Chapter Two

Salaryman Third-class Gogo Wackston Dodo, Corporate Asset #01204475 of Watasawa Gratuitously Heavy Engineering Mega-Corporation (Evil) Incorporated, polished up his company asset badge with pride. Other, lesser Corporations issued their workers with old-fashioned plastic so-called 'smartcards' that were static and stealable – his was an Ultra-GeniusCard bonded to his Toon aura and the Company's servers. Nobody but the issued Employee could wear it, and its ever-glowing screen proved that he was, indeed, still a valued (and hence living) asset. The same technology had been pioneered years ago for one of their early consumer products, the 'I die you die' Tamagotchi, which had earned itself several pages worth of heated discussion on Wickedpedia, the official online compendium of Evil.

At that instant he was strolling happily down the main street towards the market. He stopped at some roadworks, where excavations had left a big heap of pulled-up tarmac and concrete from the street piled up on the pavement. Looking around surreptitiously, he grabbed a handful and munched. No company surveillance drones appeared to be in sight; the last thing he wanted was for one of them to see him dining at a non-corporate site and get points on his Disloyalty card. "Ah! Japan has the world's finest Street food!" He happily declared, savouring the local cuisine. "Like my favourite ice cream flavour – Rocky road."

"Konnichi-wa, Dodo-san." A voice came from behind him.

Gogo turned, and recognised one of his neighbours – Mister Kasa-Obake, a one-eyed, mono-legged umbrella spirit. He bowed. "Hello, cousin!" He politely dipped and furled his own head umbrella – though he had never heard of the family connection till arriving in Japan, by their looks they were surely related. "How's life?"

Mr. Kasa-Obake shrugged. "Looks like I'm about to get wet again, as usual." At his cue, distant thunder rumbled.

Gogo nodded. "That's life! A little rain must fall." Umbrellas had the worst luck that way – usually they only came out when it rained. He waved farewell and returned to his corporate Salaryman Grade 3 Apartment, bowing as he passed Mrs. Yamoaroshi (a spiky haired, porcupine-like 'possessed, abandoned vegetable-grater spirit' *) in the corridor.

"Ah." He soliloquised as he let himself into the spacious apartment, that easily had space not only to inhale and exhale, but to swing a cat in (provided the cat had no objections to hitting all four walls per rotation). "Home sweet home! If only dear #00079886 was here. There's poetry in motion for you." On the wall was a picture of his lovely wife lovingly squeezing out high-precision TiToonium extrusions with her well-manicured, diamond-lined pressure dies. To the ignorant or prejudiced, she just looked like a huge, high powered forging machine that took up half a factory floor.

"Dear #00079886", he sighed, looking up at the picture. "Soon we'll be together again."

(*) · Yes, really. An actual Japanese 'Yokai' spirit species!

Outside a five-star hotel on the outskirts of Mega-Tokyo, a white stretch limousine pulled up. A uniformed chauffeur deferentially opened the door, and a green mallard stepped out, clad in a gleaming white Elvis type stage suit. Tripping over the cape, he landed beak-down in the rain-wet turf.

Grabbing a double paw-full of muddy grass, Plucky Duck, super-star (as it said on the hastily printed poster stuck inside the limousine's back window) rose to stand in triumphant mode. "See how I seize this land with both hands!" he declaimed loudly, raising the captured crabgrass to the witnessing heavens.

Behind him, four hotel gardeners did an irritable shimmer into samurai-styled power armour before fading back into deferential outfits and attitudes a fraction of a second later, power-katanas reverting to secateurs.

Watching him from the hotel lobby was a short, stocky rooster that he recognised. "Hiyah, Pluckster!" Fowlmouth yelled. "It's da-gum great to have you on the tour!"

"It surely is," Plucky said smoothly. "You must be so proud… but hey, that's OK. Very understandable."

"Well, come on in and meet the band. Been awhile. We got your bagpipes delivered direct from the da-gum airport. The Toons in the hazmat suits are just out back delivering the fuel," Fowlmouth waved a feather-hand towards the hotel lobby. "Hey, the band are ready to roll."

"Woo-hoo! The old gang's all here!" Plucky Duck enthused as he made his grand entrance to the hotel lobby, brushing aside media lobbyists. He carelessly tossed his grass-stained cape aside, where it flew across the room and almost but not quite landed faultlessly on the coat rack, missing by a mere twenty feet. "And here's the star you've been waiting for. Now you can start the show." He waved at Vinnie Deer, Dizzy Devil and Mitzi Avery.

"Yaahh! Pluckster!" Dizzy Devil bounced up and down, waving at his old classmate. "We make Rock and roll. Fire up flugelhorn, make rocket roll too."

"Hello, Plucky." Mitzi Avery got up from the sofa she had been relaxing on with her Tasmanian boyfriend. She was a tall, statuesque human of blonde good looks, cousin to another Warner Brothers supporting character whose nurse uniform needed considerable structural supporting. "Did you have a good flight?"

"Sure, sure. First class all the way, what else? I even brought you our support band. Come on in, girls!" Plucky waved in Ore of Boron, the trio dressed in their gothic tutu stage outfits. They had followed in on their own carrying their instruments and baggage. "Ain't they sweet?"

Mitzi ignored her boyfriend's tongue suddenly hanging out; that was just a reflex action. "Pleased to meet you." She paused, looking at the three in their stage outfits. "Did you walk through town dressed like that? We don't start rehearsals till tomorrow. Do you have any street clothes with you?" She wore a stylish but comfortable-looking padded jacket against the February chill outdoors, and a pleated blue knee-length skirt.

Shinobu looked puzzled, tapping her black leather and lace. "We a metal band," she said. "It what we are. Always."

"Except in bed or traditional bath-house scenes," Michiko chimed in, her eyes shining.

"Hmm. That's an odd name for a metal group you chose," Mitzi raised an eyebrow. "Boron's not even a metal."

Plucky looked around. "Fowlmouth, Dizzy, Vinnie Deer, Mitzi… aren't we missing someone?"

"Heh. Furrball's a big hit round here with the girls. All that soulful electric violin stuff." Fowlmouth elbowed a mallard in the ribs, and winked knowingly. "He's… kinda busy."

"Furrball gets lucky? Makes a change," Plucky marvelled.

"Not so lucky…" Mitzi said, hearing a change in the background music heralding a chase scene. "You'll see."

Just then a classic Pursuit Scene streaked through the lobby. A purple, yowling blur Plucky recognised as Furrball streaked past – with four very different feline femmes in hot pursuit. In the lead was a Toon kitty much like Furrball – almost neck and neck with her was a strange, lithe leopard-sphinx. Bringing up the rear were two bipeds – a standard feline furred girl in sailor-suit, and a mostly human Anime girl with cat ears, tail and wearing oversized 'cat-paw' mittens. A hungry-sounding cry of 'Nyahh!" echoed as she vanished out of sight.

"They hunt in packs," Mitzi said cryptically.

Plucky nodded, scratching his head-feathers. "One of them looked kinda human. Except in places."

"She a Kemonomimi," Shinobu said. "Standard in Japan. Come in all animal shapes."

"Well, cats, dogs and bunnies are most of them I've seen," Mitzi mused. "I don't suppose many girls go for warthogs, star-nosed moles or horned toads."

"Hey! I know one goes for Tasmanian Devils," Fowlmouth winked lewdly at her. "Goes for dem and gets 'em, too." He sighed. "Chee. Dat Furrball's some lucky guy."

Mitzi sniffed, her eyes wandering to where the chase scene had exited. "That bunch? They'd eat you for a snack."

"Sure, but what a way to go," Fowlmouth sighed.

"Fowlmouth make great Eastern fried chicken, yaah!" Dizzy agreed, drooling. "With wasabi!"

Mitzi smiled, stretching her long, lean figure. "Well. Plucky – I think we've got everything you wanted sent over." She gestured towards a large 'care package' labelled with his name on it. Some show-business Toons insisted on their favourite brand of breakfast cereal or Toon dynamite delivered wherever in the world they were working; Plucky had his own shopping-list of essentials when on tour.

The mallard nodded happily as he sorted through the boxes. He grinned at the sight of the February issues of 'Survival sporks and fighting foons of the world's elite forces', and 'Re-entry vehicles in heat' and put them aside for later as he saw what else was there. "They arranged to forward the latest issue to me! That's great!" He waved the copy of 'True Conspiracy Fact (not Theory!) Stories' that had been awaiting him. "Whoo-hoo! Last month's issue was a real frightener." He looked around cautiously. "Do you know the American Government secretly puts special chemicals in modern tin-foil that stops it working properly for mind-protection hats? I'm only buying Japanese aluminium foil this trip."

"Do tell," Mitzi Avery said, straight-faced. She had read that issue and was unimpressed. The front cover story screamed out 'Now it can be told!Did Columbus and the Spanish Government fake the whole 'Americas Landing' Project? Have all so-called 'Americans' been living in an undocumented province of India all this time? Why were no photographs of the so-called landing ever released? See Pages 56-197 for blistering expose! Disaffected former junior archive clerk in the genuine Spanish Government tells all!' "I wouldn't trust that rag further than I could throw Columbus. Including his ship."

"Well, 'miss Mitzi know-it-all' – so just who did they meet as soon as they found the so-called Americas? Red 'Indians'. Just a bit of a giveaway?" Plucky raised an eyebrow. "And how about that city they found when they went further West – 'INDIANapolis' or the entire state, INDIANa? Hey? It all makes sense." He nodded meaningfully. "And they said all these 'Conspiracies' were just theories. 'They' would, wouldn't they? Who benefits if people believe the official story? Officials, that's who."

"This is the mallard who a couple of years ago tried to join the Secret Overlords as a trainee 'puppet-master' – and I don't mean puppets as in street theatre," Mitzi said flatly, turning to Dizzy and the band. "Shirley told me." She paused, a quizzical expression on her face. "She didn't say how you knew where to send the application form."

"I just addressed it to The Secret Overlords, New World Order, and threw it in the mailbox," Plucky protested. "They know where they are. I never heard back, though. Not even returned with 'address unknown' – which proves they must have got it. So there."

Mitzi looked the mallard up and down. A thought struck her. "Did you put your return address on the envelope?"

Plucky snorted. "Please. Just who do you think you're talking about here? They know exactly where I am. They know these things."

"Ah-hum." Mitzi looked at the magazine critically. "So, are you going for their 'Fabulous one-time lifetime offer,' the 'beat the IRS once and for all' scam they're pushing? Only available for the first thousand to respond and publicly admit Columbus faked the whole 'Americas landings' thing."

"Well? Who'd be crazy enough to miss out? It's such a deal – it's a real steal. If you send your tax money to them instead of the IRS for a year, they put you on Indian base level tax for life – much cheaper than the American rate," Plucky whispered conspiratorially, and tapped the advertisement on the back page. "Look where they're based! Absolute proof! A numbered PO box in Bollywood! It all makes sense."

Mitzi sighed. "And who needs proof? I keep forgetting. You believe in 'lack of evidence proves it got suppressed.' I'll stick to unfashionable facts."

"Mitzi smartest," Dizzy Devil proudly proclaimed. "Play keyboard, do all business manager stuff too. Always get band good deal, yah!"

Mitzi smiled, looking at her boyfriend lovingly. In her handbag was a set of severe-looking round wire-framed spectacles. There was actually nothing wrong with her eyesight, but when combined with a corporate styled skirt-suit the plain glass lenses gave her a (+4) on all business-related skill rolls. "Well then, everyone's here. Tomorrow we start work. We still have this evening to all get acquainted."

"Party! Parrrrty!" Dizzy yelled, jumping up and down. "Rock and roll!"

Plucky turned to Ore of Boron, and winked at the three. "Stick with me, girls," he proclaimed "this band is going places!"

Half an hour later in the hotel bar, a certain green mallard was telling an apparently enthralled kitsune, tanuki and gargoyle a version of his life story that the archives of Acme Looniversity would not have quite agreed with.

"… And amazingly enough, back in our original class film days, we got away with doing a beer-based show! I got away with it even back then!" He enthused.

"Yaa. With Buster and Hamton, Buster starred." Dizzy paused from his wasabi-eating contest with a team of fire-eating sumo wrestlers. "'One Beer', Dizzy remember."

Plucky sniffed. "That rabbit? The star? Sure, in his dreams. And my old sidekick Hamton… a worthy guy. But limited, you know? He just couldn't take a rock 'n' roll lifestyle, no way." He paused. "Old Hammy was the last guy I ever knew who played postal chess. Had to quit it in the end."

Shinobu put her hand up. "Because all went onto internet?" She queried.

"Heck, no. It was all way too exciting for him." Plucky looked around the bar. "I don't recognise any beer I've ever seen a commercial for."

Mitzi Avery smiled sweetly. "Why not try the local drink? Rice Sake?"

"It very strong," Naoko warned.

Plucky tossed his head back in disdain. "Ha! You're looking at a mallard who's faced direwolves and sabre-toothed tigers with only a spear in my hand. They came for lunch – me – and they stayed. In the wardrobe, as fur coats. Foreign drinks hold no terror for this duck."

"If you say so." Mitzi nodded and spoke a few words to the barman, a predictably panda bit-part character, who passed Plucky a large frosted bottle swathed in Hazard symbols of drunken Toons falling under steamrollers, off cliff edges and pressing the wrong button at military bases.

"She speaks Japanese," Shinobu whispered to her fellow band members. "With hardly an accent!"

Plucky raised the bottle, and drank deep.

"They no do Dizzy's favourite drink here," the Tasmanian Devil grumbled. "Mix beer and Jaeger-bombs."

"Why not, pray tell?" Plucky looked at the well-stocked bar, as the pupils in his eyes did an interesting rapid 'squash and stretch'. "Looks like they have everything else."

Mitzi shook her head. "The local beer is pressurised with hydrogen, not carbon dioxide. Which helps drunken burping salarymen set fire to themselves in gross drinking games."

"And so?" Plucky demanded, thumping the empty bottle on the counter and waving for another. "What's wrong with that?"

Mitzi sighed. "Think of the mixes you'd get. Hydrogen beer and Jaeger-bombs. The beer-Jaeger would be OK but the Japanese have a real down about hydrogen-bombs."

Dizzy Devil grinned. "Tradition in Japan. Like do Karaoke." He pointed at the brightly-flashing machine in the corner. "Dizzy love karaoke!"

"I can sing any Western track," Plucky boasted, grinning to Ore of Boron. "It's a big thing where I come from. I learned them all perfectly from one of the classic lonesome cowboys, way out in the desert."

"Are there many such, Plucky-san?" Michiko asked.

"Hordes. Regiments. Everywhere you go there's big teams of lone cowboys." Plucky waved a feather-hand dismissively, draining the second bottle and waving for more. "Go around in swarms."

"I don't know most of the J-Pop and K-pop songs on here, so Western it is." Mitzi pressed a random selection on the Western section of the Karaoke machine. The instrumental for the classic track 'Mule Train' rang out unmistakeably. "Do you know this one?"

"Sure I know it! You can't pull a trick question like that and switch styles on ol' Plucky Duck. I don't just do cowboy tunes, you know. I learned this from Fifi back at Acme Loo. She knew all the French folksongs." Plucky snorted.

"French?" Naoko wondered. "Not Wild West?"

"Well, obviously. It's in the title, even. Their favourite pack and riding shellfish are mussels, or 'moules' in the local lingo, whatever that is," Plucky expounded expansively. "Yee-haw! There'd be whole convoys of them ornery pack-molluscs, carrying their loads up from the coast to the fish-markets and restaurants of Paris. With grizzled old Mule-skinners… no, that's got to be 'moule-shellers'." He grabbed the Karaoke microphone and sang:

"Moule train! Flippity-floppin' through the saline rain…"

"Saline?" Mitzi queried. "Since when does it rain salt water?"

"Where do you think all those salt lakes in the cowboy films come from? You don't get them in the ACME catalogue, you know." Plucky snapped, annoyed. "Besides - mussels are sea creatures, right? Can't have them getting soaked in fresh water when it rains. Like putting salt on a slug, that'd be. Plain cruelty."

Naoko put her hand up as if she was back in class. "And what happens when they get to Paris seafood restaurant, Plucky-san?"

The masterful mallard paused, a look of confusion briefly passing over his face. "Fifi never said. I sort of assumed they all found jobs as waiters or something." He looked round, tapping the microphone. "Pray, may the star of this show proceed?" He raised the third litre of Sake and almost inhaled it.

Mitzi nodded resignedly. "This ought to be… interesting." Suddenly she smiled wickedly as an idea struck her, and from her bag pulled out a video camera which she quickly set up on a mini tripod facing the stage.

Plucky stepped back up to centre stage, his favourite position in life. "Where was I, before I was so rudely interrupted? Oh yeah." From his Hammerspace pocket he pulled out a big round tin tea-tray, which he noisily bashed over his knee and head in rough accompaniment to the song:

"Moule train! Hyahhhh!

Flippity-flopping through the saline rain

Soon they're going to reach the shop,

Flippity-flop, flippity-flippity-flippity flopping along.

There's a packet oozing madness, from a book beyond Hell's borders

Shiny boots for someone high up in the New World Order

Some psychedelic pills, for the hippies in the hills

Git along, moules, git along!

There's a legacy for Yuppies, on New Age junk to squander

A notebook for a theorist who left his home to ponder

Plans for Mysteron attacks, for the traitor Captain Black *

Git along, moules, git along!

There's some latex and some leather gear, for fetishists up yonder

An absence note for Teacher, to make the heart grow fonder

Tinfoil covers, head to toe, shield the mind from UFO's

Git along, moules, git along!

Moule train, hy'ahhh! Flippity-flopping up the mighty Seine

Soon they'll all be for the pot, flippity-flop,

Flippity-flippity-flippity flopping along

Moule train! Yee-haaa!"

(* Although puppets and Toons rarely socialised, the full year Acme Looniversity degree certainly included Gerry Andersson classics such as 'Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons.' Although Plucky needed to down large quantities of sake to think of it.)

With a final crashing blow to the tin tray he bowed, and put down the microphone. He swayed noticeably.

"Say... do you think someone spiked that sake? Feels definitely… hic! Inn – terresting..." With that Plucky keeled over, falling flat on his back, webbed toes pointing at the ceiling as his feet quivered like tuning forks. The fallen tin tray rang in accompaniment like a departing bell as it spun wobbling for a second on stage next to him before subsiding.

There was a brief silence. Shinobu nodded significantly. "Old saying, about sake. The mallard drinks the first bowl. The second bowl drinks the first. The third drinks the mallard."

Mitzi smiled. "Back at Acme Acres our local Chinese restaurant has a dish called 'drunken chicken' on the menu." Her eyes gleamed with mischief. "Someone should change that to 'drunken duck' and have him wake up on a plate on a bed of rice. It'd serve him right to get served up with orange sauce. He's pretty marinaded already."

"Yahh! Good joke!" Dizzy enthused.

Mitzi sighed. "Nice idea. In practice – a terrible waste of good rice. And oranges."

"We take him safe to hotel room!" Naoko flexed her rock-solid muscles. "Carry him up, no problem!"

Mitzi's eyes narrowed. "To his room. Not yours."

A gargoyle girl suddenly looked so innocent that the sound of local credibility straining was clearly audible. "Oh yes, Mitzi-Sama. Sure, we take him to his room."

"And then all three of you come straight back here," Mitzi said firmly, seeing three sets of ears droop. Evidently it was not only felines around here that hunted in packs.

"That Miss Avery, she a spoilsport." Ten minutes later a slumbering duck had been carefully laid out on his bed, the door locked and the spare key reluctantly passed to Mitzi. Ore of Boron were having a band meeting in Naoko's room.

"Yes. What happens on tour, stays on tour," Shinobu agreed, her long banded tail twitching. "For handsome rock star – traditional!"

"Hai!" The other two chorused.

Michiko sighed. "Three of us. One duck. We share?"

Shinobu grinned. "One duck. But he also have shape as Captain W with authentic wombat powers. Marsupial biology. Marsupial males have – extra possibilities." She held up two fingers and wiggled them suggestively, suggesting two of something not usually in pairs. "Use amazing wombat-like abilities on us."

"So." Naoko nodded thoughtfully as she recalled various Japanese cartoons that showed more accurate biology than ever appeared on the Disney Channel. "That work – very well. For two of us. But when?"

Michiko gave a sharp-toothed vixen grin as she swished her tails; in the privacy of their room it was obvious there were seven of them – in years to come she aspired to the full set of nine. "Trust a kitsune!" She paused. "Really, usually… best not to do that. But trust me on this – it will be soon!"

There was a pause. Naoko looked puzzled. "Was thinking. We're speaking our native Japanese to each other. Why we still have accents and bad grammar, like we speaking English or American?"

Shinobu shrugged. "It just one of those things."

"So." The other two nodded thoughtfully, and started to lay their plans.

Morning dawned, and the breakfast room at the hotel gradually filled. Mitzi Avery had been down there an hour, busily working on her laptop when a bleary-eyed mallard staggered in croaking for coffee like a caffeine-starved frog.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Mitzi's eyes twinkled. "Sleep well?" She wore her severe grey business skirt-suit, and looked at the mallard over the top of her glasses. "Oh. You don't look so well. Maybe this duck needs a quack doctor?"

"Jet lag. It's a killer." Plucky slumped at the table, after ordering a half-gallon of undiluted extra-strength espresso.

"Mmm. Especially when you measure it in bottles, not time zones," Mitzi said, her tone mercilessly bright and cheerful. "Quite a show you put on last night. I'd heard karaoke is listed as a martial art around here – now I know why."

Plucky winced, upending the coffee pot and draining it in a gushing stream down his gullet. "Oh. I remember some of that. I committed Karaoke. I think." A pained expression washed over his bill. "Still. Only the band heard it, right?"

"Ooooooh… funny you should say that. You should have told us, 'no publicity' last night, if you were so worried about things getting out," Mitzi said sweetly. She turned her laptop round to face him, revealing a breakfast news show reporting recognisable footage playing on giant public screens in cities across the Orient. "And publicity like this for our tour, you just can't buy. I uploaded it to ToonTube last night. Congratulations, Plucky, 'Moule Train's' gone viral!"

There was a moan and a crash, as Plucky collapsed beak-first on the table, scattering crockery.

Mitzi signalled to a waiter. "Sorry about this," she indicated the scene. "Could you clear away this awful mess?" She could not resist adding "And the crockery, too."

It was a rather more harmonious and less hung-over breakfast on the far side of town, where Babs and Buster sat cross-legged on bamboo mats, with Merumo and her mother serving breakfast rice. This differed from their daily luncheon rice and supper rice only by the timing.

"I wish Father was still here," Merumo sighed. "He would love to have met you."

"Did you… lose him?" Buster asked, his ears down. Japan was generally a safe place for most things, but weekly fatalities on game shows ran in the hundreds.

Mrs Matsutake suddenly broke into a grin. "Oh, no. We know just where he is. Last year, in the village there opened an 'all you can eat, 24 hour sushi buffet'." She paused, shaking her head. "He's still there. He still hasn't eaten all he can."

"We'll wave if we go past," Babs promised.

"Sounds like our pal Calamity, and his diet problems – just the other way around," Buster said. "He'd send off for ACME diet books with titles like 'Do you have trouble controlling what you eat?'"

"If he could have controlled those Road Runners, he might have eaten them," Babs added. "That was his diet trouble."

Merumo nodded. "In my class were two identical Tiger girls. They had a gag of swapping names – and claiming it was their sister who had been served at meals, not them. So they got extra servings. And again. And again."

"We can beat that," Babs said. "Even identical twins are old-hat these days. We've seen the ACME Loo first-year class of fifteen years in the future. There's a girl in class with her identical clone sitting next to her, they're both called Kate."

Merumo frowned. "Clones? Same name? How do you tell them apart?"

Buster grinned. "It's a problem, all right. They're both Kate – but one's a 'dupli-kate'."

"Just to make things ironic, there was a computer glitch – amazingly, in the future they still happen – and the hospital lost track of who's who," Babs added. "Who is the original? Nobody knows."

"Arr, begorrah" Buster spin-changed into a stage Irish costume complete with lucky shamrock and an even luckier shillelagh (bonus (+1 to hit,) (+3 to damage vs blunt comedic prop weapons)) "To be sure, an' I thought t'was yerself, but now I see 'tis yer sister!"

Merumo was examining his costume. She looked at the green clover-like leaf in his buttonhole. "Is that a shamrock?" she queried.

"To be sure. 'Tis too heavy, to be wearin' of a real rock there," Buster quipped quaintly.

Merumo winced. "Last time I heard pun that bad, was strange green spirit-bird, a 'Yokai' I saw on Main Street last week."

"Hmm…" Babs tapped her chisel-teeth thoughtfully. "I know just who that sounds like. Despite us having no idea which city he even lives in. Or even which island in Japan." She paused. "Funny, how that works out."

"Yes, I wonder how Gogo Dodo's doing. Our old Paraphiliac pal," Buster mused, spin-changing back and losing the accent along with the shamrock.

"Paraphiliac?" Babs queried. "You mean – he likes parachutes? Well, he does have that sort of parachute-umbrella thing on his head."

"No. He likes people that, umm, most folks don't see as people," Buster said. "Remember our first-year prom? He dated that fire hydrant."

"Oh, yes. Deirdre, he called her," Babs said thoughtfully. "And later on, he dated that industrial rock crusher, 'Roxanne'." She shook her head, wincing slightly. "If that's his idea of a 'lady' – rough lady! I was afraid that 'girl' would just chew him up and spit him out."

"Mitzi and her friend Taffy were both sweet on him," Buster recalled. "I remember Taffy at a fancy-dress party dressed up for him as a spin-dryer. Close, but no dodo date. He prefers less… biology."

"My, my. And Taffy's a real looker. No wonder dodos are nearly extinct," Babs shook her head.

"I never met Gogo," Merumo said. "He in Wacky-land all time I was in Acme Acres."

"Wacky-land," Babs sighed nostalgically. "What a place! The scenery! Cool shadows pouring out of a black sun in a blazing white-hot sky. Endless non-towering sprawls of entirely flat mountains. The picturesque clans of enormous dwarves sheltering there from hot hailstorms and custard rain. Gogo rained, or reigned there too. Reigned as the Dodo supreme, out there where it rains Chicken Supreme."

"That's what he did, all right. Governor of the uncontrollable," Buster said. "Gave it all up to work for a pittance, at a company that officially hates its staff. Corporately and personally, too. Yes, you'd have to be insane to do that."

"That's Gogo for you," Babs nodded meaningfully. "From where the 'lunatic fringe' isn't just a hairstyle."

Merumo sighed. "It is hard being from a famous culture. People misunderstand what they see on the films. Expect you to always be just like that."

"That's right!" Buster agreed. "Like our friend Marcia Martian – when word got out she was a real flying-saucer type alien, folks queued up, wanting to get abducted and all sorts of weird things done to them 'just like on TV'. Though she kept explaining real Martians weren't interested in doing that sort of scientific experiment on Earth Toons."

"She couldn't go within a mile of Acme Trailer Park (*) without attracting a hopeful crowd," Babs said meaningfully. "Some of them brought along their own… equipment. Lubricant, even."

(* Editor's note: by strict Studio command, Babs' and Buster's original class films carefully avoided all reference to Acme Acres' notorious trailer park. Suffice it to say; when Fifi chose to live in a wrecked car on a scrap heap and Furrball in a cardboard box in an alleyway, they both knew there were far worse places to be. Given the choice between daily life there and being abducted and dragged off to the unknown to be used for fiendish Alien experimentation… most residents kept a hopeful eye on the skies.)

Merumo blinked. "She had to disappoint them all?"

Babs cast a sly grin at her husband. "Blue-boy here fixed it. He persuaded them Marcia had really done all the hideous junk they expected her to – and suppressed the memories. Beyond the reach of hypnosis, even live on a cable channel. So everyone went away happy. Some were even limping."

Buster bowed modestly. "It's a space-alien kinda thing to do," he said. "Or so they say."

Breakfast over, Merumo departed for work, and Babs decided on a morning combining tourism and shopping. The Rising Sun was riding high in the East, as per reference material, as she and Buster strolled into the local town centre, little Blitz poking his adorable ears and whiskers out of the cub-carrier on Buster's back.

"Hmm," Babs looked around the street scene; classical wood and paper framed houses predominated, with temples and a castle on the hill above town. "Isn't this Mega-Tokyo? Where's all the towering skyscrapers and flashy advertising we saw on the way in yesterday?"

"Heh. About twenty miles that-a-way," Buster pointed down the street. "Their Ludicrously Rapid Transit System – really is just that. This is one of the old towns that got swallowed whole by the suburbs."

"An actual logical reason!" Babs marvelled. "Toto, I don't think we're in Acme Acres any more..."

"And there's a well-researched temple to prove it," Buster pointed at the sacred 'Torri' gateway of a Shinto shrine, where passing Toons stopped to bow and pay their respects. "When in Rome..."

"Eat pasta and drive like a maniac?" Babs asked brightly. Her ears fell. "Buster, we can't pay our respects here! The Committee for Un-American Activities would have our tails – and our actor's dramatic licenses - when we got home!"

"What about that one?" Buster pointed across the street.

"Oh. No problem there." The pair crossed the street paw-in-paw and bowed low at the doorway to the local office of Tokyo Movie Shinsa, the production company who had worked on the best of their old class films.

They carried on down the street, and stopped to let a chattering pair of possessed, fiendishly grinning straw sandals bounce past them, followed by a turban-snail who suddenly metamorphosed into a human woman and waved for a taxi. Babs nodded thoughtfully. "Reminds me of Wacky-land," she said. "Definitely high ambient weirdness field."

"But with shops," Buster pointed across the street.

"Good plan, Blue-boy!" Babs grabbed his hand and pulled him towards a beckoning shoe-shop. Buster took a metaphorical deep breath; with Babs in a shopping mood, it could be a long time before they came up for air.

Three hours later, they re-emerged into daylight. Now Babs wore the cub-carrier, while Buster groaned under the weight of a two cubic metre shopping pack. Comedic dents in the asphalt street marked his footprints.

"Ah. Time for refreshment. A low-calorie bubble-tea, why not? Better just drink the bubbles. I have to watch my film-star figure," Babs declared. "So the audience keep wanting to."

"You got rave reviews when we filmed 'Ain't she swell?' last year," Buster reminded her. "And we filmed till three weeks before Blitz arrived."

"True. But I don't want to get type-cast," Babs said. She paused, her eyes going distant. "Well, maybe a little sequel or two wouldn't hurt..."

Just then, Buster's ears went right up. He did a double-take. "Guess who I can see. Walking straight towards us down Main Street at High Noon." In the distance a temple bell tolled.

"Gary Cooper?" Babs asked hopefully, turning to look. "Oh. Oh my. What's the chances of us bumping into Gogo Dodo totally at random the first morning we're here?"

"Do the Toon maths, Babsy," Buster grinned. "Billion-to-one odds attract billion-to-one solutions. It just had to happen."

"Especially after I mentioned Wacky-land." Babs waved vigorously. "Hidy, Gogo!" She called out. "Long time no see!"

Gogo did an extreme Wild Take, his body parts all separating, flying apart then reassembling. "Whoop whoop! Stand by to repel boarders! Gardeners all weed borders!" He non-sequitured. Then he blinked. "Well, if it isn't my classy old classmates? How did you get here?"

"Maybe we tunnelled straight down… you come out in China, so they say." Babs looked up artlessly. To be fair, it was a very artistic interpretation of an artless look.

"If 'They' don't have a globe handy…" Buster said.

"Then left turn and here we are!" Babs deadpanned. She turned to Buster. "Say – just how do you repel boarders?"

"Put up the room rental and never change the bed-sheets," Buster replied, straight-faced.

From somewhere in an alleyway there was a moan and a thud as a very old joke keeled over and died.

"So, Gogo… how's life outside the Wacky-world?" Babs asked brightly.

"Wacky-land." Gogo looked the bunnies up and down. "That was my old life. These days I'm Corporate Asset #01204475 of the Watasawa Corporation."

Babs blinked. "So … if you're Corporate Asset #01204475, have you met Corporate Asset #01204474?"

Gogo gave a heartfelt sigh. "Oh, yes. She's an Incriminating Document shredding machine in the next office. We joined the company on the same day. I was sweet on her for a few weeks, before I met my lovely wife."

"And how about Corporate Asset #01204473?" Buster asked, an eyebrow raised.

"An electrical switchbox in the next building." Gogo replied promptly. "Sure, we've met."

"Did you… ever… date?" Babs asked cautiously.

The dodo took an affronted step back. "Please! That's a guy. You can tell by the code number. Do you think I'm weird or something?"

"I refuse to answer that on grounds I could insinuate myself," Babs deadpanned.

"Anyway, you have to meet my lovely wife and son," Gogo gushed, briefly changing into a fire hydrant. "He takes after both of us."

"How… interesting," Babs said diplomatically, fanning her adorable nose with a passport to match.

Buster grinned. "Should be quite some family tree. A bit more – branching than Banjo Possum's. But then, he's from the Deep South. Not the Deep Strangeness." Gogo Dodo's father had appeared on the 1930's Loony Toons, when Porky Pig had encountered him. His mother, a first-generation photocopier, had featured as a bit-part actress in many 1960's office movies though never getting the film title credits she deserved.

"Come up and see my family photos!" Gogo urged. "I live just round the corner."

"It figures," Buster allowed. "Everything from Wacky-Land is round the bend."

They followed him five minutes to a neat but cramped tenement with something like traditional paper panelled walls. Buster tapped one cautiously. He had heard of the exquisite Japanese artistry of strong hand-crafted paper that could endure a century. This was evidently recycled newsprint.

"Well, come on in! I'd offer you tea and sake, but I don't have anything like that," Gogo waved them in happily. They found seats on the floor, after a search.

Babs frowned. She had put her gloves and ear-muffs on a small table by the door – which had mysteriously vanished, leaving them lying on the floor. She turned to her husband. "Buster," she whispered "wasn't there a table there when we came in?"

Buster turned and nodded. "There was. Not always, it seems." Then he did a fast double-take. "It's back again." Sure enough, it was now exactly where it had been, Babs' outerwear piled neatly on it.

Gogo evidently heard them. "It's the one piece I brought here from Wacky-land," he said with dignity. "Never heard of an 'occasional table'?"

"Heh. Occasionally," Babs said. She accepted the photo album Gogo proudly offered, and leafed through it. She blinked, turning the album round trying to check if the complex of pipes, valves and wiring made more sense that way. "She's certainly a very interesting… choice of bride."

"I'm a lucky guy, I know," Gogo gave a heartfelt sigh. "Do you want to talk to her?"

The rabbits exchanged mystified glances. "Can we?" Buster asked, one ear half-dipped in confusion.

"Sure! She's connected. Orders her own spare parts and maintenance, even! And she's a high-maintenance lady." Gogo pulled out of a drawer an ancient computer terminal, which he plugged into the old telephone line.

High-tech. I don't think, Busters ears semaphored in rabbit code.

Hush, you. Can't you see he hasn't got two yen to rub together? Babs' ears retorted, a little annoyed.

Most folk would have a 'yen' to get away and find a better gig than this, Buster reflected.

"Helloooo, light of my life!" Gogo crooned as he typed the same words in. "How are you today? I've got some old friends in to visit. Babs and Buster!" He turned the screen to face them. "Wave!"

That old thing doesn't even Have a camera, Buster signalled, as he and Babs waved cheerfully. But then lines of white text began to appear on the monochrome green screen:

Far-travelled

The lovers trod the burrow road

From Acme

Buster blinked. "A numerically controlled fabrication machine that writes haiku?"

"She's very economical. Haiku's the most economical style there is!" Gogo enthused.

The old green screen began to scroll again as Babs peered into its depths.

Bunnies

Three and more now

Winter arriving

Babs' pink and white form blushed prettily. "You know?" she addressed the screen. "I haven't even… tested, let alone told my husband!"

Buster's hand found hers and squeezed it gently in reassurance.

"She's a clever lady, my dear #00079886", Gogo affirmed.

Babs smiled, cracked her knuckles and limbered up her typing fingers. "Why don't you guys go out and look at a Zen garden or something for an hour or so," she suggested. "#00079886 and me have got a serious lot of girl-talk to do!"

Back in the Crowninshield mansion in the snowy woods around Mount Acme, it was a quiet morning. Rhubella had borrowed Mary Melody's Most_Terrain Vehicle, driven through the snows from town and dropped in for Foulplay coffee and a talk with her old friend.

"So, how's Plucky doing out on tour?" Rhubella asked, sipping her (not just skinny but borderline anorexic) latte. Margot's house was the only place she got to drink such things these days. "Did he get to Japan OK?"

"Yes – Mitzi Avery phoned just before you arrived; the band's having an early breakfast while the sun rises in the Land of the Rising Sun" Margot said. "My dear husband is conducting himself in his usual inimitable style."

"That bad, eh?" Rhubella asked. Suddenly she blinked. "Hold it. It's breakfast time here. In Japan it must be about midnight. We can't both be watching the sunrise."

Margot laughed. She pulled out a phone the sight of which made Rhubella's whiskers stand on end in surprise. "When you've got one of these, plebeian things like time zones don't matter anymore," she said firmly. "I can phone when I want, not when the planet gets round to it." The very exclusive model had at its heart a technology based on forbidden Unobtanium alloys, giving it abilities not achievable otherwise.

"Well, you run the Phobos banking connection with your long-lost cousin Mary," Rhubella allowed. Mary Melody had been curious about her ancestry, and detailed chromoplasm analysis had revealed she and Margot Mallard did in fact share a male human ancestor some four generations back, unlikely as that seemed on their model sheets. "You can afford it."

"Yes." Margot smiled. "And I'm keeping track of my husband. He's in the Anime Japan, where of course their tropes are different. He's stumbled into the 'oblivious male with passionate admirers' one, which is about right."

"As long as he stays on that one, I suppose." Rhubella said. "And Mitzi's watching him. Trust, but verify."

Margot sipped her Foulplay morbidly obese mocha contemplatively as she savoured the unethically sourced, environmentally unsustainable brew. "You remember the dossier on that Acme Loo class? The feline Furrball, minor character, he's the one picked up the 'imminent seduction threat' trope, like it or not. Four very compatible feline girls are after him, and may get him. Mitzi keeps me updated."

"Do tell," Rhubella asked. Her Perfecto-trained nose and appetite for intrigue was as sharp as ever.

"According to Mitzi – there's a twist in the tale of that broken-tailed cat. Alley-cat he may be, he's a deeply romantic soul. He might woo the delicate heart of a fair feline femme – but an on-tour harem of extremely willing groupies, thrills him not at all." Margot said. "I'm told it's Meme #56 in the Anime edition of the book – 'male surrounded by eager females can't take advantage of his good luck. As usual.'"

"She's a sharp operator, Mitzi Avery," Rhubella nodded. "Another who's turned out a lot less two-dimensional than folk would think. Male Toons go cross-eyed at that figure and don't expect there's a spectacular brain to match. Until it's too late."

"Yes. Always worth watching, to see stealth characters suddenly take stage centre," Margot agreed. "I know her friends Taffy and Jessie; they're famous for dancing on the band's videos, but they have some major talents. In Plucky's old class films they only got tiny bit-parts, and they're not the only ones like that with so much more to them." She cast a knowing glance at the open doorway, where Gladys and Gracie were busily cleaning, with contented expressions on their bills. "Life's full of little surprises."

"You certainly are," Rhubella deadpanned, her gaze briefly locking on the stork feather on its platinum chain nestled in Margot's cleavage, then to the pair of eggs in the warm nest in the corner. "So, looks like the stork's getting to know this address pretty well."

Margot cast herself back on the sofa, shielding her eyes as if from some tragic melodramatic fate. "Oh! The tragic irony of my life! And what a Christmas homecoming it was for my poor Plucky! My dear husband was eagerly speeding through the snows from far away to reach my side – too late, forever too late! Arriving only in time to see a stork delivering me its news. Pregnant by my own maids! Oh, the shame!"

"Yes. That." Rhubella nodded, clearly unimpressed. "Well, after you did it to them."

"Naturally. I am their 'wicked mistress' and they're my 'put-upon servants' in the old style," Margot snickered. "That's a classic trope; probably a bit too timeworn to work well these days. But doing it in reverse, 'man bites dog' style – that's rather more interesting."

"'Interesting' does the trick, with storks" Rhubella conceded. "It got me and Fifi our daughter Gigi. I can't complain. And I managed to find 'skunk-hunks' to pass on to Fifi, as many as she wanted."

"You becoming a skunk-magnet is an interesting development," Margot mused. "More than a mere magnet. You're the champion skunk attractor. A skunk-magnate!"

"That's how I ended up, all right. Who'd have thought it? A few years back at Perfecto, we were scanning the 'world's richest men' lists for matrimony targets." Rhubella said wonderingly. "Nothing like either of us ended up happy with."

Margot raised an eyebrow. "Yes, the Perfecto ideal is – who would make, not the best husband, but the best divorce settlement. An idea we left behind. Turns out I've got access to all the gold in a separate California, and dear Plucky loves collecting it. When we're over in that alternate world, he comes striding in from the riverbank with a grin, a basket of fish and a gold nugget, most days." She also had a unique direwolf fur coat that, once properly tanned and re-tailored, she had received offers of a million dollars for from the luxury department of the Foulplay organisation. It was still hanging in pride of place in her Winter wardrobe.

Rhubella frowned. "I can't help but worry you're going to get Noticed, with a capital N. And I don't mean by Acme Acres City Hall. They don't issue Import licenses between alternative histories, which makes it smuggling if anyone's watching." She paused. "Wouldn't Perfecto just love the scheme, though? It's just that someone out there in the cosmos is likely to object."

"Welcome to the Twilight Zone, a place from where no lawyer can save you…" Margot gestured with a dramatic flourish. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "I've thought about it, after all the squealing Shirley did the first time we came back with a pack of untraceable gold. It's one of the contingencies I plan for."

"Well, you're deliberately 'breaching the laws of Physics for fun and profit'– that's like a Cosmic federal offence, for whatever Cosmos cops are out there" Rhubella pointed out. "And I mean, serious causality violations!"

"Violations?" Margot sat back, an eyebrow raised. "Oh, no – I made sure it was all entirely consensual."

Rhubella snorted, shaking her head. She paused as Gladys diligently dusted her way across the room and out of view. From the middle distance, there came a muffled squeal and giggle. "Thinking of willing… what was that you said about those two? About an upstairs maid and a downstairs maid…?"

"Oh, yes," Margot said lightly. "Where they meet, the stairs are going to get very well polished. And they are." She nodded towards the next room. "Millie and Molly… it's going to be interesting to see how they turn out."

Rhubella's naked tail twitched as she thought. "Considering what their mothers are like – you might think they might inherit their tastes." She paused. "On the other paw, it'd be funnier if they ended up as boy-crazy as Fifi. Without the 'it'll never happen' trope. And 'funny' beats 'probable' any day, around here."

"We'll see. Watch this space, fifteen years on." Margo said. Just then, her sharp ears picked up the tiniest of sounds from the corner of the room, where two eggs basked under heat ray lamps set to emulate a fashionable beach. If she had possessed external ears, they would have gone right up. "Gladys! Gracie!" She called out urgently. "The eggs look like they're hatching!"

Although they had never attended Acme Looniversity classes, the pair managed a creditable blur of speed-lines and special-effect squeal of brakes as they hurried into the room, their instantly abandoned feather dusters dragged along in the whirling slipstream.

"They are!" Gladys gasped, wide-eyed. "There's a crack already!"

"We'll do it like we agreed?" Gracie took her woman's feather-hands in hers, and kissed her bill.

Gladys nodded. The couple sat cross-legged, facing each other, embracing. The eggs were carefully placed between them, body heat keeping them warm.

Rhubella looked on for a few seconds, her brow furrowed in thought. Then a light-bulb special effect appeared over her head. "I think I get it. Hatching chicks 'impress' for life, with the first parent they see. Usually their mother. But there's two of them, so they have to – arrange things."

"Yes," Margot whispered. "It happened with me, with Brandi and Candi. 'Impressing' goes both ways. We'd best get out of eye contact range." They moved over to the far side of the room.

"It's their first eggs, I mean eggs they carried, not brought by the stork," Rhubella mused. "That's… interesting. Their first pair, Millie and Molly – daughters are what you expect, from two girls. Who don't have the chromoplasm for a male chick. With two girls it's always a stork delivery. Not like today. But if they've never been into males, I don't see how they got those eggs."

"That is interesting." Margot deadpanned. "I wonder how that could possibly have happened."

Just then, came a twinned gasp of joy. When Margot looked, she saw Gladys and Gracie holding newly hatched chicks, looking down into their tiny faces as they 'Impressed'.

Margot gave a dramatic sigh but spoiled it by winking broadly. "Better pass me those Foulplay chocolates, Rhubella. I do need the calories. Looks like I've got more hungry mouths to feed!"

Two hundred yards away through the woods in a snowy clearing there was a small but perfectly engineered igloo, complete with ice-block windows carved from the frozen Lake Acme. Two pale-feathered loon girls, evidently aged around ten, sat on cosy buffalo hides shielding them from the snow, a pair of fish-oil lamps providing all the heat and light they wanted. According to the Acme Acres authorities, they were only two years old and far too young to start school – but the School Board had not been educated about Toons holidaying on alternative time-streams that ran at far faster rates.

"We have new brothers," Brandi announced, still reading the large iron-bound book that was chained to a thick copper pole in the centre of the igloo, the conductive earth spike sunk through the snow and deep into the frozen ground below. Blue-glowing sorcerous discharges crackled along the chain.

"Yes." Candi was avidly reading an ancient book wrapped in disturbingly pale, thin leather. "They don't have feathers yet. But they'll be green. And they have mammal chromoplasm. Like Douglas."

"Very like Douglas. And Daddy." Brandi agreed. "Not like us."

"Or Gladys and Gracie." Candi did not need to cast a spell or even concentrate very hard to see details of the two new-hatched ducklings now nursing with Margot. She glanced up, in the direction of the restored planet Phaeton. Using a lot of their power re-joining a long-lost branch of History had drained them severely for a month, but they were learning some very efficient spells at their Grandmother's house which helped make up for it. "Except they'll fly with their wings, like us. Got tail feathers and hollow bones."

"Gladys and Gracie are surprised." Brandi noted, "They didn't expect sons."

"Mother expects most things. You've seen the plans." Candi summoned the image of a long, securely locked fireproof bookcase in Margot's office where fifty loose-leaf folders held contingency plans for a wide variety of emergencies. They stayed entirely on tough waterproof Tyvek ® 'paper'; Margot had learned in Perfecto not just what computers could do for your security but what they could do to it. Most of the house's computers had no link to the outside world, for that matter.

Just then, the psychic loons felt a strong disturbance in the Farce nearby as if something had breached the local frame of film, leaving a hole that had snapped back shut. Ripples of sorcerous energy spread out, and suitably qualified Toons could spot their centre point.

"Somebody came through," Candi raised an eyebrow. "From Outside."

"Let's look." Brandi focussed her will, in a ritual she had learned from the old shaman Running Bare. She crafted a pattern of spiritual energy ready to be sent out to hunt the information. "Go, Fetch!" she commanded.

The Fetch vanished through the wall, accelerating inertialess and frictionless in the material world. In half a minute the sisters could see what it was looking at a mile away. Two small sets of eyebrows rose in surprise.

"We know them." Brandi stated. "Let's go say hello." She carefully closed the book, locked it and made sure a warding spell held in various energies that were trying to seep out into the wider world.

The ducklings ducked under the low entrance tunnel of the igloo, spread their wings and took off, airborne on muscle power rather than sorcery. They passed over the house and headed towards the slopes of Mount Acme. In a few minutes they spotted three small figures labouring through the deep snow, along a fire trail heading towards the Crowninshield mansion. Their trail down the slope was obvious from the air, as was the fact that it had abruptly started from nowhere in the middle of a clearing.

Brandi and Candi circled, swooped in and made impeccable two-point landings, their webbed feet throwing up sprays of powder snow as they skied to a halt.

"Beauregard. Belle and Blanche Bunny," Brandi identified them. "We met by the lake a year ago, this time line." She waved a dismissive feather-hand at the snowy forests around her, a poor degraded shadow of the pristine landscape she had been hatched in, and far preferred. "But you're a lot older than a year."

"Well, ah do declare!" Blanche declared; her blue-grey fur only exposed on her adorable face framed by a warm parka hood. "You're extra older too! We thought you'd still be five or six!"

"We went outside, to a nicer place" Candi said flatly. "It all runs faster there. What did you do?"

"We done learned us some hexing," Beauregard said proudly, the blue-green buck still slightly older than his half-sisters. "Momma's 'gator kinfolk back in the deep swamp, they taught us. And we've been travelling some, like you."

"And it was mighty nice weather, mostly," Belle added. The silver-blue doe sneezed, powder snow showering off her whiskers. "Not like this. But we had to come and warn you-all." She paused, looking at the two loon girls. "You-all been makin' a lot of noise with all your magics, and some folks out there don't cotton to it one little bit. You've got a real riled posse a-comin' to get you."

End Chapter Two