speed of just under Mach II the scenery had been going by pretty fast, until reaching the outskirts of the storm. The MIG pilot knew he'd have to ascend for miles to avoid it, and so up and over it he willed his jet, as if he and the jet were one entity, as if the jet was an external layer of him. Then, somewhere close to the top of the troposphere, it became smooth sailing again. So high was he that the pilot could see the better part of the African continent off to his right side. On his left was the storm, an asymmetrical blotch of gossamer chaos moving in on the western central portions out of the South Atlantic Ocean. A problem occurred to the pilot, however, as to how well he'd be able to maneuver his plane when he was forced to descend into "this" in order to find his target. And what about "locking on" to a target, and the firing of missiles, amidst the ubiquitous turbulence of the storm below? Before he knew it, his gauges were indicating that it was time to descend into this mass of confusion. There'd be little visibility from this point on. He began his descent and drastic reduction of speed to find his target, to display his competency, and to _assist_ this cash strapped country with their little problem.

Oh, it'd been a long time since this pilot had fired at anything. _This is going to be a "blast_ ," he thought (with pun intended), as his eagerness gave him an adrenaline twitch. _Just a couple breaths of air, slow and deep._ He prepared himself.

He'd done this many times before; his ex-government had trained him well. It was always the first shot that carried with it some uncertainty. Always the first shot needed to break the ice. Then the training would kick in and everything became second nature. Besides, this wrecked ship was nothing more than a sitting duck compared to the F-16s he'd prepared extensively for.

The storm was still pretty violent. It wasn't very likely that he'd have to concern himself with another flying craft of some kind or another in the thick of this mess. He plowed on through the turbulence for the awaiting quarry.

As objects on ground began to come into view, the pilot made out a relatively "beachy" section on the coastline nestled between rocks and cliffs. Then, right out in the water, hundreds of meters from shore, was the semblance of a shiny, metallic object glimmering amongst the whitecaps. Next the pilot could make out scores of people on shore, and it appeared that some might be in the process of boarding a rescue type vessel. Now this was inconsistent with what he'd expected to see. Why would anyone be risking their life, by boarding a watercraft and attempting a rescue in these high seas, when it was just an unmanned wreck, something that could wait until the storm was over? But, being trained to obey orders, and not to ponder on "why," the pilot swung his jet around to make another pass at a lower altitude to see if he could get a lock on the target. Dialing in on the wreck below, the pilot couldn't help but see a dozen whales or so circling this wreck, as if it was spawning season in "Whaleville," and it was a "mate" that they were all competing for. What would he do? He couldn't take a chance on hurting even one of these whales. That's totally illegal. Not for the purpose of hitting a harmless target—not for a mere drill. But a better question might be: why did these whales seem so obsessed with a wrecked ship, anyhow?

Maybe if he flew over real low and hit the afterburner for a second, perhaps this might scare them away. He must be careful though. For trying even something as basic as this could prove tricky in this storm. It would be wise for him to remain constantly appraised of his speed and of the direction of these winds, because, the two combined could prove excessive for his aircraft. The ground can come at you mighty fast! There was the constant opportunity to be swept out of control by a gust and sent down into a fireball. However, the winds had been pretty much unidirectional. So, if he played it smart, then maybe he could play it a "little" unsafe. The pilot forced the MIG into the wind and prepared for a 180 % turn. This time the MIG made a pass over the wreck at only about 100 feet elevation. Right when the jet was directly over the pod of whales, the pilot hit the afterburner, causing a roaring concussion of sound, not realizing that some of the people on shore were a TV crew and that he was currently "Live" on international "Breaking News." The cacophony coming from the exhaust of the fighter-jet's turbines was so extreme that it jammed the microphones onshore and startled people via their TV sets. One of those currently watching was the governor. "What the hell is he doing? Bomb the bastard, you idiot. Bomb it—you're supposed to bomb it, dammit. Bomb it! Bomb it!! Bommmb it!!!"

Once again the pilot came around to pass over the wreck and, hopefully, find that the whales had dispersed. _Nope. They haven't budged. Just what is it about this wreck that these whales find so fascinating?_ What was he to do? If he didn't figure out something soon he might start running too low on fuel to make it back. But how was he going to finish his mission with these damned nuisances in his way?

As the pilot thought about it more and more, it began to occur to him that "this" really didn't make much sense: blowing up a ship right off the coast—or anywhere for that matter. And what about the ship's fuel tank? Wouldn't that smother this beach in diesel? I mean, why would anyone want that? As the pilot's anxiousness for some action gave way to a little recognition and common sense, something about this whole thing began to make less and less sense.

Back down on the beach it was business as usual—"Heads up; surf's up!" These fine folks were still attempting to get their watercraft past the crashing surf. Can you believe it? But it was, and would be, to no avail. And, yes, the cameras were still rolling, capturing this as well, while the storm continued its relentless capacity to demonstrate the stubborn, remorseless tendencies of nature. These waves were, as they had been for most of the storm, continuing an untrammeled progress toward land, moving inland with the storm, and, like much of everything else, slamming the boat back to shore, pounding it with sand, shell, and water.

Since contacting the Coast Guard some time ago, it was uncertain when help might make it. "We'll get there when we get there," had been the reply.

After all, it didn't seem an urgent matter. The possibility that someone could be alive in "there" was inconceivable to all. So, for that reason, things were a lot less urgent than they would have been if otherwise. But the News Team was anything but complacent. The TV crew continued footage of everything, including the MIG making its numerous passes over "those rogue whales," as the public (including all the Animal Right's Activist) wondered whether the fighter-jet was going to make good on the governor's insistence and bomb the "man killers." Yes these Humpbacks were still surrounding the wreck, but the appearance was that they were attempting to nudge the thing to shore. They didn't appear to be doing any harm.

By now the governor had grown hysterical; he was desperate to speak with the pilot. But he didn't have any means of radio contact with the pilot, and until now it hadn't occurred to him he would have needed such. The pilot was supposed to fly over there, hit the target and get out. So why hadn't he done so? What the hell was he waiting for? Where was an air-traffic control tower that he might get through to this fighter-jet? Any such thing would have to be in proximity to the jet, and he was down here in South Africa.

Unknown to the governor, the local authorities on the Ivory Coast had just made radio contact with the fighter pilot and had advised him that if he had any intentions of bombing those whales he'd better "think about it."

"What do you mean—bomb whales? I was ordered to sink that wreck they're swarming around."

"Ordered by who?"

"My boss—the governor."

"Abort mission, immediately!"

"Roger that. It's your jurisdiction, anyway."

The local authorities had taken the threat of the governor's intention to bomb these whales very seriously. So much so as to move in personnel armed with anti-aircraft weaponry at first mention of it. And if the pilot had been "in and out" like he was supposed to have been, then there would have never been a problem. But the pilot had been so focused on his target, and his fuel level, as to not notice what had been arriving to the coast from inland. Just after affirming he was indeed aborting mission, this pilot swung his plane around to be with the wind as he began his ascent, which put him over land, just _before_ one soldier with a rocket launcher was told "Hold your fire!" This chap released a round that clipped the wing of the MIG just as it was starting its ascent and sent it into a vertical spin. The pilot instinctively ejected from the cockpit and floated down under a parachute while witnessing his jet plummet back for earth in most erratic fashion, as if attacking gravity itself, and erupting into a ball of flames.

The TV crew had captured every microsecond of this, and by now other media groups were arriving with more camera and equipment until many aspects of the events were being shown simultaneously on one channel. You had a shot of the smoldering MIG on yonder hillside on a top corner of the TV screen; you had the Humpback Whales still surrounding the wreck and nudging it toward shore on the lower portion of the screen. There were intermittent flashes of the gallant soldier still brandishing his rocket launcher; the rescue boat yet attempting to make it to the wreck; etc. Indeed the public was elated that these authorities had averted an attempt to murder these endangered species. But after the elation, later would come a fomenting outrage concerning these "crimes against nature." Soon the entire world would become aware of what had just transpired on this section of The Ivory Coast, galvanizing people from all classes and countries into a global movement. This movement would be organized, materialized, and glorified, and was to become a major influence on the laws determining the fate of these, and all, mammals of the sea from here on out. My, what an effect one little ol' "event" can have!

It was a strange dream that Joey began experiencing. After four days of little rest, he'd finally permitted himself to drift into a sleep. Joey could feel himself floating along. It was hard to know for how long he'd been doing this, because in dreams moments can seem like minutes, or for even much longer. In this vacuum of relative serenity, Joey could yet sense that all wasn't okay, that the safety of this sanctuary he'd fallen into was alloyed with the warning of a stranger, someone or something up to no good, lurking somewhere in the shadows. Then, he envisioned something coming directly for him, slicing through time and space at an alarming rate. This wasn't something lurking in the distance; _this_ was—suddenly—in his face! Instantly it felt as though this dream, in which he'd become so immersed in and had just previously felt somewhat secure with, was now holding him captive. His fortress had become a dungeon. But even a dungeon wouldn't secure him from this outside threat. For now it was as if his dream had become vulnerable to the "outside," to the real world. This dream had become a sham enclosure—an eggshell—and this dagger had appeared to pierce right through this mere lining of fantasy and was now threatening him with imminent death. His first impulse was to combat it. But how? And with what? Joey was filled with dread over the plausibility concerning this apparent crisis while simultaneously hoping dearly that it was but a dream. Joey rationalized in the depths of his subconscious that if he remained alive, in this dream, then he would be okay. That this was, and had been all along, a dream, a premonition, an omen, or something. Although Joey would receive premonitions from time to time in his dreams, this one was so much more intense, graphic, and urgent—so convincingly "real." Just as Joey couldn't have felt any more entangled within this, couldn't have felt any more inextricably entwined within this web of subconscious "manufacture," a roaring, rumbling sound came from overhead (the MIG's afterburner), from outside of his ship, from outside of his dream. The concussion from this was so jolting that it instantly permeated his entire body and began awakening every fiber of his instincts. Next, the vibrations seemed to be coming from all directions, encompassing him briefly, as if he were inside of an enormous cauldron that was being struck fiercely. The dream translated this to an intruder, from the dark forces of hell, knocking on the door of his meager dwelling: the Gestapo, Lenin's thugs, or the like. He held his breath. Fear and uncertainty was all he knew as, once again, silence prevailed. After some time passed (again it was hard for Joey to know how long it'd been), suddenly, Joey felt as though he was being launched into air momentarily, until going into a roll. This instantly yanked him from the fixation of what he'd just been so deeply troubled with. It happened so fast. But this felt real, too, a different kind of _real_ , as opposed to a dream. But of course it's a dream, Joey's subconscious concluded, just before he went slamming into a wall, which woke him abruptly to realize it was a dream no longer—it hadn't been the dream—this was for real.

_What's happening?_ Joey thought, looking around at the crew scattered about him. It seems as though everyone else had received the same launching that had happened to him, and most were immediately panic stricken out of fear and concern over the unknown. Joey, however, realized the inevitable was upon them. All along, Joey had known it would only be a matter of time until they would begin approaching shore and the mast of their ship colliding with something, snagging a reef possibly. Soon the mast would catch something again. But would the mast grab hold of large, jagged rocks that might prevent them from making it to shore, or would it merely drag the sandy bottom of an "approachable" beach and turn the ship on her side and thus enable them the opportunity for an escape? What ever happened, it would all be coming to a head soon. Then Joey embraced the worst-case scenario. What if the mast, under undue stress, cracked and began allowing in enough water to threaten their delicate stability. Would it be enough additional weight to pull the ship under, or even worse, displace the pocket of air trapped in the hull (their last and most vital life support)? Again, Joey thought about the option of opening the sail, something that could hasten their contact with shore. But, also, an open sail could increase the chance of the mast, sail, or rigging below, snagging something, and thus threatening their hopes of making it to shore. Joey also knew, for they were still hundreds of meters from shore, it would be far too dangerous to try and "swim for it" in these enormous waves. What would happen first? Would the storm die down, or would it shove them onto shore? They'd made it this far, just as Joey had promised. Joey recalled a familiar sensation. It felt as if he were aboard a vessel that had just dropped anchor. He remembered how it felt. It felt the way it felt now, like they'd dropped anchor. He could feel the insistence from the storm pushing his inverted ship, wave by wave, only to recognize the unrelenting "tug" below, which could only mean one thing: the mast had snagged something, possibly for keeps, and they weren't moving. _Great—just what we needed_! This was what Joey had been dreading. Not only weren't they not moving now, in addition, a marked degree of stress was being placed on the mast, and who knows what might happen next, and when.

The Coast Guard did finally arrive, but were wisely keeping their ship at a safe distance from the wreck. After pondering the situation for some minutes, someone presented the idea of latching a cable onto the wreck, somehow, somewhere, and hopefully dragging it to shore. There wasn't a crane or any heavy equipment in sight, but maybe the array of military vehicles up on shore might suffice. This idea was quickly shot down by another who pointed out (after deeming this notion "daffy") that in the first place there would be absolutely no place on the base of a ship—"its strictly water-dynamic"—to attach a cable, or anything, and no one was going in the water to search for something down below to attached it to, especially in these seas. And secondly, even if such were accomplished, the sheer weight of "that water-logged wreck" would be excessive in the extreme. "It'd be a Herculean feat draggin' that thang out of there, or anywhere for that matter!"

"Okay then, if you're such a genius, then how might such a Hercules' 'feet' be accomplished then?" came a _sensitive_ defense from the not-quite-bright creator of the initial proposal.

His comrade could only roll his eyes in a demeaning-as-hell fashion ("Whatever!") and, while preparing for a lethal quip designed to proverbially bury his mate, someone shouted, "Look what's happening!" and the two glanced back over at the wreck and saw that this inverted ship was bridging the gap. Those whales were shoving the wreck ever inland. Hell, at this rate, it'd be a matter of minutes before the ship was washing ashore, and some of the crew aboard the Coast Guard didn't _care_ to see that. _What can we do, Mates?_

Unknown to all, the mast of the wreck had snagged something for a period of time, which had prevented the storm from shoving the vessel in closer to shore. But with the insistence from the Humpbacks' contribution, in conjunction with just the right timing during a wave, the rigging had torn free and the Ecliptic was on her way to shore at a convincing speed. Now what would be the best way to handle this? These authorities at sea quickly assessed the available options, but all were at a loss for even a remotely workable plan of action. _Damn!_ It'd be a (crime) shame if the boys on shore got to it—in it—before they did. There could be lots of "goodies" in there!

Again the crew of the Ecliptic felt and heard their mast below them grinding against something. But this time it was a gentle sort of a dragging sensation. This time the ship wasn't being restrained entirely. Amidst its eagerness to unite with shore, this ship began experiencing a compromised freedom, a sort of intermittent loosening-of-the-leash liberty to dash for shore with the tidal surges, all the while being coaxed along by the whales. Then, just as Joey had hoped, the Ecliptic began to list a bit more, rolling ever so gently as it came closer to shore. To the degree the ship continued for shore, the shallower the water and the more one side of the mast would drag bottom, thusly tilting the ship continuously. The Humpbacks had delivered them to a hospitable section of coastline. Joey could tell, by the way the mast was digging into the sandy bottom. This was a straight shot for shore; they were guest to a welcoming beach. Joey knew this was it; the time had come. "We're here, Men—we're practically crawling on land, now!"

Everyone was trembling with excitement. Although hope had been reborn in all of them, there was still a tremendous amount of apprehension concerning the details of such matters as to—How? and What if? How would they prevent any additional adversity, and what if this, that, _and_ the other were to happen? And what (how?) would be the best way to disembark their vessel, in the event any additional problems (what if?) did occur?

Joey's father had been watching his son, not even considering intervening. He knew there was no reason to. His son had become a man, a captain. He was astonished; he was so proud. The captain watched as Joey paced back and forth considering how they were to do this. If only the surf had died down some by now they might have considered swimming for it. But at this point they were practically under the waves, just as these waves were breaking and crashing for shore, and that would still be a highly risky proposition. Even though some, or most, of the crew might make it, Joey, like any captain, was thinking of the welfare of all of his crew, every man aboard. His father, for instance, was no spring chicken, and had been through a lot lately—courtesy of the governor—and was far from full recovery from his ordeal. Was there another way? As the inverted Ecliptic continued to near shore, she began to list more and more to one side. And, just as expected, their ballast—seawater and all the soggy debris in it—began encroaching in on them, splashing them with cold, wet, staleness. This would be there final wakeup call, reminding all that the time to act would be very soon.

As the moments began passing by with increasing brevity, Joey found himself inadvertently monitoring each moment as if in an attempt to impede the progression of time, to stretch each fleeting frame of possibility for a deliverance from their dilemma. Joey considered the possibility that help might be aware of their predicament and waiting on shore prepared to scoop them up. This would mean instant incarceration for the crew of the Ecliptic, except for him and his father. These crewmembers were still outlaws, in the eyes of the law, and would surely be handed over to the authorities at the insistence of over-zealous prosecutors back in England. Though this hadn't occurred to any of these members of the crew, yet, (they were solely engrossed with the prospect of making it to shore alive), Joey knew that they'd have little hope for any form of a "life," even after their _lives_ had been saved.

More and more the ship's ballast water kept sloshing around with every incoming wave, splashing them, soaking them thoroughly, as the crew kept their flashlights trained on any debris in the water that might injure someone. Joey became especially fascinated with an empty rum barrel that had been prancing about. Didn't want to get hit by that thing. It hadn't been just "bobbing about," it seemed independent of the water, going wherever it pleased—as if it owned the place. Unlike the other items of flotsam, which had become to some degree waterlogged and were sloshing wearily with the shifting ballast, this barrel had been constantly 95% atop the water like a cork in a fishbowl. It was a hermetically sealed wonder. The thing was completely untroubled by the fate that seemed daunting to everyone (and everything) else.

Finally, one side of their ship's hull could be heard—and felt—grinding against the seafloor, making a screeching sound as this metallic exterior pressed into the sand, shell, and rock. This was probably as far as they were going. They were still over a hundred meters out, and in these seas that was plenty far enough.

The Humpbacks had done pretty much all they could do for now. Apprehensive about getting caught in shallow water, too, and becoming permanently beached, had them keeping a safe distance from the Ecliptic at this point. Now, it would be up to the crew inside the Ecliptic; they were on their own.

On shore, the authorities continued wondering how they might bring the wreck into position to where it could be "inspected," while still completely unaware that anyone was alive in there. You never know, there could be plenty of booty aboard a vessel such as this one: small precious items such as money and jewels—first come, first serve. Even under the watchful eye of the cameras on shore and the equally opportunistic Coast Guard just beyond the crashing surf, one could get away with quite a lot of inconspicuous "stuff."

Once again, Joey began feeling as though he'd been cheated somehow. As if, yet again, he was being denied the opportunity to apply this theory, a theory to a purported ability that Humphrey had insisted on. And now, it was an ability that had been corroborated by these other Humpbacks. It was something that could only be achieved through necessity. Joey was beside himself with frustration. These darned whales had deprived him of that necessity. **They** had delivered his ship—not him. For so long he had been waiting to try this thing, and this time would have been a grand opportunity to put it to a test, to bail himself out, fully, and all by himself. Now, he would go on wondering what might have been, what could have been, had he been permitted to test this ability, to really put it to the test. Until Joey mastered this thing, and proved it by digging himself out of a real jam, all by himself, he would never feel even somewhat satisfied.

He considered going off with these whales, after this was over, riding on the back of one of them, living with them out a sea. And as ludicrous as this notion might have seemed, Joey _felt_ it was possible. But, on a rational level, Joey realized that something like this would be completely out of the question. _Oh yeah—"of course I could"—I'd be dead, within hours, of hypothermia_. Joey also knew that these whales were heading north, and he had unfinished business back in the Cape Town area.

As their ship remained wedged in to place between the shallow seafloor and shore-bound surges, Joey could only stare at the debris in the ballast water. This fluidic assortment continued ebbing and flowing like the ocean around them, making threatening gestures by splashing them waist high as their ship lay on one side.

That empty rum barrel kept striking Joey's fancy, somehow. The thing was a relentless exhibitionist, dancing tirelessly about the place, pirouetting as if with a partner, as if no partner would be able to keep up with it. It was as if this floating wooden keg was the only thing in sight that wasn't vulnerable to this storm. Why that old barrel of air could probably go on floating forever. Heck, you probably couldn't sink it with 2 rounds of buckshot! There's just something fascinating about something so impregnable. This rum barrel was like the hull of a ship, in a way. Like the hull of most any ship, keeping the whole business afloat by virtue of the air within it. Although the hull of the Ecliptic had been impaled, it was due to her incredible design that had enabled Joey and the crew to seal off an inner section of their ship from the surrounding water, thus trapping a pocket of air in which they'd taken refuge. This wooden barrel, too, had trapped within it a significant amount of air. The lid had been tapped back into place after the contents were removed and, since it'd been in constant contact with seawater the past few days, this wooden top had become swollen (along with the rest of the keg) and was firmly locked in place. Attempting to remove this lid, to try and pull it off, with it so firmly lodged into place could prove quite difficult. However, from the inside, someone might more easily remove it from striking it outwardly. Yes, this latter would indeed be far easier. In any event, there seemed to be an undetermined degree of potential in such an item; surely this thing must be useful in some way. But how? What if, for instance, there was a barrel like this one for every man aboard? This might be of some use to them. You would have to tie them together somehow, or tie a man to it, or something. Or what about placing someone inside the darned thing? That would be pretty cramped for most everyone aboard, except for him, except for his young, lithe body. He might feel fairly comfortable inside the thing. And when it came time for him to exit the barrel, it'd be a matter of simply kicking the top off—a lot of power in the legs. Of course he would have to go in head first to be in position to do this. But something like this would take a tremendous amount of mental coolness to avoid any form of claustrophobia. It would be the ultimate exercise in discipline: the supreme test of the will of the mind. Wow, that would really be something. To be encased in a barrel, with plenty of space left for air, bouncing around in the surf and washing to shore in what should be short order. He could do it. He knew he could. And he would be alone, all by himself. It would be a challenge—an act out of _necessity_! "Hey Guys, I gotta plan!"

As Joey began outlining this prospect to the others, he began getting feedback like—"Kid, you're crazy. You may have gotten us this far, but this time you're _really_ crazy!"

Another member of the crew, one of the _more_ low-life type, commented, "Hey, it's 'his' hide. If he wants to do it, let 'em."

Then, Joey's father urged Joey to refrain from this one: "Joey, don't do this!"

"It's possibly our best hope; our only hope," Joey insisted. "We don't know if anyone even knows we're here. If I can make it to shore, then I'll be able to run for help—to notify others of us. You guys are going to seal me in that barrel, lift me through the hatch, and toss me out one of the puncture holes. Now that we're on our side, these top hatches can be opened. Open it between waves and launch me in that barrel. But be sure to close it before a wave comes crashing in. You still got plenty of air, and _you_ don't 'need' any more water in here."

First they'd have to see if the lid could indeed be removed from the barrel. If they were able to do that much without damaging the integrity of this hermetically sealed floatation device, then later it would be a given that he'd be able to kick the top off after feeling himself wash onto shore with a wave. As soon as Joey felt himself rolling onto shore, he'd have to quickly get out of the barrel and run for high ground before another wave came crashing in to drag him back out and possibly suck him into an undertow. This plan should work. But everything would have to be done just right with precision timing.

As expected, removing the lid wasn't going to be an easy task. Eventually someone came up with the idea of driving screws into the thick, waterlogged lid, but only partially through, just far enough in to get a firm attachment. Easy does it. They only dared go about three-quarters of an inch deep; any more and they might puncture the watertight seal. Finally they had somewhat of a makeshift handle in which they could grab onto the lid. This, in conjunction with a little chiseling along the edges (where the barrel and lid formed a nearly permanent union by virtue of a "water weld") allowed them to eventually pry and pull the top free. Initially the air in the barrel was far from pleasant. It reeked of rum and seawater. But as the stale air became displaced with other air it would prove satisfactory for the brief time Joey intended to be inside this most unusual watercraft.

Inside this capsule of air Joey was placed. The screws would be left in the lid just in case one or more of them might have gone in a little too far, causing a leak if removed. Though the diameter of the lid had been reduced slightly from the chiseling and prying, still it would prove to be a sufficiently snug fit and ensure that he would be able to remove it. The lid and barrel were nicely reacquainted as the lid was tapped firmly back into place, this time with precious cargo inside ("stowaway Joey"). The crew readied to heave him out an open hatch and into the wicked waves, while Joey's "breathing air" was still fresh.

Joey's father dreaded allowing Joey to actually go through with this. He couldn't bear to think about what the consequences of such a daring feat might be. His only son, the only thing he had left of his wife, could be gone forever in just moments. He couldn't argue with his son's logic, however: one **man** risking his life in an attempt to save them all.

Everything was set to go. Right after this series of large waves, they'd open the hatch and launch the kid in the barrel.

"I think this is it, Mates," said one of the crew. "Ready—Go!"

Joey felt his body being heaved upward momentarily, knowing very well what would come next. This was it; there would be no turning back now. As expected, his wooden capsule struck the metallic hull of the Ecliptic before rolling down to the water. But Joey hadn't anticipated his body bouncing so severely against the inside of the barrel where the barrel was to come into contact with something. Joey pressed his back, hands, elbows, knees and feet against the inside of the barrel, keeping his feet away from that lid, to stabilize his body within it, to it. This, hopefully, would allow him to move in unison with the barrel as opposed to flopping aimlessly around inside of it. After doing so he began to roll over and over as the barrel made its way down the side of the ship to plunge into the surging sea. One crewmember however, at the risk of allowing a wave to gush water into the open hatch, couldn't resist the urge to witness the barrel making its way into imminent peril. Quickly, he pulled himself up to poke his head just outside of the puncture hole to be struck by the first natural light he'd encountered since being escorted to "the brig" of this ship back in the Cape Town area. Though overcast skies had the sun's light to a minimum, he strained his eyes in order to observe Joey "barreling" down the side of the ship for the sea. Sure enough, once hitting water, the barrel began bobbing in the surf like an apple in a washing machine. So, just before dropping back down through the hatch to his awaiting crewmembers, this bloke took a quick peek about the ship to see whatever he might, and was astounded to find scores of people on shore gawking at him. But not as astounded as they were. These people onshore were practically peeing in their pants as they witnessed the barrel being tossed "overboard," and now to see this crewmember's bony head with beady eyes peeping out of a cavity in the side of this wreck.

"Get back in here, Moron! You're gonna let water in," one of the crewmembers demanded from below.

"You won't believe it, Mates," this crewmember tried to explain. "There's 'tons' of people out there—up on shore. They saw me; they know we're in here. We're gonna be saved. We didn't have to send the boy out after all."

"What? Are you sure?"

Everyone could tell, though, by the immense glee being expressed on this fellow's face, that he was either hallucinating or was "for real." In either case he wasn't kidding.

"Let me up there—I gotta see this for myself!" another insisted.

As this crewmember squirmed through the hatch in the side of the Ecliptic to see for his self, by now every camera onshore was thoroughly trained and zoomed in on the cavity in the side of the wreck. First it had been a wooden barrel to make appearance, then a bony head. And here was yet another bonehead. A completely different person was now peering out the side of the wrecked vessel.

"There's people in there—alive!" stated one newsperson, while the world watched in anxious amazement.

Right then an immense wave hit the ship. This knocked the bug-eyed crewmember back down into the ship, just before the crest rolled over the entirety of the Ecliptic. In came dozens of gallons of seawater to accompany the chap as others scrambled to close the opening before another wave could strike. "Enough of that—secure the hatch!"

"Is it true, Mate? Are there really people out there?"

"Aye. There's a crowd on shore. They seen me."

Everyone but the captain erupted in gleeful celebration. The captain was thinking only of his son.

Even sooner than Joey had predicted, he felt himself rolling on the beach, still in unison with his wooden exterior. It had practically taken no time at all. Joey hadn't considered the additional force of the violent wind, heading in the direction of shore, which had literally blown him across the top of the surf. In a series of 3 or 4 waves Joey had made his way from the wreck to shore, the barrel bouncing briskly on the top of these waves as sprightly as a ballerina on hot coals. Right when Joey felt the barrel come into contact with sand and shell, he hesitated removing the lid from his wooden vessel, knowing that larger waves behind him could still be deadly. And so, Joey waited for a monster wave to shove him way up onto shore. Then, he made his move. With a few sharp kicks to one side of the lid, the seal popped free and Joey wasted no time squirming out of the barrel before another wave could reach him. When the crowd on shore saw this, they were very startled and confused. For a moment they just gawked, before it occurred to a few to help the boy away from the surf. But the majority of these folks stood still and silent, perplexed by the incredulous spectacle they'd just beheld. This was just beyond bizarre! Even the news crews were silent. Only gasping noises with a few whispering something through the microphones, resembling the reverence of a high-stakes golf tournament or the like. Finally, the ice began to break with Joey informing the authorities of the current scene within the wrecked vessel and attempting to give a brief account of what had transpired over the past few days for him and the crew.

Feeling left out, the News Crews moved down to the sandy beach in order to hear what the boy was saying and inform the world. What the boy was saying was very interesting and all, but the issue paramount to all else would be how to free the people who were still being held captive inside the wreck. Eventually this storm would have to peter out and permit a rescue crew to approach the wreck and bring them to shore. But how would one know for certain that things would go well? What if something was to happen in the interim? There was no way they were going to just lower their guard and simply wait out the storm. How could they rescue these sailors—now? It'd take hours to get a crane or some other type of heavy equipment out here. And even then, who could say the wreck wouldn't simply tear apart while being pulled to shore?

Pretty ingenious, though, what the boy had done: shoot for shore inside an empty booze barrel.

How thoroughly opportunistic this lad had been; how terribly clever; how resourceful. This tyke had certainly availed himself of the resources at his disposal. How might they follow suit in some way?

It seems the authorities along this Ivory Coast were having quite the privilege of receiving quite the guests today. Just inland, another visitor had just "dropped in." After being freed from his jettisoned cockpit, which had gotten entangled in the treetops a couple hundred feet above ground by the parachute, the pilot was quickly proving to be quite a willing character witness. A witness as to the character of a willing governor, a willingness that would prove to be useful, especially from the viewpoint of the Animal Right's Advocates and the millions of sympathizers that had been, and would continue, growing daily.

By now, the world was watching. The media found themselves being torn in several directions trying to cover several stories simultaneously. There was no way they could take their focus off the wrecked ship. But the pilot's testimony, while being extricated from treetops next to the jungle trailhead, hadn't been a bad "Story" either. And now it wouldn't take long for the local authorities to figure out that the governor's diatribe concerning the whales, and his insistence at exterminating them, had all been a ploy to "accidentally" hit the ship. You mean a story on the governor to boot? Oh, this just keeps getting better and better! This suspicion would be thoroughly corroborated after pulling the men from the wreck and hearing tales of unmitigated disregard for human life in respect to the governor. While ostensibly targeting the whales, a far less severe crime than "offing" a dozen or so humans who would have eventually been discovered within their incinerated ship, the governor had hoped to eliminate all evidence concerning his previous crimes. Had he been successful, it'd been a mere slap on the hand for "crimes against nature," something the governor would surely find a way to squirm out of. But this time it wasn't to be. The tide had been turning against the governor for some time, and this time it was making a full swing to drag him out and over his head. Immediately the Cape Town authorities were notified and a massive manhunt for the governor was under way. Overnight, the governor had become the most wanted man in the world. Everyone was looking for him. Suddenly, practically everyone in the civilized world was voicing a desire to exact _Justice_ on this "scumbag governor," this "subhuman," this "mutant strain of Homo Sapiens" that had perpetrated so many evil acts, these crimes against nature (even though at this point they didn't know the half of it). And this, too, could only get better, when all became aware of "human nature," i.e. the governor's atrocities involving "crimes against _humanity_ " and—God forbid—against a penguin.

While Joey continued staring at the wreck, hoping desperately to come up with a way to save his father and the crew, he began getting filled in on the story concerning one of the governor's pawns, the downed pilot. Wow! He'd been in even greater danger than he'd imagined just a little while ago. And then he remembered his dream, the one he would have been having as the pilot was circling him and his ship, and how this story correlated to this dream. You mean his dream had been a premonition? Wow. This was just too much! And what's this? The pilot ejected from his jet—a MIG—and got snared in the trees by the parachute, cockpit and all. "Cockpit?" Joey exclaimed. "The cockpit of a fighter-jet is waterproof—to keep a downed pilot afloat until rescued—It'll float forever. We gotta get that cockpit down here, now!"

"But, what for, Lad?"

"I'll think of something. Just get it down here!"

Joey knew the cockpit of a fighter-jet, such as the one still dangling from the trees, was extremely durable and designed to float indefinitely, in the event a pilot was forced to eject over water. Such an item, even more so than an empty rum barrel, seemed to hold a vast, if not infinite, degree of "potential."

As Joey stood there, engrossed in thought, the band of Humpbacks could still be seen bobbing in the swells. These whales were being careful not to let the ocean force them into shallow water, while taking in all the happenings occurring onshore and monitoring the wrecked vessel and people inside. It was quite the chore for them, fighting these waves. It seemed as though the ocean was determined to push them up to where they might become as thoroughly beached as the Ecliptic. But the Humpbacks knew that as long as they remained in deep enough water, the option of diving under these waves, as opposed to taking the "big ones" head on, would be there.

Staring blankly out at the horizon, the contrast of whales surging up and down with the waves reminded Joey of the "horseys" on the carousel at a carnival when he was much younger. Joey watched the whales with growing interest, wondering if they might still be useful in some way. He was alone now. Like him, everyone was preoccupied with something, whether it was continuing the newscast, pondering the fate of people inside the Ecliptic and how to save them, or attempting to free the cockpit from the treetops. It'd been far easier for the military to remove the pilot from the cockpit and simply rope him down while just leaving everything else dangling in place. But to get the cockpit down without damaging it was proving to be "interesting"—especially when one wasn't completely convinced as to why they were going to so much trouble in the first place—to get the thing extricated from a network of swaying branches, during a storm, and down to the beach (all in one piece). _Because that boy insisted we do it_? But an ulterior incentive continued to exist within this rogue unit of servicemen. They were very aware that the inverted ship, waiting just a couple of stone throws from the beach, was a merchant vessel and was likely to have a fair amount of booty onboard.. They were a poor country, and such an opportunity didn't come crashing in often. And, besides, it might be just a matter of time before international help arrived. They just had to get aboard that ship ASAP. And the sooner the crew aboard was rescued, the sooner they'd be able to go to work (be the first to "get to work at _it_ ").

Just far enough from the pounding surf stood Joey, looking out to sea, wondering if these whales would participate in a plan should he devise one that included them. He wondered if he might be able to engage in conversation once again with these Humpbacks, this time from up on shore. He hadn't spoken with them since the Ecliptic began dragging bottom and they'd informed him that this would be as close to shore as they'd be going. All he could hear now was the pounding surf and howling wind. Joey began an attempt to reach them and was surprised that almost instantaneously he began receiving a response.

" _It's a great idea,"_ the Head-Honcho Humpback replied, _"using the big eye of that steel bird to reach your comrades. You'll need to tie a very long rope to it, though. But the real trick will be getting the other end of that rope out to us. If you can do that, we'll manage the rest."_

Wow. How did they know he'd been contemplating such a plan? _These whales are awesome_ , Joey thought. But just how would he get the other end of the rope out to the awaiting Humpbacks? It was already such a far-fetched plan to begin with: fetching the crew from afar. Then Joey wondered if the crew might be better off left "aboard," in their sanctuary of air within the Ecliptic, until the storm subsided. Or, perhaps it would be better to go ahead and prepare for this type of a rescue, but not initiate anything unless real disaster began to strike those encased inside the inverted ship. But how would one know if such a possibility did befall them, and, if so, might it be too late at such a point? In any event, there wasn't any form of a plan until he, or somebody (something), figured out a way to get one end of a long-enough-to-do-the-job rope out to the Humpbacks.

In some ways the storm felt it might be yielding a little in its intensity. The rescue boat that'd tried to make its way to the Ecliptic earlier was still at their disposal. Just because it'd been too dangerous for this vessel to close in on the inverted wreck that had been sloshing about violently in the waves didn't mean it would be unable to deliver a line out to the Humpbacks. It would be worth a try. And what about the Coast Guard? This dexterous vessel was still keeping its distance from the wreck, taking each wave head on, still at a loss for how to make a rescue. Would there be any way in the world to convince them to take the line out to whales, if it were even possible?

By now the military was hauling the cockpit down to the beach and contemplating how to unload it. They'd finally come up with an idea of getting the thing out of the trees. First, a climber had been sent up to this portion of the tree with a line of rope that was snaked through a crotch in the tree above the cockpit. Next, the climber used this line to tie the cockpit off, while all other forms of entanglement were simply cut free. Then it'd been the mere task of lowering the thing onto a flatbed and driving it over. Now they were tying the cockpit to a personnel carrier and preparing to drag it off the flatbed.

"Careful!" Joey shouted. "It'd be better to back the truck into the surf before—"

Joey received some quick glares and grumbling from this squadron, as if they were in no mood to receive orders from a boy, and especially after what they'd just gone through in getting the cockpit this far. Not heeding Joey's caution one bit, the cockpit came sliding off the back of the flatbed and slapped the ground with a distinct "clunk." Fortunately it was durable in design and construction. Now, Joey would go straight to the task of gathering all the rope he could find, knowing it would take no less than 150 meters. As he did so, Joey tied them together, using a bowline on every end, until the united line of strands lay on the beach in a neat coil. Next, one end of the rope was tied to a lifesaver (what else?) aboard the rescue boat that was preparing to escort the floatation donut out to the whales. _But gee-wiz_ , Joey realized, _there's just one question: How in the world is this boat, or any boat, going to get out there to the whales, or back to the wrecked ship, or out there to anything, to any distance at all against this wind and water?_

Joey's head sunk for a moment amidst his exasperation. He took a deep breath, and continued with his "developing" plan: _While this is en route to the whales,_ _I will tie the other end of the rope on to the front of the cockpit. The front will be far more water-dynamic—since it is so very air-dynamic—into the incoming waves. Wait a minute! How in the world is a Styrofoam donut, or anything for that matter, to even make it out there? Make it anywhere, for that matter, in a storm such as this one? You can't fly it out there; you can't float I out there—not against this wind and water!_

The news crews up on the cliff had been wondering what the heck was going on, not sure what to say to the public, when an idea of what was being planned began to form in their rigid minds. What thuh...? Is this what I think it is? No! It can't be!"

Joey thought and thought about it. He felt as though he'd been backed into a corner on this one. He felt legitimately stymied. No deliverance; no redemption. He was at a lost for what to do, all out of options, no brainstorm in sight or mind. He knew it, and he finally, and reluctantly, admitted it. _I haven't a plan! What do you do without a plan? I got nothing: zilch; nada._

Up until now, the toughest thing Joey had known was the forming of a "backup plan." But he'd always had "a" plan. He recalled an old military adage: Any action, no matter how poorly conceived, if courageously carried out, is better than in-action.

In other words, something is better than nothing. Anything, if fully executed, was better than nothing at all. But he didn't have something—anything—he had nothing.

Okay, this time he truly was on his own, though he was safe and secure on land. But this truly was a situation of necessity. Not for him, personally, but for all the others still out there. He wouldn't be saving his own hide, this time. This time it would be for the sake of others. And, somehow, this alternate dynamic made it even more important to him—far more important. Wow, this was a real twist on his previously held perspectives and preconceptions. Up until now, it'd always been about him. And, now, this would be a situation born of true necessity. But, what on earth would he do this time? His gaze went back to the sea. He'd always come up with something. _Think, Joey, think. But no, don't think like a human, think like a whale or some other kind of marine mammal. What would a whale do? Those whales aren't going to be able to do anything until something gets this lifesaver out to them. I wish Orca were here. But let's face it. An orca isn't going to be able to get this Styrofoam ring out to them, either._

_No, wait a minute. What was it? Oh yeah—"Feel." Feel, Joey, feel!_ And then Joey began to feel: _I feel like the type of entity that could get this ring from shore out to those whales, or even to that Coast Guard vessel. I feel like something with the physical ability and intelligence to do so; I feel like some kind of sea-mammal. Hmmm. What do I feel like? No, not a seal, or a sea lion. What is it? I feel... I feel like a dolphin. I'm a dolphin! I gotta talk to those whales—make 'em understand!_

Well, after all, it was his idea, and Joey knew he should be the first. Someone would have to inform the crew of the Ecliptic what he had in mind, because it would be doubtful that anyone of the crew would ever figure it out on their own, and even less likely as a whole. Even the first mate wouldn't "fathom" _this_ one. And Joey acknowledged that this would seem a far cry for even his brilliant and omni-experienced father to recognize without explanation. It seemed ironic, in a way, that'd he'd just made it over to shore, safely, in a rum barrel, and that now he would be making his way back out to there in the cockpit of a downed, Russian fighter-jet.

It hadn't been easy convincing the Head-Honcho of this band of Humpbacks to "assist" him with his plan—without cooperation from these humpbacks there would be no plan. Yes, at first, the Head-Honcho had been very reluctant to ask a favor from _dolphins_. But Joey put it "into perspective" for them: _"You see those people and cameras up on shore? You Humpbacks are, and have been, on International Television. No. No—that's a good thing for you Humpbacks. And just think, if you all pull this off in front of all these humans that will be watching, you'll all be heroes to the humans and they'll start looking at all you sea-mammals a lot differently. They'll instantly love you. It'll change the world forever!_ "

" _What a brilliant plan, Young Human, but you're going to owe us "big time" on this one. We don't like having to ask those uppity dolphins for anything. You see—they're a bunch of snobs. Okay. I'll summon the Top-Dog Dolphin."_

So, suffice it to say, after Joey had outlined to them that this would be a "win, win, win opportunity" for them all, for whales, for the dolphins, for all sea-mammals—all mammals ( _even_ humans)—the Head-Honcho Humpback immediately took the reins and held an emergency conference with the local dolphins.

As for the dolphins, Joey already knew they'd be game with this. They'd be gung ho from the get-go. That's just the way dolphins are— **the** coolest. Joey had thought about going directly to the dolphins. After all, if he could do it with Humpbacks, then why not with dolphins? But he hadn't established a relationship with any dolphins, yet, and it was these whales with which he already had somewhat of a rapport. Besides, he needed these Humpbacks, and he certainly didn't want someone to begin feeling "left out." And before Joey could begin to thank the Humpbacks for agreeing to cooperate, there were a dozen or more bottlenose dolphins dancing on the swells before him. Wow. This was just "too" magical. They were turned to shore, facing Joey, as if saying: Throw us that thing—throw us that thing! Joey grabbed the lifesaver and threw them "that thing." But the wind blew it right back onto shore. _Okay, gonna have to do this just right._ Once again Joey threw it at them, this time much lower. But, after making it into the tide, a wave shoved it right back to shore. Joey had noticed one of the smaller dolphins almost crawling onto shore with his last toss. If he could just get it out there a little further, and for longer, than maybe that dolphin would be able to stick his nose inside the ring. So, right when a large wave was retreating into the ocean, Joey ran with the lifesaver into the surf, made another low toss, and this retreating wave did indeed hold it suspended from the violent wind just long enough for this young dolphin to snag it and flip it to another dolphin that immediately began making its way out to sea with a nose ring being held above the crashing sea. Then after fighting a few waves head on, this dolphin flipped the ring to another dolphin that immerged spontaneously from below the force of the opposing water and continued the Styrofoam ring's escort out to the awaiting Humpbacks.

_Wait a minute,_ Joey realized _. It's not headed for the Humpbacks_ —t _hey're not going that way._

Joey could only watch with amazement as the ring was flipped from one dolphin to another. And as soon as one would begin to tire, it was flipped to a "fresh" one, and then that one would follow suit. But where were they going with the thing? They seem to be heading for that Coast Guard vessel with it. They were going to boycott the Humpbacks on this. They were going to completely bypass this portion of Joey's plan and do things their way. The arrogance!

As the dolphins were delivering the lifesaver to the stunned and astonished crew aboard the Coast Guard vessel, Joey thought he heard a collective "Oh, no you don't—You snooty dolphins—You're not going to treat us this way!" coming from the Humpbacks.

Just what was going on? But it was too late for the Humpbacks. The humans aboard the big boat were already accepting this gesture from the mysterious dolphins and wondering what was next.

Just then, Joey could hear a lot of chatter going on between the dolphins and the Humpbacks. At first it had been such a commotion. There was so much squabbling between them that Joey couldn't figure out what was being said. But now, things were calming some and it seemed the dolphins were trying to explain to the Humpbacks that a whale didn't have any way of grasping the lifesaver. Even Joey had neglected to consider this: that without "someone" to tie the lifesaver on to one of the Humpbacks, there wouldn't be a means for them to control it.

Wow. These dolphins truly were very intelligent.

But the whales weren't going to be simply _ignored_. "We're not going to be 'irrelevant' on this—youuu dolphins—just because you think you're so _special_."

"Okay, okay _,_ " the Top-Dog Dolphin conceded, hoping to reason with these whales. "Well, once this human boat pulls its anchor, in order to move about, it's still going to have difficulty maneuvering in this forceful wind and water. What you can do—'if' you like—is help by nudging the ship in position and location to facilitate this rescue _._ "

"Don't you tell 'us' what to do!"

"Okay, okay—whatever," concluded the dolphins. "You'll know what to do when the time comes."

"That's right. And don't any of you 'high and mighty' dolphins forget it!"

"Ummm... yeah. Right!"

As the Coast Guard vessel was receiving the other end of the rope from the dolphins, a sort of excited craze began to permeate all onshore. Even the hardened souls of the military knew they were witnessing something very unique and eventful. The press had become quiet now, their speculations frozen, as they too could only seem to watch. This silence pervaded the viewers through their TV screens, as they witnessed Joey's plan develop (with a little "amendment" from the dolphins) in anxious astonishment.

Just then, Joey felt the Head-Honcho Humpback trying to communicate with him. He tuned in. Head-Honcho began telling Joey that someone needed to inform the humans aboard the big boat (the Coast Guard vessel) what was going on, and what to do, because the dolphins were "to good to speak to a human."

No sooner than had Joey relayed this message to someone on shore was it radioed to the Coast Guard vessel, and did Joey begin seeing the slack rope from the cockpit, which was now attached to the Coast Guard vessel, tightening. Joey figured he'd best seal himself in the cockpit, pronto.

Once inside of the cockpit, with the top firmly sealed, Joey felt his vessel sliding over the sand and clashing with incoming waves. Immediately he fastened his seatbelt and tightened his torso firm to the pilot's seat. Out toward the Ecliptic he was pulled until he felt the cockpit banging against the inverted wreck.

"What was that?" the crewmembers inside began asking one another.

"Maybe they're attempting a rescue," voiced a few, with hope and excitement in their eyes.

"I don't know. Maybe someone should have a look," said another.

The cockpit continued grinding against the side of the Ecliptic as the Head-Honcho Humpback tried to maintain a constant nudge on the rope to keep the two vessels as tightly together as possible. With the grinding continuing, one of the crewmembers was prompted to make his way up and through the hatch door to stick his head out the side of the perforation in the Ecliptic's side to see what was happening. "What is that?"

Since the entire crew of the Ecliptic had been in wet suits and life jackets since their ship had rolled, it would be only a matter of jumping in. "Hey, You," yelled Joey, "Get two or three of the others and get back out here."

"Huh—whudda ya mean?"

"Just do it!" Joey demanded.

Joey calculated that two, maybe three, could fit into the cockpit together and was hoping he hadn't been over optimistic with his assessment when this crewmate returned with two others. "Get in," Joey commanded, as he exited the cockpit.

They hesitated momentarily, but decided it might not be much worse than what they'd been experiencing. Struggling with their balance, the three crewmates, one by one, stepped off the side of their ship and down through the opening of the cockpit. As the third crewmate was determinedly trying to cram himself alongside the second, Joey used the door to practically "shoehorn" this straggler. "Ah, maybe not," Joey conceded to himself, "two's gonna have to be it. You. You'll have to wait for the next trip. Come on back inside the ship with me!"

Though at last the storm was slowly in the process of declining, nobody seemed to notice. Joey signaled to the Coast Guard vessel (and to the Humpbacks), and he and his crewmate headed back into the belly of their stricken ship. The Head-Honcho Humpback nudged the cockpit safely away from the inverted wreck as the Coast Guard vessel allowed the cockpit to float back to shore, while being careful to maintain a hold on the line, and as the other Humpbacks kept their Head-Honcho apprised of how everything was going. It was the simple task of dragging the cockpit, over and over, back out to the Ecliptic, letting a few load up, then back toward shore with it, allowing the cockpit to drift in until members of the crew could, in turn, exit onto the beach. This procedure would be duplicated until all of the Ecliptic's crew had been vacated from their stricken vessel.

And last, in proper fashion, had been the captain. It'd been difficult for the captain to vacate his ship; he told her he'd be back to salvage her as he reluctantly entered the cockpit. Just as soon as the captain's feet hit the beach, the military informed the press to take the party somewhere else—anywhere else—to go ahead and get the story elsewhere because the authorities had "serious" work to do.

The captain promptly informed these authorities that the storm was in decline and, with the subsiding of incoming wind and waves, it would be likely that his ship could drift back out to sea if it wasn't anchored or tied to shore sufficiently.

"Oh no. 'We' wouldn't want that." With nightfall approaching, and hopefully the storm retreating, these authorities hoped to board the Ecliptic in the rescue boat and see what they might find. I lot of looting could be done in the dark hours before them.

As the cold, wet, hungry, tired—yet relieved—crew was wrapped in blankets and taken inland with the media at their side, it would be an understatement to say the "Evening News" was only getting bigger and better (and better _is_ bigger). These reporters couldn't get their story—The Story—the "Breaking Story" fast enough. "Just received a News Flash from our crew, live at the..." "Just in from our crew at the Ivory Coast" "A Striking curve of events in..." "The latest development with..." "New update on the current progress on..."etc. "Stay programmed here!"

Tomorrow's headlines were just getting started! It wouldn't be long before the media, and the world, would come to know how captain and crew had prevailed through impossible odds: "THE PERILS OF THE ECLIPTIC—HER CREW—THEIR INCREDIBLE STORY!"

And, as an aside, the complete dope on _that "_ lowdown" The Nefarious Governor.

# Chapter XXV

The impromptu celebration party had been raging the entire afternoon when Walder, Orca, and Jake hit the scene. Wrango, Ol' timer, and the rest of the band of Jack Ass Penguins had joined in with the 20 thousand dancing and singing humans. These Animal Right's Activist, detached from any form of media (radio or television) for the day, had thought it'd all been over, had no clue as to what had transpired just that day over on the Ivory Coast (yet). Also in the dark, concerning this and everything Joey and the crew aboard the Ecliptic had endured for the past several days, was the "terrific trio": Walder, Orca, and Jake. As these three approached the mass of boisterous humans and Jake's fellow Jacks, not even one of the three could begin to imagine what in the world could possibly be going on. But Jake didn't hesitate one second. While Walder and Orca remained in the water with their mouths agape, Jake swam up to shore and marched straight to his estranged Jack Asses and demanded to know what this was all about. Then he saw Wrango, still in the pirate garb, sporting Jake's trademark lavender bandana. "Who's the imposter—what's been happenin' here!"

"Oh, Jake," the Jack Asses implored, "don't be sore with him—actually we're all proud of what they've done."

"They—who—done what?"

"'We' caught the governor, red-handed. He fell for the decoy, just like a duck. Set up a trap; he took the bait—hook, sinker, and penguin. Just like that."

"Decoy?" Then Jake looked back over at Wrango, who was still basking in the fame and glory of his (Jake's) reputation, and put 2 and 2 together. "You gotta be kidding me!"

"Don't be hard on 'em, Jake. It took a lot of courage for him to do what he did. And Ol' Timer thought of everything."

Then, Ol' Timer broke in, bitterly stating, "Well, I might've thought of everything, but I ain't gettin' no credit from them humans for it. Sonny Boy, over there's, gettin' **all** the credit."

Jake just stood there for a moment, stunned from what he was hearing, and began shaking his head while commenting, "You mean to tell me that some of you have got both brains and gumption?"

Walder, too, was astounded, for separate reasons. Everything was happening so fast again. He watched in amazement as the band of Jack Ass Penguins continued partying with their human advocates. Never had Walder seen so many humans gathered in one place for a specific purpose. This congregation of humans was here for the sole purpose of defending the Jack Ass Penguins. And his purpose for coming to South Africa—to save the Jack Ass Penguins—was suddenly obsolete. He had suddenly become irrelevant. The Jack Ass Penguins had plenty of friends now. They were going to be all right. Even their most significant nemesis, the governor, would be no match for a force such as this massive union of determined humans. His mission was complete—it was mission accomplished. And though the end had finally come, it didn't feel like an end, like this was "the end." Moreover, it felt like a new beginning, a new beginning for him and for everybody. In the same way that parting with Herman had been a beginning for the big boy and his honey, so it was again for him now, and for everybody. It was a new beginning for the Jack Ass Penguins, a new beginning for the Animal Right's Activists, a new beginning for him, for Orca, and the world. For, soon, he knew he'd be saying goodbye to all of them: to Orca; to the Jack Ass Penguins; to South Africa, and—. What of Joey, good ol' Joey? Where was Joey now that it was time for him to say goodbye? But this realization struck Walder, what Joey would probably say to him now if Joey had been here to say "Goodbye": There are no endings, only beginnings—there are no "goodbyes," only "'til next time." With every ending comes a new beginning—endings bring beginnings.

Joey would be happy to know that the Jack Ass Penguins were finally going to be okay.

Just then, from out at sea, a familiar sight came roaring straight for Walder and Orca. It was the governor's Yacht, the Satellite, with the governor at the helm. He was alone this time, and had a very concerned appearance about him. The governor, knowing the authorities were hot on his heels, was making his way south down the coast with seemingly nowhere left to go. He pulled up beside Walder and Orca, cut the thundering engines, and began pleading with Walder to get in the boat. "Hey, Penguin, I'm headed for Antarctica. Wanna come? Come on; let me make it up to Yuh. I'm sorry for all that's happened."

"Don't trust 'em," advised Orca.

"Please, please, Penguin," the governor continued.

Walder thought for second, turned to Orca and whispered, "I think I've got a plan"—when all of a sudden someone on shore yells "Hey, that's 'him'!"

All heads onshore turn simultaneously to witness the governor's flushed face beaming over the side of his yacht. Then, like spawning salmon, 20 thousand humans hit the water and began racing for the governor's yacht. Just as Orca turned his head to witness the throng of humans coming straight for him, thinking this might be exceedingly overwhelming odds even for him, Walder began scaling the ladder of the Satellite for the governor.

"Hey, wait—don't do that!" cried Orca.

It was too late. Walder was practically in the boat, with the governor giving him a hand (with his other hand covering his privates) and expressing a slightly "more relieved" countenance. But before the governor could react, Walder bounced over to the ignition, pulled the keys and tossed them overboard. Now the governor was all but relieved. "Whadda yuh do that for, Penguin?"

The mob was closing in. Orca decided to swim over to the "other" side of the yacht, to keep the yacht and the mob's quarry between him and them.

"I'll make a deal with you," Walder began to the governor. "I'll tell these Animal Right's _Defenders_ —that just happen to want to ream your neck—that you're here to take me back to Antarctica, that the reason you've come here is to try and help me. But, we do go to Antarctica, and we go by plane."

"What—by plane? Why plane?"

"To ensure we 'both' get there."

"I think I'd rather have those Animal Right's _Freaks_ have at me, than to go there."

As the swarm of swimmers closed in on the Yacht, Walder stood up on the side of the yacht facing these bathers and began asking for their attention. "Em... uhum. Excuse me. Hello. Can I have everyone's attention, please?"

Everyone stopped. Some held on to the side of the yacht while others held on to them, and the others were forced to dog paddle about or swim in place. "The governor, here," Walder continued, "has offered to go help out in Antarctica—to live and work with international scientist at the observatory for the next year. He's agreed to fly with me there, and of course he'll be snowed in for all of that time. Why don't we shove his boat to shore, of which he'll be donating to charity, so he and I can get on a plane for Antarctica before the weather begins to worsen—we should leave immediately! I know you Animal Right's Activists—I mean Advocates—have got major connections, so get on the horn and set it up. The governor will be signing over his property, all of his estate, to you, to your cause, in saving the African Penguin—to be a habitat for all endangered species—while you guys escort him—I mean us—to the airport for departure ASAP."

So it had been practically set in stone; he and the governor would be on their way. After addressing the horde of humans, Walder found himself saying goodbye to Jake. "I'm sure we'll meet again, someday," Walder expressed, trying to sound genuine.

"Take your time," Jake joked, trying to keep it light.

And then, Walder faced Orca, the Killer Whale that had once nearly devoured him. The orca that had never been the same since meeting the Gentoo, had never "recovered," and who had become his dear friend.

Orca was having a harder time with it. He'd known Walder for "too" long.

"So long, Penguin. If you're ever down our way, please drop by. But stay clear of my buddy orcas! Heh, heh."

That evening, Walder and the governor were loaded onto a twin-engine prop plane with supplies, and a few "chaperones" to ensure all went as planned. The plane would land on an icy runway to deliver the governor to his frozen penitentiary. It'd only be for the coming year—or so he thought (actually, unknown to him, it'd be for the rest of his days, given the charges he'd face should he ever make it back to civilization). Walder would go on a bit further, to where his family of Gentoos remained, to be reunited with his own kind. Once finding his colony from the plane, Walder figured he'd do a "skydive" from it and soar down to what should be an incredulous audience. Might as well have some fun why he still can. Chances are he might be forced to fatten up in order to survive the coming winter and could slowly lose his ability to fly (for the winter).

With the knowledge of the governor's horrendous acts, toward the intended destruction of all of "The Crew of The Ecliptic," the world quickly forgave and forgot the previous actions from the crewmembers of the Ecliptic. Both the captain and Joey insisted that the crew had been "rehabilitated" during the "ordeal," and urged that they be acquitted. Eventually, public pressure from popularity of the crew, resulting from a book, and then a movie, on the story concerning the heroism of the crew members would result in the U.K. government granting a full pardon regarding any and all past charges brought upon them. Not only were the crewmembers of the Ecliptic to all be free men, but, each one was to receive a handsome chunk of dough for "their" story, enabling each to settle down in the suburbs and never be forced to go to sea again. The captain would retire in a few years, purchase a much smaller vessel than the Ecliptic and do some leisure sailing. And the Ecliptic would be salvaged and restored to pristine condition and given to Joey as a graduation present on his sixteenth birthday. Finally, Joey would be able to refer to his father as "Father," as opposed to "Captain," and the captain would finally refer to his son as: a seaman; a captain—a man—"Son."

Joey would indeed go on to become a captain, and never abandon his quest to understanding whales, and the mammals of the sea. The Ecliptic would be modified from a merchant vessel into a marine research facility, and Joey would first delve into the theory that sea animals have an innate ability to navigate by the earth's magnetic fields. Here, Joey would make an incredible discovery. Though it had been common knowledge to science that sea mammals used sonar to communicate with and navigate by, Joey would eventually come to know that there was a great deal more to it: that some of these vibrations held great healing power. Joey would concentrate on the great sea mammals, whales, dolphins, and Orcas, and how these underwater sonic vibrations effected and influenced them in so many ways, and just as importantly, come to realize the negative effects of "man made" sonar upon these sea mammals. By isolating the positive ("healing") attributes of sea mammal sonar, Joey would ultimately enter the world of medical science, while never leaving the ocean, working with sea mammals to build sonar medical equipment to treat and cure a variety of human ailments.

"Say, Dad, I always wondered why you named her 'Ecliptic', and admittedly was afraid to ask you why."

"Well, Son, I named her so because when I first put her to sea, I hoped she would be the fastest sailing vessel in her class: the highest class. And she proved to be so. Her sail would literally 'eclipse' the sails of any other vessel; hence 'Ecliptic'."

"Oh."

# AUTHOR BIO:

A native of Florida, Bruce gravitated to California during the early 80's as an aspiring musician and songwriter and, after years of plugging songs to L.A. and Nashville, released a CD of his originals while exploring the possibility of writing novels. Centering himself in proximity of Palo Alto, Bruce still enjoys "strummin' strings" and singin' some, is still enticed to bicycle into the pristine Santa Cruz Mountains, and will forever be awed by the hypnotic lure of that treacherous Pacific Ocean. Oh, and there's nuthin' that Daddy **loves** doing more than "doin' any _thang"_ with his favorite person—being with daughter—Annabelle!

