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Scrooge McDuck picks him out of a dozen other scientists in that underfunded, underground Mouseton University lab.
“Which one of you built that launch vehicle I’m hearing so much about? The four-stage orbital?”
For several moments, all the twelve over-caffeinated, underfed, sleepless postdocs can do is ogle the Richest Duck in the World.
He’s like someone from another world, impossible to ignore with his crisp Scottish accent, and feathers shining stark in the cheap fluorescent lighting. His attire is like something out of a history book, with his red frock coat, shining black top hat, cane, and spats. He doesn’t belong in this gray, dingy laboratory, where there are whole ceiling tiles missing and half of the equipment comes from the interns’ own homes.
But Scrooge McDuck continues to watch them expectantly, with a gaze sharp enough to cut glass, until Gyro hesitantly raises his hand.
His severe expression gives way to a smile, gentling the sharp cut of his beak. “Excellent!” he stamps his cane once on the ground. “Dr. Gearloose, is it?” He doesn’t wait for Gyro’s nod before he turns on his heel, marching back up the stairs he’d first descended from and given them all the shock of their lives. “C’mon then, no dawdling!”
What can Gyro do but follow, scrambling in his wake?
Scrooge McDuck treats him to a meal in the overcrowded, overpriced campus cafeteria. As Gyro sucks down a strawberry milkshake he could never, in good conscience, buy for himself, Mr. McDuck unfurls a blueprint across the tacky, plastic tabletop and tells him about the Spear of Selene. Everyone and their mother knows that Scrooge McDuck is renowned for his adventures, the more deadly, the more fantastical, the better. But this is the first Gyro has heard of him adventuring with family.
“It’s for my niece,” Mr. McDuck tells him, pride evident in every word, in the way he beams and sits up tall in the tacky green booth. “One last hurrah, before her eggs are hatched.”
For Gyro, who isn’t close to his family and never has been, such blatant affection throws him for a loop. From the Richest Duck in the World, renowned and ruthless adventure capitalist, it’s more than jarring.
But then Mr. McDuck starts pointing to various aspects of the rocket (“Della’s design,” it seems like he can’t help but say, so effusive in his pride), asking for Gyro’s opinion, how it should be built, price estimations. And he’s Duckburg’s conquering hero of legend, the only man to personally leave his mark on over a century of history. In comparison, who’s Gyro Gearloose but a broke postdoctoral with several lifetime’s worth of student loans, a bit of a temper, and a research job that’s going nowhere but down the drain?
But it’s Gyro Gearloose who Scrooge McDuck picked out of that lab, and it’s Scrooge McDuck sitting across from him in the hard, unpleasant cafeteria booths nursing a chocolate milkshake of his own, even as he complains about the flavor and takes great care not to leave water rings on the blueprints.
Mr. McDuck spends over an hours grilling him on every inch of the rocket’s design, and then leans back, scrutinizing Gyro over his milkshake. Scrooge McDuck is every inch the steel and flint billionaire he scrounged for decades to become, looking just as at ease in a noisy college cafeteria as Gyro imagines he would behind a polished oak desk in his own Money Bin office.
“So, what do you say, Dr. Gearloose?” Scrooge McDuck asks, and Gyro doesn’t think his title has ever sounded so impressive. “Will you come work for McDuck Enterprises?”
Gyro can’t recall any such offer being made during their conversation, and the shock must show on his face because Mr. McDuck’s steel exterior cracks enough for him to recognize the sly glimmer in his eyes for what it is.
He swallows down a surge of giddiness and fear, and extends his hand over the table and the blueprint upon it, his palm and fingers still chilled from holding his milkshake. “As long as I don’t have to work underground, I’m all yours, sir,” he finds himself saying, and it feels right.
Scrooge McDuck beams, the last lingering harshness falling away from his countenance, and all at once Gyro is struck by the man behind the legend. The man who wants to build a rocket ship so his niece can see the stars. He shakes Gyro’s hand with all the energy of someone who has lived every one of his one hundred and forty years to the fullest.
“If that’s a dealbreaker, I’ll see what I can do.”
In the end, Gyro gets stuck in an underground lab, because of course he does. But this one is all his, with wide windows that look out into the bay and allows water-dappled sunlight \to glide across polished surfaces, so it isn’t so bad in the long run.
It’s a good thing he likes his new laboratory, because he hardly sees anything outside of it for months. He’s worked on big projects before, but never alone, and never this big. It’s a daunting challenge, building something for the niece of the Richest Duck in the World.
But the fear of failure, of disappointment, dims somewhat in those months, over coffee and scones with Mr. McDuck at sporadic hours of the night, the only time they can discuss the plans for the Spear of Selene. There are scattered meetings that Mr. McDuck arranges, both at his mansion and in the lab, depending on when it’s safe to talk.
His boss’ indomitable reputation suffers when he attends these meetings in a robe, feathers unkempt, and complaining of his housekeeper hiding all but the decaf coffee from him. He seems almost normal in those moments, like an everyday oddity, even with the walls bearing reminders of his every accomplishment. Sometimes, he brings a stroller bearing three eggs with him into his study when they are discussing plans. For the requisite five minutes, he’ll gripe about being assigned babysitting duties, despite the housekeeper living just one floor down. But for the remainder of their meeting, Mr. McDuck will check on the eggs periodically, placing a hand on their shells or fiddling with the nearby space heater.
One night, they are gathered (all five of them), hushed, in Mr. McDuck’s private study. Gyro is discussing fuel options, one lighter in weight and the other longer-lasting, when Mr. McDuck barks out a startled laugh.
Gyro looks up, alarmed, to see that his boss was checking on the eggs again.
He’s still got a hand on one of the shells, eyes as wide and wondrous as the time he told Gyro about the treasure hoard of King Duckmouse III.
“Mr. McDuck, what-”
“One of the bairns is kicking,” he says, all hushed and unbridled glee. “Dewey, or maybe Huey, I’d reckon.”
“They already have names?” Gyro asks, not sure why the idea makes him uncomfortable.
Scrooge nods, still smiling down at the eggs, and there’s that same pride that he seems to dole out in limitless quantities. The same pride that Gyro is still struggling to understand.
“Oh, aye. Always prepared, their mother. She and Donald put together a list, and whittled it down to three. We’ll have to wait ‘til they hatch to really see who’s who, though.”
All at once, Gyro is struck by the presence of those three eggs, and what they represent. Even as fragile as they are, they are the great-nieces or nephews of the Richest Duck in the World, and heirs to a dynasty of Incan gold and global enterprise. They are the children of Scrooge McDuck’s niece, whose mother will board a rocketship of Gyro’s creation with the purpose of exploring the space between stars, the infinite void of space.
Where Gyro had been flattered to be chosen, he now sees the weight of making such a choice. Where he’d once seen a challenge, he now recognized responsibility. Mr. McDuck is placing the life of Della Duck in Gyro’s hands, and trusting him not to lose his grip.
Gyro looks down at the Spear of Selene’s blueprints, spread out before them as ever. All he can see now are the inadequacies, all the flaws in his notes and careful calculations. He knows now that he has to be better.
Without warning, Gyro stands, moving so quickly he nearled knocks his chair over. “Sorry, Mr. McDuck, there’s a couple things I wanted to go over again on my own, just occurred to me really, safety precautions and extra shielding, you know stuff like that.” He’s rambling like an imbecile, gathering his blueprints to him in a hurry, and he’d be calmer if there wasn’t so much work to do, and so little time left in which to do it.
But Mr. McDuck looks far from perturbed at the interruption, his smile small and secret and wry, as if he was privy to the revelation that just struck Gyro.
“Atta boy, Gyro.” His praise lacks its usual volume, likely due in part to the late hour, but his conviction does not suffer.
Gyro wonders at Mr. McDuck’s faith in him as he scrambles out the door, juggling blueprints in his arms.
He meets Della Duck only once, very briefly.
By virtue his hiring, Gyro has almost become as big a secret as the Spear of Selene herself. It doesn’t help that he’s developed a bit of a reputation among the other Bin employees for never leaving the lab, or his “cave,” as many of them have so graciously dubbed it. It’s not his fault that work on the rocket has become almost all consuming as they near the final stages. His time has become split between conducting calculations in the lab and field testing at the launch site under the cover of darkness.
Gyro has learned to sleep when and where he can, even once while standing, leaning against the vending machine.
After one such impromptu nap at his desk during the middle of the day, Gyro ventures out of the lab for more coffee. He meets Della in the lobby completely by accident.
She’s waiting by the secretary’s desk, wearing a dark brown pilot’s jacket.
Gyro only recognizes her on account of the three eggs in the stroller beside her.
She looks up at him as he exits the stairwell (on a busy Tuesday morning, trying to get the elevator all the way in the sub basement requires nothing less than an act of God), her expression curious, then bemused as she takes in his appearance. Not that he can blame her.
His hair hasn’t seen a comb in days, and he’s fairly certain that the shirt he’s wearing is more wrinkle than not. His eyes must be bloodshot, the bags beneath them dark. In all, he looks like a well-put together homeless man. He’s just grateful he isn’t wearing his Darkwing pajama pants (they’re in the wash).
“Who’re you supposed to be?” she asks, cocky and self-assured, but only curious, not cruel. She and Mr. McDuck have that in common, he realizes, this ability to illuminate their importance without diminishing the worth of others.
“Uh…” All the same, Gyro is at a loss for words because he didn’t have a contingency plan for a situation like this, was never prepared this encounter.
Mr. McDuck saves him by swanning in at that exact moment, his greetings bright and light and cheerful as he wrapped Della in a one-armed embrace.
“Ah, I see you’ve met Dr. Gearloose, my new head of research and development!” he exclaims with casual cheer as he introduces them. “He’s working on great things, great things, aren’t you, Gyro?”
Exhausted though he is, Gyro knows he doesn’t imagine the uptick in Mr. McDuck’s voice, the marker of pride that he’d identified some weeks ago. Now directed at him, startlingly genuine, and not necessary for Mr. McDuck to distract his niece.
“Y-yes, sir!” Gyro replies in what he hopes is a convincing manner. “Lots of important...science things. Um. I’ve split an atom. And built a robot.”
“It’s all very hush-hush, you understand, don’t you, lass?” Mr. McDuck asks, leading Della, stroller and all, to the entrance.
Della smiles, looking for all like she’s humoring him. “Yes, Uncle Scrooge.”
“Now, I believe you promised me lunch! Where are we going?”
They’re nearly out the door, when Della looks back at Gyro over her shoulder. She pins him with her gaze, and winks.
In the months and years to come, he’ll think about that moment, her youth and mischief (she was younger than him, he’ll realize later, for all that her personality was not something that age could restrain). He’ll wonder if he could’ve done something, anything to change the outcome.
Gyro is at the launch site, doing inventory in the early morning dawn, when he hears the unmistakable sound of rocket boosters firing.
He rushes outside just in time to see the Spear of Selene break through the clouds. Wind and heat force him to cover his face, blowing his hat straight off his head. He watches the ship for as long as he can, until it’s nothing but a dark blue speck in a light blue sky. It vanishes with a wink.
All he can fathom is that someone either stole the ship, or Mr. McDuck took it for a test drive days ahead of schedule. Gyro doesn’t expect to find him in the control room, shouting fiercely into the radio, or Della Duck, grinning triumphant on the console screen.
Gyro becomes aware of Mr. McDuck’s nephew entering the room at some point. Donald shouldn’t know about the Spear of Selene either, but he’s here anyway, his sister’s eggs in a stroller that he grips with jutting knuckles.
Gyro sees Della Duck, the Della Duck, for the first and last time on that little screen. Daring and bright like the stars she chasing, burning all that come near her.
It’s a cosmic storm that ends it all, spitting in the face of the encouragements and promises Mr. McDuck shouts into the radio. Della Duck has one spare second to look terrified, before the screen goes dark.
Mr. McDuck crumples before Gyro’s eyes, and he feels untethered, like the string holding him to earth has been cut. The roar of rocket engines won’t leave his head, deafening him to whatever scathing words Donald throws at Mr. McDuck’s hunched back.
Donald leaves, taking the eggs with him.
There’s nothing Gyro can say to Mr. McDuck, who’s shoulders have begun to tremble. So he leaves too, but he doesn’t go much farther than the door. Gyro’s knees buckle, and he slumps against the wall, before sliding to the floor.
Gyro buries his head in his hands, and spares a glance down the hallway, where Donald is resolutely walking toward the elevators. He’s pushing the stroller in front of him, the eggs within already named and days away from hatching.
Counting them, that makes six lives that Gyro has ruined.
Two days later, Scrooge McDuck will burst into the lab, eyes red-rimmed and looking like he hasn’t slept since Gyro last saw him.
Not that Gyro’s one to talk, having retreated to the lab in the first place because he didn’t know what to do with himself. Sitting around his apartment made him antsy, and his hands haven’t stopped shaking.
“I want you to build more ships,” is Mr. McDuck’s greeting.
Gyro blinks. “How many more?”
“At least a dozen.”
He can’t be sure he heard right. “Sir, do you understand how much that would cost?” The Spear of Selene alone had been an exorbitant undertaking, nearly brainbreaking for someone who who’d been underfunded for all of his postdoctoral career.
But Mr. McDuck scowls, fearsome and trembling, and he points fiercely at Gyro with his cane. “I don’t care about the money. I want to know if you can get it done.”
Gyro shuts his beak with a clack as he stares into the face of desperation. He nods, not trusting himself to speak.
“Good,” Mr. McDuck mutters, stalking back toward the elevator. His limp is more pronounced that Gyro has ever seen it.
Gyro’s guilt has festered inside him like a dying thing, and when Mr. McDuck turns his back on him, it claws its way up his throat. “Sir,” he blurts, the words choking him in their haste to escape. “I’m so —”
“Just get it done, Gyro,” Scrooge says, without turning around. In that moment, he sounds like every one of his one hundred and forty years.
In the next few months, Gyro works himself half to death building the new ships. Of the dozen they send out, only eight come back.
Della Duck remains lost.
Mr. McDuck practically empties his Money Bin, and Gyro builds more ships.
Gyro almost expects the suckerpunch feeling of failure to lessen with time, but he only gets better at hiding it.
Years go by. The search for Della is called off, after Mr. McDuck’s board of directors drag him bodily from the communication console, and threaten to have him replaced as CEO of McDuck Enterprises. He goes on like nothing’s changed, but he stops adventuring, stops smiling. Gyro knows that at the end of the day, he goes back to an empty, silent house.
It’s as if Della Duck never existed.
He doesn’t know what Scrooge did, or how he did it, but her death goes unreported. Her name becomes taboo.
Gyro burns all evidence of his involvement with the Spear of Selene.
He’s still head of research and development; that, at least, doesn’t change. Despite what Gyro did, or didn’t do, culminating in the death of his niece, Mr. McDuck keeps him on board. His pride has been tempered by grief, but it’s still there and Gyro doesn’t understand why. When it comes to Scrooge McDuck, he’s come to accept that there’s a lot he won’t understand.
Gyro is assigned new projects, is given funding to start his own. But none of his projects hold the same grandeur, the same sense of impossibility as the one Scrooge McDuck hired him to build.
But Gyro gets used to it.
His inventions, as if sensing that he’s failed in the greatest way one can, turn on him at every opportunity. Not all of them are given sentience (or achieve it on their own), but his first and most damning failure seems to set a precedent. And so he continues to fail, again and again and again, no matter how hard he works or how much of his heart and soul he puts into his inventions.
The time tub tries to strand him in medieval Europe. Armstrong turns evil and tries to take over the world. The Cogs turn evil, take all his money in a game of poker he still swears was rigged, and try to take over the world. There’s a pattern developing, a troubling one. Gyro just doesn’t know what to do about it.
Gyro wants to hate Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera.
He hates that Fenton reminds him of himself, a decade and a lifetime ago. Fenton, who aims to please, looks at everything with stars in his eyes and dreams too big.
Gyro tries to stifle that effervescent spirit anyway he can. He employs harsh criticism, mindless, repetitive tasks, gifting a bathroom as an office.
Fenton bounces back from everything Gyro throws at him; he’s like a teflon pan. After the incident with B.U.D.D.Y., Fenton starts to match him blow for blow with an inescapable cheery attitude and offerings of baked goods and a flint and steel determination that reminds Gyro disturbingly of Scrooge McDuck, because when push came to shove Gyro was all too quick to fold.
Fenton is like the sun, bright and impossible to ignore (and genuine and honest and kind, all the things Gyro isn’t ). Gyro is a black hole, sucking up everything good and leaving disaster in his wake.
Irresistible force meet immovable object, indeed.
“I just want to help people!” Fenton will say, like he’s willing Gyro to understand.
“So did I!” Gyro wants to snap. “And look where it got me!”
Gyro became a murderer because he wanted to be something greater than himself. He reached for the stars just as much as Della Duck did. He won’t let Fenton make the same mistake.
Gizmoduck soars, and for once Gyro isn’t a failure.
Fenton’s smiles no longer burn, his companionship not nearly as grating as Gyro imagined it to be.
They work on the suit together, long, arduous hours spent in each others company, writing and rewriting code, ensuring that the suit won’t betray Fenton as so many of Gyro’s inventions make a habit of doing. He helps build Duckburg’s protector, and it feels like a second chance. It’s a decade late, but the weight of his failures seems to lighten, no longer dragging behind him like so many chains and lockboxes.
It feels like a new beginning.
One day, Huey (bright and insatiably curious, Gyro had done all in his power to avoid him at first) will timidly ask, “Do you know anything about the Spear of Selene?”
On that day, Gyro will turn to him and admit his failure.
“I’d better. I built it, after all.”