CHAPTER 3 Base Camp Noodles
After two days in the Palace, the penguins were granted "supervised village access." It lasted ten minutes before they ditched their guard.
Crane walked them down the main road with his wings clasped behind his back. "Stay close. Don't wander."
"Of course," Skipper said. "We'd never wander."
The Valley of Peace spread around them — tile rooftops, market stalls, villagers going about their morning. Every head turned as the penguins passed. Whispers trailed them like smoke.
"What are those?"
"Demons?"
"Cute demons?"
A cluster of rabbit children appeared from nowhere and followed at a safe distance. "Can we pet them?" one asked her mother.
"Don't get too close!"
Crane paused at a vegetable stall. The peacock vendor smiled at him. He smiled back. His attention drifted approximately three feet to the left of professional.
Skipper nudged the others. "Opportunity. Split up. Recon. Rendezvous in twenty."
They vanished into the crowd like smoke through a grate.
Crane turned back. "And remember to stay — " Empty air. His feathers ruffled in panic. "They're gone. They're GONE."
Skipper circled the village perimeter. Walls — low, stone, six feet at most. Guard rotation every fifteen minutes. Three gates, two unmonitored alleys. He caught himself mapping escape routes and stopped. Why am I doing this? We're guests. Old habits. He kept mapping anyway.
Kowalski examined the market stalls, poking at herbs and scrolls and primitive tools, mentally cataloguing the technology level. A pig merchant squinted at him. "What kind of creature are you?"
"I could ask you the same thing."
"I'm a PIG!"
"...Of course you are."
Private helped an elderly turtle carry her groceries. Complimented a shopkeeper's radishes. Within five minutes, six children hung off him like ornaments.
"Are you a bird?"
"I'm a penguin! From very far away!"
"Can you fly?"
"No, but I can swim really well!"
"COOL!"
Skipper found him surrounded. "Private. Low profile."
"Sorry, Skipper. They found me."
A rabbit kit tugged Skipper's flipper. "Are you soldiers?"
"We're tourists," Skipper said. "Yeah. Tourists."
"What's tourists?"
Rico, meanwhile, followed his nose. Something smelled extraordinary — warm broth, spice, roasted meat. The trail led him through the market, around a corner, and straight to the front door of Mr. Ping's Noodle Shop. His stomach growled so loud a passing goat flinched.
He walked in like a penguin on a mission. Which he was.
* * *
Mr. Ping had met many interesting customers. Never one who could eat seven bowls of noodles in three minutes.
When the other three arrived, Rico sat at a corner table surrounded by empty bowls, slurping an eighth with his eyes closed. Mr. Ping hovered beside him, beaming.
"Finally! Someone who truly APPRECIATES my cooking!"
Po looked up from the kitchen. "Dad, I appreciate your cooking!"
"You're my son. Doesn't count!"
Skipper stared at Rico. "We've been searching for — what are you eating?"
"Heaven," Rico said, noodles dangling from his beak.
"Your friend has excellent taste! Sit! SIT!" Mr. Ping was already loading bowls. "I'll make more!"
"We shouldn't impose — " Kowalski started.
"NONSENSE! Friends of Po are family!"
They sat. Bowl after bowl appeared. Private tried the tofu and made a sound that was borderline spiritual. Kowalski analyzed the spice ratios between bites. Skipper ate three bowls while insisting the food was merely "acceptable."
"Just acceptable?" Mr. Ping's face fell.
Skipper looked at the empty bowls in front of him. "...Fine. It's amazing."
Mr. Ping burst into happy tears. "Po, KEEP these friends!"
Po dropped into the seat beside them. "How do you like the village?"
"Educational," Skipper said. "Your father's talented."
Rico burped. Something clinked. He'd regurgitated a pair of chopsticks.
Mr. Ping's beak dropped open. "Did he just — from his THROAT?!"
"Don't ask," Kowalski said. "We don't understand it either."
"FASCINATING! Do it again!"
Rico coughed up a spoon. Then a ladle. Mr. Ping's eyes went wide with culinary possibility.
"Can you regurgitate ingredients?"
Rico's face lit up. A partnership was born.
* * *
The goat was on fire. This was a problem.
Screaming erupted from the market — a vendor's cart had tipped into a brazier, flames jumping to the wool stall next door. The goat vendor stumbled out bleating, his coat smoldering. Villagers scattered. Guards fumbled with buckets.
The penguins were out the door before the second scream.
"TACTICAL RESPONSE!" Skipper barked. "Private, evacuate civilians!"
Private herded the crowd back from the spreading flames. "Please move calmly! This way, please! Mind the step!"
"Rico, water?"
Rico hacked. A fire extinguisher clattered onto the cobblestones.
Kowalski stared at it. "Where do you KEEP these things?!"
"Secret."
Skipper grabbed the extinguisher and charged the blaze. Foam sprayed across the burning stall. Kowalski directed a bucket brigade of stunned villagers — "You, water there! You, wet blanket on that beam!" — calculating firebreak angles on the fly.
The goat was still running. Still on fire. Wool smoking, bleating in terror, zigzagging through the market.
"STOP THE GOAT!" Skipper yelled.
Four penguins chasing a flaming goat through a Chinese village market. The visual was exactly as ridiculous as it sounds. Rico tackled it at the fish stall. They rolled twice. He smothered the flames with his own body, came up smoking and soot-black, and gave a thumbs up.
The goat bleated gratefully. Rico patted its head. "You're welcome."
Damage: minimal. One stall scorched. No injuries. The penguins stood in the middle of the market, covered in foam and ash, while villagers gathered in a ring around them.
"The demon birds SAVED us!" the pig vendor said.
"They're heroes!" a rabbit shouted.
Crane swooped in, breathless. "What HAPPENED?!"
"The penguins saved the market!" three villagers said at once.
"They WHAT?"
Skipper brushed soot off his chest. "Minor crisis. Standard procedure."
"How did you — the foam device — where — "
"Trade secret."
Private fell into step beside Skipper as Crane escorted them back toward the Palace. "We helped. We actually helped!"
"That's what we do, Private."
"But it felt different here. They were actually grateful."
Skipper glanced back at the villagers still waving at them. "Yeah. It did feel different."
* * *
Shifu stood in the throne room with his hands behind his back and a headache forming behind his eyes. Four soot-covered penguins stood before him. Crane hovered by the door, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.
"They saved the market from a fire, Master."
"Using some kind of foam device," Tigress added, arms crossed. "Where did you get it?"
Rico burped.
"Don't ask," Skipper said.
"I AM asking!"
"And we're not answering."
Tigress turned to the others. "They disobeyed their escort and wandered off unsupervised."
"But they saved people!" Crane said.
"That's not the point!"
"Isn't that exactly the point?" Viper said.
"They're undisciplined!"
"But effective!" Monkey chimed in.
"Weirdly effective," Mantis agreed.
The Five dissolved into argument. Shifu's headache doubled.
"What troubles you, Shifu?" Oogway's voice drifted from the doorway. The old turtle leaned on his staff, serene as always.
"The penguins! They're chaotic, disobedient, and — "
"Helpful?"
" — and the villagers love them now!"
"Is that a problem?"
Shifu sputtered. "They're not trained! They're not warriors!"
"They saved lives today." Oogway's gaze was gentle and immovable. "Is that not heroic?"
"Master, they don't belong here!"
"And yet," Oogway said, "here they are. Belonging."
Shifu closed his eyes. Drew a long breath through his nose. "Fine. FINE. They can stay. But they follow OUR rules. No more wandering. No more unsupervised excursions."
He rounded on the penguins. "And you will NOT interfere with Po's training!"
"Deal," Skipper said. "Can we watch, though?"
"Why?"
"Professional interest. Plus, he's our friend."
"The Dragon Warrior is not your — "
"Let them watch," Oogway said.
"Master — "
"They may learn something. Or teach something."
Shifu's eye twitched. "Fine. Whatever. I don't care anymore."
* * *
The storage room became Base Camp Alpha that evening. It still smelled like incense and dust, but Rico regurgitated blankets and pillows while Private arranged them into something approaching homey. Kowalski found a chalkboard somewhere. Skipper commandeered it immediately.
He drew a rough map of the Valley. Marked locations. Drew lines.
"Current situation: stuck in ancient China. Mission objective: survive and assist." He tapped the board. "Kowalski, allies?"
"Po, Mr. Ping, possibly Crane. Viper's warming up. Monkey and Mantis are neutral."
"Threats?"
"Tigress doesn't trust us. Shifu tolerates us at best."
Rico waddled to the board and scratched something in the corner. They leaned in. Mr. Ping = unlimited noodles.
"Valid intelligence," Skipper said.
"Should we try to get home?" Private asked quietly.
Silence filled the room. Skipper stared at the map. The Valley, drawn in rough chalk lines. Their storage room, marked with a tiny X.
"Eventually. But there's no immediate threat, and Po needs help."
"So we stay?" Kowalski asked. "Indefinitely?"
"Until further notice."
A knock. "Hey guys! Can I come in?"
"It's technically your Palace — " Skipper started.
"But it's YOUR room!" Po poked his head in and his eyes went wide. "Whoa! You made it look cool!"
"Thank you!" Private beamed.
Po squeezed through the doorframe. "I came to say thanks. For saving the market. And for being nice to my dad."
"Your dad's great," Skipper said. "His noodles are acceptable."
Rico glared at him.
"Amazing. His noodles are amazing."
"Also," Po said, rocking on his heels, "would you guys want to watch my training tomorrow? Shifu said it's okay."
"We'd love to," Private said.
"Cool! It's gonna be embarrassing, but it's nice having friends there." He grinned and ducked back out. "Night, guys!"
The door closed. Skipper looked at his team.
"So. We have a base, a mission, and a friend."
"Strangest deployment I've ever been on," Kowalski said.
"I like it here," Private said.
Rico nodded. "Me too."
"Yeah." Skipper turned off the lantern. "Me too. Don't tell anyone I said that."
In the courtyard below, a messenger bird banked toward the Palace, a scroll case strapped to its leg. It carried news from the mountains — from a prison called Chorh-Gom. Nobody saw it land. Nobody read the scroll that night.
For now, there was peace, and friendship, and the faint smell of Mr. Ping's noodles drifting up the thousand stairs.
— End of Chapter 3 —