🚀 go-pugleaf

MIRAMAR NAVAL AIR STATION
SAN DIEGO, CA

     The toothpick-chewing base guard tried not to think too hard
about his occupation's mortality rate as the bulbous, winged creature
trotted nonchalantly down the road toward his post. If this was some
convoluted terrorist plot, he reflected despite himself, at least he
wouldn't be alive to take the blame for allowing the base perimeter
to be breached. Heaving a sigh, he stepped out of his booth to greet
the new arrival.
     As the creature trotted closer, the guard could discern that its
rider was clad in a Navy uniform. His hand moved instinctively toward
the holster on his hip. A terrorist would most likely don the uniform
to escape detection for at least a few minutes following his
infiltration. One could only speculate as to the fiendish plans he
had for the winged... rhinoceros, apparently... at his side.
     The rider dismounted and walked towards the guard, smiling
brightly.
     The guard whipped out his sidearm and leveled it at Ensign
Victor Martin's face.
     "Stop right there!!" he commanded, the blue wooden toothpick
clattering to the pavement.
     Victor's eyes widened. His hands zoomed toward the sky, and he
cried out, "Don't shoot!"
     The guard's pistol didn't waver.
     "Let's see some ID, mister."
     Victor nodded vigorously. He brought one hand down... very
slowly... to his back pocket, withdrew his wallet, and held it out to
the guard.
     The guard stepped forward, snatched the wallet, and examined the
identification card inside. With a grunt, he tossed the wallet to the
ground at Victor's feet, and resumed the two-handed grip on his
pistol.
     "So what can I help you with, Ensign Martin... if that is really
your name," he sneered. No terrorist was going to get the better of
him tonight.
     Victor's bright smile returned, though he wasn't quite foolish
enough to bring his hands down.
     "Well, it's really quite simple. My friend here--" he motioned
behind him to the patiently-waiting Ronnie the Rhino with one thumb--
"doesn't have anywhere to stay tonight, and we were wondering about
the possibility of putting him up in a hangar for a few days. After
all, he could conceivably be classified as an organic supersonic
aircraft, so he really wouldn't be all that out-of-place next to--"
     "Shut up. And don't move."
     The guard backed slowly into his booth. Keeping the sidearm
trained on Victor, he picked up the telephone and wondered idly if
they'd think him high. No matter. If anything, it would speed the
arrival of reinforcements. And the guard could take solace in the
fact that he'd outwitted this terrorist scum, without being
heartlessly gunned down like so many of his fellow unnamed
characters--
     Suddenly and without warning, a micrometeorite zoomed down from
the heavens and crashed through the ceiling of the guard's booth,
squashing him flat.



DM's ASComIIcs proudly presents:


              * * THE ADVENTURES OF COMMODORE AMIGA * *
                           Episode Twelve:
                          "Chill and Serve"

                                 by
                          Brendan LeFebvre



SAN DIEGO GENERAL HOSPITAL

     Commodore Dan Amiga sat up in bed.
     "No, Bob! I refuse to do a single interview for those bastards.
After that ambush at the airport... I'm supposed to *cooperate* with
the press?"
     "Look, Commodore," replied Media Liaison Robert Bouchet, "it's
their job. And whether you like it or not, a lot of people want to
know more about you. Don't you think--"
     "Sure they're interested now. It's still only been a few days
since I helped save the world. But you said yourself that their
interest is fickle. Can't I just lie low until someone else hits the
front page?"
     Bob shook his head. "Sorry, Commodore. It doesn't work that way.
They're like sharks; they can smell your reluctance... your fear. It
intrigues them. They'll latch onto you and they won't let go until
they get their one good story. What's worse, the less you talk, the
more some journalists might be tempted to... take liberties."
     "What?"
     "A vicious editor... an impending layoff... it can all add up to
some pretty ugly sensationalism. Particularly," Bob went on, raising
a finger, "once they start to find people who are more willing to
talk about you than you are. Believe me, Commodore, you owe it to
yourself to get into that spotlight. For the sake of the truth, if
nothing else."
     "Well--"
     A knock sounded at the door, and Admiral Stanson breezed into
the room without waiting for a reply.
     Bob looked up at him, grinning broadly.
     "Admiral! So nice to--"
     "Get out," Stanson growled, jerking a thumb exit-ward.
     "No problem!" And he was gone. Stanson turned to Amiga.
     "Hello, Dan."
     "Good evening, Admiral," said the commodore. "I see you won the
coin toss."
     "Pardon?"
     "You know. With Ens--" Amiga caught himself just in time. "Um,
that other guy who said he wanted to talk to me."
     "Him?" Admiral Stanson shrugged. "No clue who he was. He left as
soon as you collapsed. Arrogant bastard; he coulda flown you here
himself and saved us all a lot of trouble."
     Amiga said nothing. Until he knew exactly what the admiral
wanted, it would be best to keep quiet. The older man's face revealed
nothing about how he'd taken the news of Amiga's superguy status.
     "Well, enough chit-chat. There's a very important reason why I'm
here, and we'd best get right to it."
     Amiga closed his eyes, and nodded. "Yes, sir."
     "I've been doing some reading, Dan, we all have. We know what
you've been up to the last couple of days."
     "Uh huh?" Amiga could feel the bed start to drop away beneath
him.
     "Dan... believe me, what I'm about to tell you has nothing to do
with all of that."
     "Yes, sir." It was over.


     "All right," Victor conceded to the angry contingent of
high-ranking naval officers looming over him. "I can see where you
might be a little upset by my arrival. That guardtower was a nasty
coincidence, and I can give you nothing but my heartfelt assurances
that that's all it was. I assure you, I have no control over the
objects of the cosmos.
     "And as for my flying friend, his conduct has been nothing less
than honorable since the day I met him. He's a fine upstanding
rhinoceros who's not welcome back home anymore because of his wings.
He is not part of a terrorist plot. Now, if you'll just give me
access to a phone, I'll call up Commodore Amiga, and he'll be more
than happy to vouch for me and Ronnie--"
     "Amiga?" one of the admirals asked, his face brightening.
"Hell(TM), why didn't you say so in the first place? His name's good
as gold with us!"
     Victor blinked. "It is?"
     "Sure!"
     "But--"
     A rear admiral clapped Victor on the shoulder, nearly toppling
him from the chair. "Think about it, Ensign! Our friend the Commodore
led a land-based fighting force to decisive victory over a horde of
fiends from the depths of PseudoHell(pseudoTM)! Can you imagine any
more delicious way of showing up those Army pukes? Hell(TM), after
this they just might forfeit the football game next year!" His
boisterous laughter was quickly joined by that of the others.
     "Hey," one of them said finally, "get Vic here to a phone so's
we can congratulate Mr. Amiga personally!"
     Some moments passed.
     "No answer at his apartment. Perhaps he's at the base," Vic
offered.
     The rear admiral nodded vigorously. "Gimme that phone."


     "Bwah?"
     "I said, they're promoting you. Rear Admiral. The formal
ceremony will be sometime next week. Congratulations."
     Amiga blinked. "Thank you," he managed.
     "I do have to tell you, though," Stanson went on, "that I wasn't
too pleased with the timing of all this. I didn't want it to appear
that we were encouraging the sort of activities you've inadvertently
engaged in."
     "But those superguys--"
     "I have to admit, Dan, I was displeased when I first heard about
your involvement with them... and your being one of them! Hell(TM),
we've known each other almost thirty years. I couldn't believe you'd
been lying to me like that all this time. To all of us. It made me
angry. I broke things."
     "I'm sorry."
     "Well, after the dozenth midshipman, I realized that it was
nothing to be upset about. After all, you can't help what you are. If
you could have been born right, you would have. The important thing
is, you took it upon yourself to choose the proper path. Lead a
normal life. That is, of course, until this recent incident, but that
was just to clean up the messes made by the rest of your kind.
     "You see, Dan, you can be an example to everyone else like you.
You've always been a leader, and you will be the salvation of the
superguys. As a red-blooded American, I'm damned proud to be able to
say I know you." And with a snappy salute, he was gone.
     A few minutes later, Bouchet poked his head back into the room.
     "Commodore? Admiral Stanson wanted us to discuss--"
     "Go away, Bob."

     Later, in the dead of night, a visitor wrenched open the window
to Amiga's room and leapt in.
     Amiga was awake instantly, his body leaping to consciousness
with an electric jolt. He fumbled for the light switch and snapped it
on.
     A garish monstrosity stood beside his bed. He gaped at it.
     It removed its sunglasses, and with them the protection of the
Mask Principle.
     "Ensign Stoner," Amiga managed, trying desperately to slow his
breathing.
     "Good evening, Amiga. I see you're feeling better."
     Amiga climbed slowly out of bed, keeping his gaze on the
neon-clad ensign.
     "Now I know," Stoner continued, replacing his sunglasses, "that
you could disappear right now if you wanted to... vanish just like
that, and keep hiding until I got tired of hunting you. But you're
still here. I want you to know I appreciate that. It means you
realize that we still have a score to settle... sir."
     "'A score to settle,'" Amiga spat. "Listen to yourself, Rick!"
     "You took over my brain, Commodore. Pushed me out of the
driver's seat so that I couldn't put a black mark on that lily-white
army of yours."
     "That had nothing to do with it, Ensign. I stopped you from
doing something you'd have regretted for the rest of your life."
     "He destroyed my town and scarred my family. It had to be done.
It still has to be done, thanks to you."
     "It would have been a mistake."
     "But it was my mistake to make, goddammit!" Stoner shouted. "My
mind! My body! You had no right to get in my way!"
      Amiga looked down at the floor, shuffling past the ensign to
look out the window.
     "You've never killed anyone, have you, Rick?" he said quietly.
     "I damn sure would have if you hadn't--"
     "You see, I have, Ensign," Amiga cut in, turning back to Stoner.
And I know the hell that would have awaited you... and still does
now, if you go through with this. Believe me, I had *every* right to
stop you."
     "You seem to misunderstand me, sir. I'm not here to kill you."
     "Glad to hear it."
     "After all, why would I kill you when it just might be easier to
ruin you?"
     "What?"
     Beneath his shades, Stoner's face stretched into a grim smile.
"For starters, I can erase any lingering doubts the brass might have
over whether the great Commodore Amiga is in fact a genuine superguy.
But that's not the best part--"
     "I should hope not," Amiga replied scornfully. "Stanson and the
others already know about me. And there are no regulations to keep me
from serving in the United States Navy. Or you, for that matter."
     "They won't need any regulations to get you out of uniform,
Commidore," Richard sneered. "Not when they've got some juicy
criminal charges to work with."
     "What are you saying, Ensign?"
     Stoner chuckled. "You seem to forget, sir, that Captain
Cerulean's death was no accident. He was murdered. And I know who did
it."
     Amiga turned pale. "Ensign, you can't--"
     "And once they know about that," Stoner continued, "they just
might not find it too difficult to believe that *you're* the one who
tried to vaporize the entire West Coast. But I'll leave it to them to
put those pieces together."
     "But... you lied to them already," Amiga protested feebly. "You
come forward, you expose yourself."
     "Well. That'll just make them all the happier to accept my
resignation, won't it? Have a good one, sir. I'll see you around."
With that, he strode to the window, leapt out, and was gone
in a flash of neon.


THE NEXT DAY

     "How am I, Doctor?" Amiga inquired. "I want to get out of here."
He winced as the health-care professional pushed a syringe into his
arm.
     Once the injection was complete, the doctor leaned forward, his
brow crinkling as he peered at Amiga's face.
     "Not good," he whispered finally.
     Amiga's eyes widened.
     "You should start to feel the poison's effects any minute now,"
the doctor continued, straightening. "I should warn you, the next
twenty-four hours or so will be extremely painful. But please, take
heart; you'll have a nice long rest in the basement when this is all
over."
     "That's not funny, Doctor," Amiga snapped. "What the Hell(TM)'s
going on?"
     A slow grin crossed the faux doctor's dark visage.
     "Don Manicotti sends his regards."
     And with that, he was out the door, his white coat billowing
behind him.
     Amiga leaped out of bed and 'ported out into the corridor. As he
spotted the man, he was overwhelmed by a sudden nausea. He doubled
over, retching his last hospital meal onto the linoleum floor (oddly
enough, it didn't look much different than it had on the tray), and
then collapsed.
     In the confusion, no one thought to think it odd that the
nearest "doctor" walked calmly away.

...

*ahem*

...

*ahem!*

[Yes, what is it?]

You fired the teaser-question guy last month, remember?

[I did?]

Yup.

[&$@#! I meant to take care of that....]

Don't worry, I'll close up shop for you.

[Yeah, thanks.]

Insert relevant teaser questions here, and stay tuned for an all-new
episode of "Commodore Amiga" -- next month, right here on SUPERGUY!



** PLUG ** PLUG ** PLUG ** PLUG ** PLUG ** PLUG ** PLUG ** PLUG **

So what the heck is Stoner all angsted up about?

What drove his transition from reluctant superguy to angry would-be
vigilante?

And whatever happened between Victor and that nice Margaret girl from
the Beanstalk?

For the full scoop on what happened to everyone's favorite ensigns
in the final days of "Winner Take All," keep an eye out for "Five
Card Studs (And One Stud-ette)"! This exciting anthology is a joint
production of DM's ASComIIcs, the Knights of Nee!, and Deranged
Entertainment, coming soon to SUPERGUY!



         ** PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT **

(Audio only; kids' voiceovers slightly overlapped, with the Seventy
Sappy Strings providing background music. Standard-issue dreamlike
visuals evoking the halcyon days of yore.)

LITTLE BOY #1: I wanna be a waste-management artisan when I grow up!

LITTLE BOY #2: I want an exciting career in heating and air
conditioning when I grow up!

LITTLE GIRL #1: I wanna be in marketing when I grow up!

LITTLE GIRL #2: I wanna manage a pyramid scheme when I grow up!

(Music takes a decidedly negative turn, and fades out with visuals
during the following:)

DAVE THE DIDACTIC ANNOUNCER: No one ever says, "I want to be an
Author when I grow up."

(Background is now silent. Screen has gone black. Dave's voice
acquires a new edge.)

DAVE: Keep your children's dreams alive.
      Keep them away from SUPERGUY.

DASH WANNA-BE: BroughttoyoubythePartnershipforaProse-FreeAmerica.

---
Copyright(c) 1997 Brendan LeFebvre. All rights reserved, except for
archival and summarization purposes as outlined in the Superguy FAQ.
Admiral Stanson appears courtesy of Don Cook.

Visit the official Commodore Amiga homepage!
http://www.eyrie.org/~dm/taca.html