Honker stirred in his bed and glanced at his clock. 8:30 on a Saturday morning. Tank's snoring could be heard across the hall. His father, Herb, wouldn't up until about 10:00, and won't be selling his Quackerware until about twelve-thirty -- after he had scarfed down lunch. Distant clicking from a typewriter indicated his mother was downstairs working on something for the Parent-Teacher Association. Sometimes the nine-year-old wondered why Binkie Muddlefoot seemed to be stuck in the fifties. He picked the copy of Sciencebills lying on his nightstand and flipped it open, specifically to the interview.
It might be a coincidence, but it might not be, thought the young duck, slipping on his thick glasses.
There were several points of interest in the interview text, Median Gray's first -- the physicist was rather modest and quiet. One concerned his parentage:
Professor Gamma: Our sources say you were adopted. Is that true?
Median Gray: Oh, don't throw those silly rumors in my face. Why is it whenever someone hears the word 'adopted'; they assume there's some sort of cliche soap-opera story behind it? Yes, I was adopted, but I wasn't left on a doorstep.
Gamma: So you lived at an orphanage?
Gray: Not exactly. I was born in St. Canard General Hospital. My adoptive mother, Ashley Gray, worked there as a nurse. In the delivery ward, one of the mothers had laid a dud egg, but somehow it had been forgotten. My mother remembered it later that day and went to take it to Pathology, but it hatched when she touched it. She had been lonesome since her husband died, and wanted a child to raise, so she saw this as her chance.
Gamma: Would you want to meet your adoptive parents?
Gray: Well, who wouldn't? But I think Ash Gray did a good job of raising me, and I'm proud to call her my mother.
Another piece referred to Gray's parallel universe theories:
Gray: This universe is sometimes nicknamed "The Compromise Verse" because well, it is one of compromise. Dualistic and opposing forces act on it, but one never quite dominates the other. Sometimes it seems like crime is rampant through the world, but we are far from being complete anarchy. My partner, Gyro Gearloose, and I speculate there are two parallel universes -- each with one force dominant. Gyro has successfully traveled to one. We arbitrarily called it the Posiverse, never mind why.
Gamma: Wait a second. How did you accomplish this scientific feat?
There was a photograph of what looked like a blue phone booth. A door was ajar, revealing a small control panel inside. A display on the panel read Y = 4 e_91 sin(9x) + 7.
Gray: We built this machine together. You just step inside and enter the equation of this universe. We calculated the equation of this place to be four to the ninety-first power times the sine of nine x plus seven. To get to the Posiverse, we used the same equation, only replacing "sine" with its reciprocal function -- cosecant.
Gamma: Impressive. And what happened on Mr. Gearloose's expedition?
Gray: He didn't stay very long. Said it creeped him out. He said he landed in a lab identical to ours, but deserted. He snatched a piece of paper and a pen and came back. As soon as he stepped out of the machine, the two items disintegrated. Like antimatter meeting an equal amount of matter.
Gamma: Turned into energy?
Gray: One hundred percent pure energy. We hope this knowledge will help us find new, cleaner forms of energy.
Gamma: Aren't you afraid your dimension machine will fall into the wrong hands?
Gray: There's always that risk, but the machine must be activated by a code only which I know.
Gamma: Would you want to visit another universe? Meet yourself?
Gray: Be a stranger to my own face? It seems better suited for science fiction novels, and I'm only concerned with using science fact to help this universe.
Gamma: You could win the Nobel Prize for Physics.
Gray: There's someone else more deserving. And I'd only be considered if my theories were correct. But it is food for thought, no?
Gamma: And thanks for sharing that food for thought.
Gray: The pleasure was all mine.
Honker had an idea. It was a shot in the dark, but it might work. He slipped out of bed, shoved his feet in his bunny slippers and walked down the hall. He picked the phone up from its cradle and dialed the National Association for Discovery and Exploration (NADE). Gyro Gearloose was the current president.
"Hello?" came the voice of the receptionist.
"Hi. Um, is Gyro Gearloose in?"
"No, but who's calling?"
"Honker Muddlefoot."
"Hold on." A few minutes of silence, then ringing. The receptionist had obviously forwarded the call. Honker smiled a little. Good thing I had those essays published in Sciencebills.
"Hello?" came another voice.
"Mr. Gearloose?"
"Yes, who is this?"
"Honker Muddlefoot."
"Weren't you the NADE's Science Scholar of the Year?"
Honker was grateful that Gyro wasn't able to see him blush. "Well, I hoping you could help me contact Mr. Gray--"
"Median Gray? Sorry. He recently left Duckburg. Said he was going to St. Canard to work on some other projects. I gave him the dimension machine because I had an assignment from my other boss, but he was very vague about the whole thing. Didn't even leave a forwarding address." There was a crash on Duckburg's side of the line.
"Gyro!" came a heavy Scottish accent.
"Sorry, Mr. McDuck," came the inventor's voice. "Listen, I've got to skiddaddle. Maybe we'll do lunch and discuss some of your ideas."
"Thanks for your help, Mr. Gearloose."
"Anything to help a fellow scholar. Pretty soon you'll be President of the NADE." Click.
Honker tried to keep the capillaries in his cheeks from dilating. He sighed happily at the praise.
********************************************************************************************
The Mallard's blue car pulled up in front of a rather large two-story house. The house was constructed of light-brown bricks, while a wraparound porch beckoned invitingly. The yard, while not a garden, was well-kept. Some wildflowers peppered the lawn.
Drake pulled into the driveway and turned off the ignition. "Well, this is it."
Gosalyn got out of the car and ran toward the front door. She reached for a brass knocker and banged it on the walnut entranceway.
The door opened, and a male duck appeared behind it. He wore a simple outfit; black slacks, a pressed white shirt, and black vest. A gold pocket watch dangled from a chain hooked to the vest. "Well, I'll be. Look who dropped by. Nice to finally see the girl behind the name. Gosalyn, is it?"
Gosalyn had no doubt this was her father's father. She recognized the stocky build and feathered sideburns. Her adoptive grandfather's dark eyes were accented by thick auburn hair that was graying at the temples -- his namesake, perhaps?
Drake caught up with them, with Launchpad following close behind. "Good morning, Dad."
"And a fine morning it is, Drake."
"Dad, Launchpad McQuack. Launchpad, my father -- Ruddy Mallard."
Ruddy extended a hand to the pilot. "How do you do?"
Launchpad shook his new acquaintance's hand, so vigorously that the former architect wondered if his arm was going to go numb.
Gosalyn surveyed the front hall. An old-fashioned umbrella stand was in the corner, while an empty coatrack was by the door. A hall table held a phone, message pad, and vase of flowers. I wonder if my new grandmother's gonna be that stiff and formal.
There was a clicking of shoes as Anatina entered the room. She was in a cream blouse with pearl buttons, black skirt, and green sweater. White feather-hair was pulled back in a bun. A necklace of sparkling green stones adorned her neck. "Drake!" She embraced her son.
"I take it you're glad to see me."
"I'm always happy to see you. Now give me a kiss and stop being so sarcastic."
Drake moaned. "I'm too old for that!" He stopped when he saw Anatina's long beak quiver, then decide to bite the bullet. He gave her a peck on the cheek.
Launchpad tried hard to suppress a laugh. It came out as a soft cough. Happily no one heard.
Gosalyn smirked. So that's why he never wanted me to see them. Leave it to Dad and his inflated ego.
Anatina glanced from Gosalyn to Launchpad. "Well, Drake, not to sound nosy, but when are we going to see the girlfriend you've been telling us about over the phone? We'd like to see our daughter-in-law before the ceremony."
That did it. Launchpad cracked up.
Gosalyn bit her lower beak hard to keep from laughing herself. "What did he say about Morgana?"
"Like he was putting her on a pedestal and worshipping her," giggled Anatina.
"The way his voice melted when he spoke about her, we knew she was the one," added Ruddy.
Drake wanted to melt through the floor. "I'm sure my little honeywumpus will be glad to meet you."
"The feeling's mutual," replied his mother.
"She's not what you ex--" Gosalyn piped up. Drake elbowed her. "Ow!"
Anatina wrung her hands on her skirt. "Gosalyn, are you hungry? I'm afraid I don't have any cookies." She sighed. "I guess I'm already flunking the grandmother test."
Drake tried not to smile himself at his mother's past attempts at cooking. It just wasn't her talent. Luckily, his father's cooking skills were on par.
"We've got some fruit, though. I can make you a milkshake in the blender."
"Keen gear!" The pair walked out. Launchpad, never one to pass up a snack, followed.
Ruddy looked at his son. "How's the superhero stint coming along?"
Drake snatched his father's collars. "Who told you?!"
"No one. I switched on the TV one night, and there was a segment on you--"
"Me?! On TV?! How long was it?! Did the camera get my good side?! Was my cape wrinkle-free?! Did you tape it?!"
"It was very short, showing only a few video clips. But your mother dropped a whole set of dishes when she caught a glance of you. I don't think she even heard the crashes. Just pointed at the screen and gasped 'That's Drake'! I hadn't recognized you in the mask and cape, but did you really think you could fool your own mother?"
Drake chuckled. "I guess not."
There was a crash from the living. The father and son ran in to investigate.
A vase was lying in shards on the Persian rug.
Drake saw the veins in his father's neck bulged. Knowing how quick his father was to anger, he decided to take discipline in his own hands. "Gosalyn Mallard, what happened, young lady?"
"It was an accident!" insisted the redhead. "I was just going to open the window and I banged my knee on the leg and the vase fell over."
Anatina ran a vacuum cleaner over the broken pieces. "I always hated that vase anyway."
"It was my mother's!" cried Ruddy. He took a deep breath. "But...yeah, you're right. It was pretty ugly."
Drake's wristwatch beeped. Well, it was a combination wrist-watch and link to his Remote Alarm Terminal...which he had Sara Bellum retool recently to reveal the location of the crime in progress. She may be a kook, but she was efficient. "Um, Launchpad, I think we left that cake in the oven. Let's get back before it burns!"
"What cake--" asked his sidekick before being yanked out by a flight-cap strap.
Gosalyn debated following them, until she saw Ruddy take down a leather photo album and blow the dust off it.
*************************************************************************************
"It's not like the Fearsome Five to hit the same place twice," commented Launchpad as the Ratcatcher whizzed through the streets of St. Canard.
"They must have come back for what they were trying to steal last night," commented Darkwing, who switched between his costume and civilian clothes so often he could do it in the blink of an eye. He turned into the museum parking lot, which was empty. Most of the visitors and staff had fled upon seeing the Fearsome Five's entrance.
Inside a storage room, Negaduck pried a board off a wooden crate. "This is it. Take it out of here."
Megavolt and Quackerjack lifted the heavy crate, grunting.
The Liquidator slid under them. "Perform tasks you couldn't before, fast, fast, fast!" The threesome began to move the box toward the exit.
"If you damage that expensive equipment in any way, I'll brain you," snapped Negaduck.
Outside the door, Bushroot was watching for any signs of trouble.
There was a flash of blue and black. Neutralduck dropped off a rope attached to a rafter, in front of the mutant plant-duck. He began to sneeze. "Oh no...not..." Sneeze. "Again." Sneeze.
There was a cloud of blue smoke. "I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the boat you miss! I am--"
Neutralduck sneezed, the force of which sent him into a marble pillar. The pillar wobbled, and a statuette of a horse fell off...right in the middle of the smoke cloud. There was a loud CLONK!
The blue smoke clear, revealing an unconscious Darkwing. The stone horse was beside him, in pieces. Neutralduck checked his pulse. Still there.
"Don't worry," said Bushroot, moving towards the two. "That duck collects concussions like a movie star collects Oscars. He'll be fine when he wakes up." If he wakes up, with Negaduck in the vicinity. But then again, Darkwing was about as easy to kill as a cockroach. Better get a little insurance, the plant-duck thought. He hated to do it, but Negaduck had been thinking about reducing the Fearsome Five to the Fearsome Four lately.
Neutralduck stood up as several vines sprung out of the floor and wrapped around him. He struggled, but was tied fast.
Bushroot gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry about your short-lived career."
TBC
It might be a coincidence, but it might not be, thought the young duck, slipping on his thick glasses.
There were several points of interest in the interview text, Median Gray's first -- the physicist was rather modest and quiet. One concerned his parentage:
Professor Gamma: Our sources say you were adopted. Is that true?
Median Gray: Oh, don't throw those silly rumors in my face. Why is it whenever someone hears the word 'adopted'; they assume there's some sort of cliche soap-opera story behind it? Yes, I was adopted, but I wasn't left on a doorstep.
Gamma: So you lived at an orphanage?
Gray: Not exactly. I was born in St. Canard General Hospital. My adoptive mother, Ashley Gray, worked there as a nurse. In the delivery ward, one of the mothers had laid a dud egg, but somehow it had been forgotten. My mother remembered it later that day and went to take it to Pathology, but it hatched when she touched it. She had been lonesome since her husband died, and wanted a child to raise, so she saw this as her chance.
Gamma: Would you want to meet your adoptive parents?
Gray: Well, who wouldn't? But I think Ash Gray did a good job of raising me, and I'm proud to call her my mother.
Another piece referred to Gray's parallel universe theories:
Gray: This universe is sometimes nicknamed "The Compromise Verse" because well, it is one of compromise. Dualistic and opposing forces act on it, but one never quite dominates the other. Sometimes it seems like crime is rampant through the world, but we are far from being complete anarchy. My partner, Gyro Gearloose, and I speculate there are two parallel universes -- each with one force dominant. Gyro has successfully traveled to one. We arbitrarily called it the Posiverse, never mind why.
Gamma: Wait a second. How did you accomplish this scientific feat?
There was a photograph of what looked like a blue phone booth. A door was ajar, revealing a small control panel inside. A display on the panel read Y = 4 e_91 sin(9x) + 7.
Gray: We built this machine together. You just step inside and enter the equation of this universe. We calculated the equation of this place to be four to the ninety-first power times the sine of nine x plus seven. To get to the Posiverse, we used the same equation, only replacing "sine" with its reciprocal function -- cosecant.
Gamma: Impressive. And what happened on Mr. Gearloose's expedition?
Gray: He didn't stay very long. Said it creeped him out. He said he landed in a lab identical to ours, but deserted. He snatched a piece of paper and a pen and came back. As soon as he stepped out of the machine, the two items disintegrated. Like antimatter meeting an equal amount of matter.
Gamma: Turned into energy?
Gray: One hundred percent pure energy. We hope this knowledge will help us find new, cleaner forms of energy.
Gamma: Aren't you afraid your dimension machine will fall into the wrong hands?
Gray: There's always that risk, but the machine must be activated by a code only which I know.
Gamma: Would you want to visit another universe? Meet yourself?
Gray: Be a stranger to my own face? It seems better suited for science fiction novels, and I'm only concerned with using science fact to help this universe.
Gamma: You could win the Nobel Prize for Physics.
Gray: There's someone else more deserving. And I'd only be considered if my theories were correct. But it is food for thought, no?
Gamma: And thanks for sharing that food for thought.
Gray: The pleasure was all mine.
Honker had an idea. It was a shot in the dark, but it might work. He slipped out of bed, shoved his feet in his bunny slippers and walked down the hall. He picked the phone up from its cradle and dialed the National Association for Discovery and Exploration (NADE). Gyro Gearloose was the current president.
"Hello?" came the voice of the receptionist.
"Hi. Um, is Gyro Gearloose in?"
"No, but who's calling?"
"Honker Muddlefoot."
"Hold on." A few minutes of silence, then ringing. The receptionist had obviously forwarded the call. Honker smiled a little. Good thing I had those essays published in Sciencebills.
"Hello?" came another voice.
"Mr. Gearloose?"
"Yes, who is this?"
"Honker Muddlefoot."
"Weren't you the NADE's Science Scholar of the Year?"
Honker was grateful that Gyro wasn't able to see him blush. "Well, I hoping you could help me contact Mr. Gray--"
"Median Gray? Sorry. He recently left Duckburg. Said he was going to St. Canard to work on some other projects. I gave him the dimension machine because I had an assignment from my other boss, but he was very vague about the whole thing. Didn't even leave a forwarding address." There was a crash on Duckburg's side of the line.
"Gyro!" came a heavy Scottish accent.
"Sorry, Mr. McDuck," came the inventor's voice. "Listen, I've got to skiddaddle. Maybe we'll do lunch and discuss some of your ideas."
"Thanks for your help, Mr. Gearloose."
"Anything to help a fellow scholar. Pretty soon you'll be President of the NADE." Click.
Honker tried to keep the capillaries in his cheeks from dilating. He sighed happily at the praise.
********************************************************************************************
The Mallard's blue car pulled up in front of a rather large two-story house. The house was constructed of light-brown bricks, while a wraparound porch beckoned invitingly. The yard, while not a garden, was well-kept. Some wildflowers peppered the lawn.
Drake pulled into the driveway and turned off the ignition. "Well, this is it."
Gosalyn got out of the car and ran toward the front door. She reached for a brass knocker and banged it on the walnut entranceway.
The door opened, and a male duck appeared behind it. He wore a simple outfit; black slacks, a pressed white shirt, and black vest. A gold pocket watch dangled from a chain hooked to the vest. "Well, I'll be. Look who dropped by. Nice to finally see the girl behind the name. Gosalyn, is it?"
Gosalyn had no doubt this was her father's father. She recognized the stocky build and feathered sideburns. Her adoptive grandfather's dark eyes were accented by thick auburn hair that was graying at the temples -- his namesake, perhaps?
Drake caught up with them, with Launchpad following close behind. "Good morning, Dad."
"And a fine morning it is, Drake."
"Dad, Launchpad McQuack. Launchpad, my father -- Ruddy Mallard."
Ruddy extended a hand to the pilot. "How do you do?"
Launchpad shook his new acquaintance's hand, so vigorously that the former architect wondered if his arm was going to go numb.
Gosalyn surveyed the front hall. An old-fashioned umbrella stand was in the corner, while an empty coatrack was by the door. A hall table held a phone, message pad, and vase of flowers. I wonder if my new grandmother's gonna be that stiff and formal.
There was a clicking of shoes as Anatina entered the room. She was in a cream blouse with pearl buttons, black skirt, and green sweater. White feather-hair was pulled back in a bun. A necklace of sparkling green stones adorned her neck. "Drake!" She embraced her son.
"I take it you're glad to see me."
"I'm always happy to see you. Now give me a kiss and stop being so sarcastic."
Drake moaned. "I'm too old for that!" He stopped when he saw Anatina's long beak quiver, then decide to bite the bullet. He gave her a peck on the cheek.
Launchpad tried hard to suppress a laugh. It came out as a soft cough. Happily no one heard.
Gosalyn smirked. So that's why he never wanted me to see them. Leave it to Dad and his inflated ego.
Anatina glanced from Gosalyn to Launchpad. "Well, Drake, not to sound nosy, but when are we going to see the girlfriend you've been telling us about over the phone? We'd like to see our daughter-in-law before the ceremony."
That did it. Launchpad cracked up.
Gosalyn bit her lower beak hard to keep from laughing herself. "What did he say about Morgana?"
"Like he was putting her on a pedestal and worshipping her," giggled Anatina.
"The way his voice melted when he spoke about her, we knew she was the one," added Ruddy.
Drake wanted to melt through the floor. "I'm sure my little honeywumpus will be glad to meet you."
"The feeling's mutual," replied his mother.
"She's not what you ex--" Gosalyn piped up. Drake elbowed her. "Ow!"
Anatina wrung her hands on her skirt. "Gosalyn, are you hungry? I'm afraid I don't have any cookies." She sighed. "I guess I'm already flunking the grandmother test."
Drake tried not to smile himself at his mother's past attempts at cooking. It just wasn't her talent. Luckily, his father's cooking skills were on par.
"We've got some fruit, though. I can make you a milkshake in the blender."
"Keen gear!" The pair walked out. Launchpad, never one to pass up a snack, followed.
Ruddy looked at his son. "How's the superhero stint coming along?"
Drake snatched his father's collars. "Who told you?!"
"No one. I switched on the TV one night, and there was a segment on you--"
"Me?! On TV?! How long was it?! Did the camera get my good side?! Was my cape wrinkle-free?! Did you tape it?!"
"It was very short, showing only a few video clips. But your mother dropped a whole set of dishes when she caught a glance of you. I don't think she even heard the crashes. Just pointed at the screen and gasped 'That's Drake'! I hadn't recognized you in the mask and cape, but did you really think you could fool your own mother?"
Drake chuckled. "I guess not."
There was a crash from the living. The father and son ran in to investigate.
A vase was lying in shards on the Persian rug.
Drake saw the veins in his father's neck bulged. Knowing how quick his father was to anger, he decided to take discipline in his own hands. "Gosalyn Mallard, what happened, young lady?"
"It was an accident!" insisted the redhead. "I was just going to open the window and I banged my knee on the leg and the vase fell over."
Anatina ran a vacuum cleaner over the broken pieces. "I always hated that vase anyway."
"It was my mother's!" cried Ruddy. He took a deep breath. "But...yeah, you're right. It was pretty ugly."
Drake's wristwatch beeped. Well, it was a combination wrist-watch and link to his Remote Alarm Terminal...which he had Sara Bellum retool recently to reveal the location of the crime in progress. She may be a kook, but she was efficient. "Um, Launchpad, I think we left that cake in the oven. Let's get back before it burns!"
"What cake--" asked his sidekick before being yanked out by a flight-cap strap.
Gosalyn debated following them, until she saw Ruddy take down a leather photo album and blow the dust off it.
*************************************************************************************
"It's not like the Fearsome Five to hit the same place twice," commented Launchpad as the Ratcatcher whizzed through the streets of St. Canard.
"They must have come back for what they were trying to steal last night," commented Darkwing, who switched between his costume and civilian clothes so often he could do it in the blink of an eye. He turned into the museum parking lot, which was empty. Most of the visitors and staff had fled upon seeing the Fearsome Five's entrance.
Inside a storage room, Negaduck pried a board off a wooden crate. "This is it. Take it out of here."
Megavolt and Quackerjack lifted the heavy crate, grunting.
The Liquidator slid under them. "Perform tasks you couldn't before, fast, fast, fast!" The threesome began to move the box toward the exit.
"If you damage that expensive equipment in any way, I'll brain you," snapped Negaduck.
Outside the door, Bushroot was watching for any signs of trouble.
There was a flash of blue and black. Neutralduck dropped off a rope attached to a rafter, in front of the mutant plant-duck. He began to sneeze. "Oh no...not..." Sneeze. "Again." Sneeze.
There was a cloud of blue smoke. "I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the boat you miss! I am--"
Neutralduck sneezed, the force of which sent him into a marble pillar. The pillar wobbled, and a statuette of a horse fell off...right in the middle of the smoke cloud. There was a loud CLONK!
The blue smoke clear, revealing an unconscious Darkwing. The stone horse was beside him, in pieces. Neutralduck checked his pulse. Still there.
"Don't worry," said Bushroot, moving towards the two. "That duck collects concussions like a movie star collects Oscars. He'll be fine when he wakes up." If he wakes up, with Negaduck in the vicinity. But then again, Darkwing was about as easy to kill as a cockroach. Better get a little insurance, the plant-duck thought. He hated to do it, but Negaduck had been thinking about reducing the Fearsome Five to the Fearsome Four lately.
Neutralduck stood up as several vines sprung out of the floor and wrapped around him. He struggled, but was tied fast.
Bushroot gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry about your short-lived career."
TBC