29--The Ultimate Encounter, Ch.1

Ludwig’s Doomship Invincible, orbiting the Palace of Power, VideoLand.

t was a dreary day for some in the galaxy. To some, it had been dreary for several days, and to others, a couple of weeks. It was one of those rains that did not seem to go away. No one dared to go out without proper protection against the rain. It was just the sort of day when a villain would be scheming to gain control of the galaxy.

And one devious villain, perhaps the most devious of them all, was!

On the bridge of the Koopa Doomship Invincible, the Flagship of the Koopa Fleet, the evil Prince Ludwig von(Bowser)Koopa and his associates were planning to conquer the galaxy. The ship was high above the Palace of Power. Its cloaking device was engaged, rendering the ship invisible to sensors.

“We must find a way to sweep away the N‑Team and the Mario Brothers, not to mention our ever gallant cousins and Perry Mason and his pals,” Ludwig said.

“Yes, but how?” MotherBrain asked. The massive jar that she inhabited occupied a large corner of the bridge.

“That is why I want some suggestions for a plan. A plan able to rip their hides to shreds!” For a moment, tense silence filled the room except for the periodic sound of the Doomship’s air system.

Suddenly, a dastardly smile came upon King Bowser Koopa’s lips. “Hmm,” said Bowser. “I have an idea.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense, Dad,” said Ludwig. “Tell us.”

Bowser giggled. Then, he grabbed Eggplant Wizard by the neck. “You! Pull up an overview of this entire galaxy on the monitor, low-life scum.”

Eggplant Wizard was barely able to breathe. “Yes, King Bowser.” Bowser let him go. Eggplant Wizard turned on the monitor and pulled up an overview of the whole Milky Way Galaxy.

“Wait, Dad,” said Larry. “I have something that may help.” Larry opened a compartment beneath the monitor and drew out a platform upon which was a computer mouse. “A mouse and a mouse pad.”

“A mouse?” said Bowser. “Just what I needed. What does it do in this program?”

“It’s easy, Dad,” said Ludwig. “Just move the mouse to move the pointer to the desired destination, and click the left button. A mark is made where you click, and the sector name is shown. Many marks can be made. To erase the marks, point at them and click the right button.”

Bowser went to the mouse. “Thank you, son. Now, here we are in VideoLand.” Bowser clicked where VideoLand was, and ‘VideoLand’ was displayed on the screen. “And here is the Mushroom World.” Bowser clicked where the Mushroom World was, and ‘Mushroom World’ was displayed on the screen below ‘VideoLand.’ Bowser erased these marks. “With the rain providing so much sensor interference, we could open warps to these points that I’m clicking.” Bowser clicked where Limbo and third‑Earth were in the galaxy. The points were displayed in the wording below ‘Mushroom World.’

Ludwig could hardly suppress his diabolical laughter. “Excellent! What an evil idea. It will be only a matter of time before evil forces conquer the galaxy. While we bring these points together, why not bring the world on which Saint Canard exists into the picture as well?”

Bowser clicked the said area. It was right between Limbo and the Mushroom World. “Good idea. Then, Quacker Jack can play-out the N‑Team, Liquidator can flood them, Bushroot can plant them, and Mega Volt can give them the shock of their lives. Ha, ha, ha!”

“Right. Now, let’s start the warping. We have work to do. And let me know immediately if that darned cloaking device gives us any more problems. It’s bad enough that we can’t fire the plasma-blasters while it’s engaged.”

* * *

December 16.

Commander Steelheart’s Office, Hawkhaven, Limbo.

In her office on Hawkhaven, Steelheart whiled away the rainy day reading aloud Perry Mason in the Case of the Moth-Eaten Mink by Erle Stanley Gardner. On their world, the Perry Mason novels had been written in California long before the United States had fallen in World War III, and yet they were highly regarded a long time later. Stargazer was in her office listening to her read it, partly for lack of anything better to do and partly because he enjoyed the story.

Steelheart had almost finished. She read the last chapter:

Chapter Nineteen.

Mason, Della Street and Paul Drake were in Mason’s office when Gertie, the switchboard operator, rang three frantic signals on the telephone.

“That,” Mason said, “will be Lieutenant Arthur Tragg.”

He had no sooner spoken these words than Tragg unceremoniously jerked open the office door, nodded briefly, said, “Hello, folks,” and walked over to sit down opposite Mason’s desk.

“Well?” Mason asked.

“It’s okay,” Tragg said.

“Going to tell us about it?”

“I’d rather not.”

“We’re entitled to it.”

“I know. That’s why I came here. Give me a little time.”

Tragg fished a cigar from his pocket, clipped off the end, lit the cigar, looked at Mason searchingly through the first blue whips of cigar smoke, and said, “What gave you your first hunch on this thing, Mason?”

Mason said, “I was faced with clients who had an impossible story. No jury would ever have believed that story. Yet I began to think it might be the truth.”

“I don’t see how that gives you anything,” Tragg said.

“Anyone who can force an attorney to put on evidence that is going to convict his client, yet which he feels is the truth, must be someone who knows something about evidence. The story each defendant had to tell was so completely phony that if those stories had been told on the witness stand the defendants would both have been convicted.

“In one case that might have been an accident. In two cases it showed design. And then I suddenly realized that I was dealing with a pattern. Thomas E. Sedgwick had been placed in such a position. Any story that he could have told would have eternally damned him before a jury. Therefore his only alternative was to take refuge in flight.

“Well, Lieutenant, I simply used an ordinary police method. You catch many of your criminals because of a file you have entitled Modus Operandi. It is predicated upon the assumption that a criminal, having once committed a successful crime, will thereafter follow a pattern in everything he does.

“In Sedgwick’s case he had an utterly implausible story to tell, and he had possession of a murder weapon. Morris Alburg had an utterly impossible story and a murder weapon.

“It occurred to me that since it was quite apparent Claremont was gunning for the people higher up, he might have made contact.

“There was one feature of the case in my favor. The night clerk never forgot a face. I decided I’d try the case by floundering around with a lot of cross-examination and then slip in a casual question to find out if Hoxie could remember having seen Claremont in the hotel on the night he was murdered.

“When Hoxie told about that sudden trip to Mexico City I understood just what had happened. There was one more question which might have cleared up the case. I thought it would be better for you to ask it privately than for me to ask it in court.

“When I saw Hoxie’s hand begin to shake I thought I knew the answer. The question, of course, was whether Fayette had any other visitor in his room when Claremont went up.

“Now, tell me, how far did I miss it?”

“You didn’t miss it a damn bit,” Tragg said. “I wish you had. The hell of it is that people get a feeling that the police are all crooked simply because now and then some big shot starts a shakedown and piles up an individual fortune. That’s the way it was in this case. Hell, the guy owned the Keymont Hotel. What do you know about that?”

“I was satisfied he did,” Mason said, “also the Bonsal Apartments, and probably one other apartment house where the captives were taken and where they saw the towels.”

There was a moment’s silence. Tragg puffed on his cigar, then said, “Bob Claremont wasn’t as dumb and naïve as lots of people thought. He knew that Sedgwick was making book, but he also knew Sedgwick was paying protection. He knew Fayette was the go‑between. Claremont was after the sources of protection. He found them, too. The trail led to the Keymont Hotel. And then presumably Bob Claremont got quite a jolt. He found out the real identity of the man he was after. He never left the hotel alive. They took him down in the freight elevator and put him in the car. Then, they sent for Sedgwick.”

“Who did?”

“Who do you think? The man who had been taking his protection money. He told Sedgwick he was hotter than a firecracker, that people were wise to the fact that he had been paying for protection. He told Sedgwick he had a twelve-hour head start to get out of town, to sell everything he had for what he could get, and get out.”

“That’s the way I had it figured,” Mason said.

“You know what happened after that. Sedgwick did what he was supposed to do, and by doing it he irrevocably put his neck in the noose.”

“How about the gun?” Mason asked.

“That was a cinch,” Tragg said. “Sedgwick was given to understand that his only chance was to stay out of the state until things cooled off, but to let this one person know where he was all the time. Sedgwick had a gun. It was a Smith and Wesson, but it wasn’t the gun Dixie pawned. That was Claremont’s gun. Somehow, they managed to switch guns on Sedgwick after the murder. Sedgwick and Dixie must have had a visitor whom they thought was a trusted friend who made the substitution.”

“Why?” Mason asked.

“Because that’s the gang’s life insurance. They didn’t know that Dixie Dayton would ever come back, but they thought she might. I’d a lot rather not talk about it.”

“I know,” Mason said, “but you have to do it, Tragg. You owe that much to us.”

“I know,” Tragg said moodily. “Why the hell do you think I’m up here?”

“You got a statement from Hoxie?”

“Of course I got a statement from Hoxie. You did everything except wrap the damn case up in a cellophane envelope and hand it to me on a silver platter. I knew right from the start that there was something fishy about Claremont’s murder. I knew that he wouldn’t get into a car. I knew that he wouldn’t let anybody draw his own gun. The thing was screwy. It had to be. But I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with it.

“And then, of course, when you cross-examined Hoxie, the thing stuck out like a sore thumb. The Keymont Hotel was in the gambling racket. The D.A. was about to make an investigation. A new manager had been put in. A kid went in as night clerk who had a record. He had a memory for faces. If he’d stayed in town he’d have seen the newspapers the next morning with Bob Claremont’s picture. He’d have recognized him as the cop who came to the hotel in plain clothes following a hot lead. Then the tables would have been turned. Hoxie would have been able to control the owners. . . . So they rigged up a deal with the man who was the lead of the dope ring in Mexico. They rushed Hoxie onto a plane, and the Mexican end gave Hoxie a run-around until the Claremont story and picture was out of the papers, and then Hoxie was permitted to come back.

“Things would have stopped there if Dixie hadn’t brought Tom Sedgwick back. Fayette tried to stampede her into an alley where she could be taken for a ride. She didn’t react. And Fayette was so confident of success that he’d let the muscle-man use his car. He thought he might be spotted, so he rented a car for the night for his own use.

“Then Dixie ran, there was a bullet hole in Fayette’s car, and then the Seattle police discovered that Dixie had pawned Claremont’s gun.

“That did it. Fayette was hot. He’d squeal to save his hide so it was decided to kill him and frame Alburg and Dixie with the crime, leaving them with an impossible story. You upset the apple cart by digging out one weakness in the scheme, something they’d even forgotten about themselves—Hoxie having been rushed to Mexico City so he wouldn’t see Claremont’s picture in the papers.

“Of course, since it was a big racket in a big payoff, the head of the deal had plenty of people he could call on, people who had to help in the deal but who would be strangers to all concerned.”

“The real owner of the hotel?” Mason asked. “The real head of the payoff?”

“Why make me go into that?” Tragg said savagely. “You want to crucify me! You want to . . .”

“I don’t want anything of the sort,” Mason interrupted. “I only want to get the case cleaned up.”

“It’s cleaned up. You know who it was,” Tragg said. “It was Sergeant Jaffrey of the Vice Squad. He owned the hotel lock, stock and barrel. He owned half a dozen other places, and he had three or four safe deposit boxes. It remains to be seen what’s in them.”

“Where is he now?” Mason asked.

“He’s dead.”

Mason came halfway up out of his chair. “Dead!”

“That’s right. He was shot while resisting arrest.”

“Good Lord!” Mason exclaimed. “Who killed him?”

Tragg got up from his chair, stood motionless for a moment, then his right hand tightened, crushing the cigar he had been smoking into crumpled bits of charred tobacco leaves.

“Who the hell do you think? I did,” he said, and walked out.

Steelheart closed the book and laid it on her desk. “That Jaffrey. I suspected him all the time,” she said. “Of course, one can’t help suspecting him after reading that book several times.”

“He was a fool,” said Stargazer, sitting in the mahogany chair located to the right of Steelheart’s desk. “I’ve met some fools before, but he’s the darnedest of them all. A dirty cop is the worst kind. Well, it looks like the rain isn’t going to end any time soon. How about the Case of the Half-Wakened Wife?”

Steelheart nodded. She slid open a drawer, placed the book into it, and closed it. Opening another drawer, she removed another book entitled Perry Mason in the Case of the Half-Wakened Wife by Erle Stanley Gardner, placed it on the top of her desk, and shut the drawer. She opened the book began reading the cast list.

* * *

Hangar, Hawkhaven.

The other Silver Hawks were bored in the hangar. “Man,” exclaimed Bluegrass. “This rain just don’t want to go away. It’s boring just waiting around.”

“You’re telling me about bored?” said Steelwill. “If this rain doesn’t let up soon, it’ll be even more miserable around here.”

“Boy,” Bluegrass whispered to Quicksilver. “He sure is angry.”

“You’re darn right I’m angry,” shouted Steelwill. “I’ll be darned if I’m not the angriest person in the universe right now.”

“Cool down, Steelwill,” said Quicksilver. “No one in his right mind would be out in this rain.”

“You’re right. It makes me wonder what in Limbo is happening out there. I’d rather be fighting the Mob than sitting around on my rear while this blasted rain is beating down. I tell you, this is a heck of a way to spend fourteen days!”

“Well, the rain won’t go away just because of our shouting. We’ll just have to wait it out.”

Steelwill calmed down, his large muscles relaxing. “Oh well, you’re right. This may be an unpleasant way to spend a few weeks, but there are worse things that can happen.”

* * *

Cat’s Lair, third‑Earth.

Across the galaxy at third‑Earth, the Thunder Cats were having a similar problem, but their rain had gone on for only ten days as opposed to the Silver Hawks’ fourteen. “Rats,” said Lion‑O. “This rain is the pits.”

“At least we’re not out in it,” said Panthro. “We’d be washed away, and none of our vehicles are waterproof enough to withstand this rain, so we can’t check on Bengali, Pumyra, Lynx‑O, and Snarfer at the Tower of Omens. I only wish that this rain wouldn’t disrupt our communication signals.”

“Even with my super speed, I couldn’t get to the Tower before I got soaked,” said Cheetara.

Tygra entered the room. “Actually, I think I may have a solution,” said Tygra. “I have just finished working on eleven water-proof cat-suits. We could not simply walk or run, though. We’d be washed away. So, I’ve also made some water-proof vinyl that I could put on the ThunderTank, the Feliner, and all of our other vehicles, but that will take some time to apply.”

“Well, aren’t the Thunder Kittens’ Space-Boards waterproof?” Snarf asked.

Tygra snapped his fingers. “That’s right! You’re a genius, Snarf. Good idea.”

“Thanks,” said Snarf. “Uh, what was the idea?”

“We’ll send the Thunder Kittens on their space-boards to the Tower with a report,” Lion‑O said. “They’ll ask Snarfer, Lynx‑O, Pumyra, and Bengali to prepare and sign another report, which the Kittens will return to us.” Lion‑O activated the radio. “Thunder Kittens, please come to the control room.”

Tygra booted up his computer and typed the following message:

Dear Bengali, Pumyra, Lynx‑O, and Snarfer,

Greetings from the Thunder Cats at Cat’s Lair. We are sending this message to you via the Thunder Kittens. We are holding up all right, but we have not found out the cause of the rain. When you receive this report, please type up your own, including any ideas you may have about a possible cause of this rain. Please sign your report and send it back to us via the Thunder Kittens.

Yours truly,

Tygra, Cheetara, Lion‑O, Panthro, and Snarf signed the letter after Tygra had printed it.

The Thunder Kittens came into the room. They had grown a bit since the Thunder Cats had landed on third‑Earth. They were about the size of human eighteen-year-olds and were nearly as tall as Lion‑O. Both were in excellent shape, as well, a fact that none of the other Thunder Cats failed to notice. “We’re here, Lion‑O,” Wilykat said. “What’s up?”

Lion‑O looked at the clock. “Good timing, Thunder Kittens. Your space-boards are waterproof, aren’t they?”

“Yes, Lion‑O,” Wilykit said. “Wait a minute! Are you going to send us out in that rain? There’s a possibility—a very remote possibility—that we might catch pneumonia.”

“Sheesh,” Wilykat said. “Don’t be a worry-wart.” Wilykit did not let that faze her.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lion‑O said. “Tygra has completed some waterproof cat-suits. Wearing those, please go out with this letter to the Tower of Omens on your space-boards, deliver it to the Thunder Cats out there, have them type up their own report and all four sign it, and you bring it back.”

“All right, but why us?” asked Wilykat.

“Because it’ll take the rest of us a while to waterproof the other vehicles,” Tygra said. “Your skill on the space-boards makes you guys the best choice to go out there.”

“Understood,” said Wilykit. “We’ll keep our eyes open for trouble.” They took the letter, signed it underneath the others’ names, and left the control room to prepare themselves.

“I hope they make it,” said Lion‑O.

“There’s no reason why they shouldn’t,” Tygra said. “Those two are quite strong and intelligent.”

“I know, Tygra. And they’re very good on their boards. I’m just concerned. This rain isn’t natural.”

* * *

Meeting Hall, Palace of Power, VideoLand.

At the Palace of Power, the N‑Team was beginning to suffer varying degrees of boredom. “Gosh,” said Mario. “It’s been raining for two whole days. Anyone who went out in this mess would get wetter than a fettuccine noodle.”

“Yes,” replied Luigi. “At least it hasn’t been very buggy.”

“You’ve been really reaching, Luigi. If there wasn’t so much to do in the Palace, I’d riot. I would even start cursing.”

“Well, don’t do that, Mario,” said Toad. “That Lieutenant Tragg does enough of it.”

“I’ll say,” said Paul Drake, Perry Mason’s private detective. “He does so much cursing that he practically has to put a stick of soap in his mouth afterwards.”

“You do it so much yourself,” said Jackson, one of Mason’s assistant attorneys. He was about as tall as Mason, but thinner, with black hair and glasses and a black suit.

“It comes from working with me,” said Mason, coming in with Kevin.

“Not really,” said Drake. “It comes from working with those seemingly guilty clients of yours. It also comes from working with that darn Tragg.”

Tragg came in. “Well, if you hadn’t said that, I would have been extremely insulted,” he said.

“What in the living inferno are you doing here?” Drake asked.

“Oh, just dropping by,” said Tragg. “Who’s your client this time, Mason? Who did it?”

Mason was genuinely surprised. “What in the—”

Tragg grinned. “Just a joke, counselor.”

“I see.”

Tragg settled himself in the cushioned couch in the room. “It’s like this, Mason. Most of the people on Homicide don’t like you. They want to think you’re on the other side of the law. Anderson, Drumm, Brice, and I know better, though. The four of us know that sometimes you’re just on the other side of the tracks. We like you because you are one of the best investigating attorneys around.

“Unlike on Homicide, however, most of the people in Larceny and Vice like you. In fact, without you, Aran could have lost several cases.

“Burger likes you, too. He may not show it, of course. I probably know him a bit better than you do. He’s rough-edged on the outside, but, on the inside, he has a heart of gold. Maybe not 24-carat, but at least 14. Without you, he could have been the laughing-stock of all VideoLand sometimes. Sometimes, you embarrass the heck out of him, but you normally make him see the light.”

“Thank you, Tragg,” Mason said. “But as I’m sure you know, that won’t persuade me against making your job harder.”

“Oh, I certainly hope it won’t.”

Mason looked out the window. “What a day. Shall we go out and have your final driving exam, Kevin?”

“What?” said Kevin. “In this weather?”

“Don’t worry, Kevin. We’ll be all right. My rain-proof car will keep us dry.”

“Well, let’s go, then.”

* * *

Ludwig’s Doomship Invincible, orbiting the Palace of Power.

Above the Palace, the Invincible was still cloaked. The villains were watching the Palace’s meeting room with their monitor. “Excellent,” said Ludwig. “Open it as soon as they leave, Eggplant Wizard.”

“Aye, Ludwig,” said Eggplant Wizard. “But what if they detect us?”

“We are still under cloak, Eggplant Wizard,” said Ludwig. “They cannot track us.”

“What if the cloaking device is not functioning properly?”

“That is my concern. Now, do as I asked.”

“Yes, sir,” said Eggplant Wizard.

* * *

Garage, Floor 1, Palace of Power.

Down in the huge garage of the Palace of Power, Mason led Kevin toward a small hatchback with personalized license plates saying, ‘MASONCAR.’ Mason had the key in his pocket. He walked to the front-passenger side, the left side, of the car as Kevin went to the driver’s side door, the right door. When Mason tapped a metal bar on the back of the door handle, the vehicle unlocked, and the two entered the car.

Throughout VideoLand, as in the British Isles, Australia, Japan, and several other places on Earth, people drove on the left side of the road. Thus, the driver’s side was on the right of the car, and the passenger’s was on the left. When Kevin had situated himself in the driver’s seat, he used the power window control to turn off the power windows, forcing the windows to remain sealed unless he turned them back on.

Mason handed Kevin the key, which Kevin placed in a coat pocket. Kevin turned the vehicle on with the large, round power switch. He adjusted his seat using the electronic seat control on the right side of the seat. He and Mason put on their seatbelts. Kevin used the electronic mirror control to adjust the right and left outside mirrors properly. He manually adjusted the inside rear-view mirror.

He looked down to see that the vehicle had both a manual gearshift between the seats and a smaller automatic gearshift below the power button. “Why do you have both an automatic gearshift and a manual gearshift?” he asked.

“The car has both a manual and an automatic transmission,” Mason said. “The gearshift selector lever on the floor is the manual gearshift. The gearshift selector lever below the power button controls the automatic transmission. There is a switch on the steering wheel. It switches between automatic and manual.”

The automatic selector had a small number of choices. The square PARK button between the automatic selector and the power button was lit green. The standard gearshift between the seats had selections for a reverse gear, neutral, and eleven forward gears. Reverse was to the left of first gear.

“I notice that it’s set for automatic,” said Kevin. “How can I set it for manual?”

“Move the automatic selector to M for ‘MANUAL.’ Then, set the switch on the steering wheel to MANUAL.”

Kevin followed Mason’s instructions.

“Now that you’re using the manual transmission, take the floor gearshift out of ‘AUTOMATIC’ and let it go.”

Kevin put in the clutch fully with his left foot and used his left hand to move the gearshift out of ‘AUTOMATIC.’ He released the shifting-stick, and it went to the point in the middle of the 5-mark and the 6-mark, where NEUTRAL was.

“Now, back us out of here.”

“Ten-four,” said Kevin. With the clutch still pushed in, he put his hand on the gearshift and pulled it to the left. It stopped before he got it past the intersection between NEUTRAL and 1 & 2. “What’s wrong?”

Mason smiled. “A safety feature I forgot to tell you about, Kevin. My fault. Pull up the ring on the gearshift before pulling the gearshift to the left, and pull it up until it is fully in REVERSE.” Kevin used his index and middle fingers to pull up the ring just underneath the gearshift handle, and then he moved the gearshift left so he could engage it into REVERSE or AUTOMATIC. He shifted into REVERSE. The green light on the PARK button went off. Reaching down with his left hand, Kevin pulled the brake-release-handle, disengaged the parking brake, and placed his left hand back on the steering wheel. He checked the electricity gauge. It was full.

Mason suddenly snapped his fingers.

“What?” Kevin asked.

“Nothing urgent,” said Mason. “Just something I’ll have to do later at the office. Let’s go. Back us out to the right.”

“Yes, Mr. Mason,” said Kevin. He put his left hand on the back of Mason’s seat, settled his left hip farther back in his seat than his right, and looked out through the back window. Slowly, he started backing out.

As the back half of the car moved completely out of the parking place, Kevin increased speed slightly as he turned the steering wheel to the right. He straightened out the car quickly as the back became perpendicular to the back of the car to the right of the space. He brought the car to a halt. Shifting into first, he then began to move forward slowly. “Please go no faster than twenty-five kilometers per hour in here, Kevin,” said Mason. “We surely wouldn’t want to ram into any other car coming out.”

Twenty-five kilometers per hour was about the same as fifteen miles per hour. Kevin nodded, glancing both ways and at the speedometer before directing his attention back to the front. Suddenly noticing that he had seen something unusual, Kevin glanced back to the instrument cluster. He saw a space altimeter!

“What is a space altimeter doing in here?” he asked.

Mason smiled. “This is a new flying car.”

Kevin nodded. “That explains it. It also explains the eleventh gear. I’ve seen some commercials about these. The only company releasing them is FODR of MegaLand.”

“That’s right,” Mason replied. “I’ve ridden in the Warp Wagon with you before. I think that these cars are a bit easier to handle.”

“We’ll see. That wouldn’t surprise me.” He thought of something. “Metroid might be cloaked above the Palace. If we go into the sky, they might decloak and attack.”

“Why would they have to decloak?” asked Mason.

“That’s how it is with the Romulans and Klingons in Star Trek, from whom Ludwig obviously got the idea for making a cloaking device. The Romulans can’t fire or have shields up while cloaked because the cloaking device uses so much power. And they’re only completely vulnerable for an instant after decloaking.” Switching on his right turn signal, Kevin stopped at a T‑junction in the garage. After a second, he determined that no one was coming. Starting ahead again, Kevin turned right onto the crossing road. In a moment, the garage security door was in view. He stopped at the door, put the gearshift in neutral, and engaged the parking brake. Mason detached his seatbelt, opened the door, and got out. Then, he went to the garage manager in a booth next to the door and showed him his ID.

The garage manager opened the garage door. “Why are you going out in this weather, Perry? The rain is murder out there.”

“I know. I’m using my waterproof flying car,” said Mason. “I’m finishing up with a student.”

“Good luck,” said the garage manager. “I’ll be waiting when you come back.”

“Thanks.” Mason put his ID card back in his wallet and put his wallet back in his back pocket. He returned to the car and fastened his seatbelt. Kevin slowly rolled the car out of the garage. When he got the car out, the garage manager closed the door behind him. He started forward slowly down the slope. The road was crowned so that rain would slide off. At this point, the road became the Palace Highway, a broad thoroughfare with four lanes each way.

“The car will go into the air at any speed over zero kilometers per hour,” said Mason. “However, it’s preferable that you speed up to at least 55 kilometers per hour before you pull the car up into the sky. It can be a little bumpy to do so before then.”

“Okay,” said Kevin. “I’ll speed up to 90 and then rise. That okay with you?”

“Yes,” said Mason. “I usually pull up at 90.”

Kevin turned on the windshield wipers on high speed, due to the rain, and switched on the low-beam lights. He sped up on the highway and shifted smoothly. At 90 kilometers per hour, he pulled back on the steering wheel. The antigravity units on the bottom of the car fired, and the car rose. “When do you want me to stop rising?” he asked.

“At about one and a half kilometers high,” said Mason, switching on the air stabilizers. These air stabilizers made the air pressure in the car the same as on the ground without making the car explode.

At one and a half kilometers high, Kevin straightened out the car so it was flying straight. He continued accelerating steadily.

“Speed up to 250 kilometers per hour and set the speed control if you want. We’re probably in for a quiet ride.”

Kevin turned on the speed control. When the car was going 250 kilometers per hour, he set the cruising speed.

After a few quiet moments, Mason smiled. “Speaking of cloaking devices, I have a toy with which Dr. Wright’s been experimenting. Watch this.” He pressed a switch. On the outside, the car seemed to melted out of view. On the inside, the atmosphere shimmered briefly, but, it appeared as normal after a moment.

“Wow,” said Kevin. “What did that do?”

“It’s an experimental cloaking device. Unfortunately—” On the inside, the atmosphere shimmered again. On the outside, the car melted back into view. “It doesn’t last very long, yet.” Kevin was watching where he was going. “Now—look out!”

“What is—” Suddenly, he saw a thin, blue beam of energy shining, and a large warp opened in front of them. With a shout, he slammed his feet on the clutch and foot-brake, stopping the car in a near-instant. Inertial dampers prevented the two from being forced forwards. “Whew! We almost entered that warp zone that opened a second ago.” Kevin and Mason wiped their foreheads. Kevin shifted to NEUTRAL and set the parking brake. The car remained hovering in the air, as it was supposed to. He rested his feet on the floor. “Can you call the police?”

“Good idea,” Mason said. He picked up his car phone and dialed Tragg’s office. “Hello, Lieutenant Tragg. Perry Mason here. Will you do something for me?”

“Maybe,” said Tragg mildly. “If it’ll beat this blasted boredom. What can I do?”

Mason looked at the trip odometer. “There’s a warp zone up here about eight kilometers south of the Palace at an altitude of one and a half kilometers. Can you check it out?”

“Will do. I’ll scramble the Vice Squad, Homicide Squad, and Larceny Squad.”

“Thank you,” said Mason. He hung up.

“What’d he say?” asked Kevin.

“He said he’d send up Vice, Homicide, and Larceny. Must be something unusual for him to send most of the VideoLand Police Department out here.” He looked into the sky and examined it carefully. He did not see anything, except that a part of a cloud was blurred ever-so-slightly. “That cloud up there—part of it appears blurred. Could something that’s cloaked be in front of it?”

“Maybe,” said Kevin.

Just as Mason was about to do a scan, Lieutenant Arthur Tragg, Lieutenant Andy Anderson, Lieutenant Steve Drumm, Sergeant Brice, and Hamilton Burger approached Mason’s car in Tragg’s FODR. Behind them, a line of police cars was approaching.

“That must be the Tragg,” said Mason, seeing a sticker bearing the words ‘Anti-homicide’ on the car’s side. Tragg linked up the two cars as Mason pressed a button near the climate-control buttons. “That is another special feature of this kind of flying cars,” said Mason. “They have special docking devices.” Tragg, Anderson, Drumm, Brice, and Burger were on the right of Kevin and Mason. Kevin let down the right windows as Tragg put down his left windows. “Hello, Tragg,” said Mason.

“Hello, counselor,” said Tragg mockingly. “I’m glad that this time, you called on the good ol’ police force to handle things for you. This may be too dangerous an undertaking to be attempted alone.”

“Save it, Tragg,” said Anderson. “Mason is one of the bravest men in the universe.”

“Thank you, Andy,” said Mason. “Want a ride, Hamilton?”

“Why, thank you, Perry,” said Burger. Burger unlocked his door, walked out onto the docking device, locked the door, closed it, and entered the back right door to Mason’s car when Kevin unlocked it. Burger shut the door and Kevin locked it.

“We’ll handle this, Perry,” said Drumm, “but you can follow if you want.”

“Thank you, Steve,” said Mason. “I will do so. I’ll wait for the other police cars to go through. See you later.”

“See you later, Mason,” said Brice. “Have fun.”

Mason waited for ten minutes. By then, every flight-capable police car of Vice, Homicide, and Larceny had entered the warp.

“Look over there, Hamilton,” said Mason. “Is my vision lying, or is that cloud blurred slightly?”

“Either my vision is lying, too, or you’re right,” Burger said. “I can hardly see any disturbance at all, but it’s there.”

“That could be a cloaked something,” said Kevin. He looked back at the warp. “But this warp seems much more intriguing.”

“Want to see how well this young man can drive, Hamilton?” asked Mason.

“Why not? Go ahead,” said Burger.

Kevin started forward gently. In moments, they entered the warp zone.

* * *

Negaduck and Steelbeak’s Lair, Saint Canard, Darkwing’s Earth.

In Saint Canard, the rain had been going on for two and a half weeks. Within their lair at the top of an abandoned hotel, F.O.W.L.’s top agents were not too happy. “This rain is the pits,” Negaduck said.

“It’s messing up my power,” said Mega Volt.

“It’s drowning my daises,” said Bushroot.

“It’s soaking my toys,” said Quacker Jack.

“If I went out in it, my steel beak would rust shut,” Steelbeak said.

“So, who cares?” snapped Ammonia Pine. “It needs to be rusted shut. You talk too much. As for me, I love this rain. If I dump a bunch of soap into it, I’ll have the whole city cleaned.” She snapped her fingers. “You know, that’s a great idea.”

“At least someone is satisfied,” said Negaduck as Ammonia sprinkled powdered soap from a soap box out the window. A toon-hen, Ammonia was a little shorter and a little fatter than Steelbeak. She wore clothes that one might wear while cleaning, including a blue cap with white dots on her head. She could never rest until everything was clean.

“So am I,” said Liquidator. “This is my rain.”

“What?” the other men cried. “You’re behind this?”

Liquidator smiled with venom. “Absolutely. The raincloud allows me to zip anywhere at all in the whole galaxy and rob anyone blind in a flash.”

“Whew,” said Negaduck. “At least it’s for an evil cause. But what about the rest of us? What’ll we do while you’re zipping about, robbing everyone? Sit on our tail feathers?”

“I have an order for my rain-cloud,” said Liquidator. “I’ll be back with your answer after this brief break.” Liquidator raised the palms of his watery hands to his shoulders. A spray of water shot from his hands out the window up into the rain-cloud. The cloud suddenly stopped moving dead over the entire galaxy. “I ordered the cloud to stop, since it is now covering the whole galaxy. I also ordered it to let the six of you through without getting any part of you wet. Except, of course, for your feet.”

Steelbeak took on an evil grin. “All right! We’ll, like, fix Darkwing Doofus now. Ha, ha, ha!”

“I’ll go short out the main electric company,” Mega Volt said. “No one will have power afterwards.”

“I can weed the whole city,” said Bushroot. “There will be no roads on which to travel.”

“I’ll send my evil toys on a destructive rampage throughout the city, leaving nothing but gravel,” Quacker Jack said with a laugh.

“Then, with my power-cleaners, I’ll clean up on Saint Canard,” Ammonia said. “Like sucking the riches out of banks and using suds to topple buildings.”

“It’s time for the crime-spree,” said Steelbeak. “You four get to work. Like, F.O.W.L. High-Command will be awfully darned proud of us.” The seven felons laughed wickedly.

* * *

Darkwing Tower, Audubon Bay Bridge, Saint Canard, Darkwing’s Earth.

On the Audubon Bay Bridge of Saint Canard, one of the two towers that were closer to the city’s core was Darkwing Tower, Darkwing Duck’s base. Within, the entire Justice Ducks organization was in the dumps. “This is the pits,” said Fenton Crackshell, whose secret heroic identity was GizmoDuck.

“Correction: the mega-pits,” Darkwing said. “No villain would commit a crime in this foul weather. Foul? F.O.W.L.! They must be behind this! Only the Fiendish Organization for World Larceny would stoop to something so low.”

“I think you overestimate them, Darkwing,” said Scrooge McDuck, who was visiting from Duckburg along with his nephews. He was the richest person alive on this world, but he was too cheap to stay at a hotel when Darkwing Tower would suffice. Fortunately, Darkwing found him easy enough to get along with. “No one could come up with this.”

“Then why did the rain-cloud just stop?” asked Huey Duck, looking out a window. He and his brothers, Dewey and Louie, and Webbigail were now teenagers, nearly Scrooge’s height. Huey wore a solid red shirt. Dewey wore a vertically striped shirt in white and blue. Louie wore a green shirt and a baseball cap, which he wore backwards, like many others of his generation. Webby, their governess’s granddaughter and one of their best friends, still wore a pink dress and a pink bow.

“Aha,” said Darkwing. “Only one fiend—and one fiend alone—could stop a cloud while such a solar wind is gusting through the galaxy: that over-advertising, water-brained master of all fluids, the Liquidator.”

Launchpad laughed. “Sounds pretty far-fetched, DW. If Liquidator can control the clouds, why hasn’t he done that before?”

“I’m pretty sure that Liquidator is behind this. Remember, he can control all fluids, which can be either liquid or gas, in any way possible. That means he can cause water to form a cloud massive enough to fly over the whole galaxy.”

Gosalyn Mallard, Darkwing’s adopted teenage daughter, was watching TV when Webra Walters came on the air. Webra was a blonde-haired toon-dog. “Darkwing, here’s something interesting,” Gosalyn called.

Darkwing went over to the TV. “What is it, Gosalyn?”

One could tell that Webra Walters had a definite speech impediment when they heard her speak. “The mystewious waincwoud has stopped dead over Saint Canard and Duckburg,” Webra said. “This occuwwence is baffwing aww meteowawogists aww over the countwy. According to another weport, Mega Vowt, Bushwoot, Quacker Jack, and Ammonia Pine are turning off the power, overgwowing the city in pwants, tewwowising with toys, and sucking the money out of the bank vawts. More intense study shows that F.O.W.L., particuwarwy the organization of their most tweachewous agents, is at work again. How wong wiww it be before F.O.W.L. High-Command is put out of business? No one knows. We now weturn to our weguwarwy scheduled pwogwamming.” Webra Walters went off the air to put the regularly scheduled programs back on.

“Aha,” said Darkwing. “I now know that the Liquidator is up to his watery tricks again. The question is, where is he?”

Suddenly, the hand-radio in Darkwing’s suit beeped. “Darkwing, this is Director J. Gander Hooter of SHUSH. Do you read me?”

Darkwing Duck took out his radio. “This is Darkwing, Hooter. What is it?”

“Darkwing, F.O.W.L. is ransacking the city! Dr. Sarah Bellum has definite evidence that the dastardly, deviant Liquidator is up to his tricks concerning the cloud. Mega Volt, Bushroot, Quacker Jack, and Ammonia Pine are the F.O.W.L. agents running wild through the city. I believe that Steelbeak and Negaduck are in charge of this evil escapade.”

“No need to worry about me, Hooter. I’ll get over to Negaduck’s hideout and deal those creeps a crippling blow.”

“Very well, Darkwing. Good luck.” Hooter cut the communication.

Darkwing leapt onto the table. “Everyone, let’s get dangerous.”

“Good idea,” said Fenton.

“So, say the secret words already,” said Mrs. Crackshell, Fenton’s mother. She was lying on a couch and munching Quacker Jack Snacks while watching the news. She was similar in appearance to him, except she wore red make‑up. Usually, at home, her hair remained in pink curlers, and she stayed in a pink robe. Now, though, her curly blonde hair was nicely done, and she wore a nice blue dress. In this state, she appeared quite younger than she actually was.

“Blabberin’ blatherskite!” cried Fenton. Instantly, his GizmoDuck suit formed around him, and he was transformed into GizmoDuck.

Darkwing Duck spread out his cape and then wrapped his body in it. Instantly, he, GizmoDuck, Launchpad McQuack, Scrooge McDuck, and Gosalyn disappeared into smoke.

* * *

Negaduck and Steelbeak’s Hideout.

In Negaduck’s headquarters, Steelbeak and Negaduck were feasting their eyes on the treasure that Ammonia had brought back, having stolen it with the aid of Mega Volt, Quacker Jack, and Bushroot. “Now, that is something of which F.O.W.L. will be proud,” Steelbeak said. “I’ll call High-Command now.”

“This loot is great,” said Negaduck. “Good work, you four.”

Darkwing’s smoke appeared in the room. His voice said, “I am the terror that flaps in the night. I am the cold front that blasts your raincloud away.” The smoke cleared, revealing Darkwing and his friends. “I am the leader of the Justice Ducks. I am Darkwing Duck!”

“Must you always introduce yourself?” asked Bushroot.

“Do you never knock?” asked Quacker Jack.

“You need a shorter intro, intruder,” said Liquidator.

“Aw, forget the disturbance,” said Mega Volt casually. “Think nothing of it.” He then finished abruptly, “Because I’m going to waste this fool!” He fired a ray of electricity at Darkwing. Darkwing pulled his cape in front of his face. The electric bolt was deflected off his cape and really wrapped up Mega Volt. “Yah! You good guys always have to win. Why not the bad guys?” The electricity fried his battering, causing him to scream and then fall unconscious to the floor.

“Ready to succumb, scum?” asked Darkwing.

“I’ll need your help for this trick, Liquie,” said Bushroot.

“Whatever you say, Bushie,” said Liquidator. Bushroot tossed some seeds out at the Justice Ducks.

“Mere seeds?” said GizmoDuck. “Ha! It’ll take more than that to stop us, you cad.”

“I think so,” said Liquidator. “Maybe some water is in order.” Laughing, he soaked the seeds. Without warning, they grew and entrapped all the Justice Ducks. “Ha!”

“Hey,” cried Launchpad.

“You cad!” GizmoDuck said.

“Got any weed-killer gas, Darkwing?” asked Scrooge.

“No,” said Darkwing. “I forgot it.”

“Nice time for you to forget it, DW,” said Gosalyn.

“Like, F.O.W.L. High-Command will be proud of you, Liquidator and Bushroot,” said Steelbeak. He laughed wickedly.