ninety-story Khan Towers; it allowed the wealthiest man in the world, Shere Khan, a magnificent view of both the city and the cliffs protecting it.

At that moment, however, Khan was not paying the slightest attention to the beautiful weather outside. Instead, the intimidating tiger, impeccably clad in an expensive suit, sat behind his claw-marked mahogany desk, his back to the window, perusing the latest Fortune 5000 magazine.

“Khan Industries worth 3.3 billion dollars,” he read. “Miniversal Corporation worth a mere 2.9 billion dollars. Better luck next year, Mr. Sultan.”

A trace of a smug smile was on his normally impassive face. He had been number one ever since Fortune 5000 Magazine had started their annual 'wealthiest man in the world' feature.

The man who prided himself on being completely emotionless gloated to himself as he read the article, which confirmed what he already knew: whomever had the most money had the most power. Power to make more money. More importantly, power to spread his business to every corner of the globe from Aridia to Zilbaldo, even communist Thembria. Already, Khan Industries surpassed its competitors in a vast variety of commodities from spices to military equipment to energy resources. Little by little, Khan Industries was buying up the world and gaining control over the global market. That was this ruthless businessman’s one goal in life. After all, he lived by the golden rule: ‘He who has the gold, makes the rules’.

Buzz!went the interoffice intercom.

At any other time, this unscheduled interruption would have irritated him, but because he was in a good mood, he wasn’t even mildly annoyed. He pressed the ‘transmit’ button. “Yes, Mrs. Snarly?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but Dr. Debolt insists upon seeing you despite the fact that his appointment isn’t until 2:30 next Thursday.”

“It’s all right, Mrs. Snarly. Show him in.” He closed the magazine, folded his hands over it, and calmly turned his attention towards the elevator at the far end of the room.

A moment later, a small apricot-colored rabbit with a shock of grey hair bounced out of the elevator into the office, his lab coat flapping. In his hands was a small blue treasure chest, edged with gold plate and decorated with yellow suns. In a shrill, excited voice, the scientist squeaked, “Success, Mr. Khan! Success! We were able to create the sub-electron amplifier. According to my calculations, I knew it would work in theory, but putting it into effect was a different...”

Shere Khan cut short his long-winded rambling by asking pointedly, “How many were you able to produce?”

“Only one, sir. Here it is.” He proudly set the treasure chest on the desk and opened the lid. Lying on a bed of black velvet was something that resembled a large ruby.

Khan reached for it, but before he could touch it, Dr. Debolt said, “I wouldn’t touch it barehanded if I were you. You might get a nasty shock. Here. Wear this.” The scientist dug a black rubber glove out of his lab coat pocket and handed it to his employer.

The businessman donned the glove and carefully picked up the stone. As he turned it in his hand, sunlight gleamed off its many facets. “I thought you said you’d be able to produce an unlimited amount.”

Shrinking under the businessman’s piercing gaze, Dr. Debolt stammered, “Yes, but that was before we...”

“How much energy will this one produce?”

“Enough to run all of your businesses,” Dr. Debolt said, nervously pushing his glasses up on his nose, “I think...”

“You think?” Khan quirked an eyebrow. If there was one thing he didn’t like, it was unanswered questions. “I want toknow.” He gently returned the stone to the box and removed the glove. He pushed both towards the scientist.

“We will after we run more tests and...”

“Fine,” Khan said, pulling a sheet of his personal stationary from his desk drawer. He scribbled a memo and signed his name with a flourish. “Get one of my pilots to transport it to my power plant in the NoSmokey Mountains.”

“But if it needs more adjustments, it’ll have to be transported back here to the lab.”

“Do whatever is necessary. I want a report no later than Friday of next week,” Khan commanded, handing the note over the desk to the scientist.

“Yes, sir.” Dr. Debolt shoved the note and glove into his lab coat pocket, picked up the box, and bounced out of the room as fast as he had bounced into it.

When the elevator had swallowed up the scientist, Shere Khan smiled to himself. Resting his elbows on his desk, he pressed his fingertips together. The sub-electron amplifier, which his scientists had been working on for over a year, was coming along ahead of schedule. It was, perhaps, the most important invention of the century. Better still, it was hiscompany’s invention. An invention that would save him money and make him money in the process. He looked down at the magazine.

“Wealthiest man in the world ten years in a row...”

End of part 1

Hopes and Schemes
part 2

A Week Later
Iron Vulture

A very determined Kit stood on the deserted upper deck, grappling gun in hand. Opposite him loomed one row of propellers that kept the behemoth airship aloft. They hummed in pitch-perfect unison, whipping the wind into a frenzy and making the deck vibrate. Shaking his hair out of his eyes, the boy balanced the grappling gun on his shoulder and, squinting into the sun, aimed it towards the top of the nearest propeller shaft directly under the blur that was the propellers.

“Careful...” he murmured to himself as his finger hovered over the trigger. “Too high and you’re propeller chow.”

Clang!went the claws of the grappling gun as it latched onto the propeller shaft.

“Yeah!” Kit pushed the button that retracted the grappling gun’s rope, thus stretching it tauter. With one hand tightly clutching the grappling gun, he reached under his sweater and produced his airfoil, which he unfurled with one flick of his finger.

When he slid his airfoil beneath his feet, a gust of wind from the propellers propelled him into the air, almost taking his breath away. Simultaneously, he pushed the button that fully extended the grappling gun’s rope.

“Wa-HOO!” Kit shouted, exulted. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he surfed on the air currents created by the propellers. Ten thousand feet below, between the rapidly moving puffy white clouds, he could see the white-capped ocean. He knew that this was dangerous, but the danger only added to the excitement.

For a few moments, he forgot about what he was supposed to be doing: watching for the arrival of captured cargo planes and the return of Don Karnage and his band of airborne marauders so that he could alert the others. What did he care about cargo planes or loot or helping Karnage restore his faith in his pirating abilities after their most recent failed attempt to plunder Cape Suzette? He was lost in the joy, in the freedom, of flying.

He was called back to reality by a distant burst of gunfire. Glancing to his left, he saw a maroon and taupe cargo plane break through the clouds in the distance. It was so state-of-the-art that even Kit, who made it a point to know everything about aircraft, didn’t know the make and model. Buzzing and circling around the cargo plane like a bunch of angry bees was a fleet of the pirates’ single-man, single-engine, bi-wing CT-37s.

As Kit watched the larger plane dodging, weaving and diving in a futile attempt to escape the CT-37s that were peppering it with bullets, he felt a pang of pity for the cargo plane’s pilot. The pirates may not have known their elbows from an aileron, but they didknow how to capture a cargo plane. In fact, during the eleven months that Kit had spent with the pirates, he could count the planes that had slipped from their grasp on one finger. But he wasn’t surprised. The CT-37s were smaller, faster, and therefore, easier to maneuver than the bulkier cargo planes. They were also armed with rapid-fire machine guns.

Kit was so engrossed in the dogfight that he was completely caught off-guard when the grappling gun’s rope was sheared in two by the propeller.

“Whooooooa!” he cried as he lost his balance and slipped off his airfoil. Plummeting through the air, he caught his board before it could follow the grappling gun into the deep blue sea. He started to climb back on his board, but before he could, there was a pingas the airfoil struck one of the rapidly spinning propellers and was ripped from Kit’s hands.

The airfoil clattered to the deck at the same time that Kit landed with a thumpand an “Oof!” on the upper beak. Driven by momentum, the boy proceeded to roll head over heels down the beak.

Just as he fell over the edge, he snagged the tip with his fingers. Dangling on the edge of the beak, he cast a nervous glance over his shoulder. A drop of cold sweat ran off his nose and descended to the ocean ten thousand feet below.

“Jeepers,” he gulped. “What a time to be without my airfoil.”

The gunfire, which was getting louder, and the roar of the planes’ engines, which were growing closer, barely registered in the back of Kit’s mind. He grunted with exertion as he struggled to pull himself onto the smooth metal. His shoulders felt as if they were being torn out of their sockets, yet his desperately groping fingers couldn’t find a bolt, a nut, anythingto grab onto.

He was slipping...

Slipping...

“Maybe...ugh...this wasn’t such a...ugh...good idea after aaaaaaaall!”

As he hurtled through the air, he squeezed his eyes shut in preparation for the fatal impact. He opened his eyes in surprise when he landed with a jarring thud, not in the ocean, but on something hard.

He had