Foul Play in the Sky
by Shadow RangerDisclaimer: The following story is a work of fiction and for entertainment purposes only.
Foul Play in the Sky
Instead, the past forty-five minutes had been filled with something far more grounded: checklists.
"First things first," Uncle Steve had said, smiling as he handed her a laminated sheet. "No flight happens without a pre-flight inspection."
And so began the tour of the plane. Kimberly followed him around the aircraft as he showed her how to visually inspect the wings for cracks or frost (even on sunny days, he noted), how to check the oil level, how to drain a bit of fuel to make sure there was no water or debris. He demonstrated how to test the flaps, the rudder, the ailerons—each piece moving under his hand with a quiet mechanical click that somehow felt both mundane and sacred.
Kimberly had expected a quick thrill. Instead, she got a lesson in patience.
"This," he said, tapping gently on a dial in the cockpit, "is your altimeter. And this—this little beauty—is the attitude indicator. Don't ask why it's called that. Just know that if the little airplane in the middle starts leaning too far, so are you."
He gave her a wink, and she smiled despite herself. He was kind, funny in a dad-joke sort of way, and more interested in teaching than showing off.
Then came the part that made him truly grim.
"Paperwork," Uncle Steve said with the solemnity of a man reading aloud a war casualty list. Kimberly burst out laughing at his exaggerated expression. But she still helped him double-check the flight log, route filing, and radio frequencies.
Now, with everything checked, signed, and secured, Uncle Steve straightened up and pulled his sunglasses down over his eyes. The lenses mirrored the plane beside him, already humming with life.
"Well," he said, brushing his hands together, "everything's in order. How about it, Kim? Ready to take to the sky?"
"Absolutely!" she beamed, her eyes sparkling.
They were nearly ready when two familiar voices cut through the hum of engines and chatter.
"Well, well, look who's playing co-pilot," Bulk smirked as he and Skull ambled over, each dragging along a duffel bag that clinked suspiciously.
"Hey, Kimmy," Skull chimed in, adjusting his goggles—which, judging by the sticker still on them, were a recent purchase. "We've always wanted to see Angel Grove from above. Y'know, in case we ever need to parachute into history class."
Kimberly gave them a sceptical look. "This isn't a sightseeing tour, you guys."
But Uncle Steve chuckled. "It's all right, Kim. We've got extra headsets. Just don't touch anything."
Bulk and Skull exchanged victorious glances and climbed aboard.
Unbeknownst to the group, danger was already brewing above Earth.
Rita Repulsa stood beside her viewing telescope, sneering down at the innocent scene.
"Pink Ranger in a plane? How poetic," she hissed. "Time to clip her wings!"
Goldar grunted in approval while Finster prepared to summon a new monster. Rita, however, turned to someone else.
"Baboo!" she barked.
The squat, nervous creature appeared with a puff of purple smoke, holding a bubbling flask.
"Here, my queen," he said, bowing. "A custom sleeping draught, strong enough to knock out a Brontovore!"
Baboo's past as a renowned alchemist on the planet Golaris was long buried, though not forgotten by a few. Once praised in royal courts, he'd been honoured for crafting miraculous medicines. But ambition had led him to darker arts. His betrayal—slipping a similar potion into the banquet wine—had wiped out Golaris's royal line and allowed Rita's forces to conquer his home. His talents, once a source of healing, now served destruction.
Rita plucked the flask from his claws. "Perfect. Squatt, you know what to do."
n the bustling edge of Angel Grove Airport, amid the drone of engines and the blur of personnel in reflective vests, a figure that didn't belong slipped among the shadows.
Squatt.
Bright blue and vaguely shaped like a mutant blueberry in patchwork armour, he seemed like he should stand out like a sore thumb. But surprisingly, he moved through the service lanes and hangars with unexpected ease. It was a skill he had honed not from stealth training, but from necessity. He knew how to go unnoticed. How to be invisible.
And that was the key to surviving Rita.
He clutched the small glass vial in his stubby fingers—Baboo's sleeping draught, bubbling ominously. It smelled faintly of sulphur and burnt sugar. Squatt wrinkled his nose. He didn't like this kind of work, not really. But Rita had given him the task personally, and that was rare.
Rita Repulsa, Empress of Evil, destroyer of civilisations, had once accepted a gift from a terrified couple from the Dark Crags of Virellon—a young, trembling creature named Squatt, offered up as tribute in a desperate attempt to buy peace. Rita had laughed, obliterated the parents on the spot, and then, with something like amusement—or pity—decided to keep the boy.
He'd grown up in her shadow. She was never warm, never gentle, and often shouted at him for even minor failures. But she never cast him out. Never turned him to dust. And in her own warped way, she protected him. Squatt craved her approval more than anything. So when she gave him a mission, he followed through—even if it meant skulking around a human airport, surrounded by machines that could probably flatten him.
He spotted the plane now. The pink one was climbing into the cockpit, laughing with a tall man in a bomber jacket. Uncle Steve, the pilot.
Squatt snuck closer, ducking behind a set of fuel drums. The man's travel mug sat on a bench just outside the plane, steam still curling from the top. Perfect.
With the exaggerated silence of someone trying too hard to be quiet, Squatt tiptoed forward, lifted the vial, and uncorked it. The potion hissed as it poured into the tea, vanishing into the dark liquid without a trace.
"Nighty-night, flyboy," Squatt whispered.
He screwed the cap back onto the empty vial and stuffed it into his belt pouch. One last glance to ensure he hadn't been seen—just a refuelling tech yawning and a bird flapping away in alarm. No one noticed the blueberry-shaped intruder.
Satisfied, Squatt slipped away into the shadows once more, already imagining how proud Rita would look when she found out he'd succeeded. Or at the very least, how she wouldn't throw him into the Void Pit this week.
And for someone like Squatt, that was as good as love.
Back at the airport, the group settled in. Kimberly took the co-pilot's seat, adjusting her headset with a grin.
"You're going to love this," Uncle Steve said as he sipped his coffee and powered up the engine.
Soon they were airborne, the city shrinking below them into a model of rooftops and winding roads. Kimberly's breath caught as they crested above the hills and into the open sky.
"It's beautiful," she said.
But the moment didn't last.
Uncle Steve blinked suddenly, swayed—and slumped forward onto the controls.
"Uncle Steve?!" Kimberly cried out, reaching for him.
In the back, Bulk screamed and clutched Skull. "We're gonna die!"
"Nooo! I still haven't passed geometry!" Skull wailed.
Kimberly forced herself to focus. She pushed Steve upright and grabbed the yoke.
"Stay calm!" she shouted over the panic. "I need to land this plane!"
Luckily for Kimberly, in their panic both Bulk and Skull passed out.
The cockpit jolted as turbulence caught the small plane, rattling the controls in Kimberly's hands. Her palms were slick with sweat, but she kept her grip firm, eyes flicking between the altimeter and the horizon. Uncle Steve was still unconscious beside her. Bulk and Skull were quiet in the back—Bulk muttering prayers, Skull just whimpering and shaking.
"Kimberly!" Alpha 5's voice came crackling through her communicator, laced with urgency but clear. "I'm here! I've accessed your location and am uploading the full specifications of the aircraft to my databanks!"
Kimberly exhaled with relief. "Okay, Alpha. I've got the yoke… What now?"
"You're piloting a Cessna 172 Skyhawk. Single engine, fixed-wing, designed for training and light transport. Begin stabilising your altitude—check your vertical speed indicator and adjust the nose pitch. Try to hold level flight at 3,000 feet."
She did as instructed, easing back gently on the yoke. The nose of the plane rose slightly. The instruments levelled out—if only just.
Alpha continued, more calm now. "You can do this, Kimberly. You pilot the Pterodactyl Zord, remember?"
Kimberly's jaw clenched slightly, her gaze locked ahead. "Yeah… but that's different."
Still, something about the reminder sparked a deeper confidence.
She flew the Pterodactyl Zord almost weekly in battle. She knew what it meant to be responsible for a machine that soared through the sky at breakneck speeds, dodging monsters and energy blasts. But deep down, she also knew that piloting a Zord wasn't the same. The onboard systems of the Pterodactyl were advanced—most major operations were guided by internal AI, and the landing protocols were almost entirely automated. She barely had to touch the controls during descent.
This? This was different. The stakes were real. There was no backup system, no giant cockpit voice calmly offering course correction, and no Power Rangers safety net. It was just her, the plane, and the hard Earth below.
But maybe that's why she'd agreed to this lesson in the first place. Not just for the thrill of flying, or for the quality time with Uncle Steve. It had been gnawing at her for a while—that if she really wanted to master her Zord, she needed more than instincts and Morphin energy. She needed skills. Real-world training. The kind you could count on when the Morphin Grid wavered or Rita threw a curveball.
"I didn't sign up for this just to ride on autopilot," she whispered, more to herself than to Alpha. "I signed up to fly."
"Approach pattern detected!" Alpha called. "You're near the emergency airstrip! Begin reducing airspeed to sixty-five knots. Lower your flaps—first stage only—and start a slow descent."
She adjusted the throttle carefully, flaps down one notch. The nose dipped, the airframe shuddering slightly in resistance.
"That's it, Kimberly!" Alpha encouraged. "You're doing great! Keep your wings level and aim for the first third of the runway."
Kimberly's focus narrowed. The runway stretched out ahead like a lifeline. Every bump of wind, every shift in altitude, sent a new jolt of adrenaline through her, but she held steady.
No weapons. No monsters. No explosions. Just a girl and gravity—and the will to land.
But even as Kimberly fought gravity and nerves, another threat emerged on the streets below. From a cloud of black smoke, Rita's latest monster, Snizzard, burst forth—half-serpent, half-armoured warrior, with a hissing laugh and venom-tipped arrows.
The Rangers responded immediately—but Kimberly's absence left a gap in their formation.
"We need Kim!" Jason growled as he deflected a lash of Snizzard's tongue-whip. "He's draining us!"
Trini fell to one knee, wrapped in constricting coils of bio-serpents. "Can't... hold out much longer..."
Meanwhile, Kimberly spotted the emergency strip. With Alpha's guidance, she coaxed the plane down, each second a lifetime. The wheels hit the tarmac hard, bouncing once before screeching to a halt in a cloud of dust.
The cabin filled with silence.
"We're... alive?" Bulk asked.
"Never doubted it," Skull muttered, fainting.
Paramedics rushed the tarmac, reviving Steve and hauling Bulk and Skull out on stretchers. Kimberly didn't stay to explain. She bolted behind a hangar, pulled out her communicator, and vanished in a pink flash.
Moments later, the battle raged—until a pink bolt of light shot through the sky.
"Hang on, guys!" Kimberly called, landing on a rooftop with her Power Bow already drawn.
She saw the apple crest atop Snizzard's head—the glowing core of his power. Without hesitation, she nocked an arrow and let it fly.
It struck true.
The apple exploded in a burst of light, and Snizzard reeled. The coils restraining the others dissolved.
"Nice shot!" Zack shouted.
"Let's finish this!" Jason commanded.
Together, the Rangers summoned their weapons, combining them into the Power Blaster. Snizzard tried to slither away, but it was too late.
"Fire!" Jason called.
A blast of rainbow-coloured energy struck Snizzard head-on. He exploded in a flash of smoke and sparks, leaving behind only scorched concrete and silence.
Later, at the Youth Center, the team gathered over smoothies. The TV in the corner played a news report about an "emergency landing by a brave young pilot," but no names were mentioned.
"I still can't believe you landed a plane," Trini said, wide-eyed.
"While Bulk screamed like a baby," Zack added, raising his cup. "To Kimberly—the high-flying hero."
Kimberly blushed and raised her smoothie. "To teamwork," she said softly. "Because even in the sky, I didn't do it alone."
She had really enjoyed her time with Uncle Steve, but wondered how long he would be around before her mother found a new 'close friend'?
The others clinked their cups together, united in the knowledge that together, they could overcome anything.
End