Cloning Around
Author's Comments: This story was first published in the May 1994 issue of "W.T.F.B." That was a fan publication (on paper!) devoted to stories concerning the characters of Disney television animation. Since then I have overhauled the punctuation of this tale and added a few lines to correct a weak spot. Now it is being posted here for all Darkwing Duck fans out there.
I'd like to thank Scott Simerlein of the LaPorte, Indiana, Wordcrafters writers' group, and Mark Lungo, for their comments and feedback that helped make this story what it is.
Read on, and enjoy . . .
DWLPDWLP
"All right, Quackerjack, give it up! There's only one door to this bank and I'm standing in it," Darkwing Duck called into the gloom of the bank building. "Come out quietly or . . . what is it, Launchpad? Can't you see that this is a highly dramatic moment, with me confronting the trapped master criminal?"
Launchpad McQuack stepped back slightly, wondering if tapping Darkwing on the shoulder just then could have been a mistake.
"DW, are you sure that there's no other way out of this bank building?"
"Absolutely! No other way! Now, if I can just get on with catching Quackerjack, we can discuss the door to the First and Foremost National Bank of Saint Canard later, all right?" Darkwing raised his gas gun and drew a bead on the spot where Quackerjack had disappeared when he ran into the building. But Launchpad tapped his shoulder again . . .
"Well, if Quackerjack went in there . . . "
"Launchpad, we both saw him go in!" Darkwing briefly wondered if his side-kick had eaten too much pizza for supper; it sometimes made him think in strange ways.
"And if there's no other doorway to the bank . . . "
"There isn't!"
"Then, who's that over there on the street corner?" Launchpad finished.
Darkwing Duck was about to answer when a totally maniacal laugh echoed across the night-time shrouded street.
"I love coffee, I love tea, Darkwing Duck will never catch me!"
Darkwing stayed concentrated on the task at hand, but threw a comment at the source of the voice.
"Be quiet, Quackerjack! I'm about to capture Quackerjack inside this bank with . . . only . . . one . . . door . . . " Darkwing's head swung around to stare at the demented toymaker in his clown suit standing across the street, with his Mr. Banana Brain doll in one hand. The thought that Quackerjack had gotten out of the bank ― when he couldn't ― without coming by Darkwing ― which he hadn't ― was spinning its wheels in Darkwing's mind as Quackerjack raced away up the street on his rocket-powered roller skates.
"Come on, Launchpad, to the Ratcatcher! We can't let that crazy clown get away!"
"You said he couldn't get away once he was cornered in the bank, DW."
"Never mind that now. Come on!"
Darkwing clapped on his crash helmet and started the engine of the Ratcatcher, while Launchpad hopped into the sidecar and snapped on the safety belt. Darkwing twitched the throttle, spun the vehicle on its rear wheel and thundered off on Quackerjack's trail, following the smoke plumes left by the rocket motors on the villain's skates.
"Up there, DW, he turned left at the corner of Young and Foolish!"
"I'm on him, LP! Hot on the trail of the demented toymaker, Darkwing Duck, determined to dispose of the villain, hung on like sticky tape."
Ten blocks, two hair-raising turns and a screeching halt later, the Ratcatcher stood outside the Cloak and Dagger Costume Rental Company.
"That's funny, the smoke trails stop here. Where did Quacker jack go, DW?"
"He turned off his skates, LP, which means that crack-brained clown is close by. In one of these buildings . . . " Darkwing's head snapped around as the burglar alarm at Cloak and Dagger went off with a clamorous noise and lights came on in the office area.
"In fact, I'd say he's in there! Come on, LP!" The two dashed to the front door of the building, which was slightly ajar, and Darkwing shouldered it open, drawing his gas gun and aiming it into the back part of the office area in one smooth motion.
"Nice try, Quackerjack, but it's all over now! Suck gas, evildoer!"
The maniacal laugh came again from directly behind them, and as Darkwing and Launchpad spun around they saw Quackerjack, dressed in a policeman's uniform, standing beside the Ratcatcher and writing out a parking ticket.
"This vehicle has no license plates, and you're parked in a tow-away zone after midnight! That's a CCM violation, buddy!" Quackerjack snapped, as he slapped the ticket on the Ratcatcher's windshield.
"Wait a minute! You're inside this office . . . and what do you mean, a CCM violation?" Darkwing felt totally bewildered. How had Quackerjack gotten out of the building and into a costume so fast?
"CCM is for Can't Catch Me! Hoo, hoo!" Quackerjack was off and away, rocket skates smoking, as Launchpad and Darkwing jumped into their vehicle and started in pursuit again.
"There's something very strange about this, LP. Quackerjack couldn't get out of that bank without coming past me, and he couldn't go into that costume company, put on a policeman's uniform and get outside again in the time he had." Darkwing followed the smoke trails while his mind chewed over the past half-hour's events, but he kept coming up with 'impossible' as the only answer.
Almost ten minutes after leaving the costume company, the smoke trails again stopped, this time outside the Hither & Yon travel agency. A display in the window of the travel agency showed a surfer riding the waves at Wackykey. Darkwing tossed his crash helmet into the Ratcatcher and clapped his broad-brimmed hat back on his head, glaring around the deserted street corner for any sign of Quackerjack.
"You think he might have gone in there, DW?"
"Now why would Quackerjack stop at a travel agency at one A.M., LP? That would make no sense, even for him!"
"Maybe he's going on vacation on a red-eye flight and has to pick up his tickets." Darkwing was sure of it now; Launchpad had eaten too much pizza. Just then the burglar alarm in the travel agency went off, and Darkwing swung in a circle, gas gun at the ready, searching the street.
"You don't pull that trick on me again, Quackerjack. You're not in the building, you're outside! Show yourself!"
As Darkwing shouted his challenge, a surge of water burst through the travel agency display, broke open the window and swept Darkwing, Launchpad and the Ratcatcher across the street in a soggy heap, while Quackerjack, riding a surfboard and sipping a fruit drink, rode past them, laughing hilariously.
"Aloha! It's playtime!" the toymaker cried as he surfed down the street on the surge of water.
Darkwing sputtered out a beak full of water and leaped to his feet. "Come on, LP, that giggling gargoyle can't do that to us!
"Ah, he already did, DW," Launchpad gargled. "Maybe we need some backup on this one."
"What? Call for help? Darkwing Duck? Never! I'll get that character tonight for sure! He can't have it all his own way."
But he did. Three hours later a disheveled and droopy Launchpad McQuack helped an equally depressed and dispirited Darkwing Duck off a rather battered Ratcatcher in Darkwing's secret hideout, and they limped over to collapse into a pair of chairs.
"There's got to be an explanation for this, LP," Darkwing groaned. "I had the drop on Quackerjack five times tonight, and each time he got away. There's got to be a logical explanation . . . but what is it?"
DWLPDWLP
Across town in the waterfront section of Saint Canard stood the deserted Flotsam and Jetsam Marine Salvage Company. And even as Darkwing Duck wondered at Quackerjack's remarkable abilities at escape, Quackerjack entered a room in the salvage company's warehouse, tossed a sack of money and jewels on a pile of similar sacks, walked over to a table and sat down.
Moments later Quackerjack came in the door again, deposited another sack on the pile and took a seat at the table, shaking hands with Quackerjack as he sat down.
Two minutes later, Quackerjack came into the room again, put down a third bag of loot and joined the party. The second and third Quackerjacks each took out a Mr. Banana Brain doll, while the first Quackerjack stood up and spoke to the others.
"Well, I'm glad to see that I've been so successful tonight. I've robbed six business and banks, and best of all, that dippy Darkwing Duck has had a miserable time trying to catch me." The two other Quackerjacks and their dolls whistled, applauded and cheered.
"Wasn't it nice the way the flood washed him across the street?" asked one doll, and the other doll replied, "Whoopie!"
"Just remember, me," the standing Quackerjack went on, "tonight I'll be out there in Saint Canard again, having lots of fun frustrating that feathered fool. Hoo, hoo, hoo! This was only the beginning!"
DWLPDWLP
Around noon the next day, Darkwing Duck sat in an armchair in his hideout while his three closest friends discussed the unfortunate events of the night before. Darkwing was only half listening to the conversation, for he felt particularly blue this morning.
"So that's why your Dad is feeling so down, Gosalyn," said Launchpad. "Every time we cornered Quackerjack he slipped out of it . . . or else he sprung a surprise that knocked us for a loop."
"Bummer! We've gotta do something to buck him up, Launchpad, so he can go out again and catch Quackerjack this time."
"That won't be easy. DW seems to think he's washed up 'cause Quackerjack got away from him six times last night." Launchpad gave a sigh, and went on, "The way Quackerjack got around, you'd think he was twins or something."
At this remark Gosalyn jabbed Launchpad in the ribs.
"Hey! Dad feels bad enough, you don't have to make him feel worse by saying that there's two Quackerjack's for him to catch instead of just one!"
"Actually, there were at least three Quackerjacks involved last night," said Honker Muddlefoot, who was standing at a large table that had a map of Saint Canard spread on it. At his off-hand remark, Gosalyn, Launchpad and Darkwing all stared at the youngster in amazement.
"Honker, are you serious?"
"Sure, Gosalyn. Look at the places Quackerjack robbed, here on the map." The other three moved over to the table and gazed at the numbered markers of the crime sites.
"First he robbed the First and Foremost National Bank, then the Cloak and Dagger costume company, then the Hither and Yon Travel Agency. About an hour after that he robbed the Lean and Hungry all-night restaurant, then the Sweetness and Light Syrup factory, and finally the Bright and Early Alarm Clock Company," said Honker, referring to a sheaf of computer print-out paper as he spoke.
"The bank alarm went off at half-past midnight, and the one at Cloak and Dagger went off at 12:45 A.M.," Honker went on. Darkwing gave him a 'humor the lad' look and nodded.
"Yes, Honker, I know that. Launchpad and I were at the bank just as Quackerjack was coming out with the loot, and he ran back in when he saw me coming." Darkwing gritted his teeth in suppressed rage. "And somehow that two-bit toymaker got outside the bank without me seeing him do it!"
"That's right, Honk. Then we followed him to the costume company," said Launchpad.
"But Quackerjack was still in the bank, Mr. Darkwing! See this picture taken by the security camera? It shows Quackerjack leaving the bank at 1:00 A.M.," Honker replied, handing Darkwing the picture as he spoke.
"What?" Darkwing scanned the picture with intense interest. "But we'd followed him to the travel agency by then . . . "
"If Quackerjack was still in the bank, how could he be at the costume store too, DW?" asked Launchpad, bending over Darkwing's shoulder to look at the photograph.
"Even Quackerjack can't be in two places at the same time . . . Honker, let me see those police report printouts." Darkwing leafed through the papers, muttering to himself as he did so, while Launchpad, Gosalyn and Honker watched him pace back and forth until his head came up with a smile of success on his face.
"Yes! That's it! While Quackerjack number one robs the bank, number two leads us to the costume company and sets off the burglar alarm when we get there. Then number three leads us to the travel agency. He springs his tidal-wave booby trap on us, and while we follow number three down the street from there, number one leaves the bank with the loot while number two robs the travel agency. Then all three of them get together and start the whole thing all over again at the restaurant!"
"But, where are these other Quackerjacks coming from, Dad? He's never showed up twice at once before, has he?"
"That maniacal miscreant has probably figured out a way to clone himself, Gosalyn. And the way to stop him is to find his hide-out by tracking Quackerjack to his lair," Darkwing replied, as he made some notes on a pad of paper.
"How can we track him if we can't tell which one is which, DW?"
"A small problem, LP, a very small problem to the mind of Darkwing Duck! Now then," he drew the others around him and lowered his voice. "You can be sure that Quackerjack will try his tricks again tonight, so I intend to be ready for him. Launchpad, I want you and Gosalyn to go to the Farmer's Market and buy half a ton of ripe bananas."
"What?" Honker and Gosalyn chorused in amazement.
"DW, you mean we need bananas to catch Quackerjack?"
"Yes — we must have bananas. I think Quackerjack is going to find things a little slippery out tonight." Darkwing rubbed his hands together in glee as he spoke.
DWLPDWLP
That night, as midnight drew near, Launchpad piloted the Thunderquack in a low, slow, series of figure-eights over Saint Canard, while Darkwing cruised the streets in the Ratcatcher, waiting for Quackerjack to strike. Finally the word came as his helmet-mounted, two-way, air-to-ground radio crackled with a message.
"DW! Burglar alarm at the Cash and Carry Discount Store!"
Darkwing smiled to himself. This time it was going to be different! He keyed the microphone and replied to Launchpad's call.
"Understood, LP! Head over to the discount store; I'm going that way now." The Ratcatcher thundered down the street toward the shopping plaza for a meeting of master criminal and master crime-fighter.
As he pulled up in front of Cash and Carry, Darkwing noticed a number of patrons running in all directions, pursued by the sets of self-snapping teeth that Quackerjack favored. No matter, the teeth would run out of power shortly, and Quackerjack was the real target for tonight.
"I'm ready, LP," Darkwing radioed aloft. "Can you spot him yet?
"Ah, not yet, DW . . . wait, Quackerjack's fifty yards south of you!"
Darkwing wheeled around, hands and arms ready for some Quack Fu if need be, and scanned the parking lot, spotting Quackerjack holding a well-equipped pogo stick.
"Crime on the economy side, Quackerjack? Usually you hit fancier places," Darkwing taunted, moving closer as he spoke.
Quackerjack had Mr. Banana Brain in one hand and he turned to the doll with a question instead of answering Darkwing.
"Did you hear something, Mr. Banana Brain? A feeble quack from Dipwing Dork, perhaps?"
"Laugh while you can, you tin-plate toy maker! You're right where I want you . . . NOW, Launchpad!" Darkwing's call into the microphone brought on the rising whine of a diving plane as the Thunderquack dropped from the night sky and released something from its belly-hatch. Quackerjack looked up in time to see a cloud of familiar objects hurtling down on him before they arrived with a mushy thump, burying Quackerjack, Mr. Banana Brain and the pogo stick in an instant.
"Nice going, Launchpad!" Darkwing's voice dripped with sarcasm as he held the microphone to his bill. "I wanted you to spread them around Quackerjack, so he'd slip and fall! You weren't supposed to bury that bothersome, brainless buffoon."
"Sorry, DW; the release gear stuck."
Darkwing gazed at the center of the pile of bananas. Quackerjack had thrown his hands over his head as the fruit had fallen on him. One hand, still clutching his Mr. Banana Brain doll, stuck up from the top of the heap like a tiny flag atop a miniature mountain.
"Hmmm . . . never mind, LP," Darkwing remarked. "This just might work out the way I had originally planned, after all." He tucked away the microphone and pulled a small metal object from his pocket. Then Darkwing carefully walked toward the center of the pile.
Minutes later Quackerjack heaved himself up from the gluey mass of mashed fruit, and glared at Mr. Banana Brain. All around them were thousands of bananas, somewhat the worse for the fall.
"Listen, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, no family reunions on the job!"
"Aww, did the poor criminal get all messed up with bananas? Tsk, tsk, tsk," Darkwing teased.
Quackerjack glared at Darkwing, took a brass whistle out of his pocket and blew it, but it made no sound.
"Even his whistle is broken! Poor fellow," Darkwing chortled, but Quackerjack just sported his usual fiendish grin.
"Ever hear of a whistle pitched so high only dogs can hear it? Well, this one is pitched so only my teeth can hear it! Hoo, hoo!" A scratching, clattering noise from the distance was growing louder, and as Darkwing turned about he saw over a dozen sets of Quackerjack's self-snapping teeth coming from all directions!
"Sorry, must dash. Run away, run away, live to fight another day!" Quackerjack leaped aboard his pogo stick and bounded away, while Darkwing shinnied up a light pole to escape multiplex mastication.
"Get away, you malicious molars!" Darkwing swatted a set of self-snappers that were clinging to his cape, and kicked away a second set that was trying to bite his foot. "Cool it, you carnivorous bicuspids!" He was so busy that he failed to notice the Thunderquack land in the parking lot, and two small figures jump out and run over to the sets of teeth that surrounded the pole.
"Ahem! The doctor will see you now," called Gosalyn, who was wearing a white laboratory smock and a white cap. Beside her stood Honker, who also wore a white smock, holding a dental explorer in one hand and a dentist's mirror in the other. Honker grinned and held up the dental tools as he spoke.
"Right this way, we're ready to start your root canal work." The sets of self-snapping teeth all quivered in fright and then scampered away, yelping like frightened dogs as they did so. Darkwing jumped down from the pole and looked at Gosalyn with a strong expression of disapproval on his face.
"Just what are you doing here, young lady? I distinctly remember telling you that you weren't coming along tonight!" Gosalyn put on her 'sweet-little-girl' smile and did her best to look innocent.
"You just said that we couldn't come along with you, Dad. You didn't say that we couldn't go along with Launchpad in the Thunderquack."
"Hey, that's right, DW. Besides, they helped look for Quackerjack once we knew he was here at Cash and Carry," said Launchpad, who had paused to shut down the Thunderquack before getting out to join the group. "And they did get rid of Quackerjack's teeth."
"That's beside the point! In any case, we have completed phase one and phase two of my plan; let's get moving on phase three. Is the Thunderquack ready, Launchpad?
"No problem-o, DW. Ready and able."
"Good. Let's get dangerous!"
DWLPDWLP
Somewhat later at the Flotsam and Jetsam warehouse, Quackerjack bounced in and dismounted from his pogo stick, finding that he was already there ― just as he expected. While he explained what had happened at the discount store and learned what had happened at the Sound and Fury Fireworks factory, a third Quackerjack entered the room with loot from the Batter and Ram Building Demolition Company safe.
"There's something odd about this," Quackerjack mused. "That big-ego bird-brain didn't even try to stop me tonight, after I met up with him at Cash and Carry."
"Maybe he's given up trying," said the second Quackerjack, and the third remarked, "That'll take away all the fun of robbing places in Saint Canard."
The first Quackerjack pulled open a door, and the three walked into the main part of the warehouse, where a large machine that resembled a giant toaster oven stood, humming with power. The second Quackerjack spoke through his Mr. Banana Brain doll.
"Just when when we ready to make more clones, too."
"Yeah," said the third Quackerjack. "It's all set to go."
"I am the terror that flaps in the night!" thundered a familiar voice, as a cloud of purple smoke puffed in at the door behind the three Quackerjacks.
"I am the paper-jam that stops your copy machine!" The three figures each looked at his Mr. Banana Brain doll and gulped in apprehension.
"I am Darkwing Duck!" The smoke cleared to reveal Darkwing in the doorway, gas gun at the ready.
"Hello, Quackerjack," Darkwing smiled. "It's nice to see you again . . . and again . . . and again. Are you becoming a franchise?"
"But ― how ― how did you find me here?" sputtered one of the Quackerjacks in amazement.
"It was very simple, really. While you were buried in the bananas, I loaded your doll with a tracking device, and then just followed you all the way home." Darkwing was enjoying himself; this time Quackerjack was at a loss for words and confused, instead of him!
"What? Mr. Banana Brain, did you help my enemy?" Quackerjack stared at the little doll in his hand with a mixture of horror and rage on his face.
"I sure did, sucker!" laughed the doll. Quackerjack promptly threw it on the floor and began jumping on it. Darkwing noted that since the doll's voice was produced by Quackerjack himself, the crazy clown was a bit more schizoid than usual tonight. Probably due to the cloning machine, he decided.
"It looks like all the loot from the robberies is right here, DW." Launchpad's voice came drifting through the doorway from behind Darkwing, who kept his eyes and gas gun locked on the three figures of Quackerjack as he answered.
"All right, LP. Bring in the handcuffs and straitjackets, and let's get the Quackerjack Trio here trussed up for jail."
"Don't you want to know about my clone-a-vator, first?" asked the Quackerjack who had finally stomped Mr. Banana Brain into very thin rubbish. "It all works off this remote control unit," he added, picking up a small gadget from a table in the room.
"Don't try any tricks!" snapped Darkwing. "And stay away from that machine, all of you!"
"Oh, you can't make a clone of anything unless the original is in that chamber," Quackerjack number two explained, pointing to a door-sized opening in the side of the humming machine.
"Yeah. You just get it set up for duplication, put something in and close the door," number three went on. "After that, it's all automatic."
"Oh?" Darkwing was alert for any foul play, but with everybody well clear of the cloning machine, all seemed to be safe. "Then what do you need a remote control for, might one ask?"
"For this!" Quackerjack yelled in glee, stabbing a button on the remote unit as he shouted. The door behind Darkwing swung shut with blinding speed, and since he was standing in the doorway, it struck Darkwing and hurled him across the room, directly into the open chamber of the clone-a-vator! The hatch on the chamber also swung shut, the machine gave a series of grunts and rumbles, and began to work.
"Oops!" the three Quackerjack's chorused, for Darkwing's gas gun had gone off as he sailed across the room, and a cloud of purple smoke now swirled around everything in sight, making all three clowns cough and sneeze.
"Shut it off!" one Quackerjack wheezed. "The number isn't set!"
"Where is it? OW!" the other two yelled as they collided while groping for the control panel. At the same time a series of heavy thuds came at the door, and the clone-a-vator began to make rather unpleasant sounds.
When Launchpad finally broke open the door, a cloud of fumes from the cloning machine and Darkwing's gas gun shells made it impossible to see into the room. As the draft from the open door started clearing the air, the three Quackerjacks slowly got up from the floor and looked around. The machine resembled a plastic toy that had gone through a microwave oven, with sags and droops in every line. Vapor was rising slowly from a number of parts and the whole thing looked like a poor grade of salvage.
"I am the terror that flaps in the night!" There's something odd about that voice, thought Launchpad.
"I am the multiple copies you failed to destroy!" It sounded like a lot of people all saying the same thing at the same time.
"I am Darkwing Duck!" The smoke had lifted enough to see around the room, and Launchpad and the three Quackerjacks were all stunned at what they saw.
"How's it going, Launchpad?" asked Gosalyn, as she and Honker came up behind the pilot. "We got tired of waiting . . . " Gosalyn's voice trailed off as she looked into the room, where the three Quackerjacks cowered together, surrounded by a dozen figures of Darkwing Duck!
"What happened?" Gosalyn wailed in amazement.
"Mr. Darkwing must have got into the cloning machine by mistake," observed Honker, as the group of Darkwings closed in on the trio of Quackerjacks.
"You mean I've got twelve dads now? I'll never have a minute to myself again!"
"All right, Quackerjack, it's jail time!" The same words came from all twelve Darkwings, who then leaped onto the Quackerjacks in a flying tangle of fists, feathers and fury. The whole thing would have ended much quicker than it did if it hadn't been for the different Darkwings' getting in each others' way. As it was, after four minutes of brisk exercise, all three Quackerjacks were hog-tied and ready for dispatching to prison.
While Launchpad telephoned the Saint Canard Police Department, and Honker examined the clone-a-vator, Gosalyn was surrounded by a number of Darkwings who proceeded to give her a non-stop lecture on proper behavior and obedience.
"I know you were allowed to come along in the Thunderquack, young lady, but I told you and Honker to wait in it until we had Quackerjack secured! Just because you get curious is no excuse for not listening to me! You might have been hurt tonight, just because you wouldn't listen! You've got to learn to pay attention to your own safety, and for a start you can do what I tell you!"
Gosalyn tuned out the five or six voices and hurried over to Honker, who was still at the cloning machine.
"Is there anything we can do to change Dad back to just one of him, Honk? I'll go crazy like this."
"I don't think you have to worry, Gosalyn," Honker replied with a smile. "I found some notes Quackerjack made, and it looks like the clones this machine makes only last a short time."
"You mean, after awhile they drop dead or something?"
"Oooo, that sounds gross!" said Launchpad, having completed his telephone call. "What will the cops say if we give 'em prisoners who don't last?"
"I think they just dissolve, Launchpad," Honker replied. "At least, that seems to be what Quackerjack wrote here."
"That's right," cried one of the tightly-tied up Quackerjacks, "I couldn't make a clone that would last!" He sobbed briefly and went on. "One clone will last ten hours, but make two or three and they only last six hours. Now my machine is wrecked and I'll never be able to get it right!"
"I wonder how long all these Mr. Darkwings will last?" said Honker in an inquiring way.
"Hey, I wonder how long these Quackerjacks will last," said Launchpad, poking at one of the trussed-up toymakers with a finger. And even as he did, the one he poked grew transparent and suddenly vanished, leaving the ropes and straitjacket behind. For a moment these held their shape, and then collapsed on the floor in a limp heap. Launchpad jumped back, a fearful expression on his face. "Yikes! Did I do that?"
"It's just the clone dissolving, Launchpad. Didn't you hear what Honk said?" Gosalyn studied the two remaining Quackerjacks carefully. "Wanna bet on which of these two goes next?"
Before either Launchpad or Honker could reply, a second Quackerjack faded away, leaving only one on the floor. Meanwhile, the twelve figures of Darkwing Duck had formed a circle around Honker, Gosalyn and Launchpad, and started lecturing again.
"Gosalyn, you're just taking too many chances with yourself! Honker, you ought to have more sense than to follow Gosalyn into danger just because you think you can help! Launchpad, when I say that Gosalyn cannot come with me on a case, that means she can't come with you, either!" The voices beat at their ears in a steady drone that was almost painful.
"One at a time, Dad!" Gosalyn's yell was drowned out and the lecturing went on. Honker, Launchpad and Gosalyn covered their ears, shut their eyes and hunched together as if they were trying to keep warm in a snowstorm. This was worse than being sneered at by Steelbeak, thought Launchpad.
But then Launchpad noticed something. The sound of the many voices of the Darkwing Duck clones seemed to be fading. At least, the droning sound was less. Launchpad opened his eyes and glanced around, just in time to see one of the Darkwing clones fade out. He tapped Honker on the shoulder, and the youngster opened his eyes as another clone vanished, leaving only eight still lecturing away.
"I think I know what's happening," Honker shouted over the lecturing, as he tapped Gosalyn on the shoulder. Clone number eight vanished as she looked around, and the three watched as the Darkwing clones disappeared in succession, never ceasing to comment on their behavior.
As the last one vanished, Honker looked up from the notepad he had been scanning. "It's all right here," he said with a smile. "It says that two or three clones will last six hours each, five or six last for three hours, and when you make more than ten at a time they only last about fifteen minutes. And that's just what they did."
"That's a relief," Gosalyn sighed. "One dad is enough for me."
"Ah, guys . . . where's DW?" Launchpad's question brought a silence to the warehouse for a moment, as all three looked around the room. The only things to be seen were the well-trussed-up Quackerjack and the disabled cloning machine.
"You don't suppose that machine made DW fade away, too, do you?" Launchpad's question seemed to hang in the air, waiting for an answer.
"At least the original Quackerjack is still here," Honker observed.
"Dad? Where are you?" Gosalyn felt a touch of panic. Twelve fathers might be a pain, but none at all was scary! Everyone listened for an answer, and then they heard a faint, steady, muffled sound from the machine.
"Say, I'll bet DW is still inside the machine! I'd better let him out." Launchpad promptly followed his own advice, and a moment later a somewhat frazzled-looking and rather ticked-off Darkwing Duck stepped out of the chamber in the clone-a-vator that Quackerjack had said was for the original of whatever was to be cloned.
"Well! Just what was so interesting that you couldn't bother to hear me yelling, Launchpad? And you, young lady, were supposed to stay in the Thunderquack with Honker, remember?" Darkwing glanced around the room and spotted Quackerjack on the floor, trussed up like a turkey ready for the oven. "Say . . . who subdued Quackerjack, LP?"
"Ah, you did, DW; all twelve of you."
"Launchpad, the last time I looked there was only one Darkwing Duck. Did you overdo it on the pizza again?"
"It's true, Dad! Quackerjack's machine made a dozen duplicates of you, and they captured all three of him," Gosalyn explained.
"That's right, Mr. Darkwing," said Honker. "When you got locked in the cloning machine, it turned out clones of you, and they captured Quackerjack."
"Then the clones all faded away, DW, so only you and the original Quackerjack there are left," Launchpad finished. Darkwing blinked in amazement as his mind absorbed all this, and then he struck a pose.
"So, once again the city of Saint Canard has been protected from evil by Darkwing Duck! Oof!" he grunted, as Gosalyn grabbed him in a hug. "Please, Gosalyn, this is my big dramatic moment."
"I'm just glad you're still here, Dad!"
"Oh!" Darkwing patted Gosalyn's head as he considered the matter. "Well, I guess there are some things more important than a reputation. But you should have stayed in the Thunderquack, young lady."
Gosalyn just smiled happily. "Go right ahead, Dad. One lecture at a time is okay by me!"
Darkwing paused in mid-speech and gave Launchpad a somewhat puzzled look. "If you ever have any kids, LP, remember this," he said in a perplexed tone. "You'll never understand them!"
The End
Author's Disclaimer and Notes:
The Disney Company owns the Darkwing Duck concept and characters. The plot of this story is my responsibility.
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