Chapter Ten
The scene was the open ground in front of Shirley's family home, a place whose tall American Gothic towers looked oddly out of place in Toon California. Off to one side was the neat row of military surplus trailers that currently housed one of the nation's most famous Deniable Organisations – and there Unit Four Plus Two currently stood, facing down two others of their kind who had come to call.
"Ah." Colonel Fenix stepped forward, offering a feather-hand to a severely fur-cropped poodle woman. "Your reputation precedes you. Agent Houston of the Other, Other Agency, I believe?"
"Affirmative. And you must be Colonel Fenix? I think we met some years ago. Was it... the Detroit Salient, Operation Senior Class, in the wet season?" The poodle's pompom-tipped tail was held rigid, betraying no emotion.
The phoenix smiled. "Close, but no cyanide cigar. It was Operation Senior Moment. In the Silly Season."
"Senior Moment. I must have forgotten that one." Agent Houston twitched an ear. "It's a pity this crowd got here first." She looked pointedly away from the second group of Toons conspicuously dressed as Secret Agents. "This is my team; Agent Peoria, Agent Albuquerque, and Agent Anchorage."
"Good to have an anchorage you can rely on," Calgari whispered.
"Must be their anchorman," Angelina confirmed.
The leader of the other team, a lean grey-furred hound, stepped forward. "I'm Agent Lilac-chartreuse-graphite, and that's as much as I'm cleared to say," he said.
"Didn't we meet a few months ago?" Colonel Fenix asked pleasantly.
"No – that was Agent Lilac-graphite-chartreuse. Entirely different," the bloodhound snapped. He gestured to his team. "This is our international exchange partner, Boris X," Agent Lilac-chartreuse-graphite nodded to a plump insect Toon, whose long grey overcoat did not quite cover his black and yellow banded body. "He is officially cleared to deny he's from Moscow, or that he's got anything to do with the old crowd there."
Colonel Fenix nodded pleasantly. "Ah. Very cagey. Evidently one of the famous Cagey-Bees. Pleased to meet you."
On the other side, a tall grey wolf in an optically dangerous extra-sharp suit sniffed. "You're not the only ones with fancy exchange partners. This is Ling," he waved to a stout panda wearing a conservative grey business suit. "He may or may not be from their Bureau of State Insecurity."
Shirley blinked. "Don't you mean, like, State Security?"
The panda bowed. "Please to correct. Confucius say, if State ever had true security, in our trade we would be all out of a job."
"Real Chinese do NOT go around saying 'Confucius say' in front of everything these days," Sergeant Gander said. "If they ever did. That's pure Hollywood 1930's, Charlie Chan era."
"Naturally. He's in disguise," the vulpine Agent Peoria snapped.
"Figures…." Angelina Angelique snickered. "I bet most of these Toons are phonies, just working for themselves. Even if you proved all his papers were forged, he'd just bow and say 'but if course. You expected my real ones?'"
The various members of the Agencies shuffled their feet and looked at each other suspiciously.
"Nothing new there, then," Colonel Fenix sighed. "So, what can we do for you?"
"You are on the trail of the Theory Of Everything," Agent Houston said. "We need that Theory. With it – we could calculate… EVERYTHING. It'd be the intelligence coup of all time."
"Hold it!" Agent Lilac-chartreuse-graphite stepped between her and Colonel Fenix. "That Theory must never be used! It would reveal every secret in everyone's archives!"
"I imagine that'd be like changing the rules of poker so you can see everyone's cards, yes," Colonel Fenix said mildly. "The game would never be the same again."
"Maybe find the Theory and hide it in secret safe next to the promised Year 2000 jet-pack, the working slimming pill and the auto engine that runs on water?" Tlalocopa suggested.
The Other, Other Agency winced collectively. "You're not cleared for that!" Agent Houston growled.
"Contrary to popular belief, the Truth is Not out there," Calgari whispered in Shirley's ear-hole.
Colonel Fenix gestured to the two Agencies. "We have some ideas where to look, yes. If you want to lead on, go right ahead."
"What, and be the ones to walk right into the first ICD waiting * for us down the road?" Agent Lilac-chartreuse-graphite snapped. "I don't think so."
"Then we'll go ahead. With your permission." The phoenix said patiently.
"And have you grab all the glory? I think not." Agent Houston shook her head.
"Like, this is major stupid," Shirley glared at her. "Aren't we on the same side? Shouldn't we be going after the real enemy?"
"Such as that rogue Other (!) Agency, maybe?" Angelina Angelique asked innocently.
All eyes turned to her. "There's another bunch of us?" Agent Houston asked slowly, her ears right down.
Editor's note: Improvised Comic Device. Most Toon Agents dread, deep down that somewhere is a half-open door holding up a bucket of wallpaper paste with their name on it, just waiting for them.
"Oh, yes. I thought you'd be cleared to know a thing like that. I'm only a Third Lieutenant, and even I know." The magpie smiled.
Two teams of Agents looked at each other in shock. The panda, oddly enough, grabbed what appeared to be a teenage girl's toy dress-up doll and addressed it urgently in Chinese – and strangely enough, the doll immediately answered back in the same language.
"Back to base pronto – we have to kick this one upstairs and get briefed!" Agent Houston snapped, summoning her group and sprinting for the nearest black van, unmarked except for the licence plate.
"We'll get the clearances and the story before you do!" Agent Lilac-chartreuse-graphite made a dive for the other one, his team in tow. Engines revved, and inside a minute Unit Four Plus Two had the place to themselves again.
"Good work, Lieutenant Angelique," Colonel Fenix nodded. "They'll be back, of course. But it's bought us some time."
"Maybe more than you think, Sir," Calgari said brightly. "Telekinesis is handy stuff, isn't it? I swapped the licence plates of those identical black vans while nobody was looking. They've probably found out they're driving around in the wrong ones by now."
"And no doubt the vans are full of their rival's interesting equipment and information they're both looking through in a layby right now," Colonel Fenix said. "That'll definitely keep them busy awhile."
Shirley looked at the magpie suspiciously. "The Other (!) Agency. Is there any such bunch?"
Angelina winked. "Who knows? I just made it up. But let them try and prove there isn't."
"Clever indeed," Colonel Fenix mused. "Our dear fellow public servants are paranoid enough already. If they can't find any evidence, they'll probably take that to prove someone erased it so completely there's no trace left. And then they start worrying who could have possibly done that…"
"Absence of evidence isn't evidence of absence. It's certain proof of conspiracy," Calgari smiled.
Plucky would have loved all this, Shirley's aura said sourly. He was the one used to read 'Conspiracy! Absolute fact, not theory! Weekly' magazine and believe it all. Way bogus.
Colonel Fenix sighed. "Stand down, people. I'm going to talk to General Snafu about this."
An hour later Shirley was trying to relax in the trailer that served as their local headquarters, when Calgari made a stately entrance dressed in something rather more elaborate than their usual plain green Park Ranger outfits. The magpie and the Chupacabra followed, flanking him like acolytes.
"What wierdsville gear are you wearing?" Shirley blinked, looking up at Calgari. The raven was dressed in an elaborate, floor-length embroidered robe with a tall brimless hat; in his feather-hand he carried a long staff with a curved top like a shepherd's crook.
"Pretty kinky, eh? I like it!" Angelina exclaimed, her long black tail-feathers twitching. She winked at the raven. "Wear it for me tonight."
"Ask and thou shalt receive," Calgari bowed solemnly. "Well, last time I was at our town HQ I thought I'd give some trade to our new neighbour over the road, the Clerical Surplice Store. I rather like the rig myself, so I thought I'd try it on. Full set only cost a hundred bucks. Quite a deal." He opened a catalogue and pointed to an entry he had underlined.
"Archbishop's robe, chasuble, mitre and crozier, 1955 Mk VIII Block 6 exorcist assault pattern" Shirley read from the catalogue aloud. "Guaranteed official issued kit, field grade, some slight wear. Believed deconsecrated." Her bill wrinkled. "Way bogus." Calgari's religion was broadly in that pantheon, she knew – just the flip side of it, as befitted a dedicated Dark Side Toon. She usually had sympathy with the underdog, but had none for this under-avian.
"It's the full outfit. Mitre, cassock, alb and this thing... I forget what they call it." He patted the embroidered scarf-like fabric strip that went round the back of his neck and down to his waist in front.
"Stole?" Tlalocopa suggested.
The raven shook his head. "No, I bought it."
"And you look good in it!" Angelina enthused. "Even though I'm an agnostic. All sorts of religion can be fun. It's not so important exactly what you believe in, as long as you exterminate heretics."
Calgari waved at her in benediction. "And verily it sayeth in the Book of Saint Tom the Malign, Chapter IV verse XVII – 'I love the smell of burning heretics in the morning. It smells like – victory!'" He winked. "Say! I'm getting the hang of this."
"I always thought they'd smell like an overdone barbeque," Angelina asked innocently. She cast an appraising eye over Shirley. "Roast Loon – is it nearer duck or chicken? How can we find out?"
"Just wait till her school pal Mister Concorde gets elected." Calgari smiled pleasantly. "That's the great thing about a two-party system - it's him or Mister Hitcher. What a future for a tasty piece of guaranteed organic free-range poultry! Damned if you do, damned if you don't."
"And you should totally know about that," Shirley snapped. "Like, I remember the Inquisition dressed like you, hassling some of my incarnations. I always thought the Inquisition was a total waste of space. But if they caught you right now… I'd cheer-lead for them."
"You met Spanish Inquisition?" Tlalocopa asked.
"Mostly the Austrians, Hapsburg crew," Shirley replied, her bill in the air. "Just as bad, maybe worse. So-called Holy Roman Empire. They were a totally uncool bunch, fer sure."
"That makes a change. I really didn't expect the Austrian inquisition," Angelina murmured.
Calgari beamed. "I can do you a favour, Shirley! I know there's a certain wedding this weekend you're not keen on. In this gear – when the vicar asks "is there anyone present who knows a good reason why these two should not be wed?' I can storm in, out-rank him and rain on their parade big-time. I'll think of something that sounds plausible, trust me."
"Mmm. So maybe it wouldn't hold up in the long term." Angelina smiled happily, imagining the scene. "What an impact on their big day, though. Imagine it. 'Who was that mysterious masked Archbishop?' the crowd all gasp, as the dejected bride and groom depart unwed and in tears..."
"Si! Or maybe better than just rain on their parade. Mucho guano, dropped from great height" Tlalocopa agreed.
Calgari leaned on his crozier, looking Shirley in the eye. "So – how about it? It's no points off your karma if we do the job for you. And you know you want it. We can call it your Christmas present."
"She's so hard to shop for," Angelina sighed. "I bet she'd turn her nose up at any ordinary presents. A big drum of kitten poison? A rare first pressing vinyl '45 recording of 'Boogie-woogie amputee?' A collectable card game of Nazi war heroes? So hard to please."
"Swap you an Otto Skorzeny for your limited edition Ilsa the she-wolf?" Calgari asked brightly.
"I….." Shirley was about to burst out in outrage, and suddenly stopped. She found herself imagining Calgari's anti-bridal shower.
Like, hate to say it, but… he has a point, her aura grumbled on their private channel. And we've got to upset Margot's grody applecart any way we can. Getting married exactly on the dark solstice just has to be a part of her plan. If we can stop that... and don't have to do it ourselves… that's got to put the brakes on.
The material loon stood for an instant, poised. Futures propagated before her psychic gaze, every decision splitting history one way and another, in an endless decision tree. Some of those branches led down into the darkness. She took a deep breath, and shook her head violently. "No way! That's a mondo nega-toro!"
Calgari looked at his comrades, shaking his head sorrowfully. "Ah. She gave up her mate and her eggs to her worst enemy. That's real self-denial. Now she's even given up that."
"Aww. Come on, Shirley. You know you really joined this outfit to bust stuff and hurt people and… not just get away with it, we all get paid as well!" Angelina sidled up to the loon. "Why deny it? What's not to like?"
Shirley glowered at them. "We aren't all into that."
"Si! Corporal Barnes, he join up for the boot polishing, the pack-drill and mucho trench digging in the rain," Tlalocopa nodded.
"I'm totally not like that either, and you know it." Shirley asserted.
"Ah. So you say. But that's all right, my Master loves hypocrisy, it's one of his favourite inventions." The raven looked thoughtful. "We could put our embedded reporters to good use for once. I can just see those headlines now…" Calgari looked up, a wistful expression on his beak. "Wedding washout sparks riots. Passers-by surprised and delighted by the amazing quantities of blood."
"Like, no way! In this job we're defending innocent Toons who haven't got our powers," Shirley drew herself up, gathering her tattered dignity. "We only like, punish uncool dudes who break the laws. Of Nature, even, like those grody Undead."
"You say tomAYto, I say tomARto…." Calgari murmured. He switched on the big-screen TV. "It's time for our favourite show. Well, there's a friend of yours, Shirley. What a coincidence!"
"Isn't it just?" Angelina asked the universe innocently, looking up at the familiar face of Piers Keenleigh, resident interviewer of the 'WashingToon Today' show. His guest was one Shirley knew well.
Piers blinked at the dopey-looking buzzard in the lunatic fringe haircut. "Mister Concorde. What can you tell us about the way you're funding your campaign? There's a rumour you're getting foreign backing."
"Well, a real nice guy from West Africa he done email me, yup, yup, yup," Concorde nodded happily. "He was in a jam. He sure needed an American bank to get a ton of money out of his country, ayup. Perfectly legal, he said so himself. So I gave him all my account details, and next day there was about a squintillion dollars in it, ayup! He sure was real nice about it. Gave me ten percent just for helping him out. Gee, what a swell guy."
"You found the one in (x) million email scams that wasn't actually a scam?" Piers said in a strained voice.
"Sure did! Shows what you get for trusting people. I always do. And when I get to that ol' White House I will, too." Concorde's sleepy expression filled the camera. "Folks say such mean things about politicians. But Toons who spend their days shaking hands and kissing babies, they can't be so bad, nope, nope, nope."
Piers turned pale. "We understand your party is putting you forward in opposition to Mister Hitcher? And to capture his voters there's some… controversial bills being proposed?" At the buzzard's more-than-usually blank look, the reporter went on "Particularly the one calling itself the 'Food Security Volunteers Act'?"
"Oh, yup. A real nice guy on the staff he told me all about it. We're going to make sure there's enough food for everyone, with volunteer help. Sure does sound swell," the buzzard said.
"This being the act that says 'All Toons who are voluntary vegetarians are legally considered as having forfeit their place on the top of the food chain, and may be freely eaten without let or hindrance?" Piers blinked. "Isn't that a bit extreme? That you can just stir-fry a vegan in the street any time you get hungry?"
Concorde stared off into space for a few seconds with an intensity the Hubble telescope surely envied. "Well, the hungry-lookin' tiger guy who explained the piece of paper was real nice about it. He even lent me his very own pen, so I sure signed it. Yup, yup, yup. What a swell guy."
Piers turned to the camera. "Well, there we have it. As the great American Philosopher 'Bob' Dobbs put it so well – 'you know how dumb the average person is? Well, by definition, half of them are even dumber than that.' That's Mister Concorde, folks – a Toon for those average people."
"All hail the democracy of the sacred lowest common denominator" Calgari said piously.
Shirley looked at him and then the screen, aghast. "Like, way bogus."
Angelina snickered. "So… who are you going to vote for? One or the other is going to be our Head of State someday, looks like. Him or Mister Hitcher? And Loons aren't natural vegetarians, fer sure." She licked her sharp beak hungrily. "That's a good slogan of the future. 'Meat. Eat it or be it'. And Loonburger sounds tasty."
"A vegan eaten by her own Tofu… that's an appealing idea," Calgari said, a wicked twinkle in his beady black eye. "'Vengeance is mine, sayeth the soya bean, unjustly slain'. Failing that, eaten because of your own tofu… that'll do nicely." Calgari looked around meditatively "There's a jolly Robyn Hitchcock track about that – 'Eaten by her own dinner'." He pulled out his air guitar, and began to strum the intro.
"Play it, maestro!" Tlalocopa enthused.
"I am so out of here. Total psychic toxicity." Shirley turned her back, and stalked off to her trailer in disgust.
With the door securely closed, locked and warded, both loons sat and thought hard about their next righteous step.
"We have to stop Margot somehow. She can't like meddle with other Toons' futures, just because she can," Shirley declared.
That's a mondo affirmative, her aura agreed. So, what do we do? They recalled the unexpected psychic wall that had gone up last time they tried to directly probe Margot's plans.
"Nothing like those dark-side Toons want, that's fer sure," Shirley sighed, shaking her head. "Spoiling everyone's big day like that, just because one of the crowd deserves it… that's a zillion penalty points on the karma. I'd only come back reincarnated on the Happy Tree Friends show. A new incarnation every episode. And the shows are real short."
So, it looks like we can't get to Margot directly, and raining on the wedding is out. We'll have to knock the props from under her plans another way, Shirley's aura suggested. Like focus on that equine guy who's being set up to ruin Mary. Maybe he's the weak link in her grody scheme.
"Fer sure," Shirley agreed. She thought hard for a minute. "We'll use the Mirror of Nicrotis again. We found Margot with it last time. We can try and find him."
She checked in her drawer and pulled out the mirror, appreciating its sophisticated decorations that were old when the first ancestors of Toons were only doodles on cave-paintings. The main polished surface was black as obsidian but subtle rainbow highlights seemed to trickle around the edges, only visible out of the corner of her eye.
"Now…" Shirley sat on her bed, then levitated slightly off it as she gathered her powers. "Like, mirror, mirror, on the bed, show me those tacky plans ahead." She called to mind the image of the Toon donkey she had seen Margot's plans for, and using the Atlantean mirror as a focusing device, sent her powers spreading across Acme Acres in search of him.
Gotcha! Her aura responded jubilantly, a few minutes later. He's this side of town, even. That's him fer sure.
"What's he doing? Spying on Mary, like a total Perfecto stooge?" Shirley asked.
Her aura paused, and shrugged. That's a mondo nega-tory. He's just shovelling snow off some dude's driveway.
"No way!" Shirley exclaimed. "If he's Margot's stooge, we totally need to know." She thought hard. "We got into Margot's thoughts last time, and if she hadn't found some dark-side powers… we'd have got the whole plot. We'll get the rest of it from him."
You sure? Her aura asked carefully. Going into someone's mind like that… it's a way dark-side thing to do.
"Fer sure I'm sure," Shirley's mood ring began to darken. "If he's on Margot's side he's a totally rightful target."
If you say so… her aura conceded. But this went mondo wrong for us last time.
"So, Margot surprised us. That's not likely to happen twice," Shirley asserted. "How many dark-side psychics are there in this neighbourhood? Go for it."
Her aura nodded, gathering power and focusing it through the twenty thousand year-old artefact. Two miles away, a young Toon shovelling snow for a dollar a driveway stopped, frozen rigid as any of the snowmen on the lawns around him.
It's not like he's psychic exactly, Shirley's aura complained but he's got a mind of real… quality. Natural resistance.
"Like, we've got power enough," Shirley snapped. She had woken that morning feeling refreshed, and surprisingly energetic. "Break on through!"
If you're real sure about this… Shirley's aura mentally drew herself up, gathering energy like a material Toon would take a deep breath.
"Go for it." Shirley felt a slightly guilty thrill as she gathered her powers and launched them at an unsuspecting young Toon two miles away – No! She firmly told herself and her aura this is totally unlike Plucky's grody 'street stealth sniper' video game,Even if it looks a bit like it.
With her full power focussed through the mirror, Shirley pressed against the equine Toon's mind. She read the outermost layers, with little resistance – he was called Jack like all the males in his family, and was hard at work saving up money for college the next year. There was hardly a lawn or driveway out to commercial tender in that side of town he had not seen.
Fine, fine, Shirley's Aura nodded. But what we want to know… she flashed images of Margot Mallard past Jack's mind, expecting some instinctive recognition. There was none. Frustrated, she flashed an image of Mary Melody. No response there either.
Looks like he's not in on the plot, after all, Shirley's aura gave a mental shrug. He's innocent. In more ways than one. She had to admit, even if they were not the same species, both Margot and Mary were good-looking – and very indirectly they had fired associations in the young male's mind of a girlfriend he would like to find one day, though that vague image had definite long ears, black-tufted tail, and most importantly a particular scent.
"That or – it's been hidden deep. Margot blocked us out, remember. She could put a block on someone else's mind, but not so good as the one on hers." Shirley focussed her whole will. "We can like, totally break this."
That's not all that'd end up broken, her aura warned, looking around the surface thoughts of what appeared to be a pleasant young male. We should not be in here.
Shirley's stressed mind flashed up an association of a joke she had blasted Toons to a frazzle for making – you did not make the crack about making omelettes without breaking eggs in an avian's presence and expect to get away with it. "Negative-o on the choice front. In this case – that grody joke's right."
No way. I'm not going to do that, her aura drew herself up, standing apart. That'd be like some dark-side cop beating up suspects just to get evidence to convict them. I won't do it.
"Say what?" Shirley stared at her mutinous aura. "We have to. Whose side are you on?"
I'm not the one who should be asking THAT question, her aura replied darkly. She shut down the mental link – across the suburbs a few seconds later, Jack blinked, looked around dazed for a second and carried on with snow shovelling. You want to go scrambling Toons' psyches like that, ask the Addams Academy crowd. Not me.
"You come back here!" Shirley yelled most unharmoniously, the mirror falling onto her beanbag as her aura vanished in a huff, heading in the direction of the astral plane.
Taking thirty-three deep breaths, the material loon centred herself. She sighed. Darkness had fallen outside, and the strain of a long and frustrating day had taken its toll on her energies. An austere ration-pack meal of free-range quinoa and extra-soulful soul-food gungo peas helped restore them, but left her still frustrated. Looking round her narrow trailer, she blushed, remembering that morning.
"It'd like totally serve my aura right to come back to that scene again." She told herself defiantly. Looking around her trailer, she smiled. "An early night for me, fer sure. Let's see what happens, hot dream-wise. If it does, it's karma." Slipping out of her uniform, she relaxed, and turned out the lights.
Half an hour later, something dark in the corner of the trailer began to move again.
Unseen by either loon, sometime that night the face-down mirror spontaneously cleared and showed what would have happened if Shirley had taken that extra step. Far from shaking his head and carrying on with the shovelling, it showed Jack knocked flat by the mental bolt as the Loons smashed through his defences and rifled through his mind, frustrated at finding nothing incriminating. The young equine lay sprawled out in the snow for a few minutes – until a recognisable Most_Terrain_Vehicle just happened to pull up. By a staggering coincidence Mary Melody was in it alone, taking a short cut as she drove the rather thirsty vehicle for petrol – she spotted a still figure lying by the roadside, jumped out and immediately went to work on applying her first-aid training, giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to an unconscious casualty.
After a minute on that narrowly averted timeline Jack awoke, wholly alert, after a minute of sharing pheromone-laced breaths. He looked up at Mary in surprise, his eyes going wide – and around them rang out a spectacular Toon special-effect of biological alarm-clocks all suddenly going off deafeningly. Mary looked down at him, her eyes locked wide in astonishment – and if she had a tail, it would have locked to one side in an irresistible reflex…
Not a hundred yards from where Jack had been clearing driveways till sundown, someone else was anticipating some fun that evening. Wearing her portable headset computer, Jenny Bunny winked at her virtual pen-pal Charlene, a warmly dressed gerbil girl currently typing at an old keyboard far away amongst the snows of Medium Rock, Wisconsin. "Charlene – he's here! Henri. Just arrived from the airport." She swept her head-mounted camera at the entrance hall, where a slim young skunk male was greeting her parents with Gallic courtesy. "You see what I mean about him?"
You've mentioned him, yes, Charlene typed a thousand miles away. Looks nice. What's so special about him?
Jenny winked. "He's a rare type. He's cute, sensitive, intelligent, always very well presented, a little shy, cultured and artistic as anything. Writes poetry, designs clothes even. Real elegant styles."
So rare… not! The distant gerbil typed. Mother says there was one like that 135 miles away from here in the early 1980's. That's a meme we know. Won't do you any good though.
"You think so? Get this. He's all of that… and he likes girls!" Jenny whispered, her eyes locked on a well-brushed skunk tail as Henri bowed to elegantly kiss her Mother's hand.
OMG YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME! There was a pause of a minute while someone fell off a suddenly wet chair. Sry 4 that. Having 2 clean chair. Messy.
"He has that effect on people," Jenny snickered.
Ur not kidding. There was another pause. But yr lil sis Bonnie she got in 1st?
Jenny shrugged. "Yes, so? You go to a lot of gigs. The warm-up act comes on first, but the main band don't worry about that, do they? At the end of the gig who even remembers the support band?"
Kno what acts ur thinking of, Charlene typed in a jealousy-tinged font. Any sknk-hnk like that spare 2 loan?
"Not around here. They're a special import item only," Jenny sighed. "Rare resource, like a gold mine. And I aim to do some claim-jumping to bag me a skunk-hunk for Christmas. Got to get busy!"
Jumping? Well UR a bunny! Charlene reluctantly logged out.
Jenny smiled, smoothing down her new dress. "A little black number – a classic," she told herself as she prepared to launch into the familial fray. The vertical white stripe on the back was a fashion statement she hoped would get her an appreciative audience of one.
Her ears dipped at the sight of Katy, her sister dressed in her bunny-girl outfit though without the clip-on ears.
Katy nodded in the direction of Henri. "Nice. Nicely wrapped up, too. Then, he can't 'conceal' like most Toons – so he has to."
"I always thought that was a hot idea," Jenny breathed. "Knowing everything's always… there. All the time."
"And wardrobe malfunctions would be well worth looking at." Katy elbowed her in the ribs.
The littermates looked at each other confidently, their fur brushed and glossed, their outfits honed to the finest detail. Nice try – but there's no way she's going to win, they thought in sync.
"After you, dear sister," Katy gave a mocking bow, gesturing towards the other end of the burrow where their mother was taking Henri's coat.
"Age before beauty," Jenny smiled sweetly to her five-minute-older sister.
Watching from a safe distance, Mortimer shook his head, resigned to having to shovel fallout regardless of which way the exchange went. "At least, I don't have any rivals for Shelley," he reflected. Suddenly he blinked. "Did just say that?" He asked, wonderingly.
A mile through the woods, another burrow complex had visitors. Plucky had dropped in on the Bunnies just as the light was fading, having some news he was bursting to share. He had brought his daughters along, in the hope of roping Babs into some nest-sitting while both he and their current nest-sitters were away on their respective honeymoons. Currently the green mallard was expounding on his interview with the startup film company based up the coast in Oregon.
"Whoo-hoo-hoo! The Studio loved me, of course. They want me on their next film. Shooting starts next month. Stand aside, lesser Toons, Plucky Duck is on the road to fame and stardom!" Plucky waved a thick sheaf of scripts, his lines already exuberantly marked in fluorescent highlighter.
"That's great, Plucky. So, your true talents are being recognised at last," Babs said, keeping a straight face with some effort.
"Of course! At last I find my true role," Plucky struck a heroic pose.
"Though I don't generally like horror films…" Babs added innocently.
"Oh har har, it is to laugh," Plucky turned up his bill. "It's an action drama, naturally, and just as naturally I'm the star." He looked at Babs sidelong. "But if the next one's a Biblical Epic, I can tell Central Casting where they can find a Philistine if they want one."
"Phyllis Steine, lovely girl," Buster mused. "Though always with the gefilte fish sandwiches."
Just then Babs' phone rang. She picked it up, and her ears went up in surprise. "Marcia? Calamity's hurt?" She listened for a minute. "Yes! You get him over here. We'll go out through Wacky-land. The entrance is this-a-way."
"Technical navigation term," Buster explained.
Plucky looked annoyed. "Since when did Big Science trump Big Stardom? If he thinks he can up-stage me he's got another think coming."
"Plucky," Buster explained with more patience than he felt, "Calamity's in trouble. He needs our help."
A few minutes later the doorbell rang. Babs checked the periscope, nodded and hit the button for the great concrete slab to open wide. The elevator platform went up and descended, now carrying Marcia and two burly human Toons in clean white medical coats carrying a warmly wrapped stretcher between them.
"Hey, Calamity! You'll never guess the news I got!" Plucky grinned, poking the blanket-wrapped bundle on the stretcher. He stared at the still form for a few seconds, annoyed, and poked it harder. "Oh, very funny, trying to play it cool. Well, you won't duck out of acknowledging this duck's big move."
"The patient is Catatonic, according to the notes," the first warder said.
"Calamity? That's terrible! You mean he can't even hear about my success?" Plucky said. "Are you sure?"
"He's not a feline, so technically he can't be cat-a-tonic," Babs mused. "And he's very technical. Coyote-tonic, maybe. Or that could be what he's short of."
"We've got to get him to the Grand Unified Field. You've been there," Marcia looked at the bunnies. "Can you help us find it?"
"Sure! We'll lead the way," Buster glanced at his pink wife, and winked. "If that's the place he can get the Coyote-tonic he needs – let's saddle up and hit the trail."
"Saddle up? How can you put a saddle on a direction? And what has the trail done to you?" Marcia asked curiously.
Plucky looked down at his daughters. "Aww, shoot. I want to come along and show you how it's done. But I can't take the kids along on an epic like this, and it'd take too long to drop them at the apartment and get back."
"You're welcome to stay and house-sit," Babs nodded, spin-changing into an explorer's outfit. "Make yourself at home! No knowing how long we'll be gone. Could be days."
Plucky nodded gratefully. "Margot, Gladys and Gracie have the apartment tricked out as one big wedding boutique right now – acres of tulle and lace everywhere. There's not room in there to swing a TV remote."
"Right. There's food in the refrigerator. Help yourself. Now – wagons roll!" Buster spin-changed into a Western outfit. "Let's ride on out and stake us a claim on that there Grand Unified Prairie."
"Prairie? I thought it was a field," Marcia queried. "That was the prediction." Its existence had been hinted at by experiments at the new Even Larger Hadron Collider that was now throwing around even larger hadron particles the size of bowling balls. Big Science these days turned its nose up at old-fashioned, puny particles.
Buster grinned. "It's out in the Untamed Cartoon Wilderness. It's big and wild and rolls on about forever."
"If it looks like a prairie, feels like a prairie, smells like a prairie…" Babs said. "We found a mind-field there, and in the creeks there's whole beds of prairie oysters growing."
"Let's move it! You hold the fort, compadre," Buster nodded to Plucky, hitting the elevator controls. The big door above them slid open, and Calamity's stretcher was carried onto the elevator platform. "Git along, little doggies!" He sang, summoning and strumming a guitar.
"Hmm…." Plucky heard Babs argue as the platform rose out of sight through the crib-work. "We've got one here already. Calamity's not exactly a doggie, but he's a long, that is tall, little canine, at least…."
The big elevator platform reached the surface, cutting off the sound. When it moved down again it was empty, the big sliding doors already moving back into position.
"Well, kiddies. A new house to look around. And all underground, this time!" Plucky enthused. "We've slept in caves before, remember – but with this one, the roof doesn't drip on you!" He phoned Margot to tell her about the change of plans; she seemed quite relieved her energetic mate and the chicks were staying away from a cramped apartment that was currently full of carefully measured expensive fabric being held on dressmaker's rented dummies with sharp pins.
Candi looked round, taking it all in. "Looks nice, Daddy. A big door. Safe."
Plucky grinned. "This place used to be one of those tough concrete burrows I told you about. That's why. These were the safest places on the planet!" The inconvenient fact that even in Retro Rocket Rumble he spent a lot of time with his second-generation missile fleet zeroing in on their opposite numbers on the steppes of KazakhsToon while the game program did the same to his launch sites, he mentally waved aside as 'just a game thing'.
Ten minutes later the refrigerator was duly raided, the big-screen TV switched on and Plucky comfortably installed on the sofa. "So-fa, so good," he quipped. "This is the life, eh, kiddies? We'll be able to do this all the time in the new place." He paused, and his eyes lit up at a sudden happy thought. "Naturally, sometimes I'll be away making smash-hit movies. Soon you'll be able to watch me on TV even when I'm away! Won't that be great?"
Brandi ignored the TV, looking up at her father. "Story, daddy?"
"Oh, sweetie. You don't need any more lame fireside talks, ever again. Not when we're back in civilisation with a thousand channels of real professional entertainment." He grabbed the controller and flicked randomly. "Whoo-hoo! Look, kiddies – 'Celebrity all-fatality monster-truck death-match!" Gladys and Gracie's cheap TV didn't get this channel."
Brandi was silent a minute. "I liked Mother's stories. The ones they taught her in school. Great Toons who changed the world."
"Mother says when we don't know, always think 'what would Genghis Khan have done?'" Candi confirmed.
The chicks shared memories of a long Summer evening, with fresh fish roasting on the embers of the camp fire. Margot had been passing on her Perfecto Ethics lessons to a pair of children who were very keen to learn.
"The Mongols had their own very clear idea of the world," she had told her chicks "it was a great, wide open plain going on forever where their horse herds could roam. Nothing in the way, nothing to stop them. They didn't need farms, or houses, or cities, or anything like that. They didn't want them to be there. Or anywhere. So when they took over a country – soon they just weren't there anymore. Nothing but a great clean, empty land with their herds grazing and the Mongol tents pitched here and there."
"What happened to all the people in the cities?" Candi had asked, looking up into their mother's eyes.
Margot had shrugged. "As the great writer Ambrose Bierce said about Natives –' Persons of little worth found cumbering the soil of a newly discovered country. They soon cease to cumber; they fertilize…' let's just say the grass grew a lot greener where they used to be."
Brandi had nodded seriously. "Green grass is good."
The chicks turned away from the TV and looked at each other. "They were great," Brandi said matter-of-factly. "They put things right."
"Yes," Candi confirmed. "It all had to go and it did."
Plucky changed channels and waved a feather-hand, intent on the show. Last season's unfashionable C-list soap opera actors were suddenly trying to remember what exactly they had been told about the Mk. XVIII anti-handling fuse they were faced with. One of them still had his baseball cap turned the wrong way round, and the off-screen commentator was predicting the anti-skateboarder mine would detect that any second. "Run along and explore, kiddies. I'll have some dinner ready for you in an hour or so."
"Yes, daddy." His daughters closed their eyes briefly in concentration as their senses reached out, then opened them wide in surprise at what they had spotted. As one, they turned and waddled purposefully down one of the long, sealed-off corridors that Babs had mentally labelled 'for future burrow expansion'. If her family ever expanded to anything like the size of her mother's, she was certainly going to need it.
Three hours later, Plucky pulled himself away from the explosively exciting finale of "Pro-Celebrity landmine clearance" and put together an evening meal, thankful that Babs and Buster kept some tins of fish in the cupboard for guests. "Hey, kiddies! Come and get it!" He called out, hammering the side of Babs' best cast iron casserole with a handy carrot tenderiser.
It took a minute and a half for Brandi and Candi to trot in, noticeably tired and brushing dust off each other's feathers. "We're here, Daddy," Candi panted.
"Li'l scamps," Plucky said fondly, leading them to the table. "Have been having fun exploring?"
Brandi nodded solemnly. "We found a big friend in the ground," she announced. "His manitou was so sad. Nobody had talked to him in so very long."
"So very, very long," Candi added.
Plucky shook his head, smiling. "Kids and their imaginary friends," he sighed, reminiscing. "But hey! Now I can buy you the latest Trendi Trudi dolls, like I just saw the advert. They're internet enabled, of course; all Trendi Trudies swap worldwide hot gossip and fashion tips with each other 24/7. Real modern girl stuff - and share their secrets with their owners! You'll never need to make up imaginary friends ever again."
His daughters exchanged glances.
"Yes, Daddy," Candi said dutifully, tucking into her sardine and carrot mash.
Plucky beamed at them. "You'll soon forget all that folksy wilderness stuff, don't worry. There's so much neat stuff to have – clothes and toys and all the latest gadgets modern kids just gotta have to keep up - and you'll have it all." He turned the TV up, switching to a shopping channel. "See – even the adverts are great these days!"
On the screen flashed up the latest Acme product, proclaiming itself as 'the ultimate barbecue set – impress your neighbours with the eco-friendly, carbon-free cookout! Now combines extreme fiery Cajun tradition with space-age thermonuclear technology for the ultimate in Fusion cuisine! Complete with spare smokeless pure Tritium refills, now available in the new economy one-pound packs!'
The twins blinked, and looked at each other.
We need some of that for our friend. Stuff we can't make or fix, Brandi narrow-casted.
Yes. Candi mentally nodded. "Daddy – can we have one of those? It looks neat." She pointed to the typical ACME product on screen, while very small print flashed by at subliminal speed explaining the usual ACME safety precautions and danger disclaimers.
Plucky chuckled. "Anything for you, sweetie. Anything you want on TV, just you ask!" He pulled out his well-supplied credit card and ordered, pleased to see his chicks making healthy progress consumer-style.
Brandi nodded. "Thanks, Daddy. We have a list."
Two hours later and some distance away in a direction that would not fit on a map of any sane geometry, Babs and Buster made camp in the midst of Wacky-Land.
"So, what do you think of 'Pluck trek, the Next Generation'?" Buster asked Babs as they set up camp, the three shelters arranged in an exact square Wacky-land style. It was not Winter in any recognisable form here, but just in case they had rigged up a special tarpaulin shelter that Marcia insisted would be proof against the elements. * They had had experience of what Wacky-land called 'the odd shower,' and knew how odd that could be.
Unlike the original version of the element-proof tarpaulin, Calamity had tested this model successfully against Terbium, Francium and Praseodymium penetrating from the frontal arc at point-blank range. Dubnium remained a danger from the sides and rear at 200 yards.
Babs hesitated. "They're nothing like I expected. Nothing like Plucky. There's a reason for that. Shirley… you know, what she did to them before they even hatched."
Buster nodded. Babs had tearfully spilled the beans on what had happened at her long-awaited sleepover, explaining why Shirley had not been around that morning to eat any of the free-range organic beans that Babs had laid in especially for her breakfast. "Last time I was at the Acme Mega-mall, next to the restrooms there's that sign 'baby changing room', you know?
Babs smiled. "Mapping out the places we'll need to know, Buster?"
Her buck stroked her ears, though his own were drooping. "There was a lady with her cub there just as I was going past – she was saying to the attendant 'I'd like to change this for one that doesn't cry so much.' She did, too." He nuzzled Babs' cheek ruff with his own. "I'd never do that."
"Me neither – that's why we quarrelled with Shirley." Babs was silent for a minute. "Well, I say quarrelled – we didn't say much before she stormed out. But she must have read what we thought about her rubbing out Plucky's contribution."
"She always knew what he's like. Plucky is… well, Plucky," Buster shrugged. "It's not like he's ever going to change. But Margot seems to like him the way he is. She could be good for him. And he deserves to have some fun after being stuck on a nest then stranded four years, several dimensions away from the nearest pizza."
Suddenly Babs snickered. "Is that why you and Vinnie went easy on him at his stag night? The usual thing these days is the groom wakes up the morning of the wedding, just short of lethally hung-over, penniless, stark naked and handcuffed to a lamp-post in a distant country where he doesn't even recognise the language, let alone speak it. And there's no airport."
"Eeehh… the thought had occurred to us," Buster waggled his eyebrows.
"Hmm. So, Brandi and Candi. From what Miss Granny taught us about Toon genetics… they were due to get all the flip side, everything we never see in Plucky. His goodness, his humility, his common-sense…" Babs counted on her adorable toes. "Sounds like Shirley didn't believe her. That's just the bits I'd have thought she'd have wanted her chicks to get from Plucky."
"And now they won't." Buster thought hard. "Comedic Nature abhors a vacuum, they say."
"So that's why so many vacuum flasks get comically broken, naturally!" Babs grinned. "Always wondered."
"True. But in this case – whatever they got from Shirley, would sort of – expand to fill the gap." Buster thought hard. "So, psychic powers, check."
"And in spades," Babs agreed. "Plus Shirley's cast-iron willpower."
"Plucky never showed any common-sense, so that's another thing he'd likely have given them, and isn't now." Buster scratched his head-fur. "Enormous powers and no safety-catch. Could be Interesting Times ® ahead. Especially since they've probably picked up Margot's memes, not Shirley's."
"Mmm. At Perfecto, they say 'with great power comes great freedom from responsibility'; Rhubella's mentioned it." Babs relaxed in her buck's arms for a few minutes. "You know, Buster… if I had a bunch of past incarnations like Shirley, I'm glad I don't remember them."
"How so?" Buster kissed her pink nose. "Maybe you were the Queen of Comedy in Atlantis."
"Well, maybe. If I was, I hope I'd had a matching King back then and I'd still remember him, like it or not. And maybe all the others, in all the other lives." Babs paused. "Every incarnation, a lot of good bucks. Or just one true love of a lifetime." Babs kissed back.
"And in Plucky's case, he's got to compete with all the drakes Shirley ever loved, going way back" Buster said. "That's tough competition. It's like Shirley's been married hundreds of times, even though she's only our age. In this incarnation, anyway."
Babs suddenly snickered. "And in Margot's case, Plucky just has to be better than any of the Perfectos. Faint praise."
"Faint, fer sure, like Shirley'd say," Buster said. "But if it got me you – I'd go for it."
"Oh, you." Babs relaxed, stroking her buck's blue fur. "Maybe that's why Shirley didn't want to marry. Her mother's the same. Whoever they marry has to compete with everyone they ever married. It doesn't seem fair."
"Well, we're all the way we were raised," Buster said. "I know where you got some of your talent - your mother was all set for a stage career, you told me?"
"I'll say! My parents first met on stage, back in the hippie days. They were in that smash hit musical 'Hare!' I've seen the film version." Babs spin-changed into a retro version of her Power Dressing business suit, mutated to a flower-power-dressing style. "This is the dawning of the age of aq-HARE-ious... the age of aq-HARE-ious… aq-HARE-ious!" she sang into a chunky 1960's microphone.
A few paces away under a similar element-proof shelter, Marcia shook her head in her usual bafflement at the antics of the Earth Toons, as she cared for the unconscious coyote. This was a dangerous place for a scientist, she knew – there probably were naked singularities in the neighbourhood just waiting to jump out and expose themselves to her, and unexploded theories lying around ready for her to step on. The bunnies did not seem to be bothered about that sort of thing.
"A most alarming prospect." Despite the temperature being warmer that a summer noon-day on Mars, she shivered. It seemed to be a local meme she had picked up. "Professor Coyote's Committee deals with That Which Man-kind Was Not Meant To Know – does that apply to Mars-kind as well?"
End Chapter Ten