🚀 go-pugleaf

<<Continued from part 1>>


THE BEANSTALK

     "Gentlemen, I'm a bit concerned about Mary Agnes."
     "What is it, Tony?" Cory looked up from his newspaper, his face
full of concern.
     "It's her behavior over the last few days..."
     "What's wrong with it?  She's been great, considering she's been
cooped up in a medical lab for most of the day."
     "That's just it; she's been too great! She's cooperating with
the doctors fully, not even complaining about needle sticks.  She
hasn't been reprimanded once since we got back."
     "Well, you cain't fault a kid jes' fer bein' good!" Ludge
looked up from his place on the Beanstalk lounge couch.
     "But something just doesn't seem normal about this.  She's been
using what spare time she has to catch up on her schoolwork."
     "So?"
     "Without being prompted to do so."
     "But, Tony, you don't think...?" asked Cory.
     "I'm not sure what to think, mate.  But I'd like you both to
watch her carefully, this evening.  Let's see if you agree..."

     That night, in the Beanstalk cafeteria, all eyes were fixed on
Mary Agnes. Her napkin was folded neatly in her lap as she consumed
her meal with impeccable manners.  Tony had even made a point of
serving her a few of her most despised vegetables, but they were all
ingested without complaint, and even chewed with her mouth closed.
By the end of the meal, all the adults had cause for alarm.
     "Mary Agnes, is there something wrong?" asked Tony, feeling
her forehead.  "Do you feel all right, little wallaby?"
     "Of course, Tony!  I feel fine!" she insisted, although
stress was evident on her face.  She gazed around at the adults.
"Why are you all lookin' at me like that?  Did I do something wrong?"
she asked, as her lip started to tremble.
     "No, Kitten, you haven't done anything wrong!" answered Cory,
bounding over to scoop her up.  "In fact, you've been so good....
How'd you like to go to the movies with me?" he asked impulsively.
"You know, there's a Groundhog Girl double feature playing at the
Cineplex Odeon tonight!"
     "Really?" The child squealed in delight, a grin breaking out
over her face.  "Really?  Can we go, Tony?"
     The older man smiled warmly.  "Sure you can, mate!  Dr. Richards
shouldn't need you any more tonight!"
     "And we can get popcorn, and ice cream and whatever else you
want!" promised Cory.
     The child beamed gleefully, then her face suddenly darkened
and fell. "But, it's too late!  It's almost my bedtime," she pointed
out.
     "I don't think one late night out will do any harm," Tony
assured her.
     Mary Agnes seemed to waver briefly, then winced and resigned
herself.  "No, I better not.  Little girls need their sleep." She
gave a disappointed sigh and wriggled her way out of Cory's arms.
"Good night," she said sadly and plodded off towards her quarters.
     "Kitten, wait!" Cory started after her, but was stopped by
Tony's hand on his shoulder.
     "Let her go for now, mate," he cautioned.  "So, now do you
see my concern?"
     Ludge pulled his gravy-stained napkin from his collar and
mopped his forehead.  "Dang, it's worse'n I figgered!"
     Cory pressed his lips together in a grim line.  "Let's call
Dr. Richards right away!"


THE BEANSTALK

     "I thought I should, uh, call a cab to take us into Windsor...
there's nowhere good to eat in this city," Margaret explained as she
and Victor walked out of the Beanstalk and approached the waiting
taxi.
     "OK," said Victor.
     They reached the cab and got in the back seat.
     The middle-aged man in the driver's seat looked back at them and
grinned broadly, bringing his fingers to the brim of his plaid
driving cap in greeting.
     "Where to, kids?"
     "Windsor, please," replied Margaret.
     "Sure thing, miss! I can have you there in 15 minutes!"
     As the cab pulled away, Victor and Margaret gazed out their
respective windows.
     The cabbie glanced in the rear-view mirror, and chuckled.
     "First date, huh? I've seen those looks before. Sure, things can
be a bit awkward at first, but--"
     Margaret shot him a hateful look, magnified by her glasses'
lenses. The cabbie cleared his throat, and decided to concentrate on
the road.

     Liberty Richards removed the stethoscope from her ears,
folded her blood pressure cuff and replaced both in her black bag.
"All done, Mary Agnes," she smiled.
     "Good!" responded the child, jumping down from the examination
table.  "Do I get a lollipop now?"
     "Let's see..." Liberty rummaged through her bag in vain, as
she had not yet had a chance to replenish her supply after Astatine
had cleaned her out.  "I seem to be fresh out right now.  Here, go
get yourself some candy from the vending machine." The professor
handed her a fistful of coins.
     "All right!" Mary Agnes beamed and scampered out.  Liberty
snapped her black bag shut and eyed Cory and Tony strangely.
     "As I suspected, she's perfectly healthy!  Now, let me be sure I
understand you correctly.  You think she's been excessively
*well*-behaved of late?"
     "It may seem foolish, Doctor, but Cory exhibited a similar
behavior pattern once as a child," explained Tony.  "Turned out he'd
been kidnapped by one of our arch-enemies and replaced by an android
double..."
     Liberty rolled her eyes.  "I might have known.  Well, I can
assure you, she's entirely flesh and bone!  If her behavior is
abnormal, you'll have to look for a different explanation."
     "You don't think this is related to the plague?" asked Cory.
     "More likely just a reaction to the stress of the recent
mission. Or the fact that she's still adjusting to her new home.
Sometimes children can overcompensate, feeling that they'll be
rejected if they're less than perfect."
     "Kitten would never think that!" insisted Cory.
     "She could even be harboring some residual jealousies against
the Preteen Patrol," continued the professor.  "Remember Tony, you
took them into battle and left her behind..."
     "Doctor, Mary Agnes and I had a long talk about that!  She
understands the reasons for that decision!"
     "Well, then, I'm out of ideas!  Let me remind you, all of my
psychological research has been with rats!  But let me submit one
more idea for your approval...  Sometimes a well-behaved kid is just
a well-behaved kid!  And if you're still worried, I assure you she'll
outgrow this by the time she's 13!  Now, if you'll excuse me,
Healer's been waiting on this neural analysis of..." Liberty was
interrupted by Mary Agnes's return.
     "Here's your change back, Dr. Liberty," Mary Agnes offered,
her enthusiasm clearly subdued.
     "Thanks, hon.  What did you get?"
     "Just this."
     "*Cranberry juice??!!*" chorused the adults in unison as they
saw her selection.
     "What's the deal, Kitten?" Cory asked her. "Were they out of
candy?"
     "No," Mary Agnes sighed, eyeing the can with distaste.  "But
fruit juice is lots better for you, isn't it?"
     The adults all exchanged worried glances, and Liberty Richards
swallowed hard. "All right," she murmured. "I'll order up an
MRI, just in--"
     "Night Owl, we have a problem."
     Liberty turned to face the new arrival.
     "What is it, Mr. Ray?"
     "Something's wrong with Amiga's army," explained the holographic
Beanstalk director. "A few hours ago, many of the refugees we're
sheltering here began to walk out. They just wanted to tour the city
a bit, we figured. But then we started getting phone calls from the
police department... and from others across the continent. Hundreds
of Commodore Amiga's troops are turning themselves in, actually
pleading for the chance to pay their debts to society!"
     "But why?" asked the exposition receptacle, rollerblading
through the scene.
     "Well, clearly, the Commodore's influencing them somehow," Doyle
called to the retreating figure's back. "And I'm not sure I like the
looks of it!"
     Night Owl put a hand to her mouth, stunned. She looked at Mary
Agnes, and then at Tony and Cory.
     "My God," she breathed. "You don't suppose...?"
     Tony knelt beside the child and took her tenderly by the
shoulders.
     "Child, is the Commodore doing anything to you?  Tell us!"
     Mary Agnes blinked and winced.   "He-he says that, besides being
good and doing what's right now, we gotta tell about everything bad
we ever did before and take the... but I won't!!  You hear me,
Commodore!?  I DON'T wanna tell them that I ate the last of the
Toasty Tarts...  and you can't MAKE me!"
     Night Owl gasped. Tony and Cory stared at Mary Agnes, eyes wide.
Doyle stood there and blinked.
     Tony was the first to recover. "Mary Agnes, just calm down..."
he said, hugging her close. She burst into tears, burying her face in
his shoulder and squeezing her temples with both fists.
     "He says to tell you I need a spanking for it," sobbed the child
bitterly.  "Make him stop it, please!  I changed my mind!  I want
that nice Mr. Maladroit back!".
     "I knew it!" snapped Tony.  "The power's gone to his head!
Liberty, keep an eye on Mary Agnes. I'm going to have a talk with
Amiga."
     "Wait for me, Legend!" said Cory, unsheathing his claws and
following.
     Their dramatic exit was foiled by the returning exposition
receptacle, whose attempts to stop his rollerblades, or even slow
them down, failed miserably. The three went down in a tangled heap.
     "What are you doing back here?" Night Owl demanded as the
receptacle clambered to his feet. "We have no more exposition for
you!"
     The receptacle coughed, and shook his head. He looked positively
ill. "No. Other way this time."
     "Oh! That's fine, then. What do you have for us?"
     "Healer says to get the commodore... they think they might have
hit upon a cure," he regurgitated, then passed out.
     "OK. I'll tell him," Doyle said. "All of you, stay here."
     "But, Doyle, what he's doing to Mary Agnes--" Cory protested,
getting off the floor and helping Tony up.
     "I know. Let's just wait until they've cut him loose and see
what he has to say before we do anything rash, all right?"
     "I'll have a few words to say... count on it," said Night Owl.
She pounded the table with a fist. "If only I'd taken more time to
check on him in the last few days. But we've all been so busy..."
     "I know, Night Owl. It wasn't your fault," replied Doyle. "Let's
just get this over with, and see what happens afterward."
     With that, he left the room...

     ...and approached Amiga's chamber scant seconds later. The two
STOP troopers stationed in the corridor nodded respectfully, stepping
aside as Doyle triggered the doorchime.
     "Yes, come in," came the weak reply.
     Doyle entered the small room.
     Commodore Amiga looked up at him with swollen, bloodshot eyes.
He sat slumped in his chair, his disheveled hair and thin gray beard
causing him to look several years older.
     "You look like Hell(TM)," observed Doyle. "How are you feeling?"
     Amiga smiled faintly. "Tired, of course... I haven't been able
to get much sleep. But it's peaceful. I'm glad the fighting's over."
     Doyle nodded. "As are we. But I have good news for you,
Commodore. A cure's been formulated. We're ready to try and set you
free."
     The commodore looked up, his eyes widening. "What?"
     "They've readied a potential cure. Let's go."
     Amiga shook his head. "Not... not yet. The people need me."
     "Not anymore, Commodore. Time to let it go."
     "I can't!"
     "Amiga--!"
     "They'll be helpless without me!" the commodore protested, his
voice rising in pitch. "I *can't* leave them!"
     "Commodore, listen to me!"
     "STAY AWAY!" Amiga shouted, and 'ported out of the room.
     Doyle cursed, dashing out to the corridor.
     Amiga stood a few meters away, gasping for breath. He spotted
Doyle, and tensed up as if to try 'porting away again, but the
sleepless days had taken their toll; nothing happened. In
desperation, he turned and began an awkward, flailing run down the
corridor.
     Doyle turned to the STOP troopers. "Take him down!" he ordered.
     The troopers raised their rifles and opened fire. The brief
fusillade of rubber bullets hurled Amiga to the ground.
     Doyle ran over to the commodore's prone, quivering form. His
breathing was shallow, his face a mask of agony. Doyle watched him
for a moment, wondering what the Hell(TM) had just happened.
     "All right. Take him to Healer," he said finally, and walked
off.


ESSEX, CANADA

     "The heck?" wondered Victor as their taxi suddenly veered off to
the side of the road and shuddered to a stop, nearly mowing down a
would-be jaywalker.
     "Just a minute," the driver tossed back, rummaging frantically
in the glove compartment for a tooth-shriven disposable pen and a
1992 Day-Timer.
     Victor and Margaret exchanged a confused glance as the driver
began scribbling madly on page "November 17". By the time Vic finally
got up the nerve to lean forward, the driver's notes had almost
expanded into the Thanksgiving weekend.
     "Uh, excuse m--"
     "Don't talk. Idea. Be right with you," the cabbie snapped.
     Just short of December, he finally stopped scribbling, returned
the pen and Day-Timer to the glove compartment, and zoomed back onto
the highway.
     "Sorry about that," he offered.
     "So you're a writer, huh?" Victor inquired.
     "Yup. Sorry about the delay, but when Inspiration comes
a-knockin', you can't afford to cut her loose. I ignored countless
ideas over my first ten years behind this wheel... who can say what
they might have been worth? No more, though. Now, I'm always
prepared-- whoa, Nellie!" He stamped on the brakes and hauled the
screeching taxicab over to a no-parking zone.
     "Sorry. This'll just take a minute," he said, hauling the
Day-Timer and pen back out of the glove compartment and picking up
where he'd left off.
     Margaret softly thudded her forehead against the window.


SO, WILL VICTOR AND MARGARET MAKE IT TO WINDSOR BEFORE THE
RESTAURANTS CLOSE?

AND FOR ELVIS' SAKE, WILL THEY THINK UP SOMETHING TO TALK ABOUT
ALREADY?

HAS THEIR CABBIE HIT UPON THE PLOT(tm) FOR THE GREAT AMERIC-- ER,
CANADIAN NOVEL??

BOY, THAT AMIGA. I MEAN, GEEZ, DOESN'T POWER EVER *NOT* CORRUPT?
ISN'T THIS AN AWFULLY CYNICAL WAY TO BE LOOKING AT THE WORLD? WHITHER
OPTIMISM? WHITHER THAT SUNNY VISION OF A KIND AND BENEVOLENT
GOVERNING FORCE? A "BIG BROTHER", IF YOU WILL--?
     [One word: Downsizing.]

RIGHT. I'LL BE GOING NOW....

To be continued in "Task Force Aurora #24" and "Commodore Amiga #10",
coming soon from Frobozz Magic Productions and DM's ASComIIcs!

                         AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Special thanks to Louise Freeman for her contributions to this issue!

---

                  ** PUBLIC SERVICE MESSAGE **

[INT: SON'S BEDROOM - NIGHT]

[FATHER waves sheaf of hardcopies in SON's face.]

                         FATHER (angry)
Where did you get these? Who taught you about this stuff?

[SON looks at the floor, quivering.]

                      FATHER (yelling now)
Well? Who was it?!

                        SON (sudden fury)
YOU, DAD! I LEARNED IT BY WATCHING YOU!

[FATHER recoils, stunned. Fade to black.]

                            ANNOUNCER
Parents... who read SUPERGUY... have children... who read SUPERGUY.


---
Copyright(c) 1996 Brendan LeFebvre. The Beanstalk setting and all
affiliated extras, along with the character Doyle, appear courtesy of
Chris Angelini. Liberty Richards/"Night Owl", Tony, Cory, Ludge, and
Mary Agnes appear courtesy of Louise Freeman.