 |
|
 |
 |
 |
Special Forces OpCentre
|
 |
|
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
#178
by Veteran TheQuack - 2/10/2004 9:40:28 PM
I was working on a story based on some recent events, but my muse just bitch-slapped me into a new direction - so now, for something completely different:
The Duckfather
(aka "A Day in the Life of a Bitter, Senile, and Somewhat Psychotic Duck")
Disclaimer: As any Trekkie knows, stories involving the future are always "one of many possible realities". This is based on Kit's first chapter, but goes off on a bit of a tangent. It includes real, authentic, deaths! No apologies this time, since senile psychotic ducks never admit their mistakes. NEVER!
Reflections
"Why aren't you dead yet, Uncle Quack?"
Quack looked down at the impudent young wombat in front of him. Sighing, he picked up his pet fish (which he used as an artificial tongue nowadays since the "incident"), popped it in his mouth, and began to speak.
"It takesss more than... knivesss... or gunss... to put me down." rasped the duck in a passable imitation of Marlon Brando. Quack knew this statement was true, since people had tried using all manner of knives and guns against him, causing all sorts of horrendous injuries, but never quite killing him. The grey old duck paused for a moment, lost in the past.
Victor was not pleased. "Keep pushing the swing, uncle! Remember who you work for!"
"You... had best ressspect... your eldersss. You do not... want Uncle Quack... asss an enemy."
With that, Quack turned and slowly limped away. Victor did not expect this display, and was lost for words.
---
The smell of wombat droppings was everywhere. Quack had got accustomed to it over the last few decades, but still longed for the good old days. The days before the wombats had taken over the Special Forces. It had all started when the troopers were always out on missions, while Emperor Wombat was stuck at SF-HQ, bored out of his head. It occurred to him to commemorate his 200th victory by having another 200 offspring. Since then, he'd just kept going and going. Some of the other troopers had kids too, of course, but Quack was not one of those lucky few - every time it looked like he had a good relationship going, some bizarre random event messed it all up. The gander, the nun, the kinky Republican... it always ended in disaster.
And then, of course, there were the wars. One by one, the troopers fell in battle. Quack remembered Mr Furious' suicidal charge into the legions of the undead, after an undead diplomat had fallen apart during negotiations (literally) and blocked up a toilet on the Retox. Or that incident when Hurls had used his diplomatic skills to put Mayito into a self-destruct logic loop. (Unfortunately, Mayito's ego was so big that, when detonated, it took out Hurls, the Diplomats, and most of the neighbouring empires.) But the Special Forces lived on. For every trooper that fell in battle, a hundred ravenous little wombats took their place. Quack had faced his share of death too, of course. The scars all over his body were testament to the hundreds of assassination attempts he had faced. But those days of war were over. The Outer Realms empire was prepared to sign a treaty with the wombat horde.
As Quack entered his quarters, he shook his head sadly. This treaty was not a good thing. The preamble alone was over six hundred pages. It would force hundreds of new rules and regulations upon the frisky, carefree wombat population. Even pickup lines considered "cheesy" would be outlawed. Quack had long been an outspoken critic of Empress Victoria's policies, but she craved the media attention such a treaty would bring. As punishment for his opposition, she had condemned Quack to babysit wombat children and change nappies for the rest of his natural life. Nowadays, most of the wombats that made up Special Forces thought of him as a joke - a useless old duck - a hasbeen.
The doorbell rang.
Quack smiled to himself. Most, but not all.
Last Roll of the Dice
The three wombats marched into the room, knelt, and kissed Quack's battered old wing, one by one. Quack looked at the eager young faces of Wesley, Wanda, and Woja Wombat - his three consiglieri - and felt a glimmer of hope for the future.
"What news of Sirian?" rasped the duck.
"All is in place, Duckfather." replied Wesley. "Our informant knows where he will be. We can take him out before the treaty is signed."
"I still think we should hit Victoria at the same time, seize the Iron Paw once and for all- " said Wanda loudly.
"Nooo.... we will run this... from the shadowss. There is no need... for her death. We make her an offer she can't refuse."
Woja took Quack's wing in his paws again.
"I have some unfortunate news, Don Quackolo."
Quack's mouth went dry. He quickly coughed his fish up into a fishbowl, and grabbed a new one from his bedside glass.
"Do you remember that Aldarian Empire Day seventeen years ago?"
"The sschredder... under the toilet sseat?"
"That was thirteen years ago, Don. Seventeen years ago was the grenade in the can of Bundy."
Quack's eyes glazed over.
"Yesssss.... the grenade..."
"While we were stripping the Retox for salvage parts, we came across this backup recording. It shows after Killa lured you away from your quarters, he contacted Kiletta. She planted the can while you and Killa were Drinking Heavily And Behaving Badly."
Quack's expression hardened.
"We will deal with thiss... once and for all. It is time... time for an alpha strike."
"What do you want us to do, Duckfather?"
"I want you... to set up a meeting. Tell Kiletta... her safety will be guaranteed." Quack reached out and grabbed Wesley. "She hass... many charmsss. We must be cautious."
"And what of the traitor?"
The old duck scoffed. "Killa... is weak and sstupid." Quack slowly stood up, and went to visit the other surviving member of the Special Forces.
---
Killa Koala bounced excitedly when he saw the old duck in his doorway. His arthritis did not bother him - the eucalyptus leaves took care of all his pains. However, fifty years of eucalyptus abuse had fried the koala's tiny little brain, and he was sillier than ever before.
"Quack! What a surprise! Fancy a drop of pinot?"
"Noo, thank you... I have my roadie."
The duck composed himself for a moment, then looked the mischievous koala in the eye. "What do you remember... of the Aldarian Empire Day... seventeen years past?"
Killa scratched his buttcrack thoughtfully. "Was that the acid in your eyedrops?"
"Nooo... the grenade... in the can of Bundy."
Suddenly, Quack snapped. He couldn't take any more of this diplomatic crap. He grabbed Killa's head, and gave the koala a full pash on the lips. (No tongue, but.)
"I know it was you, Killa. You broke my heart... you broke my heart."
Quack turned and limped off without another word. Killa began to sweat. He recognized the kiss of death. At least, he thought he did. He hoped deep in his heart that it was just the kiss of death, and not something more meaningful.
(Fortunately for Killa, it was just the kiss of death, and not something more meaningful.)
The Night of the Killer Wombats
There was a knock on the door. The guard looked at Julius Sirian, Emperor of the Outer Realms.
"Should I see who it is, milord?"
Sirian took a deep breath. He was as long-winded as his father, and had inherited an infuriating British accent from his mother, a Pommie ice-queen. It was a lethal combination.
"There are many important factors which must be considered before the question of this person's admittance to these premises can be properly addressed. The foremost consideration is the ease with which - "
"Um, sire, sorry to interrupt, but I'm going off duty in five minutes - "
Sirian gave the guard a dirty look. He hated being interrupted.
"Very well, you insolent lackey, you may inspect this visitor."
The guard yelled out "Who goes there?" and put his ear to the door. "He says he's a Roger Ramjet, milord - "
A blaster shot took the guard's head off. The next shot hit the door frame, knocking the whole door down. A wombat stepped through the wreckage.
"That's Woja Wombat, you dolt." he said as he sneered at the guard's body. Sirian looked at the wombat with disbelief.
"I say, what do you think you're doing? Shooting that poor chap in the head like that, and without so much as a warning shot? Such a blatant exploit, that is totally uncalled for. Totally uncall - "
Woja emptied his rifle in a chain of warning shots above Sirian's head, then stopped to reload. Sirian didn't even flinch, but simply sniffed at the upstart wombat.
"Oh, and the gall to reload in the middle of a battle, I see. You, sir, are no gentleman!"
"Never said I was." muttered Woja calmly as he finished reloading and aimed at Sirian's head. He paused for a moment.
"Just out of curiosity, what does your holy book say about a gangland-style execution?"
"Oh, that's not on. Definitely not. It's just not cricket." Sirian pulled out his 1200-page 'Word of Sirian (Pocket Edition)', and began to thumb through it. "Let me find the page, why don't you, then I can read the whole chapter to you and we can sort out this mess - "
(BANG)
---
Kiletta looked at herself one last time in the window. The most recent batch of koala-skin grafts were blending in well - there was still not a single grey hair amidst all the fur. Her newly installed cybernetic jugglies jutted out proudly from her chest. They'd stay firm for a thousand years. Supremely self-confident, she knew she still had "it" - that irresistible quality that let her lure lovers half her age. None of them ever complained. (Complained and lived, that is.) But tonight, she was here at the invitation of an old target, one she had been hunting for a very long time.
Satisfied with her appearance, she checked that the knife in her garter was still in place, then gently opened the door to the hotel room.
"Quackie? Quackie, my love?"
"Dance for me." croaked an old duck's voice.
Kiletta followed the voice to a darkened bedroom, where she saw a duck sitting quietly in the shadows.
"Dance for me." The duck sat still, expectantly.
Smiling, she slid one of her shoulder straps off, and began to tease the duck. She slowly moved her hand to her thigh, but the duck didn't seem suspicious in the slightest. Sensing an opportunity, Kiletta grabbed the knife and threw it with all her might. Her aim was true - she skewered the duck's neck to the wall.
"So much trouble in the past, and now, so easy. You really did get careless in your twilight years, Don Quackolo." Kiletta stood there, enjoying the moment. "Any last words, my love?"
"Dance for me." said the lifeless duck.
Kiletta ran over, and found a stuffed duck with a tape recorder pinned to the wall. She saw a flash of movement in the darkness, and grabbed her throwing knife, but it was too late.
(BANG)
The shot knocked Kiletta to the floor, and sent the knife clattering into the corner of the room. Wanda Wombat stepped out of the shadows, and received a bitter look from the wounded temptress.
"That was a cheap trick to pull."
"You'd have done the same if you had the chance."
Kiletta decided to change her tack.
"Well, of course... we're not so different, you and I. There's a lot I could teach you - how to wrap men around your little finger - "
"Dr Quinn taught me to charm. Strike one."
"Okay, okay, I'll teach you how to fight! Forget that Special Forces training, and all that gun-slinging - I'll show you how to become a natural weapon! A master assassin!"
"Ashlyn taught me to kill. Strike two." Wanda readied her rifle and looked at Kiletta coldly.
"Um... well, there's... yes! Beauty! Skin care! You're a lovely young wombat - I can show you how to keep your body firm and toned for a hundred years! It's Kiletta's Secret, direct to you!"
Wanda looked down at Kiletta's body for a moment, then back into her eyes.
"I know they're fake. Strike three."
(BANG)
---
"Are you sure about this?" asked Wesley.
Killa jumped up and down. "Yes, yes, my boy! Look at them all, just floating there! What a bounty! Let's go, let's go!"
The koala had recently learned that eucalyptus leaves do, in fact, grow on trees. Unfortunately for him, he was much too old to be climbing trees - and the last time he'd tried a combat drop, he'd broken both his shins. That had earned him three weeks in a hospital bed, as a bondage slave of Nurse Quinn (one of Doctor Quinn's numerous children), and he wasn't keen to repeat the experience. He was left to use what little smarts he possessed to get his precious leaves.
"It's easy, Wes. We just go out to the middle of the pond, where all the leaves are sitting, and we scoop them up! Can't you hear them calling to us? Calling, calling softly... I'm coming, my lovely leafies!"
Killa stood at the front of the boat, a pool skimmer in each hand, while Wesley gunned the motor and steered towards the treasure. Killa's eyes went wide as he scanned the leaves.
"Oh, my! That's a huge one there! Catch of the day!"
He scampered over to the edge of the boat and started scooping leaves furiously. He never saw Wesley pull out a heavy auto-blaster rifle.
(RAT-A-TAT-A-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-SPLASH)
Aftermath
"Empress Victoria the First - Ruler of the Special Forces and the Wombat Territories, Queen of the ANZACs, Lady of the Rings, Sugar-Mama of the Southern Seas, Defender of the Brew."
The Empress waved her advisors aside. She stepped up to Quack, knelt down, and kissed his wing.
"Don Quackolo - I am honoured to be here. Forgive me for that awful misunderstanding about changing nappies! What a terrible mistake! I offer you these symbols of power", she continued, "The Paw of Iron, and The Balls of Steel - as tokens of my infinite respect. The Empire is yours - all you have to do is ask, Duckfather!"
Slowly, the duck began to nod.
"Your resspect... is noted. You may keep these trinkets. I have no wish to rule... directly, that iss. But the time will come... when I ask for a favour... and you would be wise to fulfill it."
"Yes, yes, of course! Thank you, Duckfather, thank you!"
She stepped backwards, bowing all the way.
"Right. What's today's business?" Quack asked his consiglieri.
"Two wombats asking for permission to marry - "
"Aww, they always look sso cute... in their tiny tuxedos... and little white dresses - "
"And eighteen wombats asking you to be Duckfather to their love-children."
"Frisky little buggers. I'll do that later. First... I wish to examine the tribute."
---
The cargo bay was piled with gift upon gift from all over the Metaverse, in honor of the "real" ruler of the Special Forces.
It was enough to make even a hardened ex-pirate weep in joy. Amongst all the tribute, Quack spotted a familiar looking bottle. Killa's quarters had been stripped bare, and his possessions had been brought here, pinot and all. Quack grabbed the bottle, and smiled as he thought of old times.
"To Killa... my dear old friend. He wass weak and sstupid."
Quack took a deep swig of the bottle, then looked at it curiously.
"Wow... this is sstrong schtuff... you little alko, Killa..." he muttered.
The pinot took a nasty turn in Quack's stomach. Too late, the grey old duck recognized the duck poison. Killa had always nagged the duck to try some pinot, but only now, at the end, did the duck realize why. He stared at the bottle in disbelief.
"You... have GOT... to be kidding me..."
(THUD)
[Message Edited]
       
| |
|
nOPE i'M nOT eVEN gUNA rEAD aLL dAT mATE bUT hELLO 
      
| |
|
Quack...legendary...now there's some B5 in there, I know - but great job 
Retrograde Time Edit: how can I stop this happening...how...[Wombat holds head in paws]
[Message Edited]
   
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Hello all . . . sry I've been so absent
Been a bit  ,  and and whatever else . . . hehe.
bELATED COngratz to the wILD wON on his 200th (opps need new key-board) and to Jaws on his impending 1 million and likely corination at Metaverse Numero Uno . . . well done Special Forces, keep it in the family!
 
| |
|
EEEWWWWWW! Isn't that called incest? 
| |
|
|
|
| EEEWWWWWW! Isn't that called incest? |
|
Relatively speaking
| |
|
EEEWWWWWW! Isn't that called incest?
Relatively speaking |
|
| |
|
|
|
| Well, the two obvious solutions are: |
|
3) Terminate Quack before he causes (more) problems....
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
OH MY GOD...Hurls missed a reference! Questions will be asked in high places! Someone get me a screenshot, quick!
Maybe we'll need an "Ask Bam Bam" column.... 
| |
|
Aintree is also a place near Liverpool, England where the famous Grand National Steeplchase horse race is run
| |
|
Now you're just trying to make Hurls feel worse.... 
| |
|
|
|
|
|
 |
 |
|
 |
Copyright 1995-2024 Stardock Corporation. All rights reservered.
Site created by Pixtudio and Stardock, designed by Pixtudio.
|
 |
