The Legend of Gizmoduck

Part 95

Under the Sea

Reginald Bushroot was so confused.

Thrusters equated to a car steering wheel and an accelerator pedal. The trick was that the steering was in reverse and each direction's accelerator was on a separate hand-operated lever... so it was nothing like a car steering wheel and there were ten accelerators.

If that wasn't complicated enough, there was also the anti-gravity system to think of. This one was a real brain bender. Reginald still had no proper idea of why the anti-gravity units even existed. Couldn't they just do everything with thrusters? The short answer was 'no'. He could control each unit, but he needed to ignore that fact and focus on what they were doing as a grid. The reason that the units could be controlled individually was for a 'redundancy plan'.

Meanwhile, time ticked on. The system had been explained to them and now Sylvia was explaining it back to Reginald. Still, Reginald wasn't getting it.

Adding to Reginald's confusion was a mildly terrifying personal question. Where was all his energy going? The harder he thought about what he was learning, the faster his ability to focus vanished. But why? He didn't have a headache. He wasn't sensing any ill-will toward him on the Condoris. But if nobody was to blame, where was his energy going?

This was getting out of hand. Reginald was visiting hydroponics so often it was obvious to anyone that he had a problem. He was getting funny looks from the other agents. Reginald wanted to see an end to his growing embarrassment. He decided to ask for Muddlefoot's insight. The captain was a vampire; he had to know something about what was sapping Reginald's energy.

Agent Muddlefoot was overseeing repairs on a system Reginald hadn't come across.

He thought to try a casual conversation. "Hi, Muddlefoot... What's this thing do?"

"Plasma-shakes." Muddlefoot said in a dark tone.

Reginald's breath hitched. This 'casual' conversation had turned dark very quickly. "You're joking. W-we're supposed to be the good guys."
"My ancestors ruled over Calisota. They didn't make us a democracy just to have it overthrown by a pack of un-alive nutcrackers."

It was like Reginald was talking to an entirely different person and this one was terrifying.

"A-aren't we technically in the same category?" Reginald asked.
The captain snorted. "Remember that Nazi you bit?"
"Yeah?"
"What was his name?"
"I-I didn't ask."

Muddlefoot's heart-rate slowed. "You... didn't ask."
"N-no. I realise that wasn't polite of me, but he was tied up and... w-you know they only give you their rank and serial number anyway, right?"

"Hooter!" Muddlefoot let out an annoyed huff.
"What?" Reginald fretted. "I wouldn't have bitten him at all if-."

The captain stormed out of the room, ignoring Reginald's words.

Reginald hurried after him.

Muddlefoot went through the circular door into the captain's quarters. Agent Hooter was sitting having coffee as he did his paperwork.

"Hooter." Muddlefoot's tone was stern as he stepped before the table. "You hired a shovel-head!" He gestured back to Reginald standing between him and the ant farm display.
"No. He's just a little green." Hooter disagreed. "You can tell just by talking to him." He turned his eyes to Reginald.

'What was a shovel-head...?'

Muddlefoot shook his head and turned to Reginald. "What was the name of the Nazi you bit?"
"I told you; I don't know." Reginald was feeling even less comfortable now.
"You said you didn't ask." Muddlefoot said.
"No, I didn't ask! But I also didn't kill him, which is more than I can say for y-!"

"You hear that?" Muddlefoot cut him off and turned back to Hooter. "He said he 'didn't... ask'!"

Hooter's heart rate sped up and his face flushed red. "He's a college professor and he's with 'us' now. There's nothing else to say about it."
"I don't get it." Reginald frowned.
"You better make the best darn report of your life about this, Agent. You'll end up sectioned off into ghost patrol if you don't."
Hooter stood up. "You are out of line!"
"I outrank you."
"Your husband outranks me, Mrs Muddlefoot; you're a housewife!"
Muddlefoot straightened, folding his arms. "You know I'm right."

Hooter clenched his teeth. "No, no you are not 'right', Mrs Muddlefoot! You cannot 'clinically diagnose' someone's character like that! Now, please vacate S.H.U.S.H. property; we have a lot to do here and you're interfering with our operations."
"Sure, I'll leave. But that doesn't change your vampire situation. Vampires never change, they do the same thing over and over." Muddlefoot turned to Reginald. "If you ever find your sire, do the world a favour and dust 'em."

He left the room and the circular door closed.
"...So much for asking for help." Reginald muttered, staring at the closed door.
"Unbelievable." Hooter sank down in the chair. "What a tempestuous she-devil." He looked up at Reginald. "I'm dreadfully sorry about that, Agent." He let out a sigh.

Reginald sat down opposite him. "What was... 'she' going on about?"
"We... can't judge her too harshly; she's a very passionate woman and it hasn't been a week since she was turned."
"But what she was saying..."

"Erm..."

"Am I sending you onto ghost hunting duty?" Reginald demanded to know.
"Not in the least." Hooter chuckled weakly. "Thank you for the kind thought."
Reginald sighed in relief.

Hooter was still uncomfortable. "As ludicrous as it sounds, I will have to answer the issue in my report, now that she's raised it."
"This 'shovel-head' thing?"
Unwilling to answer that directly, Hooter cleared his throat. "I'm... sorry to have to ask, but how long ago did you discover your vampiric condition?"

"My infection 'occurred' approximately three days ago. Discovering what it was, however-."
"Three days? That's positively fine, then!" Hooter was suddenly cheerful. "S.H.U.S.H. policy is to give a week's grace before we start making any such assessments. Her report on you will be dismissed immediately..." His tone grew serious again. "On the same token, however, we shouldn't have you working."

"I'm getting to Duckburg! Us... to Duck...burg..." Reginald clenched his beak. "Look, don't-." He sighed at Hooter's questioning expression. "My sire's in Duckburg." He explained. "I'm told. So I hope he is. My friend's pretty convinced. We can do more than one thing when we get there, right? The Nazis come first, obviously."

Hooter's query cleared to optimism. "It's your first day on the job and you're already multi-tasking calamities." He smiled. "You have the makings to be S.H.U.S.H.'s top agent."
"Really? Cool!" Reginald beamed back at him. He felt strangely empowered.

"I'm going to have another go at getting this space cave airborne."

Reginald got back to the control room to find a crew dismantling the piloting station.

"Er, what...?" He went over to Muddlefoot studying his clipboard notes. "What are you guys doing?"

"We're dividing the piloting station up into two." Muddlefoot answered, looking up at him. "The changes we're making should increase your chances for success. There'll be two of you on the controls rather than just the one."
"So I don't have to worry about the anti-gravity system?" Reginald asked.
"No. You'll still be managing the thrusters and the antigravs. Doctor Sputterspark will be concerned with everything else."

"Everything else?" 'What else is there?'

Notebook in hand, Sylvia picked her way through the mess to him. "I think I've got everything here. Why don't we grab some tea while we wait, Reggie? It's about that time anyway."
"Uh, sure..."
"We'll notify you when it's finished." Muddlefoot said.
"Sure." Reginald left the room with Sylvia by his side.

Reginald spent his extended afternoon break sitting at the table, worrying about Marigold. Sylvia was busy, doodling in her S.H.U.S.H provided notebook.

After all this was over he needed to get Marigold some nice winter clothes. This morning had been nippy and it was going to get much worse when winter actually hit. Then, of course, was what future jobs S.H.U.S.H. might give him. What were the controls going to look like when they got back? It seemed that the hard work of learning wasn't easing up for Reginald. All that did was cut out the part he was nowhere near up to learning.

'No, stop thinking about it!'

"Sylvia, how does Elmo know Darkwing Duck?"
She looked up from her scribbles. "I'm friends with his mother. Oh, he's not that old, Reggie, don't look so shocked." She chuckled.
Reginald closed his beak. "What's he like?"
She shrugged. "A little eccentric."
"Eccentric?"
"They call 'me' eccentric. After they're done calling me other things."

Reginald felt bad. "I'm sorry I used the wrong addressal earlier. I'd assumed your husband had died."
Sylvia shrugged. "It's alright. If he'd have turned up for the wedding he'd have been a different man."
"That's rather profound."
Sylvia pushed her notepad over to him. "Look at this, Reggie."

Reginald took the pad and looked at the drawing she'd been busy working on. "It looks like a Superpig comic with stick figures."
"Oh, I'm sorry it's not an oil painting! Just read it... you old fuddy-duddy."

"The return of the M-?" He tried to read the scrawling writing.
"Martian space plant. Where did you learn how to read?"
"Hammington School for-."
"Look!" She pointed, cutting him off. "Photosynthetic hull. There, see? Isn't it simple?"

Reginald stared at the page. The Condoris wasn't photosynthetic, what was she talking about? The implication sounded terrible. "I-no, I don't understand."

"Take one electric power-grid, add one psycho-kinetic plant and wham!" She clapped her hands together, making Reginald flinch. "Presto, electro-plant-o!" She giggled. "It couldn't be simpler!"
Reginald gulped. "Maybe have a look at the new stations first."
"Sure, we can keep doing things the hard way." Sylvia shrugged went back to scribbling in her book.

Reginald watched her. "So you're into the funnies."
She looked up at him. "No, frankly, I'm into Wells and Verne. My son's into the funnies."
"Wells? The Island of Doctor Moreau?"
"See, we do have something in common." She chuckled.

The door opened and Agent Lanley waved at them. "We're finished. Let me show you."

They went back to the piloting room. Sylvia's new station was front to front with Reginald's.

Reginald glanced around at the new control layout. "Um..." Ten directional accelerators, eighteen anti-gravity units, and one grid status reader. This was all he'd been working on learning all morning, and this was all there was now. He sat down in the chair, looking for what was missing.

"Oh, no..."
"Reggie, are you alright?" Sylvia asked.
"It's gone..." He lamented. "I took it for granted..." He rubbed his face.
"What's the matter, Reggie?!" Sylvia demanded. "What's gone?"

"How am I supposed to drive without any kind of windscreen?"
"I tell you, of course."
"They took the navigation panel away."
"I have it. It's right here. Have a look."

Reginald stood up and went around to her side.

"So I figure out all the things that need to be done, and you concentrate on doing them." Sylvia explained.
He exhaled. "I don't like it."
"Reggie, it's taking all your concentration to handle the controls-."
"I know." He sighed and rubbed his face.