Chapter Three: Dawnbreak
2:38AM the clock said when Nosedive rolled around in his bed to face it; he gave a groan and stuffed the pillow over his head. Two in the morning and he hadn't slept even a second the whole night - man, insomnia was a drag. It had been a busy day today - stopping the forces of evil and nearly getting killed, same old, same old - and he was bushed, yet however tired he felt he couldn't get to sleep.
Right, that's it, he thought angrily after another few moments of tossing and turning. He threw the covers from himself and stepped onto the cold floor. If I can't sleep then I'll go indulge in my second favourite pasttime and grab a bite to eat. He slipped out the door and walked quietly down the hallway to the kitchen. He tried to remember what drink it was that made you sleep better. Warm milk? It sure wasn't coffee, but what the hey... Still thinking a little sluggishly he pushed open the door and stepped into the lighted room.
Lighted room?
"Hey, kid, what are ya doin' up at this hour?"
Nosedive peered over at the kitchen table where Duke - in maroon PJ's - was looking surprised and trying to hide a glass of warm milk. The first thought that entered his mind was what Duke was doing up at that hour. The second was whether Duke had noticed he was wearing his teddybear PJ's...
"Nice attire," the former thief said with a smile.
Drat. "Well, hey," he joked drowsily, "at least I have a sense of variety."
"Score point for you," Duke admitted. "Anyway, kid, what are you doing down here, eh?"
"Can't sleep," he muttered, opening the fridge door and digging around in there before appearing again with the milk. "Thought I'd get something to eat and drink instead."
Duke nodded. "Same problem my side." He sheepishly drained his glass and watched as Nosedive fumbled with the microwave oven. Dive gave a growl of frustration, put the full mug back on the bench and then opened the door with both hands before shoving the mug inside and setting the timer for 1:00 minute. Bee-Beep beep beep. Then he slumped into the chair and held his head in his hands.
"Tough day?" Duke kidded gently.
"Was it ever!" He sighed. "Geeze, sometimes I wonder... ah, never mind."
"What?
Nosedive paused for a while. "Sometimes," he said softly, "I wonder if there are any good Saurians out there, ones who aren't evil incarnate."
"The line between good and evil's very thin," Duke reminded him.
"I know, I just meant... are there any out there who hate war and bloodshed and everythin'?" He shook his head. "Sometimes it just doesn't seem likely, as if that race was born to kill."
They sat in awkward silence for a while.
"Y'know," Duke said finally, "normally I'd say ya can't judge a race by what a few members are like, 'cos that's not fair. But these are Saurians we're talking about..."
"Exactly!" said Dive. "That's exactly what I meant! These are Saurian's we're talking about, they're the ones who murdured and enslaved people, conquered planets and destroyed cities. But there are Puckworlders who do that, too, kill and enslave and destroy. Heck, in that light, are we any different?"
Duke stared at him with a funny look on his face, but before he could say anything Nosedive narrowed his eyes and looked around at the microwave. "Shouldn't my milk be warmed by now?" Rubbing his eyes, he could just make out the time left on the clock.
2:37... 2:36... 2:35
"Oh MAN!" he yelped, leaping out of the chair and stopping the microwave; he brought out a steaming mug of... cream, because most of the water in the milk had evaporated. "I musta set eleven minutes 'stead of one... Oh, this night bites."
Duke chuckled. "It can't be the worst thing that could happen! If Drake One suddenly started blaring the alarms, that would be by far the worst thing that could happen. But it won't."
There was a long silence.
"Duke..." Nosedive began, ready to say something along the lines of, Now you've gone and disrupted Murphy's Law.
"Yes...?"
There was another long silence.
"Ah, don't worry," Dive brushed it aside. "Well, I'm gonna take my super-hot milk to bed and..."
Drake One's alarms went off.
"My fault? Whattaya mean my fault?" Duke glared at the back of the kid's head, Nosedive sitting somewhat hunched up on his chair and glowering out at the night sky. "Explain to me how this is all my fault?"
"You said it wouldn't happen," Dive said. "Therefore, in all logic, it would happen! And it did happen!"
"Stop bickering you two," Wildwing said, gently, although that was only because he was still very tired. In addition, he had a headache and this argument between the eldest and youngest members of the team was not helping. "Tanya, how much longer until we reach New York?"
"Duh.. if we switch to full throttle now we can be there in, uh, two hours."
Wildwing sunk into his chair.
"Hey, bro, you okay?" Nosedive peered down at him, concerned.
"I'm fine." He waved the concern off. "Keep your eyes on the sky, Dive, I'd rather we didn't hit something."
"Hey, what's ta hit when you're above cloud level? Whoa!" They swerved suddenly, and Wildwing winced as he heard the sound of things falling over in the back of the Aerowing. "Except for some high-flying geese! Road... no... sky hogs! Keep to your own side of the atmosphere!"
"Nosedive will you quit playing around?" Mallory snapped, standing up again and brushing her mussed hair out of her face. "Just switch to high-speed and get us to New York!"
As the view quickened, Dive began to sing.
"When you're caught between the moon and New York City..."
Making a face, Duke asked, "Man, I never thought you would listen to somethin' so tame, Dive!"
"What, ya want me to sing somethin' else?"
"Er, no thanks..."
Wildwing slid further down into his chair, heaving a sigh and trying to ignore the noise his team was making. Oh for another hour or two of sleep, just another hour or two... Or three... It was going to be a long trip.
Then again, the more reckless part of him - which he'd striven to quell since donning the Mask - said, sounding suspiciously like his kid brother, We could always disobey these lamo air codes and punch the gas on full... No! We don't even know if it works on this planet, the air may not be compatable to the engine-workings... Where's your sense of adventure, Wildwing? Back on Puckworld? And if the air wasn't compatable then how come you can breathe it?
No one seemed to notice his inward struggles, until he sat up abruptly, and turned around in his seat. Everyone jerked upright and then looked at him expectantly; he focussed his gaze on the team's scientist. "Tanya, if we swtiched to powerflow..."
Her eyes widened, and then narrowed in thought. "Uh.. It should work! I mean, technically there's not much difference between the air on Puckworld and the air on Earth 'cept maybe for a few, uh, molecules here and there, yah." She wrinkled her nose. "And it's cleaner back home."
"Then we'll risk it," Wildwing said. Risk, there's a word I haven't used for a long, long time. He turned to Nosedive. "Okay, baby bro... punch it!"
"All right! Let's kick to OVERDRIVE!!" the kid crowed, slamming a finger down onto the button. The Aerowing's engines let out a streaming pyrotechnical display and they shot forward in a burst of white. "YeeeeeeHAH!!"
In his seat, Duke shut his eyes and tried to get used to the feeling of being plastered across the back of his chair. "Yeah, well, glad you're enjoying yerself, kid," he muttered, knowing Dive couldn't hear him. Heck, he could hardly hear himself, what with the whining noise created by the travel; if they were gonna use this more often they'd need some kinda padding... For some reason, an image of Pink Bats sprang to mind...
Special Agent Dean Galloway thought he had seen it all. In his thirty years in the FBI he'd been called out to bomb scares, both real and fake, hostage situations and the aftermath of chemical explosions down to common everyday suspicious murders. But this, as his partner Chase Meridian most poetically exclaimed, beat all.
"Jesus crucified!" Meridian swore, staring at the behemoth contraption which had plowed through Central Park, and now lay nosedived into the Resevoir. The two of them stood in front of the lake, currently just staring because it was all so unbelievable. Galloway looked behind him at the police station; the poor suckers on duty at the time had been having lunch and peering out the windows when the thing had come crashing toward them. One had to be hospitalized for shock.
"Nice observation," he commented, in a voice as dry as his mouth.
"What the hell is that thing!?"
"That is what we're here to find out." Galloway removed his cigarette from his mouth and gave it a quick glare before dropping and stamping on it. He looked over to where the rest of the team stood in a similar awestruck group, and then returned his gaze to the... ship.
The first thing you noticed about it was the size, because that was its most obvious feature, but lightweight for something that huge because the wavelets made it bob a little. The next, was that it was shaped something like one of those spaceships of Star Trek fame... but not so graceful. It was bulky, the front shaped similar to a Boeing 747, but far broader; the bulbous nose hooked down under a lump which seemed to be the cockpit. The forward window, shaped like a pair of wraparound sunglasses or something very like it, were shattered and water was coming in every time it bobbed.
The whole ship was made of dull red-orange metal, but now jagged pieces hung off it in strips. There were a lot of windows along the sides, a few were broken, a few underwater. It did not appear to have doors of any kind, although he couldn't be too sure of that...
"What is it?" Chase asked again, but this time he answered himself. "What is it, if not some kind of spaceship. This is wild!"
Galloway sighed and rolled his eyes. Wild? Maybe... Dangerous and terrifying, probably... Enticing to reporters... He cast a glare to a group of them, already streaming over the paths like a human flood. Definitely, he finished sourly.
"I want this place sealed off!" he yelled to his fellow FBI officers and policemen alike. "No cameras, no one but authorized personnel allowed. And get those reporters out of he--" He hadn't even finished his sentance when something bright white flashed past overhead, causing a sudden hush among the people. "Meridian, if you dare ask what that was..."
...eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
Galloway clapped his hands over his ears - as did nearly everyone in New York City - as the sound caught up with the flashing object a full five seconds later. The foundering gale-like shriek ripped through his head and caused stars to madly whirl through the world for a few seconds before it stopped with a thunderous clap of silence. Self-conciously checking no one was looking at him, Galloway stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it, gasping as sound came back with a painful pop.
And then the white thing returned, but this time it hovered above Central Park, the only noise a barely audiable humming of engines. He squinted up to see; it was another ship, but far far smaller, and white, and... duck-like? The reporters gave a collective shriek and scattered for whatever cover they could, as the vehicle started landing. A pair of "webbed" landing gear extended out and gripped the ground; the wind blew up into his face and his dark blue and white jumpsuit flared out. Then the gale died down and a ramp slid out from under a pair of doors. Which opened.
"Greetings, Earthling, we come in peace!"
"DIVE!"
With a yelp, a young figure was roughly shoved out of the aircraft, and propelled straight into Galloway, knocking the both of them to the ground. As he sat up, the FBI agent found himself staring into the face of a blonde-haired... duck.
"Uh.. howdy," the duck said.
"Are you all right?" Meridian ran over to them, and Galloway was just forming a reply in his mind when his younger partner helped the duck to his feet. "Hey, I know you! You're one of those hockey star ducks from Anaheim!"
"Wow, reputation sure goes a long way."
Galloway sat on the ground for a few moments more before it became obvious that his partner was more interested in aiding the bird than him.
"Uh, sorry about that, didn't see ya there when I gave Dive a friendly push forward." He was yanked to his feet by another duck, taller, older, greyer, and more battle-scarred than the other one. Looking around swiftly, Galloway could count six of the ducks; two females and four males. "Y'know, staring ain't that polite," the grey duck remarked critically.
He reigned in the last shreds of dignity left to him. "I don't think it's any more polite to come and smash through half of Central Park, either." He pointed at the hulking thing in the Resevoir.
"That isn't one of ours." Another duck was walking toward him, a golden mask glinting on his.. beak. "And before you ask, no, I don't know what race it belongs to, or even what universe." He glanced behind him. "Tanya, how are those readings coming?"
"Uh, well," the blonde-haired female said, "I'd say the main engines were still intact, I mean the power signature on this thing is, is huge, it's really, uh, big. Wildwing, it could be bulyrium powered!"
"And that would catch Dragaunus' attention." The masked mallard rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and then started to issue a few orders. Galloway couldn't stand being in the dark any longer.
"Who are you birds? And what the hell is a Dragaunus?!"
"We're the Mighty Ducks."
"The most awesome players in the NHL to ever kick Saurian scale," added the kid. He stepped forward and held out a hand. "The name's Dive, Nosedive. Whoa! If my eyes are seein' right, you're of the FBI!"
"Special Agent Galloway and this is Agent Meridian." He fumbled for his card, and then gave up. "Look, this is a secured area as of a few moments ago, so we're going to have to ask you to leave. Now."
"Normally, sir, we'd abide by this planet's laws and leave," said the masked one, whom Galloway guessed was the leader. "But today, I think we six know more about intergalactic species than the entire FBI."
"I can neither confirm nor deny that," Galloway admitted. Then he scowled. "All right, I'll let you birds well alone. I just hope you come up with something, duck, because I really want to know what the Goddamn hell is going on."
"I feel the same way. But my name is Wildwing Flashblade, sir."
"I don't care if it's Spitfire Blackfeather. But consider yourselves an unofficial part of the team for today. Meridian!" he yelled to his partner, still chatting aimiably with the young Nosedive. "Let's go get some breakfast while the experts do their job."
Chase turned to Nosedive and gave an apologetic shrug before following the older man. Dive folded his arms. "Well, gee, what side of the nest did Mister Crabapple there get up on, 'uh?"
"Come on, little bro," Wildwing said, taking Dive by the shoulders. "I think we should be grateful he consented so readily."
"But I don't get it!" Nosedive said as they walked back toward the others. "How come he knew our grand-uncle's name?"
Wildwing shook his head slowly, and then returned his gaze to the spaceship. The red metal gleamed, not just from the water. It was similar in make to the Raptor, but bigger, more like some kind of cargo-ship rather than a battle-fighter. He rubbed his chin again thoughtfully, and then glanced at Tanya. "We need to get inside that thing."
"Uh-huh," Tanya agreed. She tapped a few buttons on her Omnitool, and then looked serious. "Weapons are armed and on automatic, Wildwing. We couldn't get further than a hundred metres before it disinteg.. uh.. blew us to pieces." Another few buttons pressed. "I'm patching into Drake One's scanners and, uh, redirecting them through my Omnitool. That way I can scan for lifeforms."
"After that crash?" Nosedive said incredulously. "Jeez, I'd be surprised if there was even one on board that ship."
"Four."
"Huh?"
"There are four living beings on that ship. I, uh, can't tell if they're together or dying or whatever, though. I never constructed the scanners to do that." Tanya looked apologetic at what she obviously thought was an overlooked error on her part.
"You did great," Wildwing said enthusiastically. "We know that there are living beings on that ship. Now we just need to get in there."
Duke coughed loudly to their right, and they turned. "Hey, uh, I think I have an idea on how ta go about that..."
The Ducks, however, were not the only ones to sense the ship's arrival. In the Pacific Ocean, the newly rennovated Raptor and its adjoined buildings had become a small underwater fortress, and it had taken a couple months solid twenty-four hour work on the part of minions and Drones alike to complete this. Here they had created a base nigh-on impenetrable by both Ducks and nosy humans alike; the cloaking device showed a large mass of rock, and was fairly simple to create and did not use up the power they had, both backup and the new oil-powered energy used to maintain the comestibles replicator and heating system. The Ducks had, in a wierd twist of fate, given them a great advantage by sending their ship a'crashing into the Pacific. This was not to say they never went topside anymore. Dragaunus's thirst for world-domination had not been quenched as easily as the fires of the Raptor's engines.
The control room was full of activity as the Raptor's sensors picked up the ship in space, and then when it had landed. Dragaunus did not know that the ship had crashed, but only knew that his attempts at contact were either not getting through or the occupants of that ship were not responding. But he recognised the style; a cargo-ship, the like of which he'd only ever seen in one place - Limbo! Which meant that it was crewed by Saurians. And he was getting really pissed off at the lack of response.
"Damn them!" he snarled suddenly, slamming a clenched fist down on the console, the tremor shuddering across the computers and knocking the Chameleon's cup of coffee onto the floor. "Why do they not answer me? Is it Diablo sitting in there? Is my brother gloating because he has copied my feat?" His face twisted into a scowl of hatred.
"Uh, yah, boss?" Chameleon said tentatively, morfing into a cleaning lady and mopping the floor where his mug had smashed. "What if it's not Saurians? I mean," he added as Dragaunus began smoking, "Dose ships had to come in out o' somewhere, right? Maybe dat race ain't extinct like was t'ought."
"It had crossed my mind," Dragaunus said slowly, glaring down at the communications console as if it were the machine's fault for the ship's unresponsiveness. "But all the more reason that contact must be made. I cannot risk those Ducks getting into that ship first! And the Raptor's sensors clearly show that there are working bulyrium crystals on board! If we can get those crystals, somehow..." his voice trailed off into thought.
Chameleon, morfing back to his regular form, shuffled his feet nervously as his boss's face split into a wide, toothy grin. The red eyes turned on him, and suddenly the shapeshifter felt rather more than nervous. "Uh, boss?"
"You will go."
"Me? Oh, uh, sorry boss, it's my time off, ya know? Gotta catch dat flight to Vanuatu, see yas!" He morfed into a cliche American tourist complete with luggage and hurried toward the exit, but with surprising speed and agility Dragaunus leapt in front of him, robes flying, and grabbed him by the nape of his neck. Chameleon morfed back and leaned back as Dragaunus shoved his ugly snarling maw up close to his face.
"Do I detect..." His breath was foul! "...just a hint of insubordination in that sentance? Just a hint?"
"No sir! Not at all, sir! I'll be going right away, sir! Er, to da ship, that is." He was dropped unceremoniously on the hard metal floor, and rubbed his rump as he rose again. Dragaunus turned away and paced slowly up and down in front of him.
"Do not think that I have forgotten the Atlantis affair, Chameleon," he growled.
I don't, Chameleon thought sourly.
"You have not been popular with me, nor with Siege or Wraith, since then."
Naw, really? I am just SO hurt. I t'ought I was universally loved.
"The reason you are still alive is because we need your spying skills, as much as a snivelling, traitorous amphibian you are."
Oh, and I t'ought you was gonna say it were 'cos I know more about the technical side o' t'ings than Siege and Wraith put tagether...
"But." And the word was a knell. "If I think there is the slightest indication of another mutiny by you, then I will not hesitate to gut you and tan your hide for a throw-rug. Understood?"
An' he wouldn't, neither, Chameleon thought. He had made himself exceptionlly useful over the last few months just to secure his position again but it was still hanging tentatively by a thread. "Yes, boss."
"Good!" Dragaunus beamed nastily at him, and then turned back to the communications console. "They have teleportation shields up. And we don't want to alert the ducks, in any case. You'll have to get inside by other means." He slammed a finger down on the intercom button and yelled one word: "WRAITH!"
The twisting cloud of smoke appeared in the room almost at once. "You screamed, my Lord?" the wizard said in his deadpan voice. Dead being the key word there... In Limbo, the guy had been rumoured to have died and then ressurrected himself from the grave at least three times. He looked it, that was for certain...
"Do not try my patience, Wraith," Dragaunus growled. "I want you to send Chameleon to the city these humans call New York."
"Dah, dah, da da-dah, dah, dah, da da-darrgh!" The Chameleon sang the 'dah' tune of "New York New York" under his breath, rudely cut short as Dragaunus shot out an arm and grabbed him by his scrawny neck. The last Saurian Overlord not presently in Limbo had never liked Frank Sinatra...
"Why, Lord?"
"There is a ship there, in Central Park. Drop him as close to it as possible without any humans around where he can take on a morf and get into that ship." Dragaunus seemed unaware that he was slowly throttling the Chameleon, who struggled feebly and tried to point this out. "There are bulyrium crystals on board that ship, enough to power the Raptor twice over!"
"Why him?" Wraith sneered. "I could..."
"Could not blend in with the humans," Dragaunus finished for him. Wraith's dead eyes fixed on something at the end of his arm. The Overlord remembered he was choking Chameleon and opened his fist, dropping the limp green bundle onto the floorplates. "Get up," he ordered.
Chameleon started to rise to his feet.
"Lord," Wraith interjected, "it's far easier if the teleportee is sitting down rather than standing. Also less dangerous. A sitting person would not fall so hard if the spell were somehow.. miscast."
"Sit down!"
Chameleon sat. He had a horrid feeling that the trip was going to involve a large bump on his head, and he morfed into protective gear. Wraith struck a pose, one grizzled, skeletal hand lifting while the other pointed the sceptre at the smaller Saurian; the duck skull glowed a neon green as he chanted,
"Gatharus telectar dracarus dolathar, shirak!"
The Chameleon vanished, in a puff of purple smoke.
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