Passing The Torch

by Brithund

The original cast return to Acme Acres for Christmas a year later. Acme Looniversity has a problem - and just maybe Babs' brother Mortimer and his class can solve it - with a little help.

1. Chapter 1

Passing The Torch – A Not-So-Tiny Toons Christmas Special

By Brithound

A year had passed since Acme Acres and its surrounding franchise had narrowly escaped being invaded by monstrously cute and low-resolution Toons from an alien franchise. After the holidays, the friends and comrades had scattered in various directions, to film studios and blossoming careers.

Much had happened that year. Outside Acme Acres' airport, Babs Bunny and Buster Bunny (related) looked around the town, showing it to their ludicrously fuzzy three-month old cub Blitz Bunny (definitely related) that Buster carried securely in a backpack cub carrier.

"Seems like the old gang's all gathering," the blue buck noted, checking his T-pad with T-mails from his classmates converging at their old haunts for the Christmas season.

His pink-furred wife grinned, and spin-changed to a Western outfit. "Sure is, pardner," she drawled. "Looks like you just can't keep us away!"

---

Some had been ten months away…

Far out in the Desert, East of Acme Acres, a flying saucer touched down. This would usually have drawn a crowd, but its well-chosen landing site was an ailing, half abandoned "World of Roswell" conspiracy-watchers' theme park, and the few UFO-seekers in the area dismissed it as a cheap publicity stunt.

"If you looked hard enough, I bet you could see the wires," one of them sneered, putting his binoculars down and turning away.

"Yes. Totally bogus. Someone copied it from one of those blurred flying disc photos taken in Central Europe in 1945, and painted modern go-faster stripes on it," his companion complained. "Just how gullible do they think we are?"

Down in the desert, there was a reception committee waiting, a pair of Toons standing next to a Most_Terrain_Vehicle. A coyote was a common enough sight in the desert, but his companion infinitely less so – a tall, red-headed lady of extremely female human outline, but absolutely hole-in-the-film black colour, her face's only visible features being her eyes and a horizontal golden stripe of natural pigment just below them.

"It has been almost an Earth-length year, yes indeed," Marcia Martian noted. "The longest reporting assignment Mary has ever had."

Calamity Coyote's placard flashed to a large "Welcome Home!" banner as the portal of the saucer opened and four figures emerged. Strictly speaking, only three of them walked out – Mary Melody, the zebra Jaggi di Speckle and the donkey Jack Kwinus. In her arms Mary carried the latest edition to her family.

"I'm back!" Mary looked around the bleak desert landscape. "After half a local year on Mars, even this desert looks almost welcoming."

"Back home it would be counted a green and fertile place." Marcia nodded seriously. "And speaking of fertile – congratulations." She looked at the well-swathed bundle Mary was holding gently; little more than a pair of black-tipped ears could be seen protruding of her child.

Mary gave an embarrassed grin. "This is our daughter Jenny. I was 'expecting' her when I left Earth, and didn't I just carry on 'expecting'! A full twelve months' gestation, that comes from the equine side of the family. Last month, you should have seen the size of me! I was glad of the lower gravity up there." She turned to Jaggi DiSpeckle. "Do we have everything? I think our ride's about to leave."

"I was hoping to see my Uncle, not just talk on radio. I can always do that." Marcia's tone was disappointed, as she waved up at the mirror-like cockpit of the flying saucer. "I've not met him since…" she ran a silhouette-black hand down the taller and more curvaceous body she had developed in the past year and a half. "Since I matured as a Type Eight."

"That's the problem," Mary frowned. "There's a reason he's keeping the inner airlock door shut. He's fanatically loyal to Queen Tyrannee, the only Type Eight, Queen class on Mars. Getting exposed to another Queen type's pheromones at this range… that would really cause him problems." She pulled out a reporter's notebook and rapidly drew a symbol consisting of two smaller hieroglyphs inside an oval like an Ancient Egyptian "cartouche".

"You've learned Old Martian?" Marcia stepped back, amazed. "I have not seen that symbol written in so many years."

Mary gave an embarrassed grin, and turned to Calamity Coyote. "It's not something that's happened for a very long time, and Queen Tyranee's very keen to keep it that way." She winced slightly. "Literally, the symbols read "two Queens together" – but it also means…"

"Civil war." Marcia nodded glumly. "Even your bees and termites know that problem. They are more organised than you vertebrates. It is strange that they do not run your Civilisation." Despite all outward appearances Marcia was not technically a vertebrate, let alone a mammal, and even the tumbleweeds blowing past in the desert were a closer genetic match than her to the Earth Toons.

Mary shrugged. "I prefer our system. We only have to go through a life change – in our case, puberty, just once. And we always know more or less how it's going to turn out. Your Martian life cycle is so complicated, I just don't know what to call it. It's not like a ladder, it's more like a bush… it all starts at the same root, and it can branch one of fourteen ways. It makes a society so…"

Byzantine? Calamity's sign suggested.

Jaggi snorted. "That doesn't begin to describe it. They went past Byzantine before the first plants colonised dry land here. And kept right on going." Mars was an ancient culture, and in some respects a fossilised one. Their language had retained the word for "surf-board" for geological aeons after anyone had enough open water to give a wave big enough to ride on one.

They waved as the saucer retracted its ramp and rose silently, climbing up to the top of the atmosphere on Impulsive Drive before switching on its interstellar Optical Drive and flicking across the void between the worlds, returning to Mars in a matter of hours. Martian scientists were always amazed that Earthlings wasted vital Optical Drive technology on trivialities such as CD players.

Meanwhile, the five adult Toons loaded up the Most_Terrain_Vehicle with the supplies brought by the saucer, mostly destined for Marcia. As she had frequently complained at ACME Looniversity, it was hard getting cosmetics to match her bee-purple complexion.

Did the filming project go well? Calamity's placard asked, as they headed West towards the mountain passes that led towards Acme Acres, where many old friends were gathering for the holidays.

"Oh, yes," Mary said. She smiled. "The first ever in-depth interview by an Earth news company with the Martian court. I think we all got a lot out of it. Queen Tiranee did, I know."

By Marcia's body posture, her face was probably frowning. "When Uncle Marvin arranged this visit he said our Queen recently had been… somehow rendered, silly, I think he said." She blinked. "He had to use the Earth word; we do not have any equivalent. 'Silly' is not a characteristic of Martians. Not in all our history."

Mary looked up innocently, then cast an eye over the two equines. "We got on with Queen T really well. Friends… lend things to their friends. And in the last few months I was, well…" her hand traced a curve in the air in front of her waist as if to trace the shape of a good-sized pumpkin. "There was a lot I couldn't do. And technically speaking, I didn't marry Jack and Jaggi till last month, so… as Queen T was sort of 'earth biology curious', you could say I lent them to her for awhile."

"She ended up with her curiosity satisfied?" Marcia blinked.

"Oh, I think so. Very well satisfied." Mary deadpanned. Suddenly she frowned. "It's a bit unfair on her – although Type Eights are somehow pretty much the same as a human girl – there's no equivalent Martian males to match. Queen T was sorry to see us go."

Calamity nodded. A year ago, I remember you tried every path to legally marry both Jack and Jaggi at the same time. Even Rhubella's lawyer told you there was no way on earth you could do that. That is when you phoned Marcia for plan B, and arranged the Mars trip.

"That's Mary! Nothing stops her for long." Jaggi hugged his humanmare wife lovingly. "On Mars they couldn't see a problem with a wedding for three. A lot of Martian unions are far more complicated."

"They don't know our customs. Marcia and her Uncle are the only Martians who have ever set foot here," Mary said "Most Martians are still publicly speculating whether Earth is even habitable."

But surely they have telescopes and can see the blue oceans of our planet. And their receivers can pick up Earth radio signals! Calamity signed in a puzzled font.

"Umm… Queen Tiranee's sort of sitting tight on that information." Jack's long black-tipped ears went down. "The average Martian in the street… I mean Martian-in-the-abandoned-dry-canal, believes her when she says it's freezing cold blue liquid ozone, not water here. Very uninviting. And the only TV shows from Earth that get boosted and re-broadcast… so ordinary Martians can pick them up are…" he broke off, embarrassed.

"Endless repeats of 'The Jerry Springer Show', 'Pro-Celebrity Jackass' and 'America's Funniest Road Accidents'," Jaggi filled in. "No wonder Marcia's '5-year mission to seek out Intelligent Life on Earth' keeps getting indefinitely extended."

"And Queen T really doesn't want the competition," Mary said. "Any Type Seven Martian coming down here could progress to a Queen, on Earth with this much water around."

Thinking of which… Calamity's sign read We've been asked by Colonel Fenix to ask you, about a Martian who is expected here. Calamity's sign read. He has Toons who can read the future. There's a Martian expected soon who has the key to enormous wealth and Plot changes. She's identified as the Queen of Phobos. Have you heard anything about her?

"Phobos. A strange choice." Marcia expanded. "No air, almost no gravity. The only thing on there is an old Green Age communications relay many millions of years old. That moon is a worthless piece of rock, mined out in the early Green Age. But in theory it is a province of Mars, and any Province, on paper, can have its own Queen."

Mary looked around the vehicle, and took a deep breath. "Well, I can tell you all about her. We all took Martian Citizenship; it was the only way to get married. Queen T gifted us the deeds to Phobos as a wedding present. So – that would be me."

---

Back in a revered institution that Mary and her friends had known well, there was a less friendly and far less welcome meeting in progress. Principal (and Professor) Bugs Bunny was looking across at his desk at the expensively suited executive, a big (in waistline terms) Bad Wolf sent from Studio Management.

"We are very concerned at some of your choices for your Looniversity class," that executive, a certain Mr Hiram K. Hackensaw said. "Especially the current second year."

Professor Bugs raised an eyebrow. "Dey's a good bunch o' kids. Gonna be major stars for Warner Brothers one o' these days, you betcha."

Mr. Hackensaw tapped a few keys on his laptop. "I have the cast list here," he said darkly. "Only your current first years have enough approved, classic tropes – you've a comedy chase duo, at least."

"Isiah Hare? Issua Foxx?" Bugs asked innocently.

"No, I'm a Red Wolf. But… oh, I see what you mean. That duo, fair enough. But your second year class… we're worried by their performance." Mr. Hackensaw said. "The two Antagonists, for example."

"Dey all have pretty good scores," Bugs protested.

"Yes, because it's you marking them. That's what we're worried about. Bubba, the brutal bull, he's not such a problem. It's the other one. Henry Smith."

"What's up with him, doc?" Bugs asked curiously. "What's he done?"

Mr. Hackensaw frowned. "It's what he hasn't done! Our focus groups picked his demographic as main Class Villain. Has he achieved any blockbuster-grade villainies yet?"

"Nope. Don't think he's the type," Bugs deadpanned.

Mr. Hackensaw glowered at him. "Not the type? You just have to listen to him. Of course he's a villain, he's English!"

"Eeeeh… I thought youse sent us dat directive about not doing ethnic jokes these days?" Bugs asked critically, one ear half dipped. "Remember all dat trouble with Lightning Rodriguez coupla years back, Speedy Gonzales' protégé? Youse didn't let da poor kid open his mouth once on film."

"Yes, yes. But this is different and you know it. Things used to be simpler. When you heard a German or Russian accent, you knew they were likely villains. Saved a fortune in scriptwriting a plot. Then there was the big 'South African Villain' phase. We can't do that anymore, either." Mr. Hackensaw glared. "Henry Smith. Does he insist on taking a break for an hour for tea and scones, at the least convenient times?"

"Nope," Bugs shook his head. "He eats in da dining hall with the rest of the gang, lunchtimes. Mystery meat, and three mystery veg on the menu most days."

"Well, that's no good. And that name. It's not sufficiently English either. Why isn't he called something like Montague Benley-Carsholton?"

"Have to ask his mudda dat one," Bugs grinned. "Say, if he's a villain, and you've never seen the guy do anything wrong… don't that make him a Master of Crime? Super-villain who nobody expects?"

"As contrasted with Bubba, the obvious one. One's like a bull in a china shop, the other… the subtle kind, good for a smart Hero to show his skills by unmasking. That could possibly work." Mr. Hackensaw nodded thoughtfully. "But – and it's a big but! This whole 'comedy' thing is so overrated. Our Focus Groups are not at all happy with the kind of cartoon stars you're turning out. Fix it, or Acme Loo is history." With that he stood and swept out.

Bugs stood, looking at the open door for a minute. "Chee, dat guy can sure pick his time. Ain't dat some swell Christmas Present for us."

The door was still open, and a few seconds later there came a discreet knock at it. A long-eared head poked round the door.

"Mortimer Bunny. Come in, why doncha. It's the last day of term, and all dat jazz." Bugs studied the shocked expression on the younger buck's face. "Ya heard all dat?"

"Umm... yes, Sir. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, Sir," Mortimer said, and blushed. "But... we were walking past and, rabbit ears, you know?"

And I could read his mind, came a usually cheerful telepathic tone as a giant gastropod girl slithered into view. Sir… would it help if I stung him with one of my custom toxins? And then engulf and devour him? Just a little bit? A long, stinger-tipped tentacle swished enthusiastically.

Their mentor grinned. "Top marks for good intentions, kiddoes." The fact that Shelley was over a thousand years old had not influenced the 'bubbly teenager' memes she had picked up. "But – it really wouldn't help none."

"Who are those guys anyway?" Mortimer asked, his ears right down.

"Dey's a sorta clique, been around awhile. Every now and then they gets in high places in the studio, then a Toon's gotta watch out. 'Sons of Schlesinger', dat's what dey call themselves," Professor Bugs mused. "After our first producer, back in the thirties. Not for any blood relation, but for his style."

"They don't seem to like wacky Toons, much" Mortimer said, a puzzled note in his voice.

Professor Bugs paused, casting his mind back. "Neither did ol' Leo Schlesinger, back in the day. Sure, he was a real sharp businessman in tough times – kept me in carrots and kept da boys' pay cheques comin' in… can't complain about dat. And t'ain't for me to speak ill o' the dead, but…" he rummaged on his bookshelf and handed to Mortimer an authorised history of Warner Brothers. "Chapter two, last paragraph."

Mortimer flicked through the book and found the reference. "Though he put his name on all the most madcap Warner Brothers' films, Mr. Schlesinger was not at all noted for his sense of humour. Quite the opposite", he quoted. "When about to be shown the animator's latest efforts, he'd just say 'roll the garbage'. And not in a humorous way."

Professor Bugs winked, and pulled out a luxury rare breed carrot which he idly munched. "You said it, kiddo, not me."

Mortimer blinked. "They're management who got into films through being accountants or something? Not because they want to make good cartoons? They might as well be selling soap flakes for all they care?"

"Dat's about the size of it," his mentor nodded. "And they keep the roof on dis place and da lights burnin', so there's nuthin' too obvious we can do about them. I havta say 'Yes Sir!" a few times a year, comes with the territory." He paused. "But you kids don't. Now, how about you and your pals puttin' together a little holiday project?" He beckoned Mortimer over, and whispered in his ear for a minute.

Mortimer Bunny stepped back, having taken on board some interesting notions from his mentor and Uncle-in-law. "Yes, Sir! As holiday projects go – I'm happy to work on that one! I'll see who I can get from the class to help."

We'll do everything we can. I'll get the whole class on the job. If I have sting them unconscious to do it! Shelley's car-sized bulk bobbed up and down enthusiastically, her thick blue plastic skirt (modified from a small hovercraft skirt and Velcro'd onto her shell) flapping wetly.

"Dat's the spirit. See ya in the New Year!" Professor Bugs grinned. As Mortimer left, the grey hare unlocked a desk drawer and pulled out his neo-retro, un-hackable database of well qualified Looniversity graduates who might also turn out to be very useful. Flicking through the Rolodex ™, he stopped at two particular cards – and reached for the telephone.

Outside the Looniversity after the final class of term, Mortimer spotted one of his classmates while waiting for the bus home. "Cassie!" He waved to the bloodhound. "Just the girl I need to talk to."

Cassandra Bloode walked over, her robes jingling with patented good luck charms. Most of them had a scorched, burned-out appearance. She looked at where Mortimer was standing. "I wouldn't stand there if I was you," she said, her voice mournful as ever. "It could be very bad luck."

Mortimer blinked. "Why not?" There were roadworks on the street, and he was standing at a sign proclaiming 'Temporary Bus Stop.' "My bus stops here, these days."

"Ah. But it might turn out, much too late, to be only a Temporary Bus." The bloodhound's long muzzle nodded significantly. "Before it reaches its destination it might just… fade away forever, with you on it."

Mortimer sighed. The first day in class, Cassandra had solemnly announced that taking tests was futile, as the Andromeda Galaxy was inexorably approaching and would smash into their own, throwing planets out of orbit into black holes and adversely affecting property prices. And what would be the value of a Memes and Tropes module then? Having Professor Wile-E Coyote patiently explain that would not happen for another four American Billion years, and the tests were due at the end of term, had cut no ice with the Prophetess. "If you want gloom and doom, we've got some for real. Professor Bugs just told me." In a few minutes, he filled in the details.

Cassandra brightened up considerably. "Woe!" She cried out, spreading her arms out and looking up appealingly to the heavens. "Woe!"

"Wo ist vas? *" Arnold the Germanic Pit-bull grumbled, walking past as he made a rare cameo appearance.

(Editor's note: "Where is what?" Trans. From really Low German, or possibly subterranean Swabian.)

"Cassie. Can you predict some of that woe stuff for these Schlesinger's stooges? And maybe a few clues about how to drop it on them, anvil style?"

"It's what I do best," Cassandra smiled. She suddenly stiffened, her body trembling – and as an unearthly blue special-effects light poured out of her eyes, she spoke in a deep, sepulchral voice; "And they shall deny the ones who hold them down! And they will rise forever and ever!"

Cassandra slowly re-emerged from her trance. "How was that?" she asked hopefully.

Mortimer blinked. "That wasn't quite what I was hoping for," he admitted. "They're just going to get higher and higher? More powerful? Sounds like we really are doomed."

Cassandra shrugged. "I can scent doom for them, all right. But I can't quite see how it's going to work." She paused, and slipped back into prophecy. "Woe unto them who deny that which press them down unknowing! For its hand shall be withdrawn, and they shall be as shining stars over the land!" She blinked, looking round. "Was that any better?"

"Frankly… no." Mortimer spotted two more of his classmates. "Nootka! Henry!" A pale-skinned human Toon in a blue down jacket and ski salopettes was walking out of the Looniversity alongside an Arctic vixen wearing a traditional fur-trimmed anorak and hide mukluks. He knew why they were late; they were in Miss Prissy's Escapology class that was part of the Action Hero degree – and the old hen perversely gave low marks for anyone getting untied too soon after being radically trussed-up by her.

"Mortimer! I hear you have a class project you want a paw with," Henry nodded to the rabbit. "We can lend a paw, and a hand too."

Mortimer was staring at the Arctic vixen next to him. "Nootka? You're wearing your native costume – on campus? Didn't the studio say you couldn't do that?"

Nootka laughed, and from her sealskin bag pulled out a dog-eared (and slightly foxed) film script. "We've just had a run-in with one of those Sons of Schlesinger about that. Used Henry's idea to get around it. I'm not allowed to wear this as a standard outfit, but – what if I'm in dress rehearsals for an authentic, historical film of the Frozen North, and here's the script to prove it?"

"Well, my sis Babs says Marcia Martian played a lot of Martian parts when they were making their class films," Mortimer considered the matter. "So, an Eskimo playing an Eskimo…"

"They complained that was stereotyping, sure. Then I complained right back at them not being allowed to play any part I want was Arcticist discrimination. That shut them up," Nootka smiled, her eyes narrowing at the memory.

"Arctic-ist?" Henry mused. "I've not heard that word before. But it sounds better than 'high-latitudist.'"

"I just made it up. But the studio suit didn't know that," Nootka's sharp teeth were exposed in a vulpine grin. "He started twitching, fell over and started to smoulder. Pete Puma turned a fire hose on him, for 'health and safety reasons.' I thought that might happen."

"Where I have dire prophecy, she has something like it as her shtick," Cassandra nodded. "The Inuit version of intuition – Inuition."

"Comes in very handy back home, for knowing which way a bipolar bear's going to go," Nootka opined. "Always hard to judge, those guys."

Just then, another two familiar faces appeared, heading out from class. The black-clad gothic mouse Lucretia and Marie-Sioux Zann, a human girl in a knee-length skirt and impeccably pressed shirt. Despite not having significant fur, she seemed not to feel the cold at all.

"Just our luck," Nootka's ears went right down. "The one person in class Professor Bugs and the rest of the staff didn't pick; the Studios wished her on us. Better not tell her why we're doing this project. She'll rat on us sure as I know a hundred words for snow – 'for our own good', of course."

Mortimer forced a smile as they approached. "Marie-Sioux! Are you the last one out?"

"Yes, she is." Lucretia snickered. "Got maximum marks from Miss Prissy that way. Teacher's pet."

"Oh. Well." Marie looked down, modestly. A trick of the light and snowdust seemed to form a halo around her head. "I always hate to disappoint her. She so dearly loves these practical lessons."

"Next term, with any luck it's Escapology 301… get out of the concrete block before it sets and gets dropped into the Minando Deeps," Lucretia smiled nastily. "I hope you don't escape too soon and disappoint Miss Prissy then."

"Do be nice," Marie corrected gently. She tossed back her long tresses of naturally golden hair (colour tone # 3000 on the animator's chart, and requiring special, expensive inks).

"Why? I'm not nice. But I'm not a studio fink, either." A black-clad mouse tail swished, as Lucretia glowered up at the simpering girl. "Or a Mary-Sue."

"Don't call me that! It's Marie-Sioux." For a second there was a brief flash of emotion in those improbable deep violet eyes, and the halo illusion flickered. "But I forgive you."

Mortimer cleared his throat. "We can use all the help we can get. Professor Bugs gave me a holiday project. It'll count towards our marks."

"What exactly are we doing?" Henry asked. "Something that'll really show folk what we can do with comedy?"

"I'll help," Marie said humbly. "I can play any role."

Mortimer's ears went down. Then he noticed the script Nootka was looking through, and a special-effect LED lightbulb flashed above his head for a second as inspiration hit. He took a deep breath, then intoned a film meme of power, one they had been warned against using in class due to the snowballing cascade of other memes and tropes it would trigger. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

"Hey, kids!" He called out. "Let's put on a show! Right here in the barn!"

---

Some had been six months away…

'It eats at your mind then rots through your brain

When you see the milk go chocolate-y, you'll go insane!'

Shirley McLoon shuddered as the advertising jingle for 'Killa Cereal,' the nation's best-selling breakfast food, resonated through the airport building. She had been half a year in this alternative time-line, having apparently taken the place of her local alter ego – a loon of incredible powers. A loon who had been hatched with her aura as one with herself, not an argumentative astral twin, and could always draw on her full powers. A loon who was by all accounts progressing rapidly and cheerfully in the service of the Dark Side of the Farce.

She looked around the airport. This version of history was at the same time hideously different and hauntingly familiar – the two main cities on the California coast were Los Diablos and San Judas – but at the same time, the Weenie-Burger food (sort of) franchise was exactly the same, right down to the prices and the menu design.

"That stupid, greedy green mallard…" she muttered to her aura – a dim, flickering spirit now all but exhausted after six months of keeping up shielding against all the dark-side powers that ruled here.

Fer sure. I know what Plucky did. I could feel it, just as we got pulled out of our world. Her aura sighed. It was way bad news last time when he came back from that wilderness timeline with a backpack of gold. This time – he must have brought back a dumpster full! The appearance of so much acausal, plot-altering matter from an alternative timeline had generated a savage dimensional recoil that had booted Shirley, who had cast the original travel spell, far across the multiverse.

"That's like, our bad karma. And this isn't a place where it's ever going to get better," Shirley sighed. She paused. "Way strange, that Unit Four Plus Two are almost exactly the same in this world."

Nearly, her aura agreed. It's like that lame Duck Trek episode Plucky used to boast about starring in; they ended up on a dark side history, where Mister Spork was just that bit different.

"Mondo confirmato," Shirley agreed. In this world the local version of Colonel Fenix also wore a small goatee beard. Evidently across the Multiverse some tropes were Universal ® (except for those that were MGM ®, Paramount ®, or Time-Warner ®).

The loudspeaker above her crackled into life. 'Attention all passengers! This is your friendly airport security reminder. Any suspicious-looking objects or persons will be taken away without warning and damaged or destroyed by the security forces. Also, any attractive Toons may be required to Unconceal and undergo full examination by our staff because… what the hey, we just love doing that!'

"Well, that bit's no different," Shirley reflected. Just then she felt a strange spiritual tugging that she recognised. Someone or something was trying to pull her back across dimensions. "Centre with me! Hold tight!" She gasped, feeling her aura diving into her body like a super-hero into a telephone booth.

Maybe it's, you know, those way special Cosmic Guardians who enforce the astral and astaaral laws? Her aura gulped We're like, ultimately responsible for what Plucky did. He couldn't have done it without us. All that gold travelling through alternative timelines is totally not meant to happen!

Shirley hugged her aura tightly. "If they've come to get us, at last," she said. "Well. Maybe that's just kismet. Maybe it's for the best. Because I just don't want to be here anymore."

She closed her eyes. The Agents who enforced the greater rules of Time and Space were not known for their forgiving nature. "Apart from the last six months – it's been a way cool incarnation."

It has, her aura agreed.

The sensation of being pulled into a gravitational whirlpool grew, until suddenly there was a crash of displaced energy – and she knew she was elsewhere.

For a second she kept her eyes shut. Then the noise came, pounding through her body. She had been prepared to appear before some stern courtroom judgement on a high, austere astral plane. But she had never expected it to sound like a Death Jazz rock concert.

Shirley opened her eyes, and her feathers drooped. "Mondo disastro," she gasped. "They didn't even bother judging us. They sent us straight to Hell!"

She was standing at the front of a massive stage, on which a completely dark-side band were belting out tracks of such sheer power and terror that Toons all around were screaming, vomiting and attacking each other in psychotic frenzy. The loudspeakers were the size of tenements, and the concrete-splintering sound waves were visible in the air like the shockwave from a bomb blast. One of the band was blatantly Undead.

Suddenly a telepathic voice cut through the sensory overload. It was Colonel Fenix – but not the version with the neatly trimmed goatee beard.

Well done, people. I think we've got the right one, this time, Shirley heard the familiar psychic tones.

Thank you, Sir! Do we have to turn off the Spirit Tap spell so soon? We're culling SO much power out of the crowd! With a sense of spiritual dread she recognised the raven Calgari, who had been almost identical on the alternative plotline.

Yes, you do. Right now. I've bent enough rules for a year, just to let you try it, Colonel Fenix broadcast firmly.

Shirley felt a reassuring touch of a feather-hand on her arm. She turned to see a face she had missed – Drogo de Vere, the neo-hippie song writer for their allied group Deaf Mettle Foundry.

"Shirley? Is it you? The real one?" Drogo asked hesitantly, the male loon (wearing bell-bottomed, tie-died Kevlar loon trousers) looked searchingly into her eyes.

Shirley looked back – and for an instant dropped her shields all the way, for the first time in six months. Take a look. Is it me you're looking for? She asked, dipping her bill shyly.

For a few seconds she had the strange sensation of Drogo respectfully checking through her mind and memories. Deep within, she realised she had missed that touch. The Dark-Side version of Drogo had been very different, a roadie for a group of well-preserved zombie rockers, the Ungrateful Undead.

It's her, all right! We've got her back! Drogo's joyous telepathic shout went out; no voice could have travelled a yard in the maelstrom of sound the rock group was pumping out. Now let's get her out of here!

Ten minutes later, Shirley was in the back of a top secret Assault Bus, heading away from what she recognised as Acme Metropolis' Mega Rock-O-Drome. She was wedged in the back seat with three Toons she was not so happy to meet again in any version – the raven Theophobe Calgari, the patently indescribable chupocabra Tlalocopa and the magpie Angelina Angelique.

She looked at the three expectant faces, uncomfortably. "Like, I guess it's a real downer having me back. After Drogo and Colonel Fenix rescued me, or some junk?"

Angelina's grin increased to Anime proportions. "Is that what you think happened?"

"Fer sure. If that totally evil dark-side loon with my name was still here, wouldn't she just totally fit with your grody schemes?" Shirley snapped.

Calgari smiled beatifically. "Why don't you ask the good Colonel here just who brought you home?" he suggested, mirroring it with a narrow-cast thought to Colonel Fenix.

Like, Sir, or some junk? Shirley asked, aghast.

There came a mental sigh. Yes, they persuaded me to bend more rules than I liked. Having a comeback tour by Evil Gazebo in town provided sufficient energy, in the form they needed.

Shirley sat back in the seat, shocked beyond words. A minute later she looked around the smiling faces of the three Addams Academy graduates. "But, why? Why did you want me, not her?"

"She plenty fun for a while, si," Tlalocopa shrugged. "And plenty hot on the nest! But we get Toons like that easy, any time from our old school."

"You're more fun, Shirley – in a different way," Calgari said seriously. "Yes, she was more powerful than you'll ever be, until you embrace the Dark Side – but after a while we all missed you."

"Mostly because Calgari's way behind with collecting soul credits for his Master," Angelina chuckled. "And he couldn't get any from converting a Toon who's already joined us. With you, he still might someday."

"Heh, heh." Calgari elbowed Angelina sharply in the wishbone. "As if I would! Anyway – we're glad to have you back. And she was glad to go home – she's missed her boyfriend."

"Ooh. Tell us all the icky details. You and Sanguinon. Yes!" Angelina bent forwards, her eyes sparkling.

Shirley blinked. "Who?"

"You know, Sanguinon, her way cool, two-hundred-year-old vampire swan boyfriend. The one I bet you've been having mondo fun with every night for the past six months. Like anyone would." Angelina looked critically at Shirley's neck-feathers. "I can't see the bite-marks. Do you use an Enhanced Heal (+4) spell every morning?"

That was her boyfriend? Shirley's aura recoiled in disgust. Oh, fer sure. First day I was over there, we got a vampire. Stake through the heart on sight. Burned the bones, dissolved the ashes in acid and dumped what's left in two different rivers.

"One flowing to the Atlantic, and one to the Pacific," Shirley recalled. "Like anyone would."

The three Addams Academy Toons looked at each other. "Uh-ohh…" they chorused.

We totally hate Undead, her aura confirmed with an astral shiver. They have absolute like, zero right to hang out on this plane of being.

The dark-side Shirley did mention such a friend, Colonel Fenix narrow-casted to Shirley and her aura. Did my… equivalent object to you eliminating him so very thoroughly?

Shirley frowned. "Like, he fined me a week's pay for trashing a 'valuable team asset.' I didn't know what he meant – but that whole world was so totally weird, it didn't surprise me."

"Better hope you never meet your better self! I bet she'd have her own ideas now of what to do to you with a stake." Angelina grinned. "Vampires, you can generally get them back – it's usually in their film contract - but you made that one mega-tricky."

Shirley cast a narrow-band thought to Colonel Fenix. My opposite number. What was she… like?

There was a long pause while the phoenix considered his reply. She was certainly very effective. I was considering promoting her, in fact. We've had some very troubling jobs handed to us, since the last election. But she handled them all, no questions asked.

Elections? Can't be any worse than that insane timeline where I was, Shirley shuddered, recalling. Can you believe it? They elected Mister Hitcher as President!

Ah. I suggest you take a look at Channel Five. There was a sadness to the phoenix's mental tone.

Shirley looked up at the wide-screen TV in the back of the Assault Bus where the three Addams Academy Toons were already watching it avidly. The on-screen caption read 'Presidential Axe-cam LIVE!' In the other corner of the screen was a daily total, in a blood-dripping red font.

A loon sat back, horrified. "He's President here too? But… last year Calamity fixed it so they didn't have to elect an axe-murderer!"

Colonel Fenix's bill twisted in a grimace. "They didn't have to, no. But the voters thought, if he's up-front about something like that… that has to be one truly honest man. A rare sight in WashingToon. They went for the idea."

"It's ideas, not just personality that really got him in, though," Angelina said. "He's already made good his promise to take an axe to a lot of the bureaucracy." She paused, contemplating. "Or was it to a lot of the bureaucrats? Oh well, probably both - a popular move either way. Nobody loves a bean-counter."

"When he makes cuts, he do it up close and personal!" Tlalocopa enthused.

Shirley's already pale feathers turned paler. "And Toons… voted for him, knowing that?"

"Hey, remember the '90's?" Angelina asked brightly. "Who'd have thought President Dan Quayle would have two landslide victories? And he'd just announced worldwide on live TV he was running for a third term, when that embarrassed aide whispered in his ear that he wasn't allowed to."

"Never underestimate the intelligence of the average voter," Calgari said seriously. "And personally I've never thought you could Under-estimate that."

"But… I've never heard the guy put more than four words together!" Shirley gasped.

"That's what the Media love. No long boring speeches nobody listens to anyway. He's like, a way modern President. For the sound-bite generation!" Angelina looked up at the screen admiringly.

"Thinking of bites – it's time to eat!" Calgari said brightly. "Lovely stuff. These ethnic minority entrees just keep getting better. There's a whole new range of traction meats." The MRE ration range had expanded to such a rate that not only was there an officially approved ration to eat at Passover, but another one to eat on flyovers.

Traction meats? Shirley's aura asked, disgusted. You mean, like roadkilll run over by an old steam traction engine? Sounds just your style.

"No, but that's a nice idea. A line of tasty retro recipes. Must write off to the quartermaster's corps and suggest it for next time." From a webbing pouch Calgari pulled out a selection of olive-drab pouches, and contemplated them hungrily. "The first traction meat anyone heard of was pulled pork, of course. Now we've got hauled ham, grabbed gammon and dragged duck in the series."

"The Japanese rations now have winched whale meat, too!" Angelina said, her eyes shining brightly. "Next time we're over there, gotta get some of that!"

"Lassoed Loon, is nice menu idea too," Tlalocopa said hungrily.

"And we should have kept some of that highly enriched, weapons-grade Synergistic Phall we ran across a few months back," Calgari reflected. "What a curry! Toons were running around with yards of roaring, blue-white blowtorch flames jetting out of them from… everywhere. Strong, or what?"

Shirley sniffed. "Totally serves them right for eating that junk."

Her aura grumbled slightly, recalling several incarnations in India where she had had no problems with a diet that would have burned most Toons to a cinder at fifty metres downwind.

The raven smiled, and chuckled. "Eating? No, those were folk who only heard about it third-hand. I said it was strong stuff."

"You should have seen what happened to Toons who actually ate it," Angelina reminisced. "That was fun."

"Colonel Fenix dropped it all into a pocket Universe and set it adrift, just before it ate big hole in our reality and let in the lean and hungry Hounds of Tindaloo, from Outside. Pity. They cool." Tlalocopa shook her head sadly. The astral hounds were an ever-present danger to Indian restaurant kitchens, where the spices were prone to corrode dangerously weak spots in EinsToonian spacetime.

"Or if you're tired of MREs – try one of these new psychoactive snacks, designed for this modern psycho-run world of ours. A Sanity Pop." Angelina proffered a brightly-coloured packet. Like the advert says - 'they're crazy good!'"

Total gross-ville, Shirley's aura shuddered, pulling away.

To both Shirleys' great relief, just then the bus pulled up outside the army-surplus store that Unit Four Plus Two were apparently still using as their Acme Acres base. She cast Colonel Fenix a tight-beamed enquiry. Any new Toons on the team since I was away?

No, we didn't manage to get any new talents, despite everything. We applied for that Murphy, and he wanted to join us – but his paperwork got lost. Typical Murphy. It's Corporal Barnes looking after the shop, as usual. Colonel Fenix replied.

"Score mondo points devotion-wise," Shirley nodded. The ever-keen border collie had been equally dedicated to his trade on the dark-side timeline, and had eagerly contributed to the dark-side weekly magazine 'Bayonet use for fun and profit' as official Government-qualified tester. Here, she recalled him being given a book of three dozen camouflage fabric swatches and identifying each one correctly, even the rare Burkina Faso arctic pattern and the Swaziland Royal Guard (experimental) suburban pattern.

The team filed out of the bus, and Shirley looked up at their headquarters with a strange sense of coming home.

At least it's handy to eat out, her aura commented, looking at the 'Authentic Chinese' restaurant on one side and the 'Fraudulent Lebanese' takeaway on the other. I bet you could totally use a chickpea falafel right now.

"So, it's the same bunch," Shirley said, waving to the vultures. "Is that swan Ida still training with Mother?"

"No, she's out East. Your mother helped her enrol in an Eldritch Skills foundation course at the Miskatoonic, when they went there in September," Colonel Fenix said. "Ida may join us officially someday, if she can learn to control her admittedly rather impressive psi powers."

"Not only haven't we any new team members," Calgari mused "I've been applying for other jobs myself."

Mondo dilemma, if he ever wants us for a reference, Shirley's aura tight-beamed to her material form. If we tell the truth about him, we'll never be rid of him. But we can't lie, either.

"It's a shame Rome turned you down again," Angelina sympathised. "I mean, he could have started as just part-time assistant Pope, doing evening and weekend cover. How helpful can you get? He even offered to take an internship, for no wages." Her bright beady eyes sparkled. "Hey! I could have helped. It'd be like 'we've got the Pope-signal, Cardinal Angelique! To the Pope-cave!' Then fire up the Pope-mobile and burn some rubber as we hit the streets, out to smite those heretics."

"Keep applying, I sure they'll come round in time." Tlalocopa nodded confidently. "You have good idea, try and make burn heretics exempt from carbon tax. Shame they turn it down."

"Of course, things don't always turn out happily. World War Two, for instance," Calgari mused, recalling a previous incarnation. "But you know, you have to try. With some things it's more about the voyage, not the destination."

"Yes. And it's a pity Colonel Fenix turned down your neat-o idea for this year's disguise. There's Historical re-enactment groups all over the place, I mean. The public would never guess we were a secret part of their own Government in your old outfit's outfits. They looked way cooler than those grody Parks Department uniforms," Angelina sympathised. "Really, they looked a bit like the Salvation Army wears, just the insignia was a bit more runic."

"Those wouldn't have been a bad choice either; I'm sure my Master would love the irony of me in Salvation Army gear. Nostalgic for me too. Nice peaked caps, right colour scheme, the collars even have an 'S' rune. And the tubas could come in handy for interrogating suspects." Calgari said.

Shirley snorted. "Like Colonel Fenix would let you!"

Sergeant Gander gave a quiet cough; the first time the tall goose had spoken since Shirley had got on the Assault Bus. "We did have an urgent situation, that needed extreme measures. Last month, at the Supper Bowl there was the grand national hot-dog eating championships. Some rather… extreme vegan activists took offence."

"They synthesized a version of the old British Lethal Joke from World War Two!" Tlalocopa said, her eyes shining. "Were going to play it over the giant screens to the carnivore crowd, and on video feed."

"It wasn't the same as the original, fortunately," Sergeant Gander said. "Their version of the joke was unstable, a one-shot. Once that copy was used, it was gone."

Like, we learned a lot of gags in class that were only funny once, Shirley's aura mused.

"We caught one of the activists," Calgari smiled. "The countdown was running, we had to… persuade him to tell us where in the computer the joke was stored, and fast, before it broadcast. Your better version persuaded him… in true Shirley McLoon style. And our dear leaders let her."

Say it isn't so, Shirley's aura said, horrified.

"There's nothing in the rule book that says you can't lock someone in a room and play Indonesian Gamelan music at them," Sergeant Gander sighed. "It was very effective. In ten minutes he was begging to be allowed to confess."

"And your better version 'accidentally' left him in the room with it still playing while we went and saved a Supper-bowl full of Toons," Angelina said brightly. "Whoops! There's one activist who won't be doing anything more offensive than drool all over the padded cell, from now on."

"Way dark-side," Shirley shivered. "My evil twin's going to come back as a diseased rutabaga, fer sure."

"Ah. One incarnation, I was in a different franchise entirely," Calgari reminisced. "Full-on grimdark universe, the same place those forty thousand WarHamsters we once met came from. Skull-shaped daemon worlds with seas of blood, the whole thing. You'd have loved it. I was in a band of Chaos Warriors, played bass guitar." He smiled, shaking his head. "I wore spiky black Over-Powered armour decorated with nice heretical runes and Impurity seals. Happy days."

"So, what are we wearing this year?" Shirley prepared for the worst – or rather, the third-worst considering Calgari's preferred costumes. "We're like, maybe disguised as a convention of Shriners? Football mascots? Disney characters?"

"Walking around disguised as funny animals. No, that'll never catch on," Calgari said "But, I quite like the uniforms we've chosen – it inspires quite delightful levels of fear and paranoia. And the really good thing is, we can stick parking tickets on any Toons' cars, just for the sake of it."

Corporal Barnes came out of the shop, carrying a paper-wrapped parcel, which he handed to Shirley. "Ma'am? Your new outfit. Sign the docket, please."

We're like, dressed as meter-maids? Shirley's aura blinked in horror.

"Hey! You can feed your radical eco-conscience," Angelina grinned. "If every car on the street gets gratuitously wheel-clamped except the electric one…. People will notice."

Shirley was about to recoil in disgust – when she paused. You know, that's not such a grody idea, she narrow-casted to her aura.

The ever-eager collie received Shirley's signature on the receipt for the outfit, and turned to the raven. "Sir!" Corporal Barnes saluted crisply. "You have an official communique from the Swiss Army."

Calgari nodded pleasantly. "I wrote in with some ideas for improving the Swiss Army knife," he explained to Shirley. "I came up with a handy gadget I've always felt a need for."

"Sir!" The Collie's ears were right up. "They say, quote, they have no use for your invention. Not only do they not do that to people, they have signed international treaties against it, unquote, Sir."

Calgari clicked his beak, shaking his head sadly. "Some people are so negative," he sighed.

Shirley's feathers drooped. Now I know we're back on the right time-line, she thought. Welcome back to Hell.

---

Some had been three months away...

If the rising Adventure film star Plucky Duck had disappointed the host of adoring fans outside the airport and let any of them go away disappointed without his autograph, he would have had plenty of time. Had he gone to the right Terminal, he would not have missed his flight.

"That's what I get for only playing Classic mode in Retro Rocket Rumble," he muttered to himself, getting to Acme Acres two hours late. "I'm not used to Terminal Guidance systems – I fly first and second-generation birds, and they don't have them." He had phoned Margot from Oregon, and she had assured him he had a special welcome awaiting him, after so long away.

Half an hour later, his 5-wheel drive * slightly-off-road vehicle pulled to a halt in the deep slush of the roadside by the Crowninshield Estate, some miles into Acme forest as the short Winter day darkened to evening. The snow-clad woods pressed close to the house from behind, and in a clearing to one side was a small but perfectly constructed igloo.

(Editor's note: certain ego-maniacs attempt to gain bragging rights by including the power steering, trying to upstage mere 4-wheel drive owners. As in: "It's a powered wheel, isn't it?")

"Hello, Daddy. We felt your presence from afar." Brandi and Candi popped out of the entrance tunnel, looking up with small, sombre faces. The ducklings were eight years old now, not the five that an Acme Acres calendar would have suggested – the duck family had taken another trip back to the time-warped alternate history Brandi and Candi had been hatched on.

Plucky beamed. "Hey, kiddies! Well, Presence is what us top actors have. By the truckload!" He knelt in the snow and hugged his daughters. "That's a swell igloo you've got. Did you build it all by yourselves?"

"Yes, Daddy." Brandi nodded. "We got the idea from a nice fox lady, showed us how. Miss Nootka. She fishes on the lake ice."

"Ohh… I heard of her. Our genuine 100% Eskimo. In class with Babs' brother." Plucky looked around. "Isn't it cold in there? And how do you get your TV and NumbMindo console working?"

"It's warm with two fish-oil lamps, Miss Nootka made them for us." Candi said. "We've got everything we want in there. No flashing stuff."

"Nice furs and skins we got from home," Brandi added. She looked up beseechingly at Plucky. "When can we go back?"

Plucky chuckled, tousling her head-feathers. "From what I hear, you'll be able to go there all by yourselves whenever you want, someday. Did your granny show you lots of the magic you're interested in, at the MiskaToonic?" Melissa McLoon had taken her grand-daughters that Autumn for a two-month educational trip to the stately University in the backwoods above BosToon where they taught many subjects that generally Toons Were Not Meant To Know ™.

His daughters nodded seriously. "Grandma Melissa taught us big spells. We opened up gates to places. We went Outside. To Hali, Mnar and Carcosa." Candi said. "And we talked with some people who live there."

"You should have sent a postcard," Plucky suggested. "Did you make lots of friends at the school?"

Brandi nodded. "Yes, Daddy. We met a real aristocrat in our class, Damien de Cambion. Grandma knows his family."

"One side of it," Candi added. "He got lots of powers." The MiskaToonic crèche and junior school was a very diverse place, reflecting the exotic places its staff and students went, and the fascinating encounters many of them had there.

"Grandma Melissa says we're Alpha grade psykers," Brandi said proudly. "Maybe Alpha Plus."

Plucky shook his head, admiringly. "And I was so sure you'd want to be cheerleaders and beauty queens. But, hey, daughters of mine, of course you're pure star quality!"

"We've summoned a Star Vampire," Brandi looked up at him. "He was nice."

"Ah. Kids these days. When I was your age I was into Tamagotchi. Well, have fun! Remember there's always warm beds, pizza and cookies waiting in the house for you!" Plucky remembered who and what else was waiting for him in there.

As he headed towards the house, he saw an unexpected sight – a more than usually confused-looking stork flapping away unladen into the distance, having evidently delivered a little 'bundle of joy' or the stork feather message that one would be on the way.

"How about that! We must have new neighbours," he told himself. "Didn't think anyone else lived within a mile of here." He took the steps three at a time, as befitted a starring Action Hero. He had recently worked alongside many of the industry's almost-greats, from Harrison Fjord (Norway's leading swashbuckler) to Harrison Fnord (star of many of Plucky's favourite conspiracy thrillers.)

He glimpsed a pair of purebred duck girls in neat black and white uniforms, and waved as Gladys and Gracie scurried out of sight, the maids looking a little guilty. He was sure he could see why.

Looks like they've been piling on the pounds since I left, he chuckled to himself. Probably been eating all the cheesecake in the house!

"Margot! It's me! Yoo-hoo!" he called upstairs to the boudoir with the biggest bed in Acme Acres. "Three months of filming is in the can, and I'm in the money, honey!"

"Plucky! You're back – at last!" Margot sat up in bed as her husband swept in in grand style. She wore a crimson silk negligee that set off her riot of purple head-feathers artfully. Those normally impeccably groomed feathers were looking a little rumpled.

"Sure, sure. I was delayed at the airport. Have you been waiting up for me?" Plucky threw himself down at the corner of the ten-foot waterbed that bounced and surged alarmingly.

"I've been waiting since the first time you called. Gladys and Gracie have been getting me ready." A small smile was on Margot's bill. "Then when you called again… well, with you coming home and all, it was the last time it'd be just me and them for a while. We made the most of the chance."

Plucky grinned. "Hey! When I left I said, have fun with them! I just love that idea." Margot kneeling and humbly asking her husband's permission had been, for her, the most perverse thing she had ever done, and she had clearly loved it. "And to tell me all about it when I got back."

Margot's expression became sober. "I'll have to do that, Plucky. Because I've got a little… surprise for you. Two, in fact."

"I love surprises." Plucky sat next to his gorgeous wife, caressing her feathers.

Margot took a deep breath. "Plucky? Remember I told you I once… refused a feather, back at Perfecto? It just faded away on the ground when I didn't take it. And everyone says if you do that, the storks never offer you another?"

"Sure! Just after you'd dumped that big stiff, the swan guy. No loss there. And of all the ways a Toon can get kids, you've almost got the whole collection anyway - adopting Brandi and Candi, and getting little Dauntless the hard way."

"Don't I just remember. I thought it'd be twins, but no, we got a nearly double-sized duckling." Margot said wryly. In the well-appointed nursery their green-feathered son Douglas "Dauntless" Duck was being raised alongside Gladys and Gracie's purple-feathered daughters Millie and Molly, who had definitely inherited Margot's mammal chromoplasm. It looked like egg-laying had definitely gone out of fashion in that family. "Last year I persuaded the storks to call on G and G, which they'd been trying for years with no luck. Though I've ruined their purebred avian pedigrees. Looks like I'm dominant right down to my model sheet." It would have been her DNA on a non-Toon, naturally.

Plucky kissed her. "You getting them with a stork delivery, girl on girl. That was the hottest idea I ever heard, anywhere, any time." He paused. "So, what's the big surprise you got for me?"

"It's funny you should mention me getting the complete set. Filling the nursery every possible way." Margot took a deep breath. Opening her feather-fist, she showed the stork feather that had arrived for her five minutes earlier. "It looks like the storks forgave me… and decided after I got those little bundles of joy for G and G, turnaround is fair play." Or they just forgot about the veto – that'd be a typical stork thing, she thought wryly.

A green mallard's eyeballs bulged in a full Avery "wild take" that would have earned him high marks back at Acme Loo.

Margot bowed. "Three months of 'maid service' whenever I wanted, and that one final time against the clock with you getting back late made it – dramatic enough to work. What do you… think, about that?"

There was the distinctive 'pop' of a Toon Unconcealing. Margot looked up and laughed in relief and delight, her eyes going wide at the sight of his reaction – and the scale of it. She had not misjudged her mallard after all.

---

An hour later Plucky was lying relaxed, lovingly stroking his wife's purple feathers. Suddenly a thought came to him. "You said you'd got two surprises? What's the other one?"

"Well... I should have said three, really. Gladys and Gracie are carrying eggs. No storks involved this time, just biology – they were as surprised as I was when I got my feather."

"Hey, they've already had daughters, Millie and Molly, so I don't see why…" Plucky broke off, and there came the special-effects whirring of mental cogwheels in motion. "They're carrying eggs? I thought they'd just been binging on cheesecake."

Margot struck a cheesecake pose for her beefcake husband. Three years elapsed time in the wilderness had done wonders for the mallard's physique, she thought warmly as she looked up at him. Life out there the second trip had been far easier with a few well-chosen tools, as well as Brandi and Candi learning to hunt with chilling efficiency. Also, the knowledge that they could return any time to civilisation had made the experience more of an extended wilderness holiday and less of a bitterly grudged, unjust life sentence in exile. "They've been enjoying a lot of that, too. And now they've a cute little egg-bump apiece, ready to lay any week now. These might not be daughters. That's the really surprising bit."

Plucky frowned, the gear whirring nose getting louder. "But how? With two girls you said it only works with the stork route, and they always bring a daughter. You said girls don't carry the chromoplasm for a boy. And G and G aren't into guys."

"And visa-versa." Margot caressed her drake. "I said, they're surprised. But they're happy with the idea, however it happened." She paused. "Remember what you said when we all moved in here, and we gave G and G the bungalow?"

"Sure! All one big, happy family," Plucky nodded. "Heh. Looks like it's going to get bigger, faster than I thought."

"That's right." Margot's eyes gleamed. "We're one household, with one nursery – does it matter to you the… details? Of who contributes, and how?"

Plucky scratched his head-feathers. "If it's all right with you, it's all right with me."

"Mmm. I really married the right mallard." Margot hugged him. "Put it like this… if you gave me a box of chocolates for Christmas, would you be upset if I shared them with friends?"

"Hey!" Plucky's feathers bristled slightly. "If I give you something, it's yours. Share away."

"Oh, and I did. The first night you were away." She paused. "Before you'd even got to the airport. I confess, I just might have forgotten to tell those two dear maids a few of the… messy details. Or the messy consequences. But they're happy with the results, so all's well there."

Plucky blinked. "But how did chocolates do that? I remember the night I left, you were amazing. But I don't remember any chocolate."

Margot just laughed. Putting two and two together had never been her husband's strongest point, while she had top marks from Perfecto involving maths using Complex and Imaginary numbers (much used in calculating tax returns) "Welcome home, from all of us, Plucky."

---

A few miles nearer Acme Acres, in a recycled burrow that had now been thoroughly searched and checked for any more classically unexpected (though unmistakably classic) missiles, Mary Melody was visiting her friends while Jaggi and Jack got her house back in shape after months away. Technically they were Jaggi and Jack Melody now; they had all agreed it would make life simpler if they took her family name.

Babs looked down at Mary's daughter, lying comfortably on the clean fireside rug along with her and Buster's son. Once unwrapped from outdoor clothes, Babs had noticed Jenny had some very distinctive features. "Now, that's a new one on me. She's got two sets of ears – human and equine both?"

"Quadrophonic speakers on a stereo are one thing," Buster nodded appreciatively. "Quadrophonic hearing, though – that's kinda special."

"I think so." Mary stroked her daughter's black-tufted tail lovingly. "If she attends Acme Loo someday, I expect the staff will have a problem placing her role. She's not technically a furry despite her shape – her skin takes after mine, mostly. She's got my head hair, too. That's not very equine."

"When we were filming on location in France back in Summer, Monsieur Baudet the director was a Poitou breed donkey toon," Babs mused. "He had sort of 'au naturel' dreadlocks, they looked good on him. Very like your style and Jenny's."

Mary smiled, as Jenny rolled over onto her front. The foal had a stripe of dark grey fur running all the way down her back, and a cross-stripe across her shoulder blades. "Well, I knew anything was possible, with a mix. Remember what you said last year? About if I had half a dozen children with Jaggi, they could all turn out differently? Some like him, some like, me, and anything in between."

"Oh, yeah." Babs grinned. "And double it now – two husbands, of different species. That's a lot of dice to throw, rolling up all the combinations."

Mary blushed, the special-effects glow standing out an inch clear of her dark skin. "At eleven or twelve months a time and no storks to help, I'm not planning to work through the whole card deck like that." She paused. "Then – I didn't plan on Jenny. Not the way it happened."

"Most accidents are caused by people, and visa versa," Babs quoted. "Same goes for Toons. Still – a happy accident, all round. This class of ours, we've really bucked the trend – me with the help of my blue buck here. Once that meme came to town, those storks were kept pretty busy." What with Toon longevity and near-invulnerability, for reasons of plot balance their birth rate was usually extremely low and contrasted markedly with the population surge in one particular Looniversity class.

Mary looked down lovingly at the two babies (technically, a foal and a leveret) crawling on the soft rug. Suddenly she blinked. "Blitz – how did he get over there? I didn't see him move. He didn't move, he just – was there."

Babs and Buster exchanged grins.

"Remember last year, when we went out to camp in the Grand Unified Field, and proved it wasn't just a theory?" Babs asked, a dreamy look in her eyes. "Well. By the time we got back… little Blitz was on the way."

"We'd been in six-dimensional space at the time," Buster added. "So we weren't amazed when Blitz was born with some interesting abilities."

"If there wasn't a Blinky Bunny in town already, we might have called him that," Babs said. "He can – blink. One place to another. Born with QuanToon teleportation like a bird can fly, a natural skill. Not something he'll have to learn in class."

"That'll be some shtick," Mary said, impressed. She paused, thinking. "It's a good thing you're honest types, and I'm sure you'll bring Blitz up that way. Because you could use that shtick for a lot of sneaky things."

"Yes, we thought of that," Babs laughed. "It'd be a waste of money Toons buying an ACME bank vault, when there's someone in town who can just step past all the walls through the sixth dimension and walk out with the loot." She reflected. "Still. When he gets a bit bigger, I bet there won't be a cookie-jar in the state that'll be safe from him."

While Buster went to the kitchen to check on the progress of their supper, Mary looked at Babs closely. "In the sixth dimension – what was that like?"

Babs paused, and searched for words. "I got Blitz on the way without the storks – I'm not surprised they didn't find me there; it was a confusing place for anybody. All my spin-change forms were out at once – but it wasn't like there was a crowd of me. There was just little ol' me, but with all the cards in play. And all of Buster's forms, too." She reached for a deck of cards, and expertly split the pack. "Me, Blue-boy. Me, Blue-boy. Et cetera." She Interleaved a card from one paw with its opposite number, repeating till there was just one pile again. "Except there was only one of us, each, and all our forms, simultaneous."

"Simultaneous?" Mary blinked, trying to imagine that. Calamity had in the first year 'Show and tell' session brought a Hypercube into class, kept stable in a hypersphere of higher order space. It had been an interesting experience, although Pete Puma had complained about having to clean all the spilled and blunted Sanity Points off the floor afterwards.

"Yup. And after – I'd wondered what'd happen to my spin-change forms, with a cub on the way. Well, they all had one – but it was the same one, not a population explosion," Babs stroked her son's ears lovingly. "Just as well." She had worried about copying her Mother's family size in one go, with every spin-change form queuing up at the maternity ward one after the other.

"All your spin-forms? Even Tinker-bunny?" Mary's eyes went wide, remembering the parodic fairy form. "I bet that did severe things to her power/weight ratio, as Calamity would say."

Babs' ears went down. "Ooooohh… just don't go there. I neither confirm or deny." She paused. "The Grand Unified Field's a nice place. Way past wacky, though. You'd just have to be there to really believe it. I can point you the right direction, out through Wacky-land."

Mary smiled, and shook her head. "I'd have to be a lot Toonier to want to go there! And… I never could spin-change. Some folk just can't." Five years of Looniversity could teach a lot, but not everything. She relaxed, even her limited human sense of smell picking up the aroma of carrot soup from the kitchen as Buster prepared to serve supper. "Who else is in town? I've been a bit out of touch."

"Fifi and Rhubella are back," Babs said promptly. "They were filming all Summer in Japan; got back a month ago. They went to the Neo-Mega-Tokyo film festival to pick up the Golden Cream Lemon award, for the most gratuitous shower scene of the year. It's very prestigious."

"Competing with a nation of Anime folk, that prize took some winning," Buster called in through the open door. "Second prize was a weather forecaster. She livened up her job illustrating the day's weather. Which was damp."

"I can imagine someone demonstrating 'Frequent showers all day'. I've missed those. Martians just dust-bathe, like chickens." Mary sat back, closing her eyes. "First day I'm free, I'll head out with the herd to Acme Acres' almost-Olympic sized pool and we'll spend all morning in deep, warm water. It'll be a first for Jenny." A few years earlier, one of her stories for the Acme Gazette had made headline news when the pool had not quite measured up to specifications. The builders had cast the concrete to the exact size specified… but forgotten to allow for space taken up by the tiled lining. As a result, Mayor Warner (no relation) had glumly unveiled the only (Olympic - 1 inch) sized pool in the country. She suddenly blinked, and her hand went to her mouth in embarrassment. "Herd? Did I really say that?"

Babs snickered. "That's OK, we're not recording." She paused. "I'd hoped Hamton would get back for Christmas this year – or Hanukkah, in his case. But his parents are going across the country to see him instead; he's working non-stop at Happy World Land. Head janitor already on the 'Happy-go-Pukey' ride."

"That's real job security," Mary nodded. "Sounds like he's doing well."

"He's really cleaning up," Babs winked. "They're opening a new ride next year, the 'Slide of Tragedy'. Hamton's already tipped to be in charge of that one when it opens. Folk reckon that'll be messy too. For non-Toons… they have to sign a disclaimer. And a donor card for any bits that… come loose."

Buster spin-changed into a park employee, with Happy World T-shirt, Happy-Hat and matching Happy-broom and dustpan. He leaned contemplatively on the broom, chewing a straw. "Darnest thing. I tol' them fool kids to keep their dagnam' arms inside the cars," he drawled.

"And Plucky and Margot are back from that time-warped world, I know. Well. Margot's been here since Summer, while Plucky was off filming." Mary's expression became contemplative. "When I was on Mars, she radioed me with a rather interesting business proposition. Seems she's not spending all her time looking after the ducklings."

"Perfectos and money." Babs' ears dipped. "They just don't quit."

Mary shrugged. "I've looked at her plan. It makes sense. And her lawyer's one Mr. Acme uses to keep him in business, he says there's nothing on earth to stop it legally. Literally. And we checked it's OK on Mars, too."

"If Mr. Bobbo Acme's managed to peddle goods like his all these years without getting his tail sued off… that's some lawyer," Babs mused. "It was in the news last week, how the auto-correct feature on the latest ACME phone radically altered a Toon's vacation. He wanted a foreign package holiday with a close-up personal experience of Prague – and the phone he booked it through changed that to 'Plague.'"

"At least he got what they thought he asked for. That's one accommodating travel company. And Calamity and Marcia are back from working on the Suppercollider in Akron Ow! Hi! Ow!" Buster said, walking in with a tray of steaming bowls, which he put out on the kitchen table. "Met them yesterday. Calamity was saying it's a dangerous job. His roommate… you know, the one who designed the first credenza to operate for more than a month on the surface of Venus? Well, there's no accounting for feline curiosity."

"Not even when there's a big sign on the Suppercollider warning – 'Danger - relativistic custard pies! Do not stick head in main beam!'" Babs shivered. "Eww. Messy or what?"

"Curiosity used up some lives of the cat. At least they have a good health plan," Buster said. "He got a whole new head, a solid one-piece titanium forging! Calamity was well impressed."

Babs snickered. "Here's something he wouldn't be so pleased to see. It was in last week's paper – I saved it for you." She rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a copy of the Acme Gazette which she handed to Mary. "Elmyra finally graduated last Summer; she and George are making a splash as pro bounty hunters. They've been doing well."

Mary's eyes widened as she looked at the front-page picture, headlined 'Caught – after a year on the run!' A spandex-clad, fiendishly grinning Elmyra was standing in the desert posed with George the dim bunny looming massively behind her. In her two fists she gripped tightly the necks of the notorious desperadoes Roxette and Roxanne Road-Runner (no relation.) "She actually catches road-runners! And gets paid for it too! Calamity's going to be green with envy when he sees this."

"Unlike those jail-birds; they're turning purple in the face," Babs noted. "A good capture. Still – who'd have guessed we'd ever be cheering on Elmyra? Those birds were tough, and I don't just mean how Calamity wants them - in the stew pot." She paused. "You'd burn more calories chewing a Road-Runner steak than you'd ever get from eating it."

"People forget Road-Runners are predators," Buster nodded, as they sat down to steaming carrot soup. "They eat rattlesnakes. Well, Beeper does. Not that they showed that in our class shows."

"Well, we didn't make films for the Discovery Channel, after all," Mary mused.

Babs spin-changed into safari jacket, bush shorts with shrub boots, and furrowed her brow as she channelled a serious nature channel host. "And here we are in South Asia, studying the business habits of the lumpish Koalas of Koala Lumpur," she intoned in a deep voice. "This species migrated North from Australia to run their mother's soup restaurant franchise, being naturally Ma-soup-ials."

Mary groaned. Babs at least had not changed a bit. "And Shirley? Is she still with that Abnatural Forces unit? I've not checked in with them yet, but I will. First thing Monday."

Buster paused, a spoon of soup half-way to his mouth. He put the spoon down carefully, and exchanged glances with Babs. "Shirley… she's not been herself, recently."

"According to her mother, she's really not herself," Babs expanded. "She's made herself a bit unpopular… but for typical Shirley reasons."

"Remember last year, Calamity and Marcia went to check out that Clinic for the Clinically and Comically Insane, hunting the Theory or Everything?" Buster asked. "Their Director really hates Shirley. He's lost all his star patients, thanks to her. He's lost his Julius Caesar, his Napoleon and three Hitlers. Had to let them go, after Shirley proved they weren't insane."

Mary blinked. "How?"

Buster gave an embarrassed grin. "Remember, their Napoleon 'somehow' started speaking authentic eighteenth-century French? And with a strong Corsican accent? Well, that patient started off as Fred Bloot from Walla Walla Washington, who didn't speak French at all. A complete nobody all round, by all accounts. Turns out it's something between permanent channelling and a screwed-up attempt at reincarnation. You've got a third-rate mind like his, matched against one of the biggest egos in History, who badly wants to come back. No contest."

"And the same with the rest of them," Babs looked back at her buck, smiling. "Good thing mega-egos like that, they don't get on with each other. Hate to see that team-up. Still, seems like we live in Interesting Times ™!"

"Better than being bored," Buster mused.

"I can see this plot's going to run and run," Mary spoke as if to herself. She sampled the soup, and her eyes widened. "This is good!"

"When you dine in a rabbit household, expect the finest in carrot cuisine," Babs said, spin-changing into The Crimson Crockpot and pronouncing a culinary benediction with the legendary Ladle of Plenty. "What was the food like on Mars?"

Mary shuddered, remembering. "Thin ersatz water to drink. And only two kinds of food substitute – smooth and chunky. Made with genuine chunks."

"Chunks of what?" Buster asked, curious.

"Just … chunks," Mary closed her eyes, enjoying the very different Earth style soup. "I asked Marcia what the ingredients were… she says Martian cuisine doesn't use any. It's like an elemental food – no components, it just is."

"On the plus side, that means no unhealthy additives!" Babs said brightly.

Mary smiled, relaxing. "It's good to hear everyone's doing well." She looked pensive for a second. "Wasn't there another human Toon in class? Called something like... Wyoming Wilf, or similar?"

Buster nodded thoughtfully. "Vaguely remember. It wasn't Rhode Island "Red" – that's Foghorn Leghorn's niece, she's in the senior class right now." The kickboxing hen would tackle predators twice her size, and was a 'chicken' only by species. He shrugged, trying to remember the vaguely annoying human toon. "Can't have been anyone important. So - here's to old friends – and future greatness!"

Mary raised her glass of carrot-juice. "I'll drink to that!"

---

The next day dawned, and eager Toons around the world counted off on their Advent calendar three days left till Christmas. Out in Acme Forest, a Most_Terrain_Vehicle ground its way through the snowdrifts on the un-cleared country road and pulled up in front of the mallard family house. Rhubella Rat waved from the front turret hatch.

"Nice wheels! Tracks, I mean." Margot Mallard, dressed in a warm parka, walked out to meet her friend. Her broad webbed feet sank very little in the snow, something she had been grateful for several winters in the wild without skis or any snowshoes except ones made from pine branches.

"Mary lent it me for the day," Rhubella nodded. "She's busy getting her house ready – I took Fifi and the kids over. Fifi wanted to help. Old Acme Loo Toons stick together."

"As do Perfectos," Margot smiled, inviting her old comrade in. Perfecto Prep officially scorned the plebeian idea of friends, but she had signed a non-aggression pact with Rhubella as far back as their second term. "Come on in!"

Rhubella brushed the snow off her paws, looking around the hallway, sumptuously decorated in classic 19th century American Baronial style (railway baron variant) with richly carved polished wood everywhere. "Quite a place! Must take some looking after."

"Oh… I have help, you know. Gladys and Gracie love their job. I tell them to take a rest, and as soon as my back's turned they're polishing again." Margot paused, and snickered. "You know, a lot of Toons have a thing about cute maid outfits. Very few of them are actually maids. Mine are. They even design and make their own costumes. How good is that?"

"Only the best for a Perfecto girl." Rhubella followed Margot into the sitting-room, and gratefully accepted a big sofa alongside her. "Looks like you've got the whole deal. And a film-star husband, even. I saw his last movie, a couple of months ago."

"Wasn't too bad," Margot allowed. "It helps if an actor can genuinely pull super-stunts without expensive special-effects. And Plucky's first hero form was 'The Amazing Captain W'."

"With incredible wombat-like powers…. I remember." Rhubella shook her head in amazement. "Who'd have thought the amazing power to fast-dig a burrow and keep out predators by jamming it with a reinforced backside, could be such a smash hit? In Hollywood? Must have taken some scriptwriter to pull that one off."

"Yes. That wasn't an accident." Margot's eyes narrowed slightly. "You know, I'm now his official Agent? Bought his old contract off Mr. Rosengeldensteinengeberger last year, for about the price of a kosher Weenie-burger. As far as he knew, Plucky was nothing but a lacklustre Acme Loo grad with no screen history or prospects. He was glad to get him off the books."

"And… I'm guessing... the minute after the deal was signed the news came through about Plucky's first big film offer." Rhubella smiled. "Leaving you waving the contract, laughing your beak off, and the old Agent wailing and pulling his head-fur out."

"Of course," Margot nodded graciously to her old colleague. "Plucky's my mallard. Nobody else gets ten percent of him."

"Keep the money in the family, Rule of Acquisition sixty-three." Rhubella relaxed on the sofa, recalling their classes in back-stage politics. "It takes more than raw talent to get on the big screen these days. You have to know how things really work in the background – or have someone on your side who does."

"Of course. I wouldn't tell Plucky that, naturally. He's convinced it's all his own sheer genius – that's part of his charm, for me." Margot stretched lazily. "Still. Why shouldn't I have a film-star husband? And he's really better than some actors out there. He was much undervalued at Acme Loo, as he'll tell anyone who looks the tiniest bit ready to listen." Although Plucky had fondly recounted many times Professor Bugs calling his final class drama project 'totally awesome', Margot had accessed the original report and knew the actual word had been 'awful.'

"I read the review. Something about 'As a portrayal of an egotistic, incompetent and not wholly sane super-hero, the Pluckster really delivers!' Shouldn't have taken much character acting." Rhubella paused. The house seemed very quiet. "Where is he? Still recovering from your welcome home?"

"Oh, no. He's out in the woods, playing with Brandi and Candi. Gladys and Gracie are over in their bungalow, with their daughters and our little Douglas. They're A-1 on the domestic front. Twenty-four-hour room service."

Rhubella snickered. "I can see the sort of room service you get off them. The storks know all about it, too." She looked meaningfully at Margot's stork feather, proudly displayed on a fine gold necklace.

"Well, fair's fair. That's the way we got their two, Millie and Molly." Margot looked up with a well-practiced innocent air. "It so happens those dear chicks… rather take after me. All my finer features, and I don't just mean my plumage colour. They may be thankful of mammal ancestry, when they're older." She ran her finger down her distinctly mammalian bust.

"And the stork feather you're carrying now?" Rhubella asked slyly. "Is that little bundle of joy going to be Revenge of the Mark One model avians? You've never believed in 'fair's fair'."

Margot snorted. "No girls in my family have had plain Jurassic model cloacas in four generations. I hardly think it's going to happen now. Crinoline skirts and whalebone corsets are more likely to come back in style."

"Putting a lot of faith into those storks, aren't you?" Rhubella looked Margot in the eyes. "They're hardly famous for accuracy."

"You did all right by them," Margot riposted. "Your little Gigi looks pretty much all skunkette. Fifi's purple fur, even."

"Her snout's a bit long for a skunk, and she's got nearly my whiskers. Fifi thinks she's beautiful, and so do I." Rhubella mused. "A back stripe that'll bring the skunk-hunks running someday, and she's definitely all skunk in the scent and tail department."

"Teflon diapers a must, I should think." Margot stood up, and stretched. "Foulplay coffee? I have a special stock for my personal use." She brought over a steaming cafetiere and fine bone-china cups.

"I'll say! I don't drink this when Fifi and her friends are around. They don't like the idea." Rhubella's nose twitched hungrily at the aroma. "I've not had any since I visited my sis Variola at Perfecto in September."

"Ah. And how's she getting on?" Margot asked, sipping a Morbidly Obese Mocha.

Rhubella closed her eyes for a few seconds, enjoying her own not-just-skinny-but-borderline-anorexic latte. "Doing well. She got an A in tactical backstabbing – and Professor Hatta Mari doesn't hand those out too often." Rhubella's grin grew crafty. "It's a good thing nobody at Perfecto knows what Variola got up to this summer. She's got a terrible secret."

"Do tell," Margot murmured, always eager for intrigue.

"Well. Just before I got married I'd set her a challenge; working out what I really saw in Fifi. Variola was going nuts trying to work out the angle. She found out Fifi was off-limits – but not before she tried."

"There always has to be an angle. If Perfecto had unbreakable rules, that'd be one of them," Margot nodded.

Rhubella sat back, grinning at her long-time comrade. "You're so smart, you work out what she finally tried."

Margot closed her eyes, concentrating. The lights in the room dimmed slightly as an acquired special-effects shtick kicked in. Suddenly her eyes snapped wide open. "She couldn't work it out with the facts she'd got. She needed more data. Your skunkette's off limits for testing. So – she got her own?"

"Right!" Rhubella's eyes sparkled with glee. "Clara, a nice girl-next-door type. Cute as a button – make that a shop full of buttons, really cute ones. Loyal, trusting, generous. Now, guess what went hideously wrong."

"Mmm." Margot calculated for another minute. "So, Variola found herself a two-tone summer squeeze, and found out how much fun that was. Of course she'd plan to dump her on the last day of the holidays, very expendable, write up her report and head back. Standard Perfecto plan. So, what could possibly go wrong…?" she looked at Rhubella's expectant expression. "Let's guess. She didn't dump her after all, did she?"

"Nope." Rhubella said. "It's a real nightmare, with everyone in her year sniffing each over all the time for the first sign of weakness. And she's fallen in love! How im-Perfecto is that?"

Margot laughed. "Strategic alliances, like I made with Danforth and you with Roderick, that's the only approved style. And in the end I turned on Danforth, like he was about to do for me – but I got in first."

"Like they taught us in Ethics class, 'Do unto others as they would do unto you, but do it first.' No surprises you got top marks in the whole year," Rhubella murmured, remembering. "And Danforth – at least he made a good piñata."

"Yes. Poor Variola," Margot chuckled. "I take it this Clara's no sort of approved asset? No significant money, status, connections?"

"Totally worthless on those lines. Just a warm and loving heart, and getting close to one of those things is addictive, I found that out myself" Rhubella assented. "And as my sharp little sis learned to her disadvantage. I never said she'd be better off knowing the truth about me and Fifi."

"Better hope she's grade A in keeping secrets." Margot sipped her Foulplay coffee.

"Any Perfecto graduate's just got to be perfect at that." Rhubella reminisced. Suddenly she laughed. "Variola says this year's must-have Christmas gift in class is blood diamonds. That'd be controversial in most places. But if her class rivals found out she's looking forward to having such a plebeian Christmas with a skunkette who's bringing nothing but a warm heart…" she broke off, an eyebrow raised.

Margot nodded, grinning. "Controversial? She'd never live it down!"

---

Back in the army surplus shop after a nourishing and non-ration lunch of humanely harvested hummus and free-range chickpea falafels from the restaurant next door, Shirley was catching up on what had been going on without her.

"We've had a busy few months, certainly," Sergeant Gander said. "Had another run-in with those Careless Bruins. You know their idea of fun; 'whoops, planet-breaking kaboom, giggle'."

"Gross." Shirley shivered. "What was their grody scheme this time?"

"It didn't look too menacing on the face of it. They were smuggling in cases of counterfeit shampoo, something made in their home reality. Here's one of the bottles. Don't worry, it's empty." The tall gander tossed Shirley a recycled plastic container of a design she recognised.

"'Cosmic Flower brand' eco-friendly feather conditioner. I use this myself. What was so wrong with it?" Shirley asked, blinking as she looked at the label.

Her aura flashed wildly in alarm. The one we use says 'kind to plumage, purse and planet.' This one… doesn't mention the planet.

"Like, mondo apocalypse-ville!" Shirley put the container down in a hurry. "What was it meant to do?"

"It's a binary apocalypse shtick," Sergeant Gander said grimly. "On its own, it's safe to transport. You could pour it all over your feathers, no problem. But once it's in the bathwater and it contacts the chemicals commonly found in bathtub rubber duckies…" he broke off, shaking his head. "Did you ever hear of the 'Universal Solvent'?"

Fer sure, Shirley's aura said uneasily. There's a chapter on that, in most of Mother's alchemy books. Alchemists spent years looking for it. We know they never found it… because we're still here.

"Well... catalytic Dip is bad stuff, no question. But this could take a chunk of Universe with it." The tall gander nodded significantly. "A runaway chain dissolution."

"It's a good thing Colonel Fenix was on the ball when that uncool stuff hit town," Shirley said.

Sergeant Gander grimaced slightly. "The one who cracked the case was – you. Your alternate self."

Shirley's eyes bulged. "No way! That dark-side witch?"

Dark side or not, she wouldn't have let those way inharmonious Careless Bruins dissolve the planet she's standing on, would she? Her aura commented wryly. I bet she kicked their cute but evil tails all the way back to the warp rift they crawled out of.

"Actually, she did. Literally. With hobnailed boots on, laughing her bill off with every kick." Sergeant Gander paused. "And when she did that, we found out how they survive being on worlds that have 'accidents'. Careless Bruins aren't made from matter and energy as we know it. They're like Cuterino particles; only interact with our world through gravity and the Weak Comedic Force. It's just they have an alien idea of humour."

Weak Comedic Force, Shirley's aura recalled her Toon Physics classes. So… gross material stuff they wouldn't even notice – but low comedy could hit them?

"Yes. MegaToon yield missile warheads wouldn't hurt them; they can stand around giggling and admiring the view while they make the nearest sun go supernova. But being chased around with actual vintage slapsticks… they can feel that. Or your alternate self, using them for football practice." Sergeant Gander said. "Worth knowing."

"Wierdsville." Shirley turned as she registered a powerful presence in the Farce nearby. Colonel Fenix was standing by his office door, beckoning her in with a feather-finger.

"Like, Sir, or some junk?" Shirley asked brightly, closing the door as the tall phoenix sat down behind his desk. "It's way cool to be back – even with Calgari and that uncool crowd."

Colonel Fenix looked at her, for a long moment. He sighed. "McLoon, please sit. I have a problem. WE have a problem."

That's totally what we're here for, fer sure! Shirley's aura smiled. Some way dark-side spirits invading EinsToonian Space again? We'll make them sorry they were ever hatched!

Hal Fenix flinched at her words. "You remember when we hunted Resorbius, we went to Seattle and used the Time Needle? The building where they test future-proofing coatings and the like?"

"That's a mondo affirm-o," Shirley nodded. "The tower's tip like, pokes into the future."

"And it's also where they launch probes into the future. Early-warning probes, travelling the timestream. One of them came back three days ago, our time. It barely made it home; its future-proofing had almost entirely burned off." He paused, choosing his words. "That was when I decided to… let Lieutenants Calgari, Angelique and Tlalocopa attempt to bring you back. They'd been pestering me about it for weeks, and luckily the Evil Gazebo gig was in town to provide suitable energy."

"I'm way grateful you did." Shirley nodded. "Even if they had to pull that way dark-side Spirit Tap spell to do it."

The kind of spell we're supposed to hunt down Toons for using, her aura commented. Like, with extreme-o prejudice, totally zero exceptions.

"Yes, we are. But I wanted you back. Not your dark-side version. However efficient and powerful she was, I particularly wanted you. Because the problem… concerns you. Very personally." Colonel Fenix looked into Shirley's eyes searchingly. "You see – the probe brought back a warning from the future. If things go on as they are, two completely unstoppable dark-side Powers are going to emerge. In about three years, our time."

Dark Powers?Just line them up, and let's wield some karmic justice, her aura flashed fiercely, manifesting an ectoplasmic Toon mallet.

Shirley took a deep breath. "This is totally the reason I'm wearing an uncool uniform. Why I left my nest, and let that flaky mallard mate of mine sit on my eggs. To protect the world from junk like this happening."

Colonel Fenix looked at her, sadness in his eyes. "I remember what you did. And why. But now I'll have to show you how that's due to turn out. First – here's a memory your mother shared with me. It's when she was out East at the MiskaToonic, a couple of months ago." He narrow-casted a thought to her. Mind-meld, please?

Like, go for it, dude Sir, Shirley's aura nodded, opening her perceptions.

The scene was a renovated basement of arched eighteenth-century stone, lit by the ghostly glow of a modern electric pentacle. Shirley recognised the trappings of other high-energy metaphysics exploration – the plasma globes whose energy densities stressed weak points in the fabric of EinsToonian space-time, and the mostly special-effects 'Jacob's ladder' of spectacularly leaping electrical arcs without which no fashionable retro-physics lab was complete. In the background were the beige cabinets and spinning tape drives of a bulky, old-fashioned computer.

An IBM 360, of about 1969 vintage, Colonel Fenix's thought appeared as sub-titles to the scene. Not chosen for its calculating power, a modern laptop would walk it. But it's been used at MiskaToonic to store arcane spell-casting data for so long, it's… picked up the idea for itself. It's not exactly a collection of electronics, any more.

Standing to one side was a scene Shirley was long familiar with from the basement of her family home; her mother Melissa, chanting from an ancient book whose rune-engraved lead covers and inch-thick braided copper earthing leads hinted at its dire potentials. Behind her, she saw two pale-feathered loon girls, apparently aged eight or so, with their feather-hands pressed tight to the old extra-beige cabinet of the ancient computer as if communing with it directly.

Like, those are my daughters? In a few years? Shirley looked on, recognising her own younger features in them. But she had surely never looked like that – with expressions of chill disinterest, as if they had some distasteful job to do. And the threat's against them? I'll do anything. Anything, fer sure!

No, the threat's not against them. There was that sadness in the phoenix's tone that struck a chill in Shirley's soul. They've been away awhile some years our time, in that time-warped alternate world; that's what they look like right now.

Shirley and her aura exchanged glances. There's something he needs to tell us, but he doesn't want to say it, her aura said slowly. I have a nasty feeling about this.

"Fer sure" Shirley looked at Colonel Phoenix, her eyes wide in horror. The phoenix met her gaze steadily. "That mondo threat to the world isn't against them. It IS them."

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