The Mighty Ducks and all related characters are the property of Walt Disney Corporation. No copyright infringement is intended. This story begins roughly two months before the events shown in the episode "The First Face-Off." ________ Arsenal of Freedom "Oh, man. I should've stayed with my sisters." He ducked a barrage of blaster fire and desperately scanned his surroundings for an escape route. "I mean, sure I would've been in a work camp, sweating to death from sunup till sundown, but at least I wouldn't be running through the middle of a bloody *grocery store* with six hunter drones on my tail." There it was; the saving grace of many a fugitive: a back door. He dove through the door, having the presence of mind to be grateful it wasn't locked. The sunlight - what little managed to get through the heavily polluted skies to reach the ground - stung his eyes, which had log since adjusted to the darkness of the store's interior. He blinked rapidly even as he continued his breakneck pace through the parking lot. The store was on the edge of town, and the parking lot ended at the beginning of a forest, which was the reason he'd headed there once he realized the hunters were on his tail. Hunters were too large and unwieldy, and in many ways too delicate, to function well in the woods. Either they were too large to duck through and around the trees, or they were damaged by running into the trees. Short of blasters or going - literally - underground, it was the best way to loose them. As a result ninety percent of the resistance cells on the planet were located in forests. There was a space of about fifty meters between the parking lot and the forest and in the open space the hunters were rapidly catching up with him. A shot slammed into the ground less than meter from his feet and the shock threw him to the ground. He rolled with it and came up on his feet, losing only a couple seconds time as he resumed his dash toward the forest. With a sigh of relief he entered the edge of the forest, dodging branches and jumping fallen trees. He heard the hunters slow and come to a halt at the edge of the forest, he didn't stop to look though. He knew they wouldn't follow. Someone would come to search the woods though, to see if he was part of a resistance cell that had set up shop in here. No one would find anything. These woods had been abandoned since a group of refugees from the next region had been slaughtered while hiding there. No one would set up base there. It was, therefore, a great place to lose pursuit. He continued through the woods for another mile or so before venturing back out in the open, but there was no one or thing waiting for him. The hunters had apparently decided to give up the chase. He hadn't taken anything of great value after all - some medical supplies was all and Dragaunus could easily do without the small amount he had stolen. He hefted the bag of supplies thoughtfully. It would be enough to last his cell for a few weeks, providing no one got desperately sick and there weren't any outbreaks. Last thing the resistance needed to face on top of hunters was a flu epidemic. It was at least ten miles back to the base, but in the months since Dragaunus had conquered his planet he'd become used to hiking great distances. It was almost dark before he reached the base, despite the quick pace he'd set for himself. He could see them issuing the orders for lights out. The guard at the gate stopped him. He obediently set the pack of supplies on the ground and raised both hands. The guard frisked him carefully while another guard stood back, keeping his weapon trained on them. When the guard was certain there were no hidden tracers, weapons or listening devices he switched his attention to the pack of supplies. "All clear," he announced shortly. "Here you go," he added handing over the supplies. "Beakman's been hoping for some new medical supplies, we're running low. He’ll be thrilled to see you." He slung the pack over his shoulders. "Glad to hear the entire day wasn't wasted." "Canard," the second guard interrupted, "General Gander's been looking for you. It sounds pretty important. Some guy from another cell, calls himself McMallard, arrived this morning, and they left orders for you to contact them as soon as you get in, no matter what time it is." Canard O'Mallardson frowned slightly down at the darkening base. What would the general want with him? *** "General Gander, sir? Canard O'Mallardson. Reporting as ordered," Canard added quickly. The general insisted the resistance adhere to military protocol as much as possible. General Gander was in his late middle age, in his seventies or so. Tall and imposing he managed to inspire the soldiers under his control through his mere presence. He was also a good man, willing to risk his life to free Puckworld. The second man in the room, although a bit older, was easily Gander's equal in height and intimidation. Canard wondered briefly if it was a prerequisite for making General before Gander spoke. "Canard, this is General McMallard. He leads the resistance cell based out of Ducaine Metropolis." McMallard held out his hand, which Canard accepted. "As I understand it, you're from there, aren’t you, Canard?" "Yes sir," Canard replied. McMallard spoke. "Ducaine Metropolis was the first city hit. Almost no one was able to escape alive before being herded into the camps. May I ask how it is you managed to get out of the city, O'Mallardson?" "My uncle is a retired member of the military, General McMallard," Canard answered. "He smuggled me and my cousins out of the city when the Saurians arrived." "And your uncle?" "Dead, sir." McMallard nodded absently. "The reason I'm here, O'Mallardson, is that I'm preparing a strike into Ducaine Metropolis to free two individuals, both of whom I believe will be very important for a mission that is currently in planning. Unfortunately, as I said, few people managed to escape Ducaine Metropolis. So far I've only managed to find three people who even remotely know the city. I came here, as well as to several other cells, hoping to find one of the people who did manage to get out alive. You, Mr. O'Mallardson, are the only one I've managed to find." Canard waited, knowing that McMallard wasn't finished. His mind was whirling with what had already been said. A strike into Ducaine Metropolis? The capitol city of Puckworld was the most fortified city on the planet since Dragaunus had chosen it for his stronghold. Getting inside without inside help would be the next best thing to suicide. "I'd like you to be a member of the strike force. Gander assures me you know how to take care of yourself, and that you've dealt with your fair share of hunters. And from what I've heard from your comrades out there, you know how to use a blaster with the best of them. What do you say?" Canard hesitated for only a second. He wanted to know more about this strike force and their mission before he agreed, but he knew that McMallard and Gander would only fill him in if he accepted. "I'm in." He should have known that nothing would ever be the same. *** Canard waited impatiently in a small room with three other people. Hoping to find something interesting to help pass the time, he glanced around the room. But the room was empty of anything except the four people. Canard was struck by how completely unfamiliar everything was. After agreeing to join the strike force, McMallard hadn’t explained anything more. Instead he'd taken Canard and set out that night for his own cell, positioned only a mile outside Ducaine Metropolis. Upon arrival Canard hadn't spoken to anyone, just led into the small room where he now waited. Frankly, he was getting a little impatient. The door opened without warning and General McMallard strode in. Canard stood to greet him, as did the three others. McMallard waved them back to their seats. "No time for formalities. Our time-table just got pushed up." They returned to their seats as McMallard seemed to gather himself. "Introductions are quick and simple. You will know only the first names of your companions, you are not to reveal anything more, not even to each other. What you don't know can't kill anyone else." He gestured to the first person he saw, a young woman, maybe in her thirties. "Cassandra is highly skilled in covert activities. She'll be responsible for getting you in without anyone seeing you." The next person he introduced was a man about 25 or so, about five years older than Canard himself. "Rance is skilled in armed and unarmed combat. Dalin," the third member of the party was also a man, about ten years older than Canard, "is a munitions expert, as well as a security expert. He'll know how to get around the security systems. Canard," he gestured to Canard this time, "is a strategic expert. He'll be in charge once you leave camp. What he says goes." Canard didn't blink, but his mind whirled at the responsibility McMallard had just dropped on his shoulders. He was no strategic expert! "The first thing going to say is that this will not be an easy mission. In truth, it may be the most difficult any of you will ever participate in, but the benefits are monumental. I cannot tell you everything, but in a matter of months, a raid will be launched against Dragaunus himself. This strike will consist of a small commando team of the best Puckworld has to offer. Two of these commandos are being held inside Ducaine Metropolis. Your job is to get in, get them, and get out." He smiled without humor. "And just to make the job even more difficult, try to stay alive while you're doing it. "You’ll be given whatever weapons and supplies you may need. You can chose whatever weapon you're most comfortable with; we don't want anyone dying because they're unfamiliar with their weapon during a confrontation. For security reason, you will have no contact with any member of the resistance cell once you enter the city." He pulled a folded piece of paper from the pocket of his uniform, which, when unfolded, proved to be a map of Ducaine Metropolis. He pointed to a structure located about half a mile into the city. Canard sighed. "The Museum?" he asked resignedly. "These people you want us to rescue are in the National Museum?" McMallard lifted an eyebrow. "You’re familiar with the building, I take it?" Canard nodded. "I worked there my last year of primary school. It's a fortress left over from the civil war between Keltor and Renshael." "Precisely," McMallard stated. "Dragaunus has made the Museum into a prison for some of his less dangerous enemies." "Two commandos who are going to take down Dragaunus himself," Canard asked skeptically, "are being held in a low security prison?" "Dragaunus does not consider them to be high-risk," McMallard explained. "One is a scientist. Her name is Tanya Drakeman. Twenty- three years old, white feathers, blond hair, blue eyes, just over five feet. She specializes in whatever she wants to. Real genius material according to her colleagues. The other is more of a tactician and diplomat. Grin Blithe is twenty-five, six feet five inches, black hair, grey feathers. He's practically a living battering ram, too. One hell of a fighter. A border-line pacifist, though." McMallard tapped the map with one finger. "Check this carefully, because this is the only time you're going to see it. "The Museum is a six-story structure located seven-tenths of a mile inside Ducaine Metropolis. As Canard said it's a former fortress and the historians wanted it to remain as historically accurate as possible, so they changed nothing about it. As a result, the windows are all still barred, the doors made of solid metal, and there is no basement to sneak in through. Dragaunus has added his own security as well, in addition to the minor alarms and safeties the museum officials installed." "How are we going to get inside then?" Dalin asked. "Is there a plan or are we working from scratch?" "We have an inside agent working as a guard in the Museum," McMallard explained. "An old friend of mine is working as a double agent. Every couple of months he tells us whatever information he has about the Saurians activities and what prisoners have been through there. That's how we found Drakeman and Blithe. He knows you're coming and he'll meet you when you arrive at the Museum. This is where we start getting into the time table. You have to reach the Museum within two hours of entering the city. If you're late then you'll have missed your opportunity and the only options left to you will be to retreat and hope another opportunity presents itself, or to continue on without inside help. Be on time. "The contact is to be known only as Professor. You give the code - remember this, all of you - 'Remember the Honor' and he will respond 'The Final Battle.'" Canard smirked slightly. " 'For the final battle was fought in the plains of Ransal, beneath the angry sky as Ducaine set his strength against Keroth for the sake of a world. As the people watched in awe the skies opened up in anger, striking Keroth and his evil from the world. And to the people Ducaine did say, "Know what has happened and remember always those who fell to free us. Remember them. Remember the honor with which they fought."' Mythology, sir?" McMallard gave him an amused glance. "A month ago I believed the Saurians were myths. In light of recent revelations, I dare say that the Legends of Ducaine could very possibly be real. Now, once Professor has responded properly he will get you inside the Museum - or Regional Penitentiary as Dragaunus calls it. He will tell you what level Blithe and Drakeman are being held on. From there you go to the aforementioned level. You break out Drakeman and Blithe. You go back to wherever Professor tells you to meet him. He lets you out. Remember, Professor has to be out of there at a certain time. Be back when he tells you to be back. And if you're late, find your own way out, but try not to attract too much attention to yourself. Then you return here immediately. Got it?" The four assembled nodded. "Good." "Sir, if I may ask," Rance broke in, "when do we leave?" "Now." McMallard refolded the map and put it back in his pocket. "Follow me. We'll stop at the armory and then you're out of here." *** An hour later, tired, nervous and half convinced his heart would beat a whole through his chest, Canard began to wish he'd turned McMallard down. Ducaine Metropolis wasn't at all the bustling city he'd grown up in with his parents and sisters and best friend. Instead it was a dirty, polluted shell of its former self. Desolate and burned- out buildings lined every street they'd taken. Rats and stars knew what else scurried through the litter-strewn alleys and streets and buildings. Not once did Canard see another person. He wanted to believe that there had to be someone left free of the work camps, that someone had escaped that hell, even if not the city itself, but nowhere did he see anyone but his three teammates. Cassandra, Rance and Dalin looked about as thrilled as he did, but they kept pushing forward. Despite his own reluctance at being in charge they took his suggestions seriously, especially when dealing with the hunter drones. He couldn't believe they'd never had to deal with the drones before. But while they allowed him to lead, he was careful to take their advice, especially Cassandra's. Thanks to her knowledge of covert skills they'd already managed to escape a hunter patrol without being seen. They reached the end of the street they were taking and Canard gestured for them to stay behind while he checked the next street. Leaving them behind, he approached the corner. He checked before he ventured around it though; listening to hear of anything besides rats was lurking around the corner. Hearing nothing Canard carefully peered around the corner of the building - wreckage was probably more appropriate, considering the condition the structure was in - keeping his weapon ready. There was nothing that shouldn't have been there. He snapped his fingers three times and the others joined him. They were close to the Museum now. He could see it. Originally, it had been Fort Keltor, built during a minor civil war between Keltor province and a large community in the southern end of the province called Renshael more than nine hundred years ago. At the end of the war the fort had become useless and had been converted to a museum. Keltor Regional Museum had remained such until the planetary federation was formed some two hundred years later and Ducaine Metropolis had become the planetary capitol. Renamed the Puckworld National Museum, it had remained the same for the past seven centuries, untouched, unchanged and undamaged. Until now. The casual manner in which Dragaunus destroyed Puckworld's past along with its present angered Canard. But buildings could be rebuilt, and ancient texts weren’t necessary for their survival. If their past had to be sacrificed to free their planet, then so be it, but Canard would not sit back while Dragaunus destroyed his people's future. The people of Puckworld would survive. They were at the Museum now. Canard could see the doorway McMallard had told them to look for. "Wait here," he whispered. "I'll go alone. If this is a trap they'll only get one of us." They nodded their agreement and remained behind in the shadows of an alleyway while Canard approached the Museum. It felt bizarre to Canard, to be treating a place he'd known and been to his entire life as if it were a cave full of terchit bears which at any moment would rush out and devour him. He could still remember coming here as a kid, with his parents or on school trips and later, when he’d gotten older and taken a job there to pay for secondary schooling. He smiled a bit as he remembered one incident in particular. It had been the last day of his first week and it was almost time to quit. He’d decided to finish polishing the last few display cases as quickly as possible. In his rush he'd knocked over a display case of rare coins from before the time of Ducaine - assuming Drake Ducaine had ever existed. By knocking over the case he'd also set off the security systems - including the most hideous alarm he'd ever heard in his life. Wildwing, who'd promised to pick him up that day, had arrived just in time for the action. Canard had though his friend would laugh himself sick. Not for the first time Canard wondered what had become of his friend. He knew for a fact that Wildwing had been in Ducaine Metropolis when the Saurians invaded and Wildwing had no relatives to smuggle him out of the city. Canard shook his head and pushed the thoughts from his mind. He couldn't afford to get lost in the past, no matter how much he wanted to. If they were going to get out of this alive they would all need to keep their heads and attention firmly in the here and now. Canard reached the unobtrusive side door that was to be their meeting place. It had been commonly used for staff when Canard worked there and apparently Dragaunus' people used it for the same purpose. Not sure exactly how they were supposed to get the attention of this Professor, he shrugged and raised his hand to knock. The door swung open before he could and a middle-aged man peered out at him. Remembering what McMallard had told them, Canard said, "Remember the Honor." "The Final Battle," the man replied. "I understood there were to be more of you." Canard signaled the others to join them, Dalin, Cassandra and Rance left their cover to join him and the Professor. "Inside," the Professor ordered. "Before someone sees you." "Are we at risk of being seen on any surveillance cameras?" Canard asked as Professor ushered them inside. "No," Professor replied. "The surveillance security systems suffered an inexplicable malfunction about an hour ago. They'll be down for another two hours or so. That's several times the time you should need." Professor led them to a doorway just beyond where they had entered the Museum. He pushed it open, revealing a stairwell. "Here's the facts: security's down, but the individual cells are still locked, so I hope one of you knows something about security systems. Grin Blithe is in cell eight, level two. Tanya Drakeman is in cell sixteen, level three. If you're smart and fast and you don't run into anyone, you can be out of here in twenty minutes. Meet me back here when you're finished. I can wait another hour before I have to leave." He gestured for Canard to go into the stairwell. "Good luck." Dalin and Rance went first, followed by Canard and Cassandra. "Drakeman first," Canard ordered. "Worse comes to worse and we're discovered, we can get Blithe on our way out." Dalin nodded and continued past the door to the second level continuing up to the third. Cassandra took the lead then. She paused for a moment, listening, then eased the door open and carefully stepped out into the hall. Gesturing an 'all clear' to her teammates she silently made her way down the hall, checking the numbers on the cells as she passed. She was about halfway down the hall when she stopped opposite a cell. Canard checked the number for himself. 16. And the woman inside fit the description McMallard had given them. He lifted an eyebrow at Cassandra, shrugged and said quietly, "Ms Drakeman?" The prisoner had been dozing on the cot in her cell, but at Canard’s summons she sat up and glanced at them. "Who-?" Canard gestured her to silence. "Dalin, get the security. Ms. Drakeman, my name's Canard. We're with the resistance. We've come to get you out of here." His explanation didn't seem to reassure her much but she remained silent as Dalin worked. Canard watched his teammate work at the security systems, watching what wires Dalin cut and which ones he bypassed. He was impressed at the smooth, confident manner in which Dalin worked. He'd obviously done something like this many times. "Here we go," Dalin said softly. The force shield of Drakeman's cell shimmered and then disappeared. Drakeman gave a wary glance where it had been, but stepped through to join Canard and his team in the hallway. "What's going on here?" "No time to explain, Ms. Drakeman," Canard said. "We still have one more person to get. I promise, I'll tell you whatever I know as soon as we're someplace safe." Drakeman's expression was skeptical, but whether she doubted Canard's word or the idea that anywhere on Puckworld could be safe, he couldn't tell. "Let’s move it, people. I don't want to be here a moment longer than necessary." They followed much the same routine at level two, Cassandra checking to make sure the hall was abandoned before they exited the stairwell. They found cell eight and the inhabitant quickly and Dalin set to work disarming the security. Grin Blithe was just as McMallard had described, but *more.* He was a giant of a duck, towering over Canard by an entire head, yet at the same time, he half expected the guy to start quoting some dead philosopher. And he was meditating. Canard spoke softly while Dalin worked. "Mr. Blithe?" Blithe's eyes opened and he looked at Canard. "My name is Canard. We're with the resistance. We're here to get you out." It was basically the same speech he'd given Drakeman, almost word for word. Blithe just nodded agreeably. Dalin dealt with the security on that cell as easily as he had the first one. Blithe showed no hesitation in joining Canard's group. Cassandra tapped Canard’s shoulder. "Someone's coming," she whispered. "Gotta go now if we don't want to fight it out." "The stairwell. Now!" Canard whispered back. "Keep Drakeman and Blithe covered." The four resistance fighters and two freed prisoners rushed back to the stairwell. Dalin and Cassandra went first, followed by Drakeman and Blithe. Canard sent Rance on ahead of him, then slipped into the stairwell, easing the door closed behind him just as he caught a glimpse of someone coming around the corner at the far end of the hall. He paused and caught his breath, but there was no indication they'd been seen. He breathed a sigh of relief and hurried after his teammates. Professor was waiting where they'd left him. "Twenty-three minutes," he said. "Good time." He led them to a different doorway and handed Canard a security card. "This will get you outside again. Now hurry." "Thanks, Professor," Canard said sincerely. "Couldn’t have done it without you." Professor smiled, nodded and turned away. "Good luck," was all he said as he walked away. Without a word further Canard used the security card to bypass the lock on the door. The lock cleared and he threw the door open, holding while he ushered the others out before him. He shut the door behind him and slipped the security card into his pocket. They had come out at the back of the Museum. Canard spared a moment to wonder why Professor hadn't simply let them out the same way they had come in before he saw the two hunter drones guarding the side entrance. Cassandra had a grave look on her face as she signaled for him to get to cover. Canard joined her and the others and followed Cassandra's gaze to see what had worried her so. A Saurian. Canard's breath caught in his throat as he gazed at the lizard-like being. He was tall and gangly, reminding Canard unpleasantly of a spider, and dressed in flowing robes. He carried a staff of some sort, the top of which bore the skull of some unlucky Puckworlder. Canard wasn't sure whether or not to be relieved that the skull was obviously ancient. The Saurian wasn't looking their way as he directed the small group of prisoners that were being herded out the side door. Canard counted as they filed past. Fourteen. When the last had left the building the Saurian said something in a language Canard didn't recognize - Saurian probably - and the doors closed. The hunter drones stayed alongside the prisoners as they were marched through the streets. "They're going the same way we have to," Canard whispered. "We'll follow, but stay back and be ready to duck. Keep your weapons ready." The others nodded and they cautiously set out after the procession of prisoners and guards, using the darkness of the approaching night and the burned out buildings as cover. They'd gone only two blocks when they saw the Saurian's intent. A long line of Puckworlders, most in their twenties or thirties, shackled and chained together waited in the street, guarded by a veritable armada of hunter drones. The Saurian led the fourteen new prisoners to the front of the line and chained them to the others. "A chain gang," Canard said softly. "They’re probably on their way to the mines." Chain gangs were the worst fear for most of the population. Even prison was better. Young, healthy prisoners were taken from work camps and prisons, chained together - hence the term "chain gangs" - and taken to the mines where they were forced to work all hours of the day and part of the night mining ore and metals for the Saurians. Few who made it into the mines escaped alive. Most would die there. "This is horrible," Cassandra whispered. "I don’t know whether to cry or be sick." Drakeman nodded. Canard sympathized. The knowledge of what would await these people would haunt him he knew, but there was nothing he could do. The resistance needed Drakeman and Blithe alive. Getting them killed trying to free a group of prisoners against unbelievable odds wouldn't help anyone. "We'll stay here until they pass," he decided. "There's nothing we can do right now." But they would, someday. They sat in silence, hidden in the burned out ruins of what had once been a bank, watching the sad procession go by. Canard forced himself to watch, to see each person go by. He recognized far too many of them. Near the end of the line, one figure in particular caught his eye, and for the second time that day his heart nearly leapt from his chest. "By the stars…" "What is it?" Rance asked softly. "You okay?" "Is it someone you know?" Cassandra asked. Canard nodded sadly as he watched the teenager walk by. Shoulder length blond hair fell across his eyes, and beneath the tattered clothes, Canard could see that he was nearly emaciated, yet there was still the stubbornness and pride that Canard had never seen him without. Defiance was written on every feature. "His older brother is my best friend," Canard said quietly. The boy was gone a moment later, followed by the rest of the prisoners. Canard closed his eyes for a moment, hating himself. "We have to go. Now." *** It was a weary and tired group that finally reached the rebel base late that night. They gave up their weapons to the guards and submitted to the search without argument. One of the guards led them to the same room where McMallard had begun this mission. Fitting, Canard thought, that he would end it here as well. McMallard greeted them relievedly. He congratulated Canard and his team, then ushered Drakeman and Blithe into another room. "You are all free to go," he told the four resistance fighters. "Canard, I'd appreciate it if you stuck around for a few days before returning to your cell. There's something I'd like to discuss with you." Canard mused over the general's words as he and the others left. An older man waited out side the door and offered to show Canard the quarters that had been arranged for him. Canard accepted absently and followed him without saying anything. McMallard wanted something, that much was obvious, and Canard had a feeling he knew what. But did he want to get involved with another mission like the one he had just completed? Did he really want to walk into another Saurian stronghold and do everything short of say 'Here I am! Shoot me!'? Unbidden the image of the chain gang resurfaced in his mind, including the stubborn expression on a certain teenaged face. Doesn't matter if I want to, Canard realized. I can't stop now. Not while Dragaunus is killing hundreds of my people every day. It took a long time for him to fall asleep that night. *** "You want me to *what?!*" Canard paced across McMallard's office and gazed at McMallard, dumbstruck. When he'd agreed to hear what the general had to say he'd expected a repeat of the day before: break into a prison and break out one or two certain prisoners. "A *work camp?!*" he repeated. "You want me to get myself thrown in a work camp so I can find some thief?" "He's not a thief," McMallard said calmly. "He's a member of an ancient organization which does, upon occasion, steal." "He's a thief," Canard repeated. McMallard sighed. "He's also one of the best 'thieves' on the planet. He knows more about security systems - and how to bypass them - than almost anyone else. He's skilled at covert actions, he knows how to use a variety of weapons, he's skilled in unarmed combat-" "I get where this is going," Canard said. "And we’re not asking you to get thrown into a work camp," McMallard added. "We can get you in without anyone knowing." "And how will I get out?" Canard inquired. "That'll be the problem." "I might've known," Canard muttered. "What's this amazing plan of yours?" "The work camp is about forty miles north of here," McMallard began. "It has a population of approximately three hundred prisoners, a bit on the small side, for which we should be grateful. This particular camp is used for the production of hunter drones. As a result, every person in there knows the hunters inside and out, including their weaknesses." He lifted an eyebrow. "See where this is going?" Canard nodded slightly. "If everyone in there knows the hunters' weaknesses, then they wouldn't make very effective guards." "Precisely. So every guard at this work camp -Installation 82, it's called - is a living breathing person." He smiled slightly. "And therefore, easily disposed of." "Disposed?" Canard asked hesitantly. "Do you mean-" McMallard waved away Canard's hesitation's with a brisk gesture. "I'm not asking you to kill anyone. Not even traitors who willingly serve that Saurian bastard. I meant only that hitting a Puckworlder over the head with a heavy blunt object will be a good deal more effective than doing the same to a hunter drone. Another benefit to this situation," he continued, "is that people can be bought. Drones cannot." "You have an inside man," Canard realized. "Of course." "What's this one call himself?" Canard asked. "Teacher? Doctor? Accountant?" McMallard gave him an exasperated glance. "Are you always this impertinent?" "Generally." McMallard shook his head. "One of these days I'll have to introduce you to my daughter. In the meantime, your contact's name is Spiderweb-" "*Spiderweb?!*" "-She'll get you inside. What you do from there is basically up to you. This one won't be quite as easy as the last time, O'Mallardson. You could very well be inside Install 82 for days, maybe longer before you find your target. I don't know if you have idea what the camps are like, but they're the closest thing to hell the living will ever see." Canard was far from encouraged by McMallard's well intentioned warnings, but he still couldn’t bring himself to turn his back on this battle. "Who is my target? All you mentioned was that he was a thi- member of an ancient organization," he corrected himself. McMallard reached into his desk and pulled out a folder. "Since there are no convenient cell numbers to tell you who is who, we decided that you needed to know everything you could about our friend, Mr. l'Orange. Descriptions, photos and background information is all included in there. Read it over carefully. In brief however, his name is Duke l'Orange. Twenty-eight years old, approximately five feet ten inches, grey feathers. He was born and raised in Eastern Keltor before relocating to Ducaine Metropolis. Have you ever heard someone from Easter Keltor?" Canard nodded. "Horrible accents." "Appalling. That alone should give you a good idea if you've found who you're looking for." Canard took the folder and glanced through it quickly. "Hmph. He's only been arrested once, but there's tons of 'suspected activities.' He must have been good." "And let us hope he still is," McMallard said gravely. "Our future may depend on his skills. Do you have any more questions?" "Two. One: When do I leave?" "Day after tomorrow." "And two: l'Orange's kid brother - the cop who arrested him? Rance?" He gave McMallard an amused look. "The same Rance who helped bust out Drakeman and Blithe?" "One and the same." Canard shook his head. "Some family reunions *they* must have had." McMallard snorted. "I don’t care if they've tried to kill each other. Just make sure l'Orange understands that the only way out of Install 82 is to work with us. And if he disagrees, make him agree." He fixed Canard with a hard glare. "We need this one, O'Mallardson. I don’t care if you hit *him* over the head as well as the guards and carry him back. Get him to come with you." *** Canard had an entire day before he was to go undercover in Installation 82 and locate the rebel named Duke l'Orange and he decided to waste it snooping around. Well, that's not how it started out. Originally, he had intended only to get familiar with the base. But once you've seen one rebel stronghold you've pretty much seen them all and before long Canard was back where he started. Bored. For lack of anything better to do, Canard headed for McMallard's personal office. He'd thought of a few questions he wanted to ask the general anyway, might as well get it over with. When he arrived the general was gone, but he guard waved him in anyway, saying he was welcome to wait inside. Canard accepted the offer and found a seat in the general's office. Half an hour passed. Canard gave up his determination to wait patiently and began to pace. It wasn't that he particularly minded waiting - wasn't like he had anything better to do - but Canard had never been the type to do *anything* patiently. Wildwing had once accused him of being the antithesis of all thing patient and Canard had laughingly admitted he was correct. Thinking of Wildwing only inspired less than comforting thoughts of where his friend was now. Canard banished the thoughts and gazed around General McMallard's office, determined to find something to kill the time with. A stack of make-shift shelving filled one wall of the office, each shelf crammed to overflowing with books, data pads and papers. Giving in to curiosity, Canard moved closer to examine the contents of the shelves. Most were historical in nature - accounts of Puckworld's history; wars, major events, key people - some dealt with geography, others mythology. Amongst the mythological collections Canard recognized the faded volumes of 'The Legends of Ducaine,' 'Sons of the Power,' 'Song of Liberty,' 'Cycles of Power,' and 'The Ducaines' as well as others he didn't recognize. Canard whistled softly as he examined the volumes closer. They were all easily hundreds of years old and untranslated. Canard gently ran a finger along the cover of the edition of 'The Ducaines' and carefully removed the book from the shelf. It was like holding history in his hands. He set the book on the general's desk and carefully began flipping pages. The language was only vaguely familiar; a dialect of Keltor province that had not been spoken in centuries. Canard struggled through page after page, making sense of some, not understanding a word of others. He began to regret his decision not to continue language classes after accumulating the required credits; it had been almost ten years since he had taken a class. He was briefly thankful that Wildwing and his brother had continued the courses, and that they'd more than once dragged Canard into a study session. Otherwise he would never have gotten even as far as he had. He skimmed through chapter after chapter, becoming more familiar with the language as he did. A lot of what he read was familiar from history classes, but a lot more of it was completely new to him. He read of the Saurians arrival on Puckworld almost five thousand years previously, of their highest Overlord, Keroth, who led the assault that left Puckworld a ruined husk of its former glory. He read of how Drake Ducaine, the youngest son of a powerful member of the Keltor government, had come up with the idea of designing a mask to see through the Saurians' cloaking devices and gathered around him a small group of rebels who went with him when he led a strike team into the heart of Keroth's stronghold in Keltor. He read of Ducaine's victory in that strike and how the resistance went on to triumph over their conquerors, overthrowing the Saurians after a final battle in which Keroth was slain by Ducaine's hand. But there was so much more to it than that. The Saurians took not only Puckworld, but dozens of other planets in that part of the galaxy. Puckworlders were not merely sent to prison and work camps, some were sent to other worlds to serve as slaves in certain operations or plans of the Saurians, and beings from other planets were brought to Puckworld for the same reason. It made sense to Canard, he'd always wondered why Puckworld's allies hadn’t come to their aid against the Saurians. Knowing that they too had been conquered explained that much. It was what he learned next that surprised him. There was more than one Mask. He'd reread that passage three times when he came to it, certain he must have misread, but each time he got the same result. Drake Ducaine was not the only one to have a Mask. Hundreds of them had been constructed for the resistance. Hundreds. Canard turned the pages rapidly, skimming through paragraphs and entire chapters detailing certain battles or strikes. He didn't stop until near the end of the volume, where he found a page including a faded map. Hesitantly, half knowing what he would find, he examined the map. He traced the edge of it, the high mountain ranges, and down to the bottom, showing a large city. In faded script the city was identified as Ransal. *For the final battle was fought in the plains of Ransal …* It was familiar. The mountains to the north and east, the river to the south, vanishing off the edge of the map, and the wide plains to the west - where Ducaine had vanquished Keroth and freed his people. It hit him like a blaster shot at close range. 'Not Ransal. *Renshael!*' "By the stars," he breathed. "It’s all true. Ducaine, the Mask, everything. And the final battle was fought in Renshael!" It made sense. The map of Ransal matched the geography surrounding Renshael, and the names were close enough. It *had* been five thousand years, after all, not to mention the fact that the language had changed twice during that time. Could it be? Tearing his eyes from the map with an effort he carefully began to read the passages accompanying it in the book. Word by word he paid more attention for these few short paragraphs than he had for the rest of the book. The night had come and passed and come again before Drake Ducaine breathed his last. At his bedside, holding vigil those silent hours, his daughter, Lindsay and his son, Torres, waited and watched, heard his last words, and when it was done left the still form of Puckworld’s greatest hero to announce to the world what had been lost that night It was decided that night, by the two surviving members of the Ducaine household, that never would the bravery of the Puckworld people be forgotten, that never would they be caught unprepared by the Saurian onslaught again. Admist fanfare and ceremony they placed the Mask of Ducaine, that from which all other masks had been formed, in the temple at Janlai where it would remain until the time came when the people of Puckworld would again need a hero to defeat what threatened- Canard stopped reading there, his eyes darting back to the map. There in the mountains was the word he sought. Janlai. A mountain. The Mask of Ducaine had been placed in temple on the mountain Janlai outside the city of Ransal. To honor the place where the last battle against Keroth was fought, doubtlessly. The Mask was in Janlai. The Mask was *real.* And if it was real it could be found. *** "I was wondering when you’d get to that chapter." Canard was snapped out of his reverie by the words. He glanced up from the map to see General McMallard watching him thoughtfully, and amusedly. "General-" McMallard waved away whatever he might have said. "Don't bother explaining, O'Mallardson. I was hoping this would happen." "You were?" Canard asked. "What's going on here? How long have you known about this?" "Not long enough, unfortunately," McMallard replied. He gestured to the volumes lining the bookshelf. "These papers and books have been in my family for years, but no one's paid much attention to them in generations. They were old and expensive so no one threw them out. When Dragaunus came and I was forced to evacuate, I took them with me. Like I said yesterday, if the legends of the Saurians had been true…" he shrugged. "I figured that the Mask, if such were real, would come in rather handy. For the last month I've been poring over these books. The datapads and papers belong to the grandmother of my grandmother's grandmother who believed the legends were real. According to her notes, no one believed her. She died and the papers and datapads were packed away with the books. I discovered what she had. That the Mask of Ducaine resided in the temple at Janlai in Renshael. I had intended to go myself, to claim the Mask." "Why haven’t you?” Canard asked. "Something like that could benefit the resistance remarkably." "I'm not exactly a young man, Canard." "You’re not exactly old, either, sir." McMallard shook his head. "It goes deeper than that, Canard. The resistance needs me. This is my place now. The Mask… That’s not my destiny." He fixed Canard with a steely gaze. "I was hoping it might be yours." *** Canard grimaced slightly at the bowl of mush that the work camp officials tried to call stew. He called it watered down grime with big chunks of… *something,* but he forced it down with nothing more than a grimace. He'd only been inside Installation 82 for three days, and already he was half-starved and about to drop dead from exhaustion. Only the knowledge of just how much rested on his completing this mission kept him going. Under the circumstances, he had weighed the risks of food poisoning versus starvation and had decided to eat the swill. Unfortunately, it looked like twice a day, every day, was no where near enough *stew* to keep someone operating at peak performance - especially since the portions were so small. No wonder everyone in the camp had been so listless. He was only slightly better off. Most of these people had been in the camp since the occupation began more than a month ago, others had been brought in later, but he was the only one who'd been there but a few days. And considering that McMallard's cell had practically stuffed him before he left, he had the energy and reserves to keep going. When the time came, Canard was confident that he’d be able to do what he had to in order get out of there. He wasn't so sure about Duke l'Orange though. In the three days Canard had been undercover in Installation 82 he had yet to find anyone answering to that name, or even anyone who recognized it. He fully realized that there were three hundred people imprisoned in the work camp and that it would take a while to get around to all of them, or even that this l'Orange person could be using a false name. It was still disappointing. And when he did finally find l'Orange, there were no guarantees that the man would be in any condition to fight his way past the guards. On top of that, Canard had not yet managed to put his discovery out of his mind, nor the words of General McMallard, when he offered Canard the chance to claim the Mask of Ducaine. The decision was driving him crazy. Needless to say, Canard was seriously in the pits. He finished the last of the *stew* and set the bowl down in front of the workers who collected the dishes. It was dark now, work was over for the day, thank the stars. But while the rest of the camp returned to their bunks, Canard had a little midnight marauding to do. It was the same every night. After the final meal the guards waited until everyone had returned to the 'bunks' - small wooden huts crammed full of cots. When the last prisoner was inside, they locked the doors and killed the lights. Then all was quiet for the next five hours until sunlight. In theory. In truth, after the guards killed the lights, Canard lay awake, waiting for the rest of the people in the bunk to fall asleep. He didn't have long to wait; with only five hours of sleep few were willing to waste any precious rest by talking or carrying on. Usually within twenty minutes he could hear the other prisoners drift off and he went into action. Rising from the small cot that he used for rest, he carefully crept to the door, knocking softly four times. From the outside he heard the lock disengage and he slipped out in to the darkness of the deserted camp. Spiderweb, McMallard's inside man, waited until Canard was out before locking the door again. A pretty, and relatively young, woman, Spiderweb had been forced into the unpleasant role of guard, forced to serve the Saurians, when Dragaunus had taken her two-year-old son and threatened to have him killed. She had given her word to be a guard if her son would be released. Dragaunus had complied, and so had she. But, as she'd told Canard when they'd first met outside the camp, she'd never promised to be a *good* guard. She had then proceeded to smuggle him inside. Since then she had given him all the help he needed, including sneaking him out of the bunk at night. Spiderweb pressed the electronic key card into Canard's hand. "Good luck,"” she whispered. "Hope you find him this time." Spiderweb didn't know who Canard was looking for, or why, just in case. Using the key card, Canard was able to enter each of the bunks at will. But with more than three hundred prisoners in the camp, and about twenty prisoners to a bunk, that was seventeen bucks to search. Considering that he had to stop and carefully check each bunk, peering through the darkness to see if he recognized any of the prisoners as his target, combined with the need to be completely silent, and the fact that he too had to get *some* sleep or risk total exhaustion, Canard was able to search only a few bunks a night. So far, he'd checked only twelve. With only five left, he was determined to finish his search that night. He wouldn't need to worry about rest once he'd found who he was looking for, after all. It was the next to last bunk where he finally struck gold. In one of the bunks closest to the door he found a figure that matched the pictures McMallard had shown him. Quietly he reached out and tapped the still form on the shoulder. Whoever he was, he was a light sleeper. Before Canard had time to react the man had grabbed Canard's wrist in one hand and his throat in another. "Who are you?" he asked quietly. "And what do you want?" "My name's Canard," Canard managed to reply. "And I'm looking for Duke l'Orange." "Why?" "I'm with the resistance." Those magic words worked with this guy as well as they had with Drakeman and Blithe. "I work with General McMallard. He sent me to get you." "Me?" "Are you Duke l'Orange or not? Because if you're not," Canard added, "you’re his long-lost twin." "I'm l'Orange," he admitted. He slowly released his grip on Canard. "What does this McMallard guy want with me?" "I can't say. Not here. I can get you out of here, if you're willing to join the resistance." l'Orange gave him a dangerous glare. "I don't like threats or ultimatums." "I don't like making them." They traded hard glares for a moment before l'Orange nodded. "It's a deal. But I want the whole story as soon as we're out of here. I assume you do have a way out of here?" "In theory." l'Orange snorted. "Why am I not surprised?" "Come on," Canard said. "We're going now. We can't afford to spend any more time here than is absolutely necessary." l'Orange was as good as the reports had said. He moved with a simple stealth that was at once amazing and worrisome. 'No wonder they never caught him,' Canard thought. 'He’s like a shadow.' The door was still unlocked and they slipped outside without a sound, Canard closing and locking the door behind him. He didn't like leaving people behind in this pit, but he had to get l'Orange back to the resistance in one piece. 'Someday,' he silently promised the prisoners still locked inside. 'Someday we'll get you out of here.' *** "So let me get this right," Duke said skeptically. "We ask someone named *Spiderweb* for the code and key card to the gate. Then we… what? Just walk through and hope no one sees us?" "That's pretty much what I have so far," Canard admitted. Duke snorted. "I always wanted to be shot on sight." "If you've got a better idea," Canard said heatedly, "give it. Because this is all we were able to come up with." "How good are you at climbing?" "Excuse me?" *** "You must be crazy." "It's better than your plan," l'Orange retorted. "And keep your voice down. The racket you're making could wake the dead." Canard sighed but kept silent. He also had to admit that l'Orange's plan could work. As long as neither of them fell. Installation 82 was built against a mountain face. Electrified fences monitored by security cameras guarded fences on three sides of the camp, but the fourth side was up against the cliff, and almost completely unguarded. Apparently whoever had built the place had decided that no one would be crazy enough to climb a 500 foot sheer mountain face with a steep outcropping at the top. No one had been apparently, until now. "If this is such a good idea," Canard dared to ask, "how come you never tried it before?" "Two reasons," l'Orange replied. "One: I never had ropes and boots before - thank whoever got this stuff, by the way." "Spiderweb. She says this plan is crazy, by the way." "Thank Spiderweb for me, then. And reason two: I'm not completely suicidal. Climbing this thing in daylight would guarantee getting shot, and I've had a lot of difficulty getting past the door locks at night. Answer your question?" "I thought you were one of the world's greatest thieves," Canard said, "How come you can’t pick a simple lock?" "You’ve been here what? Three days? Try it for a month. Nine days out of ten I'm so tired I can't even remember why it was that wanted to try and get out. All I want sometimes is a good night's sleep." A brief pang of exhaustion and regret flashed across his face. "But the Saurians won't even give us that much. You ready?" Canard nodded silently. *** By sunrise they were far enough up the cliff that there was almost no risk of being spotted. All the same, they kept their movements smooth and easy, taking care not to dislodge and rocks or dirt that would fall to the ground and give away their location. By the time another hour had passed l'Orange had reached the top and was working his way over the jutting ledge. When he was up he offered a hand down to Canard, pulling him up as well. They rested on the ledge for a moment. Canard saw that there was another ten or twenty feet above them yet to be climbed which hadn't been visible from the ground. Relieved to have the end so near in sight, he and l'Orange tackled the last distance with renewed vigor. When they finally clambered over the top - the *real* top this time - Canard laughed breathlessly with sheer relief - relief at being out of there, and at having made the limb without dying. l'Orange surveyed their surroundings with a jaundiced eye. "We're out in the open up here. We should get moving as soon as we can and find some cover." Canard supplied directions to the meeting place where a member of the cell would meet them, but otherwise let l'Orange take the lead. The thief had proven he knew stealth and as they made their way across the countryside and through the forest he only confirmed it. McMallard had been right in his judgment. Duke l'Orange would be a great asset to the strike team. As they walked Canard allowed his mind to drift. Duke l'Orange was the last of the recruits for this strike force McMallard was planning. Once he got l'Orange back to the base safe and sound Canard would be free to do as he pleased. So what did he want to do? He could go back to his former cell, with General Gander, but there was nothing for him there any more than there was at this cell with McMallard. He had no family or friends outside the prisons and work camps. The resistance was his way of fighting back, not his second family. But there was something else. The Mask No matter how he tried, he couldn't get that map out of his mind. He kept seeing the mountain Janlai and the city of Ransal and the text beside it, saying that the children of Drake Ducaine had placed it there for safekeeping, until it was again needed to fight whatever danger threatened Puckworld. Puckworld was certainly in danger. The Mask was certainly needed. And he and McMallard were the only ones who knew where it was. There were few enough who even believed it was real. McMallard had wanted Canard to claim the Mask. Did Canard want that? 'I said I'd do whatever necessary to free Puckworld,' Canard reminded himself. 'And I meant it. Even if it means going to Janlai underneath the eyes of the Saurians to claim a myth.' *** Renshael was farther away than Canard remembered. He'd been there exactly once, when his oldest sister graduated from secondary school at the University in the center of the city, and that had been almost four years ago. It took him weeks just to reach the middle of Keltor Province. His food lasted only so long before he began to steal supplies from convoys headed for Dragaunus' stronghold. He avoided all the main routes, trekking cross-country. He went out of his way to avoid hunter drones and bounty hunters, even though none of them were looking for him. He avoided chain gangs and work camps, not wanting to add their suffering to the burden he already carried in his heart. And after a month of harsh traveling, of cold nights and unseasonable storms, pushing his way through half a foot of snow and frigid temperatures, Canard reached the mountains surrounding Renshael. The mountains were to the north of the city, so never did Canard venture into Renshael itself. But from his campsite in the mountains he could see the lights far below. He reached Janlai the second day he was in the mountains and began the climb immediately. He camped when it grew too dark to see without artificial light and awoke to begin climbing again as soon as the sun had risen. His third day on Janlai he reached the temple. Tired and spent and cursing the Saurians every step of the way he came to a stop before the arched doorway of the temple. Had he not known it was there he would never have found it. The metal supports had fallen or disintegrated in places and the rest had been overgrown with plant life. Armed with only a handlight and a small bag of supplies Canard ventured inside a place which had been lost to myth and legend for centuries. The interior was in better condition than the entrance had been, although the effect of the centuries - millennia - that had passed was evident. While the passageway from the entrance into the heart of the temple was built of metal, and had not eroded during the time since it was placed there, it was obvious that more than one animal had made the temple its home. The remains of nests and the carcasses of various animals littered the passage. Canard picked his way around and over them while the ridiculous image of the Mask of Ducaine being used as a bird's nest kept dancing through his head. The passageway ended abruptly, with a great door carved of wood and metal. Canard felt an almost indescribable sorrow when he saw that the wooden parts of the door had long since rotted away. The door itself has long since ceased to function properly, and instead of trying to force it open, Canard simply stepped through it where the wood had rotted away. The temple was not as ornate as it could have been, but it was far from plain. It was only one room, the ceiling towering twenty feet above him with a floor of marble and lined along the sides with great pillars. The walls themselves were painted with great scenes of the war - Ducaine's clash with Keroth at the final battle adorned the entire wall at the back of the temple. It was the first thing people would have seen when they entered. And in the center of the temple, set upon a crystal stand and kept protected beneath a crystal case, was the Mask of Ducaine. Canard approached almost reverently, keeping the handlight fixed on the Mask. He had the absurd feeling that if he looked away fro the Mask for even an instant, now that he was so close, it would vanish into thin air. But the Mask did not vanish- -not as Canard made his way to the center of the temple- -not as he lifted the crystal case- -not as he reached out- -not as he took the Mask in his hands- -not as a new age for Puckworld was born. *** The trip back took considerably less time. Canard had a plan now, a purpose and he didn't intend to stop until he completed it. McMallard wanted him to lead the strike force against Dragaunus, he'd made that clear when Canard had returned with l'Orange. A strike force consisting of Drakeman, Blithe, l'Orange, Mallory McMallard - the general's daughter - and, of course, Canard. But Canard had an addition to make. 'Well,' he amended his thoughts, 'two additions. Knowing Wildwing he won't leave his brother behind. But I can live with that.' All he had to do was return to Ducaine Metropolis and find where the Saurians were holding Wildwing. Canard already knew where Wildwing's brother, Nosedive, was being held. He could start from there. With the Mask and general McMallard's insiders it shouldn't be too hard to find his old friend. And then they'd all make Dragaunus pay. ________ to be continued…