08/13/2014 AN: Hello and welcome to yet another story! Canard decided to stop by and hang out with me for a while a couple months ago. Turns out, he's really a super nice guy and not at all like a lot of fan fics portray him. So, I think it's time I set the record straight. This story will cover the time from Canard discovering the Mask to the final attack on the Master Tower. If you're crying by the end of it, then I know I've done my job.
Oh, one weird thing here. Puckworld isn't Puckworld; it's Anaska. Turns out, Phil decided to say the ducks came from Puckworld to make them more marketable. I'm seriously debating going back and editing all of my previous stories to correct this; but, that will take a lot of time and effort, neither of which I have at the moment. So, yeah. Hope that doesn't confuse anyone too much.
And, because this AN isn't long enough already, I've got one more tidbit for you. I do my best to reply to reviews because I love them so much and I want to let the reviewer know that I appreciated their comments. Sometimes I answer questions or explain things if requests are made. Unfortunately, when a guest leaves a review, I have no way of replying. So, if you leave a review as a guest, check out my Tumblr (link in profile). I will be responding to guest reviews there :) The tag is 'Review Response,' if that helps.
Now, on to the story!
Stopping to check who was in the slave camp wasn't Canard's brightest idea. Crouching behind the debris from a blown out guard tower, he tried to catch a glimpse of how many slaver drones had decided he was enough of a threat to eliminate. Fifteen. Damn. He didn't have enough ammo to take on that many and the camping gear he carried only weighed him down. Why hadn't he stashed it somewhere before sticking his beak in where it wasn't welcome?
"Alright, you tin turkeys. You want me, come and get me!" Bolting from his questionable shelter, he fired three quick shots and ran for all he was worth.
Slaver drones, by default, weren't very smart. It was pure luck, so many were bunched together. Stupid machines only knew to go for their target, not to give each other enough room to maneuver. Three of them crashed into each other, tripping up half the line.
Laughing to himself, Canard dodged another attempt on his rather precious life and continued running in a zig-zag pattern. He dropped a delayed explosive and pressed onward. Two more drones went out in a mildly impressive blaze.
A quick glance over his shoulder almost tripped him up, but the information gleaned was worth it. Eight left. Still not good odds, but better than they had been. Too bad this wasn't going on inside the camp; he might have had help. As much as he hated to do it, survival was more important than rescue at this point. He couldn't let the relic he carried fall into the wrong hands. If it was destroyed, his planet was doomed.
Legs and lungs burning, he pushed himself faster. His only hope was to loose the drones. Metal gears and pistons were slower but didn't tire. Choosing speed over unpredictability, he ran straight for the remains of the city park. What little foliage had survived would hinder the robots more than him. A large, duck-made pond stood between him and the safety of a small grove. As soon as his feet hit ice, blades extended from his boots, transforming them into ice skates. Shifting from running to speed skating was as natural as breathing, although even that was becoming more difficult by the second.
He didn't chance another look as he raced across the frozen expanse. It wasn't until he'd reached the comparative safety of the trees that he slowed and hid behind one. Gasping for air, he pressed his back into the bark, hoping the wood would provide some shelter if the drones followed. His ragged breathing drowned out all other noise. Forcing himself to hold his breath, he listened. Even his heartbeat seemed determined to make itself heard above anything else. Exhaling and breathing deeply, he leaned around the tree, wary of a shot that would surely be aimed at his head. Nothing. Gaze darting side to side, he finally spotted his pursuers.
Two drones stood at the edge of the pond while the rest retreated. After a moment, those two turned as well and returned to their programmed task of guarding a small portion of the enslaved population.
Sighing in relief, the tan duck slid to the ground. Thoughts of the white duck he'd glimpsed returned as he caught his breath. If that was Wildwing, he had to get him out. The drones may have chased him away this time, but he wasn't finished- not by a long shot.
The cold seeping through his pants didn't faze him as he worked out a plan. The slave camp had been a zoo. That meant groups would be split up into the various enclosures once night fell. Slaver drones guarded the perimeter while monitor towers were stationed at various points inside. Getting in would be suicide, getting himself and a possibly sick or injured Wildwing out would be next to impossible. The safest course of action was observation. If he was right, the ducks would be lined up and herded out in the morning, force marched to whatever factory the saurians had them working in. His best bet would be to find somewhere to watch them file past and confirm if that had been Wildwing.
Feeling somewhat rested, he stood and readjusted the heavy pack on his back. This time, he wouldn't be caught unawares.
0000
Rain. Why did it have to rain? Canard glared his annoyance at the sky. Rain on Anaska was never just rain. It sometimes fell in small pellets that bordered on ice, but weren't quite solid enough. Occasionally, it fell so hard it was impossible to see. Most of the time, it encased everything in a solid block of ice. One thing was inevitable about water falling from the sky anywhere on the frigid planet- it was freezing cold.
Shaking the precipitation from his face, Canard once again focused his attention on the long line of enslaved ducks plodding down the destroyed streets. He had found a good vantage point on the roof of an old restaurant. Surveillance would have been conducted from the comfort of inside, if not for a gaping hole in the floor. Thank the stars he was blessed with tan feathers and not white. Even without proper camouflage, he was lucky enough to blend in with the bleak surroundings.
He'd been camped out here for the past hour and a half, betting on the route the drones would force their workers to take. Logic dictated it would be the one with the least rubble in the road. He was right. For the past forty minutes, he'd watched his fellow Anaskins snake their way down the slippery street, curving around the slaver drones guarding them. Twice, he'd been disappointed when the white feathered duck marching past had turned out to be too old and too female. Hell, if he found Nosedive, staying out in this weather would be worth it. Still, chances of the younger Flashblade being alive were very, very slim. He had too smart a mouth on him; the saurians probably made an example out of him the moment he insulted one.
Growling in frustration, he slapped at the water sliding down his neck as if it were a mosquito he could squash. Why did he have to leave his poncho in his pack again? Oh, right. Drones. Traveling light had seemed like the best idea after yesterday's fiasco. Normally, his feathers did a great job of insulating against the cold and water would slide right off. Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to take a good shower for several weeks and re-oiling his feathers had been ignored. He was seriously beginning to regret that decision as the cold seeped into his skin.
Another white feathered drake came into view. While the size was right, the demeanor was wrong. This could be him… The tattered, navy coat he pulled around himself did little to keep the omnipresent moisture at bay.
Canard narrowed his eyes, cursing the falling water that obscured his vision. Everything inside him cried out for this to be his friend. He needed to find the goalie, to know that someone close to him had survived, to have someone by his side that he could trust implicitly. He hated the quiet voice deep inside that whispered sense to him- this dejected drake couldn't be Wildwing. Wildwing walked with more purpose, shoulders straight. Still, slavery could have changed him… Fear for what could have happened once again chewed its way through his gut. Part of him was relieved when the white duck looked up for a moment and he got a clear view of his face; another part of him hated that it wasn't Wildwing.
Growling in frustration, he continued to wait and watch. Surely, there couldn't be many more ducks in that camp. Looking down the street, he could see the end of the line. Two slaver drones followed the last duck, keeping anyone from escaping by simply dropping out. If he wanted to pull someone from the line, he'd have to do it soon.
Another white drake came into view. He was far too short to be Wildwing, but Canard didn't care. He hadn't spent an entire morning watching his countrymen march by only to walk away. Double checking his ammunition, he half slid, half jumped down the fire escape and crouched in the shadows. The moment the white drake came into view, he bolted from the relative safety of the buildings and into the street. Firing at the two drones in the rear, he grabbed his target's arm, pulling the shocked duck along with him.
The ground around them exploded in a shower of shattered concrete and dirt. Canard never missed a step. To his credit, neither did the drake he'd grabbed. The resistance fighter kept a firm grasp on his chosen charge's arm, hauling him along at a breakneck speed.
"Halt!" robotic voices demanded.
"Halt yourself, tin trash!" Canard shouted back. Pointing his gun over his shoulder, he didn't bother to aim. His shot went wide, hitting a building. Part of the already weakened structure collapsed into the street, crushing three of the pursuing drones.
"Down here," Canard ordered, jumping through a half opened window and into a basement. As soon as the former slave had followed, he grabbed his shoulder and shoved him under a pile of fallen girders.
"Are you nuts?" the white drake gasped, desperately trying to catch his breath. "We're trapped down here!"
"Not quite," Canard smiled and climbed into the small opening after him.
Hissing gears and clanking metal signaled the approach of the drones. Silence filled the air. There were no more demands, no more laser shots. Instead, they gathered outside the window. It was impossible to tell from the forest of red legs how many waited.
"Think they-"
"Shh." Canard quickly snapped the other duck's beak shut, more concerned with their safety than social decorum. "They can hear," he hissed. He let go only after a nod proved the other duck wouldn't speak again. The glare he received wasn't unexpected and easily ignored.
Vibrations shook dirt loose from the dilapidated ceiling as something large approached. The sea of legs vanished in a rhythmic cacophony.
"And," Canard whispered, holding up three fingers. Winking to his companion, he lowered one finger, then another, then the last. As the final digit vanished, a huge explosion ripped through the building, collapsing the upper stories on top of them.
The same, unsettling vibrations grew more distant as whatever had fired into the building left.
Coughing interrupted the silence as dust filled the air. The freed duck tried desperately to keep it quiet, but his lungs had other ideas.
"It's okay," Canard told him. "Go ahead and cough. You, my friend, are one dead duck." Reaching into the pouch at his side, he retrieved a glow stick by feel and cracked it. Eerie, blue light illuminated their little cavern. "Name's Canard, by the way."
"Deke," he managed, the coughing finally subsiding.
"Well, that worked better than I thought." He looked up at the girders protecting them from the weight of the building above them. Dirt, concrete, wood, and twisted metal surrounded the small nook the two ducks had taken shelter in, effectively burying them alive.
"You mean you didn't know if it would?" He stared at the young soldier, eyes wide. "You could have killed us both!"
"Not quite." Trying to hide a smile, Canard lightly tapped the com link on his wrist. "What's the date?"
"Today." Deke almost glared at Canard, frustrated at the inane question. "One day's the same as any other."
"Hm." Canard shrugged nonchalantly as he fiddled with the device. "Any idea what day it is?"
"Tusen? I don't know."
"No need to get snippy," he said lightly. "Guess we'll try this frequency and see if we get anything." Pressing a random button, he listened for the beep that signaled a connection. "Nope? Okay… This one." A soft tone sounded once and a feminine voice answered a moment later.
"Suma Styli."
"Swiat nie dla nas," Canard answered.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Deke stared at the soldier before him, completely at a loss as to what he'd just been dragged into.
"Hey," Canard smiled into the com. "It's Thunderbeak. I'm in a bit of a tight situation here. Think you can send someone to dig me out?"
"Gargany's going to have your tail feathers," the woman laughed. "Where are you?"
"Under three stories of rubble. Oh, and I've got a friend with me. Send a cutter? We've got some jewelry to leave behind."
"You found him?" The excitement in her voice sang through the small box.
"No," Canard sighed. "But you know how I hate coming in alone. Figured if you wouldn't join me for my little trip, I'd have to find someone else."
"Don't talk her deaf," she teased. "Give me a second here."
"Who's that?" Deke asked, filling the silence.
"Laysan. She's with the resistance."
"And she thinks I'm a girl?"
"Well…" Canard shrugged, trying to play innocent. "The numbers are kind of skewed towards the pretty ones. Makes Laysan jealous."
"Okay," he shook his head, still not getting the whole story. "Who are you exactly and what are we going to do now?"
"Canard?" Laysan checked in to see if he was still there.
"Yeah?"
"We've got your coordinates. An extraction team should be there some time tonight."
"Sounds good. I'll be seeing your beautiful face in the morning."
"In your dreams, Thunderbeak. Stay safe out there."
"Will do." Flipping the com closed, he returned his attention to Deke. "Like I said, I'm Canard Thunderbeak, chief warrant officer in what's left of the Anaskin army. From here, we wait. Once we get to Vanadium, you'll have two choices."
The white drake gulped nervously. "Vanadium? You could have left me to the drones instead of killing me."
"Haha!" Canard openly laughed at the misconception. "No, I'm not going to kill you. I'm taking you to Vanadium- the resistance base, not Vanadium- the afterlife. Nergys, our previous HQ, was destroyed a few months back, along with most of the military."
"That's good to know; I guess."
"Two choices. You can either enlist and join the Resistance once you've rested up and gotten some of your strength back. Or, you can head up north in the Taftans. We've been relocating free-ducks in a valley the Saurians don't seem to be interested in."
"Hm. Guess I'll have to wait and see." He leaned back, closing his eyes. "So, I guess we're trapped here for a while?"
"Yeah. Hey, hand me that pack over there. Will ya?"
"Hunh?" Glancing to his left, he found a bulky rucksack. Patches covered holes that had almost worn through the bottom corners. Dried mud nestled into every crevice and fold. Lifting the heavy pack, he shifted it towards Canard. "This thing weighs a ton. What you have in there?"
"Everything." Unbuckling the top, he began removing flat, silvery rectangles. "These aren't the best, but I bet you're hungry. Right or left?"
Deke looked at the two objects being held out to him. "Um… What are they?"
"You know, I've never met someone fresh from a slave camp that asks as many questions as you." Tossing one of the squares to his companion, Canard tore into his own.
"Pasta marinara with veggie crumbles?" Raising an eyebrow in approval, he eagerly dug into the foil wrapped food. A powdered drink mix, mixed nuts with raisins, and chocolate chip cookie were also inside. "I think I'm already in Vanadium."
"Eat slow," Canard instructed, savoring each bite of his cheese tortellini. "Don't want to get sick."
Deke went straight for the cookie, savoring each dried out, crumbly bite. "So, you and Laysan got a thing going?" He meticulously picked at every crumb that had fallen on his mud-colored rags.
"Hah!" Canard nearly choked on his food. "Her and me? Nah. She's like that with everyone."
"Okay." Nodding slowly, he continued to savor the first real food he'd had in a while. "Got a girl waiting for you back there?"
"Questions, questions. No," he emphatically shook his head. "Not that interested, either."
"Drakes, then?"
Canard stared at the white drake in complete surprise. "What the hell were you before the invasion? An interrogator?"
"Detective, actually. Not much difference."
"I'll say."
"You didn't answer my question."
"No, I like ducks, not drakes. I could just throw you back in that camp if you want to keep being nosy." A light tone accompanied the threat, taking the edge from it.
"After a meal like this? I think I could handle another year of slavery. So, why aren't you interested?"
"I've got my reasons." He stared intently at the glow stick, focusing on the blue light.
"Mm-hmm?" Deke encouraged.
"Wow. Fine." Canard rolled his eyes and started telling a story. "There was this girl back in school, Tesha."
"School? University?"
"High school."
"Really? I thought you were older than that. You're, what, twenty-two?"
"Nineteen, actually. Anyway, Tesha. She was hot. I'm talking, movie star, model hot. Teal hair down to her waist, nice curves, gorgeous beak. Problem was, she was a pretty evil bitch. There was some sort of dare or something between her and some of the other girls to see who could sleep with the entire first line of the varsity hockey team. I was left defense."
"Liar." Deke spoke matter-of-factly, no accusation. "You didn't sleep with her." He eagerly took another bite of pasta, dark eyes never leaving the soldier.
Canard stared at him in amazement. How had he known? "Wasn't interested after what she did to the goalie."
"That, I believe." Finishing up his food, he absentmindedly scratched at the golden cuff covering the majority of his right forearm. "But she's not why you're not interested. Something else. You could have told me you didn't want to talk about it."
"There's a tracker in that slave bracelet," he changed the subject. "We'll have to cut it off and leave it here, so the drones don't come looking for us."
"Am I going to loose a hand?" He flexed the fingers of his right hand, studying it carefully. "I suppose I could learn to use the left."
"No. We're not in the dark ages. They'll have a cutter when they dig us out. As long as we don't kill it and leave it here, we'll be safe."
"You think those drones will really be checking?"
"Not the ones that chased us or the one that demolished this building. There are four types of drones." He began numbering them off on his fingers. "Hunter drones are the ones that track down free ducks and process them for camps. Not too bright, but they're good at what they do. Slavers, the ones that keep guard of the camps. Those are the nasty ones; they catch an escapee, it's shoot to kill. Mercenary, the tanks on legs. Those suckers pack a shit-ton of lasers, missiles, and hate. Unfortunately, they're the smart ones. They can sense heat signatures; the others can only hear. Then there's the Monitor Drones. They're the biggest and the dumbest. That's what played demolition duck here. A squad of Mercenary Drones will probably come by sometime tomorrow to make sure you didn't get out. As long as they detect the tracking device and no heat signature, you'll be considered dead. And if the saurians think you're dead, you're free."
"I like the sounds of that."
"Now, my turn to play interrogator. How old are you?" Canard flipped his pack over and dug through a side pocket until he found a tin of cigarettes. He held one in his mouth while he continued to search for the lighter.
"Didn't your parents teach you to respect your elders?"
"My parents didn't teach me shit." Ah, there it was. How did the blasted thing always manage to work its way to the bottom?
"Why's that?"
"I'm done answering your questions." The lighter finally produced a flame on the third try. "Time for you to answer mine. How old are you?" He inhaled deeply, sucking down the smoke.
"You've got guts, kid. I like that." Deke tried not to make a face at the smell. "I'm thirty-two. Or, I think I am. What year is it?"
"Thirty-sixty. Septen, if you're curious."
"Yeah, thirty-two. Septen? Wow. Didn't think it was that late in the year already."
"Did you ever hear anything about a drake named Wildwing or Nosedive?"
"Hm. Can't say I have. What's their stats?"
"Wing's about my height, same build. White feathers, broad beak. He'd be nineteen now, too. Nosedive's sixteen; buff feathers, shorter beak, blond. Their last name is Flashblade." He took another long drag.
"Sorry," he shook his head sadly. "I have a pretty good memory and I haven't seen or heard of anyone matching those descriptions. That why you chose me?"
"Huh?"
"White feathers."
Canard leaned his head against the wall and rested his elbows on his knees. "Yeah."
"Good a reason as any, I guess. You two friends?"
"Yup." He sighed heavily through his nose, sending curls of smoke into the chilly air. "Better get some rest. We'll be stuck here for a while."
"I think this is the first time in a very, very long time I'll be able to actually sleep."
"Then do it."
Deke didn't need to be told twice. He lay down, head pillowed on an elbow and legs pulled up close.
0000
Canard couldn't help but smirk at the look of pure confusion on Deke's face as the small hover-carrier they rode neared Vanadium's secret entrance. It didn't look like much. One side of the mountain had been strategically blasted, collapsing boulders and scree across what had been a road. The meticulous carvings covering the once beautiful gateway had been removed and stored below, leaving only an unmarked, yawning hole in the mountainside.
The last resistance fortress was nestled deep in the Southern Taftan Mountains. Originally created as a limestone mine for building materials, sculptures, and calcium grit, the vast network of tunnels had been converted into data storage some time during the last hundred years. As soon as the invasion struck, the military had taken over and claimed the natural fortress as their headquarters of operation. It wasn't until the near-collapse of the Resistance six months ago that it had become their last refuge.
"Amazing, isn't it?" Lt. Pato remarked, carefully maneuvering the transport around fallen debris and towards the gaping entrance. "Shame we had to destroy the road here. Only way in's with a hovercraft or hiking."
"It's a cave. The Resistance is operating out of a cave? What do you use, rocks and sticks?"
"Optimistic fellow, isn't he?" Canard joked to his commanding officer.
"Sounds like it," Lt. Pato mused as they glided past the unmarked gateway. "Even before the invasion, Vanadium's one of the best kept secrets this side of Cholistak. Not even the Kian knew about it."
"How'd you keep this a secret?" the ever curious Deke asked. "I mean, civilians had to know about it. Somebody had to work here."
"Simple enough," the gray duck shrugged. "Let the civilians stay. Everyone who was here pretty much moved in and lived underground. You'd be surprised what the inside's like." Checking the clearance, he skillfully navigated around several tenuously perched boulders and entered the darkness. A blue glow from the hovercraft's navigation panel was the only illumination for several minutes as he flew blind.
"I hope you know where you're going," Deke muttered nervously.
Canard smirked at his recruit's attitude. He and Pato had made this trip many times; as long as they didn't go too fast, there was little danger of running into a wall or debris.
Darkness skewed their sense of time, making the trip seem much longer than it actually was. They could have gone around a corner or maybe they just floated to the side. Either way, a dim light off to their right steadily grew brighter as they drew near. The craft picked up speed, charging towards the welcome brightness with near-reckless abandon.
Deke gripped the side of the battered vehicle tightly, desperately trying to add his own indentations to the side.
"Been boring since I've been gone?" Canard casually asked.
"Yup." The lieutenant's beak half twisted into a devious smile as he opened the throttle further, giving them a burst of speed. They all jolted back before regaining their balance.
Stone walls became a blur, and lights ran into each other as they hurried on their way. A loud siren and flashing red light drowned out the wind's rushing song. Heeding the warning, Lt. Pato slowed down before skidding to a sideways stop.
"Pato, you maniac!" a gray duck clad in an olive, mechanic's jumpsuit yelled as he stormed over. "I already have a hard enough time keeping these things working without you wrecking them!"
"Ease off, Raki," Lt. Pato joked, disembarking. "Bringing in a newbie and our long lost scholar."
"I don't care," Raki glared. "You're going to drive these with the respect they require or I won't let you use one again."
"Sir!" Lt. Pato snapped a quick salute. "Apologies for the reckless driving, sir! I won't do it again, sir! Permission to escort our guest to processing, sir?"
"Lay off," Canard joked, poking him in the side. "Sorry, Raki. I'll drive next time."
"Like you're any better," he muttered. "Fine, fine. Get out of here." Dismissing them with a wave, he jumped onto the hovercraft and half assisted, half pushed Deke from the platform.
"Ignore him," Canard laughed as he steadied the former slave. "He's always got a burr on his blades. So, you ready for a hot shower and an actual bed?"
"Nothing sounds better," Deke readily agreed.
"This way, if you will," Lt. Pato began marching down the cavernous vehicle bay, not looking back to see if they followed or not.
Canard retrieved his pack from the floor and slung it across his back before following. He was used to the long walks required to get around Vanadium. Runaround vehicles were occasionally used to cut down on the travel time. Unfortunately, those were in limited supply and reserved for the higher ranking officers. Glancing towards the recruit, he tried to judge if Deke could handle the walk. Despite his imprisonment, the white drake didn't show much physical impairment. Satisfied that he could make it, Canard returned his attention to the underground journey.
"So, what next?" Deke questioned. If Vanadium were run anything like his police station, prisoners- or recruits in this case- would have to be interrogated, fingerprinted, photographed, and possibly de-loused before the promised food and bed were provided.
"You see Laysan," Lt. Pato calmly replied. "She'll get your information and set you up with a hot shower. From there, you can either have a hot meal or go to sleep."
"Food," Deke insisted, thankful that their processing didn't sound nearly as arduous as he'd expected.. "Can I eat before the shower?"
"Ugh," Canard shrugged and fluffed his feathers in an attempt to get comfortable. "Showers first. I feel like my skin's crawling."
"It probably is," Lt. Pato joked. "I bet Laysan makes you use the feather mite soap."
"She'll have to preen my back if she does," Canard growled. "That stuff's disgusting." He absentmindedly scratched his arm, remembering the rash he'd suffered the last time he'd had to use it.
"Yeah, but you were out two months. Who knows what you picked up?"
"You guys use Permethrin?"
"You got it," Lt. Pato nodded at the former slave.
"Ick." Deke readily agreed with Canard. "Works like a charm but irritates my skin worse than the bugs."
"Sorry, but you're going to have to use it," Lt. Pato said. "Vanadium's a closed system and we can't let an infestation get started. We won't be much good against the saurians if we're all sick from pests."
Matching eye rolls were the only answer he received. Canard already knew that and Deke had experienced the same thing at the police station he'd worked at. Even if it was common sense, neither of them had to like it.
The kilm and a half walk from the vehicle bay to processing was considered a short one by Vanadium's standards. The subterranean base held over three hundred kilms of road. Barracks were located much further in, as was the galley, meeting and training rooms, three hockey rinks, and civilian areas. Massive, temperature controlled rooms filled with photographs, rare artifacts, musical recordings, and books remained under civilian control. The military had initially tried to empty the rooms for their own purposes, but the realization that this could very well be the last storehouse of Anaskin culture overrode the need for more training space.
Deke sounded distinctly winded by the time they reached Laysan's office. Putting an encouraging hand on the recruit's shoulder, Canard opened the glass door and gently motioned him in.
"This the new one?" Standing, the brown feathered duck flipped her long, black braid over her shoulder. "Welcome to Vanadium." She flashed a bright smile at the new duck and extended her arm in greeting. "I'm Laysan."
"Deke." He returned her smile and clasped her forearm lightly.
"Have a seat," she motioned towards a chair along the wall. "You two," her tone darkened as she glared at Lt. Pato and Canard, "Can go shower now. Use the permeth, Canard. Gargany needs to talk to you when you're done."
Face momentarily distorting in disgust, Canard settled into his accustomed method of dealing with Laysan. "Sure thing, gorgeous. But, I'm going to need someone to preen my back after." He knew the charming smile plastered on his face would get him nowhere.
"Then I suggest you visit Dr. Loria before seeing Gargany." She quickly dismissed his flirting. "You should probably let Deke know you're back, anyway; he's really missed you."
"No, I haven't," the white duck said from his chair. "I've been stuck with that goof-off for the past two days."
"Not you," Laysan laughed. "His duckling. I guess that could be a problem, having two Deke's around." Gently tapping the side of her beak with one finger as she thought, she then turned to face the former slave. "I hereby declare you to be Big Deke," she waved her hand in a circle above his head as if christening a new hatchling. "And your kid," she pointed at Canard, "Is Little Deke."
"He's not mine," Canard barely denied.
"Yeah, right," Lt. Pato laughed. "Doesn't matter who created the egg; duckling's imprinted on you."
"Yeah." No matter how hard he tried to hide it, that ridiculous half smile of pride and love always managed to pop up whenever he thought about the duckling.
"Come on," Lt. Pato placed a hand between Canard's shoulder blades and gave him a not-so-gentle push. "There's hot showers calling our names and you've got a general to debrief."
"Ten minutes, tops," Laysan called out as they left. "Use more hot water than that and I'll personally de-feather you!"
"Then I'm going for fifteen," Canard joked as he walked backwards through her office, laughing at the expected glare he received in response. "Hey, if it gets me your attention."
0000
Ten minutes was far too short for a shower in Canard's opinion, and his skin itched terribly from the feather mite soap. Still, it felt good to finally be in clean clothes and back in his own quarters. He changed out of the soft sweatpants and t-shirt he'd been given and found a clean uniform. Digging through his rucksack, he retrieved the precious object he'd spent the past two months searching for. He pulled back the undershirt covering it and smiled at the relic before covering it again and moving it to a smaller bag. After making sure he had everything, he left the small room he shared with Lt. Pato and began the trek to the passageway containing the high command's offices.
They really needed to get some more of those runarounds up and running. Vanadium was far too large for everyone to have to get around on foot. Who cared if he had just spent the past nine weeks hiking through snow, mud, and countryside? He was in civilization, damn it! That meant he should have the luxury of riding a vehicle if he needed it. Not that there were many luxuries to be had anymore. Hot water was one, at least. Hockey, for another.
The silent ranting made his long walk less arduous. Finally, he reached the open door to General Ana Garganey's office. Pausing to make sure his uniform was presentable, he knocked twice on the door frame.
"Thunderbeak!" The general's gravelled voice echoed from the depths of her office. "What's this I hear about you bringing in another unauthorized rescue? The next time you pull a stunt like that, they're not getting a choice. I'm shipping them straight to Wesande."
So much for proper military procedure. Prior to the invasion, the general had been in retirement. She didn't seem too interested in enforcing protocol now that they were reduced to guerrilla tactics and barely surviving.
Canard walked in purposefully and saluted his commanding officer. He should have waited for her to give him permission to enter; but, he wasn't going to bother if she was going to start off by yelling at him.
"That is correct, Ma'am." He held the salute, awaiting permission to relax.
"Oh, at ease," she snipped. Dismissively waving a hand at a chair, she indicated he should sit. "You know we're operating with limited resources. I can't have you bringing in ducks we can't feed."
"Apologies, ma'am. It seemed like a waste to come back empty handed."
"So your mission was a failure?" Her doubtful tone spoke more than her words; she had known the mission to be a long shot from the beginning. They'd had nothing to loose except for one soldier if he'd tried. If he succeeded, they had everything to gain.
"Not exactly." Smiling broadly, he patted the canvas bag hanging from one shoulder.
"Did you really get it?" Garganey leaned across her slovenly desk, accidentally dislodging a small mountain of files in her eagerness.
Canard quirked a half smile and lifted the flap. Reaching into the depths, he retrieved an angular object swathed in an old shirt. Gingerly unwrapping the metallic item, he revealed a pristine hockey mask. The pearly surface glowed brightly in the dim light of the underground office. An intense scowl had been sculpted to intimidate opponents. The only thing even slightly remarkable, other than the perfect condition, was that it had been created for someone with an exceptionally long beak.
"Amazing," Garganey marveled he handed her the sacred object. Turning it over in her hands, she saw nothing remarkable about it. It appeared as normal as any other goalie mask she'd ever seen. "Are you sure this is it?"
"It'd better be, considering all the obstacles I had to go through to even get in that tomb." Canard once again took possession of his treasure.
"And it works?"
"I wandered into an area about fifty kilmes south of Twin Beaks while searching for this. Probably would have been good cross country skiing there before the lizards showed up. I'm walking through this Yalda forsaken desert and all of a sudden, there's this black tower in front of me. The legends weren't lying when they said the Saurians had cloaking devices. There's no other explanation for how an eighty havan tall master control tower could be invisible one minute and looming over me the next. After I found the Mask, I went back to that desert. It showed me the tower, even when my eyes couldn't see it."
"Spectacular!" The elderly duck was practically giddy with glee. "Those lizards won't know what hit them." Setting the Mask aside and leaning back, she pulled a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from the bottom drawer of her desk. "Here. You've earned it." She pushed the half full cup to her soldier.
"Thank you." Holding the glass high, he acknowledged his commanding officer and took a deep drink.
"Who else have you told you have this?" Dark eyes narrowing, Garganey carefully studied the young drake before her. "I hope I don't have to remind you of the absolute secrecy this mission requires."
"Nobody," Canard swore. "Not after that mess with DeCoy."
"Good. We can't afford to let the enemy know we have the Mask." Taking a large gulp of the whiskey, she finished off her glass and poured another before continuing. "I've been working on a list of soldiers and scientists to build your team from." Shifting papers around, she dug through the mess covering her desk until she found what she was looking for. "Here. I think you'll be able to find ducks you can work with from this batch."
Canard scanned the list. Out of the thirty or so names, he recognized about three. One name was conspicuously missing. "Wildwing's not on here."
"I haven't met him and I'm not going to recommend someone who is either dead or a slave."
"Wildwing's not dead." He didn't know how he knew it, but he did. His friend was alive, and he was going to find him. "And I need him on my team."
"So you've said. What's so special about this guy that you're willing to keep attacking enemy installments to find him?"
Raising one shoulder in indifference, Canard stared at the amber liquid in his glass. He tipped the cup, watching the fluid flow from one side to the other. "He's my friend. Best goalie I've ever seen. I dunno. No matter what happened, we were always there to pull each other's fat out of the fryer. It's not fair Lt. Pato was able to keep me and the others safe and not him."
"Hm." The sandy feathered duck snorted and leaned back, arms crossed. "Fair? More like fate. Lt. Pato's a good soldier. If he hadn't been at your school and saved you, we wouldn't have the Mask."
"No disrespect ma'am, but someone else would have gone after it if I hadn't."
"Nonsense! You're the one who bothered to track down those dusty old books and do the research. You were meant to find it."
"They were only dusty because the library had collapsed." His journey into the library Mom Flashblade had worked in was not a pleasant one, not that trips into other libraries had been any better. Fury always welled up in his throat at the knowledge that had been destroyed while despair quieted the rage each time he found a patron or employee beneath the rubble.
"Bah! Books. Antiquated junk." She dismissed the treasures with a wave of her ragged hand. "If you do find this Wildwing, you've got to be prepared for anything. War changes birds; imprisonment does worse."
"Books are not antiquated," Canard deadpanned. True, most of Anaska's knowledge had been stored digitally. Billions of books, movies, and songs were now lost to the ether. Only the physical tomes had survived. "They might be paper and ink, but I can still read them. None of the Slates I've found have worked."
"What are you going to do if he's lost his mind when you find him?" Garganey pressed the matter. "Or if he's nearly dead?"
"Then I'll fucking rescue him and get him whatever help I can!" Standing, he forcefully plunged the empty glass onto the desk. "You don't abandon teammates because something bad happened to them."
"He's not your teammate yet." The general met her soldier's gaze with equanimity. "Take your time and put a team together. When you're ready, you can go after Dragaunus."
"He's been on my team since we were eight. I'm not completing this mission without him."
"And I pray you find him," she said with sincerity. "Until then, meet with the ducks on that list I gave you. See who you think would be a good fit. Dismissed."
Canard glared at General Garganey for a moment before snatching the Mask off her desk and shoving it back in his bag. Snapping a quick salute, he turned on his heel and marched from the room. He'd find Wildwing. If he could find something that had been lost for centuries, he could find his best friend.
End AN: Anaska is a different planet in a different universe. You didn't think months and days of the week would be the same, did you? For your convenience:
Months: Janom (January), Febren (February), Archem (March), Prilen (April), Ayan (May), Juton (June), Julem (July), Augtom (August), Septen (September), Octen (October), Vemben (November), Decan (December)
Another odd note- Febren has 30 days every year. Anaska does not have leap years.
Days: Dunsom (Sunday), Oneen (Monday), Tusen (Tuesday), Nesem (Wednesday), Thurom (Thursday), Freen (Friday), Turem (Saturday)
Measurements: Kilm- about 1.25 miles, Havan- approx 15 inches (their equivalent of a foot), Arpen- little longer than an inch