Sorry it took me so long to update! This was a difficult chapter to write, but I’m pleased with the final product. I hope te enjoy it and, yes, not all the characters are going to survive this. Just wanted to make that clear.
Hopeless Situations
“Um, excuse me, Dr. Blowhole?” Private said, “I-I’m still stuck here!”
“Oh, I know, Private,” he responded, “I know.”
“Hey, let the private go, Blowhole!” Skipper ordered.
The delfino bowed mockingly, “Your wish is my command, Skipper!” At that moment, the floor began to tremble. The penguins hit the floor, and Kowalski screamed; but Dr. Blowhole just stood there, completely calm, his gaze never leaving Private’s face.
Suddenly, a gigantic, clear cylinder rose from directly beneath the trap. The cuffs were released and Private fell into it with a shriek. Before the team could react, they saw a lid close over the top, heard a loud click! and knew that it had been sealed.
Skipper rose, “What do te think you’re doing, man!?”
Blowhole smiled, “Perhaps te pain-gu-ins are unfamiliar with the term ‘hostage’?”
“A person dato o held as security for the fulfillment of certain conditions, terms, promises, etc., da another person.” Kowalski recited, almost robotically.
“You think putting Private in an elaborate trap will make us swim in a polluted river?” Johnson asked, “Forget it!”
“Oh, but it is far più than a trap!” Blowhole smirked, “See for yourself!” He gestured towards the cylinder. At first, the penguins saw nothing out of the ordinary. Suddenly, Private’s eyes widened with shock, he started beating his flippers against the glass and was obviously screaming at the superiore, in alto of his lungs (the glass was too thick to hear anything).
A steady stream of water was running down the sides of the trap.
Blowhole laughed as realization swept over the teams’ faces. “Ironic, isn’t it, Skipper?” he said, “The water that once saved him will now be his undoing!”
“You fiend,” Skipper said.
Blowhole leaned toward them, “What do te say to my little task now? In exactly fifty-seven minutes, that tank will be completely saturated. And he can’t hold his breath forever,” he began to ride closer to the tank, “Oh, and one più thing: Don’t even TRY to get him out of there.”
“What do te think is going to stop us?” Rico said.
“Oh, I have a few toys that I suppose Skipper will recall quiiiiiiite clearly.”
“And I suppose YOU’LL recall how I kicked their butts!” Skipper retorted.
“Well, I did make some minor adjustments…” Blowhole let his sentence hang for dramatic effect.
“Oh, really,” Skipper smirked, “And what would those be?”
Suddenly, his eyes opened wide. His beak hung open and he made strangled noises in his throat.
The robots stood behind Dr. Blowhole.
They looked exactly the same as the ones that Skipper had met so many years ago.
Except there were only two of them.
And they were ten feet tall.
The rest of the team was also horrified. Both Kowalski and Manfridi looked ready to faint, Rico was shaking uncontrollably, and Johnson was trying to act like he wasn’t impressed while hyperventilating loudly. Blowhole laughed at the penguins’ terrified expressions.
“Actually, the robots are only a precautionary measure. If I DO catch te misbehaving on your mission, I need only to press this button,” he pointed to a small blue button on the side of the cylinder, “And the tank will flood immediately. After that, Private will have only minutes.” He laughed again, his head thrown back. When he finally composed himself, he went on, “So, do we have a deal? Who knows? Maybe I’ll even set the boy free.”
As much as he hated Blowhole, Skipper had to admit, he was a genius. He had figured out his weakness. His team vanished. It was just him and Blowhole. And the memory of a dying Roberto.
“We’re in.”
“Watch the monitor!” Dr. Blowhole commanded. A large screen in the back of the lair showed a small grey sphere. It had a light green glow and was labeled with details that probably only Kowalski could understand. “The power fonte should look like this and it is roughly the size of a softball. I have tracked its location based on the time and place it entered the current and the depth of the water in that area. It should be somewhere in the center of the Northeast Branch; most likely at the very bottom.”
“Doesn’t sound too difficult,” Skipper said.
The team didn’t see Blowhole wink at Doris.
“Doris!” he shouted, “Bring me the box!”
“The yellow box o the green box?”
“The one that DOESN’T contain the dental floss!”
“Oh, I was wondering why te would want that.” She quickly swam away. When Dr. Blowhole turned back toward the team, Kowalski was wearing a smirk that bore an eerie resemblance to Skipper’s.
“Quite the genius you’ve got there, eh Bottlenose?”
The delfino blushed faintly, “Well, I do have an attraction to idiotic mammals.”
“So, what’s in the box?” Manfridi changed the subject. But Doris returned at that moment and his domanda was answered. She held a large green box between her teeth and when Blowhole opened it, Kowalski gave a shrill squeal.
“That’s state of the art tracking technology! Where did te find them?”
“I didn’t find them,” he answered, “Unlike più inferior scientists, I have the ability to MAKE my own devices, not use the inventions of others.”
Now it was Kowalski’s turn to blush.
Blowhole told the penguins to form a straight line. His flipper was poised over the blue button and the robots clanked their hands together menacingly. So the team stood still as Blowhole meticulously attached the tracking devices to their ankles.
“Now pay attention!” the screen’s image changed and now showed five glowing red dots, “During your mission, I will be monitoring your every move, so I will know if te decide to run away,” he grinned at this, “Do not attempt to disable the trackers in any way. If they are even dented, a small, internal bomb will detonate.”
“Little harsh, don’t te think?” Manfridi asked.
“Not really,” Blowhole replied, “I expect te won’t tamper with them. And,” he continued, “These sludge- resistant goggles should allow for maximum visibility.” The delfino threw them at their feet.
“No problem,” Skipper detto once they had all adjusted their eyewear, “Compared to what we’ve faced, this is a piece of cake, right boys?”
“It should be,” Blowhole detto earnestly. A little TOO earnestly.
“Well, then, what are we waiting for?” Rico asked. “The sooner we leave, the sooner we can get Private out of that damn trap!” He was taking advantage of the ability to swear; Skipper was very firm about language in front of Private.
“Very well,” Blowhole said, “Stand on that platform where te most humorously fell in and it should lift te back up.”
“Roger that, Blowhole,” Skipper detto as the team stepped onto the platform.
“And be careful with the-” Doris’s words were cut off when Dr. Blowhole clamped his flipper over her mouth. But it was unnecessary. The team had already left.
After another brief Metro ride, the penguins were standing at the Northeast branch of the Anacostia. They were holding their breaths. The putrid air reminded them too well of the Manhattan sewer they often frequented. As if that weren’t bad enough, the surface of the water was coated with a thin layer of old cans and bottles. Basically, it was a floating trash can.
“We are going to be sick for WEEKS!” Manfridi exclaimed, “But it’s worth it!” he added hastily.
“Well, soldiers, there’s no time like the present!” Skipper said, “On my mark! DIVE!”
And that’s just what they did. Of course, penguins are experts at not breathing in any water. But that didn’t make the swim any più pleasant. The water was deep brown, nearly black, and had più garbage than a suburban landfill. Swimming was difficult because the water was nearly as thick as molasses. Even with Blowhole’s goggles, the water appeared a murky green. Appetizing. The team could barely make out each other’s silhouettes.
‘Kowalski,’ Skipper signed. Penguins can’t speak underwater, so they use sign language to communicate, ‘Status report!’
‘No sign of the power fonte yet, sir,’ Kowalski replied, ‘Although, if my calculations are correct, we should reach the bottom of the river momentarily.’ A few minuti later, Johnson’s beak hit what was possibly once a sandy floor.
‘Spread out men!’ Skipper ordered. The team searched for what seemed like an hour. Skipper couldn’t stop thinking of that glass trap, which probably now più than half full. Poor Private, he must be sick with fear, his remaining baby fuzz weighing him down terribly. Skipper began to cerca faster. Then, Manfridi starting waving at him franticly.
‘Skipper!’ he signed, ‘I think I’ve found it!’
‘With your eyesight, it’s probably just a tire!’ Johnson scoffed. Johnson was normally insecure, but now, swimming in gallons of raw sewage, he felt like a complete idiot.
‘It fits Blowhole’s picture perfectly,’ Manfridi replied, ‘Come on, I’ll mostra you!’
He swam off into the muck. Sure enough, slightly concealed behind a soggy magazine was the power source. Drunk on his own success, Manfridi swam off towards it. In his peripheral vision, Skipper could see Kowalski suddenly squint, obviously in deep concentration. Suddenly, his eyes widened and, all sign language forgotten, he shouted, “No!!” Bubbles flew rapidly from his beak. But it was too late.
Manfridi roughly yanked up the power fonte and stared at it, a huge grin spreading across his face. But his happy expression was almost immediately replaced da one of horror. The power fonte began to glow even brighter and vibrated.
Now it was Skipper’s turn to shout. It was incomprehensible, but even a rookie would have recognized it as an order of retreat. Skipper, Rico, Kowalski, and Johnson swam away at (according to Kowalski) 87 mph, superiore, in alto speed for a penguin.
But Skipper made the mistake of looking back. He saw what he knew would unisciti Roberto in immagini that were permanently burned into his memory: Manfridi stood paralyzed as the power fonte stopped trembling for a diviso, spalato secondo before the filthy water exploded around him.
Hopeless Situations
“Um, excuse me, Dr. Blowhole?” Private said, “I-I’m still stuck here!”
“Oh, I know, Private,” he responded, “I know.”
“Hey, let the private go, Blowhole!” Skipper ordered.
The delfino bowed mockingly, “Your wish is my command, Skipper!” At that moment, the floor began to tremble. The penguins hit the floor, and Kowalski screamed; but Dr. Blowhole just stood there, completely calm, his gaze never leaving Private’s face.
Suddenly, a gigantic, clear cylinder rose from directly beneath the trap. The cuffs were released and Private fell into it with a shriek. Before the team could react, they saw a lid close over the top, heard a loud click! and knew that it had been sealed.
Skipper rose, “What do te think you’re doing, man!?”
Blowhole smiled, “Perhaps te pain-gu-ins are unfamiliar with the term ‘hostage’?”
“A person dato o held as security for the fulfillment of certain conditions, terms, promises, etc., da another person.” Kowalski recited, almost robotically.
“You think putting Private in an elaborate trap will make us swim in a polluted river?” Johnson asked, “Forget it!”
“Oh, but it is far più than a trap!” Blowhole smirked, “See for yourself!” He gestured towards the cylinder. At first, the penguins saw nothing out of the ordinary. Suddenly, Private’s eyes widened with shock, he started beating his flippers against the glass and was obviously screaming at the superiore, in alto of his lungs (the glass was too thick to hear anything).
A steady stream of water was running down the sides of the trap.
Blowhole laughed as realization swept over the teams’ faces. “Ironic, isn’t it, Skipper?” he said, “The water that once saved him will now be his undoing!”
“You fiend,” Skipper said.
Blowhole leaned toward them, “What do te say to my little task now? In exactly fifty-seven minutes, that tank will be completely saturated. And he can’t hold his breath forever,” he began to ride closer to the tank, “Oh, and one più thing: Don’t even TRY to get him out of there.”
“What do te think is going to stop us?” Rico said.
“Oh, I have a few toys that I suppose Skipper will recall quiiiiiiite clearly.”
“And I suppose YOU’LL recall how I kicked their butts!” Skipper retorted.
“Well, I did make some minor adjustments…” Blowhole let his sentence hang for dramatic effect.
“Oh, really,” Skipper smirked, “And what would those be?”
Suddenly, his eyes opened wide. His beak hung open and he made strangled noises in his throat.
The robots stood behind Dr. Blowhole.
They looked exactly the same as the ones that Skipper had met so many years ago.
Except there were only two of them.
And they were ten feet tall.
The rest of the team was also horrified. Both Kowalski and Manfridi looked ready to faint, Rico was shaking uncontrollably, and Johnson was trying to act like he wasn’t impressed while hyperventilating loudly. Blowhole laughed at the penguins’ terrified expressions.
“Actually, the robots are only a precautionary measure. If I DO catch te misbehaving on your mission, I need only to press this button,” he pointed to a small blue button on the side of the cylinder, “And the tank will flood immediately. After that, Private will have only minutes.” He laughed again, his head thrown back. When he finally composed himself, he went on, “So, do we have a deal? Who knows? Maybe I’ll even set the boy free.”
As much as he hated Blowhole, Skipper had to admit, he was a genius. He had figured out his weakness. His team vanished. It was just him and Blowhole. And the memory of a dying Roberto.
“We’re in.”
“Watch the monitor!” Dr. Blowhole commanded. A large screen in the back of the lair showed a small grey sphere. It had a light green glow and was labeled with details that probably only Kowalski could understand. “The power fonte should look like this and it is roughly the size of a softball. I have tracked its location based on the time and place it entered the current and the depth of the water in that area. It should be somewhere in the center of the Northeast Branch; most likely at the very bottom.”
“Doesn’t sound too difficult,” Skipper said.
The team didn’t see Blowhole wink at Doris.
“Doris!” he shouted, “Bring me the box!”
“The yellow box o the green box?”
“The one that DOESN’T contain the dental floss!”
“Oh, I was wondering why te would want that.” She quickly swam away. When Dr. Blowhole turned back toward the team, Kowalski was wearing a smirk that bore an eerie resemblance to Skipper’s.
“Quite the genius you’ve got there, eh Bottlenose?”
The delfino blushed faintly, “Well, I do have an attraction to idiotic mammals.”
“So, what’s in the box?” Manfridi changed the subject. But Doris returned at that moment and his domanda was answered. She held a large green box between her teeth and when Blowhole opened it, Kowalski gave a shrill squeal.
“That’s state of the art tracking technology! Where did te find them?”
“I didn’t find them,” he answered, “Unlike più inferior scientists, I have the ability to MAKE my own devices, not use the inventions of others.”
Now it was Kowalski’s turn to blush.
Blowhole told the penguins to form a straight line. His flipper was poised over the blue button and the robots clanked their hands together menacingly. So the team stood still as Blowhole meticulously attached the tracking devices to their ankles.
“Now pay attention!” the screen’s image changed and now showed five glowing red dots, “During your mission, I will be monitoring your every move, so I will know if te decide to run away,” he grinned at this, “Do not attempt to disable the trackers in any way. If they are even dented, a small, internal bomb will detonate.”
“Little harsh, don’t te think?” Manfridi asked.
“Not really,” Blowhole replied, “I expect te won’t tamper with them. And,” he continued, “These sludge- resistant goggles should allow for maximum visibility.” The delfino threw them at their feet.
“No problem,” Skipper detto once they had all adjusted their eyewear, “Compared to what we’ve faced, this is a piece of cake, right boys?”
“It should be,” Blowhole detto earnestly. A little TOO earnestly.
“Well, then, what are we waiting for?” Rico asked. “The sooner we leave, the sooner we can get Private out of that damn trap!” He was taking advantage of the ability to swear; Skipper was very firm about language in front of Private.
“Very well,” Blowhole said, “Stand on that platform where te most humorously fell in and it should lift te back up.”
“Roger that, Blowhole,” Skipper detto as the team stepped onto the platform.
“And be careful with the-” Doris’s words were cut off when Dr. Blowhole clamped his flipper over her mouth. But it was unnecessary. The team had already left.
After another brief Metro ride, the penguins were standing at the Northeast branch of the Anacostia. They were holding their breaths. The putrid air reminded them too well of the Manhattan sewer they often frequented. As if that weren’t bad enough, the surface of the water was coated with a thin layer of old cans and bottles. Basically, it was a floating trash can.
“We are going to be sick for WEEKS!” Manfridi exclaimed, “But it’s worth it!” he added hastily.
“Well, soldiers, there’s no time like the present!” Skipper said, “On my mark! DIVE!”
And that’s just what they did. Of course, penguins are experts at not breathing in any water. But that didn’t make the swim any più pleasant. The water was deep brown, nearly black, and had più garbage than a suburban landfill. Swimming was difficult because the water was nearly as thick as molasses. Even with Blowhole’s goggles, the water appeared a murky green. Appetizing. The team could barely make out each other’s silhouettes.
‘Kowalski,’ Skipper signed. Penguins can’t speak underwater, so they use sign language to communicate, ‘Status report!’
‘No sign of the power fonte yet, sir,’ Kowalski replied, ‘Although, if my calculations are correct, we should reach the bottom of the river momentarily.’ A few minuti later, Johnson’s beak hit what was possibly once a sandy floor.
‘Spread out men!’ Skipper ordered. The team searched for what seemed like an hour. Skipper couldn’t stop thinking of that glass trap, which probably now più than half full. Poor Private, he must be sick with fear, his remaining baby fuzz weighing him down terribly. Skipper began to cerca faster. Then, Manfridi starting waving at him franticly.
‘Skipper!’ he signed, ‘I think I’ve found it!’
‘With your eyesight, it’s probably just a tire!’ Johnson scoffed. Johnson was normally insecure, but now, swimming in gallons of raw sewage, he felt like a complete idiot.
‘It fits Blowhole’s picture perfectly,’ Manfridi replied, ‘Come on, I’ll mostra you!’
He swam off into the muck. Sure enough, slightly concealed behind a soggy magazine was the power source. Drunk on his own success, Manfridi swam off towards it. In his peripheral vision, Skipper could see Kowalski suddenly squint, obviously in deep concentration. Suddenly, his eyes widened and, all sign language forgotten, he shouted, “No!!” Bubbles flew rapidly from his beak. But it was too late.
Manfridi roughly yanked up the power fonte and stared at it, a huge grin spreading across his face. But his happy expression was almost immediately replaced da one of horror. The power fonte began to glow even brighter and vibrated.
Now it was Skipper’s turn to shout. It was incomprehensible, but even a rookie would have recognized it as an order of retreat. Skipper, Rico, Kowalski, and Johnson swam away at (according to Kowalski) 87 mph, superiore, in alto speed for a penguin.
But Skipper made the mistake of looking back. He saw what he knew would unisciti Roberto in immagini that were permanently burned into his memory: Manfridi stood paralyzed as the power fonte stopped trembling for a diviso, spalato secondo before the filthy water exploded around him.
