Chapter Eight -- A Family Reunion

Something in me, dark and sticky
All the time it’s getting strong
No way of dealing with this feeling
Can’t go on like this too long
                              -- “Digging in the Dirt,” Peter Gabriel


     The three occupants of the Ranger Plane gulped as they finally
settled down on the darkened distribution center for the J.J. Roberts
Department Store. Faint mechanical noises could be heard coming from
within; the low humming of machinery that required no human operators
to be present as they churned along in their menial, unthinking work.
     Chip unbuckled his seat belt, but didn’t move out right away. As
far as he could tell, Raset still held all the cards. They hadn’t arrived
with too much time to spare, so trying to scout out the place was out of
the question. The building was far too massive for them to properly cover
in the minuscule time frame they had to operate in. The best he could
hope for was at least a general overview of the immediate area around the
freight elevator, where they were scheduled to meet with Raset. He
clenched his fist and uselessly pounded it against the steering wheel with
a frown; Zipper would have been able to cover that base without
question, but as always, events seemed to conspire against the team at the
worst times.
     Dale glanced over uneasily at Chip. He was worried for his best
friend, and for himself a bit, as well. Neither of them had any real sleep
since the attack since last night, and not just because of lack of time.
Dale, himself, was a bundle of nerves over what might have happened to
Foxglove during all this time. He didn’t trust Raset any further than he
could throw the reptile. If Foxglove was harmed at all... he shuddered and
shut the thought out of his head. Foxglove would be fine; she was a smart
girl, and resourceful. But, he also remembered Foxglove’s near phobia
of armadillos, and Dale fully expected to see Glyph here, again. He
briefly dawdled on what Cyril had told them, back at the Malek building,
but didn’t see how it could help them out in this situation. The armadillo
was just too big for them to handle. And that wasn’t even counting Lady
Vitae and this Horus bird.
     Osiris, as well, was dwelling on his old companions. He did not
doubt for a moment that Raset hated him with an unearthly passion, and
would personally see to his death, but the mouse hypnotist still couldn’t
believe that his other teammates would be working for the same end. The
three of them had actually gotten along smashingly well, and even had
begun secretive talks about Raset’s rising ego at the time. Osiris
momentarily considered that Raset may have hypnotized the others, but it
seemed unlikely, since both Lady Vitae and Horus knew his methods well
enough to avoid it in the first place. No, hypnotism was not the answer.
Horus and Lady Vitae being duped somehow seemed more likely,
although Osiris did not like to think about the implications of that, as they
would likely discover the truth of the matter once Osiris was obtained:
Raset did not perceive either of them as threats. That worried Osiris.
     “Let’s get moving,” Chip said awkwardly, breaking the silence.
He turned to Osiris, a stern look upon his visage. “And do us all a favor
and don’t put up a fight.”
     Osiris was too drained to struggle anymore, but tried to bluff his
way out of it. “Why not? The almighty Rescue Ranger gonna hurt me?”
     To the culprit’s surprise, Chip merely shook his head. “Because
every ounce of energy we spend trying to reign you in means less energy
we can spend to try and keep your worthless hide alive. Like it or not,
Osiris, right now we’re your *only* chance for survival.”
     Osiris mulled it over a bit, but nodded in defeat. He was out of
options, and they all knew it.
     Chip and Dale flanked their charge as the trio headed across the
roof towards the nearest air vent. Chip kept an eye out for anyone on the
roof while Dale worked the screws free on the grating over the vent, until
they could open it wide enough to slip through unhindered. While none of
the three rodents knew exactly where they needed to go, it was fairly easy
to follow the interior of the shaft along until it reached a side grating.
They all peered through the metal ribbing into the deserted and seemingly
unnaturally desolate warehouse below.
     Wordlessly, Chip hinged the grating up, letting one end of a long
cord fall to the concrete floor, far below. Dale securely fastened it to the
inside of the duct, and then started down. Chip was about to start
unbinding Osiris’ hands and feet, but paused and looked at the mouse
directly in the eye.
     “If you try to make a break for it, even for a second,” he hissed,
“you’ll lose a lot more than just your teeth.”
     “Get off it, Chip,” Osiris replied tersely, then gave a humorless
smile. “Like you said, I’m as good as dead without you two Rangers.”
He slipped over the edge of the duct, carefully making his way down the
cord. Chip followed quickly, always keeping right behind Osiris all the
way down. Chip doubted that the mouse would really be stupid enough to
try and escape, but desperate men did desperate things; if Osiris thought
he could pull his fur from the fire by skipping out on them, the mouse
would be running for it first chance he got.
     Dale was waiting at the bottom of the cord, and made no attempt to
hide the fact that he wasn’t about to even risk Osiris attempting to take
flight. Osiris hadn’t even reached the floor when Dale grabbed him and
yanked him off the cord, almost immediately pinning the mouse’s arms
in the back and lashing the hypnotist’s wrists together securely once
more.
     The low lighting did not make for easy viewing. Chip had guessed
that all of the main lights would probably be shut off, but there were
undoubtably security guards on the floor below, in their office and
checking the cameras. Probably during the commercials of the basketball
game on television, no less.
     The warehouse section of the distribution center wasn’t anything
out of the ordinary; several sections of metal shelving units, holding large
boxes of varying size and shape. They were standing in the main corridor,
in front of the freight elevator, which provided them with a fairly good
view of the floor’s layout, even though innumerable animal hiding
places were in existence. At the end of the corridor, on the far side of the
building, the group saw what appeared to be the trash area for the floor;
an open portal for the trash chute, and next to it was a large, looming
cardboard baler.
     A loud clanking reverberated from below, up the metal staircase
next the freight elevator. Everyone jumped and spun back around. The
low, rich hum of the freight elevator’s hydraulics came to life, lifting the
actual frieght cage up level with the floor. The thick, metal doors parted,
the bottom half and top slipping behind the floor and ceiling, leaving only
the chain-link safety gate between them and Glyph.
     The trio stepped back involuntarily, Osiris slipping behind his
guards for protection. Glyph glanced at them once, showing no sign of
emotion. The mammoth armadillo reached down and pulled the fence up,
clearing the space between him and the rodents, who were no more than
ten feet away.
     “Come closer,” Raset’s voice rang out from around them. “To the
freight elevator.”
     Nobody moved for a moment, then Dale started forward. Chip
stopped him with an overstretched arm; his eyes were still scanning for
the chameleon.
     “Show us Foxglove and Dr. Speck, first,” he challenged.
     “I hardly think you’re in a position to make demands,” came the
reply.
     But Chip stood his ground. “We have Osiris here, as part of the
exchange. You show us that Foxglove and Dr. Speck are here; prove
you’ve held up your end of the bargain.”
     “You’d prefer to see their dead bodies?”
     Glyph said nothing, himself. But his eyes narrowed at the
chipmunks.
     Dale tugged desperately at Chip, but the leader of the Rangers was
resolute.
     “Then you’ll never get your paws on Osiris,” Chip stated with
clarity. Glyph could make a dive for them, true, but Chip was wagering
on the fact that if Raset had gone to this much trouble to locate, and
obtain, Osiris, that the reptile wouldn’t be willing to take any chances
this late in the game, no matter how slim.
     “You think I want him that badly?” Raset’s voice chuckled.
     Chip smiled slowly. “Oh, I think you do... I think you do.”
     The bluff was called.
     “Very well,” Raset’s voice echoed about them. “Glyph?”
     The large animal nodded gravely, and reached down to the closed
cage strapped to his belt -- the same one, Dale noticed, that it had stolen
Foxglove away last night.
     Glyph unlatch it, opened the door, and expediently withdrew two
small figures, bound and gagged.
     “Foxy!” Dale called out, and started forward. Chip grabbed him
again and dragged him back in place.
     “Not yet,” Chip whispered urgently. “Wait until we have them
safely out of here before you celebrate.”
     Dale anxiously swallowed and stole another glance back up to the
bat of his belfry, but acquiesced to Chip. They still didn’t know where
Horus was, and that falcon had surprised them every time it showed up.
     Glyph settled the two figures on the floor. Holding them both with
one hand, it used the other hand to remove the gags.
     “Dale!” Foxglove immediately cried out. “Dale, are you all right?”
     “Yeah!” Dale called back, fighting tooth and nail against every
instinct telling him to abandon rationality and go running straight for her.
“You okay?”
     “Yeah,” she replied, although she was obviously extremely
distressed.
     “Dr. Speck?” Chip asked across the distance. “How about you?”
     “All things considered, splendid,” the mouse replied, a slight
tremor in his own voice, as well.
     “Now,” Raset’s authoritative voice ordered, “step closer to your
friends.”
     Chip leaned over and whispered into Dale’s ears. “If Glyph makes
a move for us, you go to the left, after Foxy. I’ll go to the right, and get
Dr. Speck.”
     “What about Osiris?” Dale whispered back.
     Chip took a deep breath. “We have to get the others to safety first.
We worry about Osiris afterwards.” It was the closet he could come to
saying that if pressed, they would have to abandon Osiris to the mercies
of Glyph.
     They carefully started towards Glyph., never taking their eyes from
his massive bulk, and dragging Osiris along behind them. The hypnotist
was too terrified of the imposing jailer to even think about running away,
let alone walking closer to him.
     They came to a stop only a foot from the same creature that had
completely decimated the entire team not more than twenty-four hours
ago.
     “And now,” Raset’s voice said calmly, “hand over Osiris.”
     “No, I don’t think so,” Chip stated again, pushing his own worries
down. “You hand Foxglove and Dr. Speck over.”
     “If you think--”
     “Look at it from our perspective,” Chip interrupted, secretly
holding his breath, “you know that you can trust us to uphold our end.
Can we really say the same of you?”
     “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.” Raset’s tone was laced
with anger. Not a good sign.
     “Ah, but we do,” Chip replied, despite the part of his mind which
told him to just give in. “You’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble to track
done Osiris, here, and I really don’t think you’re willing to risk losing
him now that you’re finally this close.” And then Chip’s voice
hardened into ice-cold marble. “For so help me God, if you so much as
have Glyph harm one hair on either of Foxglove or Dr. Speck’s heads,
you’ll never even see Osiris again, let alone ever have a chance to
capture him.”
     “I could just order Glyph to kill you all,” Raset’s voice replied
casually. “It’d certainly solve that scenario before it became a problem,
now, wouldn’t it?”
     “You’re willing to take that chance?” Chip responded evenly. “Be
my guest. But you’re not getting Osiris first.”
     Everyone could almost hear Raset weighing the options. Dale
gulped and readied himself in case Glyph made any sudden lunges.
     “Fine,” Raset’s voice finally said. “Glyph, send over the
Ranger’s friends.”
     Glyph easily released the two hostages, and even pushed them, a bit
roughly, forward into the waiting arms of the two Rangers. Dale
embraced Foxglove almost immediately, moving her out of harm’s way,
while Chip helped Dr. Speck move to the side.
     In a flash, Glyph’s claw slipped in over their heads and plucked
Osiris free before anyone could respond. The mouse let out a terrified
scream, only being muffled when he was forcefully shoved into the belt
cage, and the door was slammed shut and securely latched.
     Chip had to catch himself before leaping after Glyph. Raset had
come through with his half of the deal -- Foxglove and Dr. Speck were
alive and well. What’s more, Chip was hot-headed, but even he knew
that he’d never beat a giant armadillo one-on-one like this. Worse yet,
Raset might decide to just skip the pleasantries and have Glyph attack
anyway, now that Osiris was safely stored away.
     In fact, Chip realized, Raset could still order that now, without
having any worries about losing Osiris in the ensuing brawl.
     But Glyph merely stepped back into the freight elevator, shutting
the cage door down between him and the Rangers.
     “Our business,” Raset’s voice sounded once more, “is
concluded.”
     The main elevator doors whirred to a slow, final close, the last
vestiges of Osiris’ wails completely silenced.
     “Are you going to go after him?” Dr. Speck asked as Chip untied
the mouse’s wrists.
     “No,” Chip frowned as he replied. “Not yet. We still don’t know
if that hawk or anyone else is around in here. First thing’s first: we get
you both out of here and away from danger.”
     “I knew you’d come, sweetie!’ Foxglove happily cried as she
almost smothered Dale in a fierce bear-hug. “I just knew you wouldn’t
let me down!”
     “Darn tootin’!” Dale agreed as he fervently nuzzled up against
her, breathing in her scent deeply; something he loved even more than
chocolate.
     “Come on,” Chip motioned to the rope hanging from the vent high
above. “We need to get back to the Plane, pronto.” He started up, but
paused as he watched Foxglove heft Dale up into the air. She had to
struggle a bit, but made it to the top within moments. Chip continued his
climb as she swooped back down and snatched up Dr. Speck. For his
own part, the good doctor managed to stifle a yelp -- his last encounter
with a snatch-and-grab aerial maneuver hadn’t been nearly as beneficial,
after all.
     Chip was at the top of the rope a few seconds after Foxglove and
Dr. Speck arrived. He cut the rope, letting it fall to the ground below.
Swinging the vent shut, he quickly moved everyone down the duct, and
back out onto the roof.
     “Foxglove,” Chip called out as he vaulted over the side of the
Ranger Plane and fired it up, “do a quick -- but discreet -- aerial search
out around the building and see if you can spot Glyph anywhere!”
     “Glyph?” Foxglove asked as she took to the skies.
     “The armadillo!”
     “Oh!” Foxglove nodded and flew out while Dale and Dr. Speck
climbed aboard and fastened themselves in.
     “Ya think they’re still around?” Dale asked as the Ranger Plane
lifted off.
     “Maybe,” Chip grimaced. “Places like this have a concrete
foundation under the building, and then asphalt all the way around it for
the parking lot; Glyph is a tough customer, but even he can’t burrow
straight through that stuff. They’d have to exit on the ground level and
work their way over to a patch of open earth to escape. Maybe we can
spot them before they--”
     “Chip!” Foxglove called out, about twenty feet ahead of them. “Up
ahead!”
     She may have been pointing to something, but it was too dark to see
if she was. Chip steered the Ranger Plane out over in the direction she
indicated, however, and soon she glided in and settled down in the back
seat.
     “Down below,” she said in a defeated voice. “Right where the
median meets the parking lot.”
     The others peered over the edge as Chip brought them down for a
better look.
     Directly beneath them was the telltale burrowing hole of Glyph.
     They were too late.

*     *     *

     “And it is here that I must part company with you,” Dominic said
with a gracious bow. “Pardon me for not seeing you all the way to the
castle, but I fear I have quite a bit of work to do, helping the rest of the
sadly lethargic members of the Edge with various necessary tasks.”
     “No problems, Dom,” Cyan nodded. “You’ve seen us through the
populated part of the Edge, anyway. Nobody else lives from here to the
castle.”
     “Yeah, thanks, Dom,” Strict added, shaking one of the wolf
spider’s hands. “I think you spooked a couple of the guys back a ways.
They were eyein’ her,” he indicated Gadget, “somethin’ fierce, but
didn’t come close to us as we walked by.”
     “Glad to be of service,” the aged arachnid replied warmly, and
bowed low in farewell before he started back into the heart of the Edge.
	"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Gadget asked, tugging a bit 
on Cyan's shoulder. "I mean, I'm not his daughter, and when he realizes 
it... well, I have a hunch he won't be too happy, and that'll probably 
be a Bad Thing for everyone, right? Maybe you should just let me go, and 
say you couldn't find me."
	"You still don't get it, do you?" Cyan replied, exasperated. 
"First, the Count already saw you, and claimed you're his kid -- it's 
already in his mind, and no way you can pop that out. Secondly, even if 
he did decide you aren't his daughter, it'd be your problem, not ours -- 
we did what we were supposed to."
	Gadget was taken aback by this, but didn't give in. "If he's 
really mad, how can you predict what he'll do?"
	"You're doing it now, aren't you?" Cyan coldly pointed out. 
"And, unlike you, we've known him for a long time."
	Gadget looked down and didn't reply.
     “C’mon, let’s get this over with,” Cyan said, his complacent tone
slipping back into sourness. He led them down the walkway into the deep
shadows looming before them. As they approached, however, Gadget
could start to make out some details.
     The first things she noticed were the lights. They were very dim,
feebly flickering from upright popcicle sticks along a marked walkway.
They looked to be decades old, judging from the dust and cracks she
spotted in them. More lights were up ahead, barely shining through the
darkness, although Gadget could see that they were at varying heights.
     As she moved forward, Gadget noticed that their heights were
varied because they were spread out over the front of what she assumed
to be Castle Koo-Koo. It actuality, it wasn’t as bad as most of the
dwellings she had seen thus far; in fact, it was noticably out of place in
it’s more respected, if definitely twisted, appearance.
     The castle, in actuality, looked more like a behemoth mansion. It
had been constructed entirely from wood, but not discarded pieces of
junk. Someone had gone to the trouble of cutting various types of wood
into various-sized planks and boards in which to build the towering
house. It easily appeared to top a height of eight feet, and was about four
feet wide. The construction, as well, seemed to have been done using a
set of blueprints that had been cobbled together from plans of various
scales. Door frames were wider at the top than at the bottom, windows
stuck out from the moldings on a slant, even the front porch they were
now stepping up onto widened and narrowed as it ran the length of the
front of the castle. And yet, it all seemed to work together, as if it was
following some as-yet-unknown style of architecture. The structure
seemed to loom over and around them, encasing them away from the
outside world, and ushering them into the madness that was Count Carl
Van Castle.
     Cyan knocked on the door loudly, the wood rattling sharply from
his blows. They waited in the deepening silence for a few moments.
     “Enter,” a voice called through the door.
     Cyan opened it and started through, followed by Arc, Gadget, and
then Strict, who closed the door, and planted himself in front of it.
Gadget noticed that it was apparently the only way in or out. The
windows along the walls were a possibility, but she doubted she could get
through them quickly enough, even if she had brought her glass-cutter
with her.
     Turning her attention back to the interior, she saw that the second
floor windows she saw from outside weren’t actually on a second floor,
as the ceiling was open up to the third floor, perhaps even higher -- she
couldn’t actually see the ceiling in the low lighting. The room she was
currently in was, in fact, one large, open area. The walls were about three
feet apart, while the back wall was apparently five feet from the front,
making for a truly dwarfing living room area.
     The furniture in the room was a mixture of an old-American and
Victorian style. A mouse-sized grandfather clock stood impassively
against the wall to her right, while an especially ancient-looking piano
was directly across from her, about three feet away, right in front of the
back wall. a large tapestry covered the back wall, but it was too dark for
Gadget to see the image clearly. Two ornate stairwells lined each side
wall up to a balcony encircling the entire room. Gadget could see a few
doors and another staircase leading up even further than that, towards the
uppermost section of the castle.
     In the dead center of the room was a podium, on which rested a
gargantuan sized (for mice) opened book. A mouse was reading over one
of the pages by a weak reading light, set up on the front of the bookstand.
He wore a monocle over his right eye, his dark hair was slicked back, and
in his left hand, which was resting on the opposite page, Gadget spotted a
cane with the carved head of an eagle.
     The reading light was able to shed enough light on the cane for
Gadget to notice one, curious detail about it: the eagle’s eyes were shut
and its mouth open, as if in the middle of a warning cry, or an attacking
one.
     The mouse looked up at his guests, and grinned widely. “Ah, at
last!” he called out in a firm voice, showing no trace of age, unlike
Dominic’s. He motioned them towards the area in front of the podium,
with a couch and several large easy chairs about. He walked around the
bookstand, using his cane very liberally -- apparently, it was more for
show than anything else. He had on a tailored purple vest, complete with
paisley pattern, over a very dark green long-sleeved button-down shirt. a
set of dark purple slacks completed the outfit.
     Gadget let out an invisible sigh of relief; had been worried that
he’d be in all black, complete with dramatic cape. At least he wasn’t
that far gone.
     “My daughter! My beloved child!” he said, beaming.
     She hoped.
     He grasped her by the shoulders, and she had to fight the urge not
to back away suddenly. She was afraid he was going to expect a hug, but
he merely held her at arm’s length, as he look over her with parental
pride.
     “Such a lovely woman you’ve grown into, my dear Gadget,” he
smiled. “Just like your mother.”
     Gadget looked at him, a trace of disturbance hidden behind her
features. “How’d you know my name?”
     “I named you, silly!” he chided her, grinning broadly. He teared up
momentarily. “God, but it’s so good to see you again. I knew you’d be
in the area, somewhere. Your mother constantly assured me, but I had all
but given up hope until you were spotted in the parking garage.”
     Gadget fought against the tide of panic sweeping over her. “Uh,
excuse me, but you’re Count Castle?”
     “Call me dad,” he chuckled. “Or, if you prefer, Carl.”
     “Uh, thanks. But my last name isn’t Castle, it’s--”
     “Hackwrench,” the Count finished for her, still beaming.
“Hackwrench isn’t your real last name, though, darling.”
     Gadget wanted to object, but was still reeling over the revelation
that this stranger knew her first and last name. The first name could be
explained away, but she hadn’t ever said what her last name was for the
entire time she was in the building. How on earth could he have known?
     Carl sighed, but nodded in understanding. “I know, it’s hard to
believe that your whole life wasn’t the one you thought it was. Believe
me, Gadget, I know about that first-hand.”
     Cyan, Arc, and Strict took a nonchalant deep breath and sagely did
not comment.
     “Listen,” Carl gently said, “I know you won’t accept it without
any proof, so, until your mother is well enough to tell you herself, let me
offer this as gesture of my honesty: your name is Gadget Hackwrench.
You were born in a small animal hospital near the local Wright airfield.”
     It was true, of course, making Gadget’s knees weaken.
     “Your mother is Terica Noteworth,” Carl continued, as delicately as
he could. “Her with ashen blonde hair, your color skin, and clear, blue
eyes.”
     Gadget sat down on the couch, as her legs could no longer support
her.
     Carl sat next to her. “Your mother loves music, and even kept
records and notes about her studies into them.” He smiled warmly at her.
“She even composed a lullaby that we used to sing to you when you were
a baby girl.”
     Gadget stammered a bit, reciting the first lines, and hoping to God
that he was bluffing: “T-Tonight, y-you think you’re alone...”
     Carl’s smile did not falter. “Your breathing, the only sound that
you hear....”
     Gadget’s mouth went dry, and she was unable to continue.
     Carl, however, had no such limitations, gently reciting the next line.
“You don’t know, you don’t understand, you’re safe,” here he lightly
touched her cheek -- she was too stunned to even blink, “trust in this.”
     Arc and Strict glanced in surprised at each other, while Cyan
looked on without the slightest trace of emotion.
     Gadget’s eyes went glassy and she mechanically sat back against
the couch, her brain too flabbergasted to even begin to attempt to
comprehend what had just transpired.
     Count Carl Von Castle sighed and stood up, then turned to face the
others.
     “Thank you for returning my daughter to me,” he stated simply.
“You had best go; my daughter and I have a great deal to catch up on.”
     “Uh, sir?” Arc started.
     He smirked. “Do not fret, Arc. You shall be rewarded well.”
     Arc smiled. Strict smiled. They couldn’t see that Cyan wasn’t.
     “Actually, Count,” Cyan said, his polite voice a touch strained. “I
wanted to discuss that with you. Rather than any monetary reward, you
know I’d like--”
     “Please,” the Count interrupted, then motioned Cyan over to a
secluded section of the room, leaving his friends back by the barely
breathing statue they knew as Gadget.
     “Do not bring up your requests ever again,” the Count whispered
fiercely to Cyan when they were far enough away from the others. “Not
now, certainly. And never in front of the others.”
     “You owe us, Count,” Cyan snapped back, too angry to remember
who he was talking to. “We got the girl for you, just like I promised. And
now, I want for us to get out of this dump.”
     “Impossible,” the Count immediately returned. “You know that as
well as I. You’re needed here.”
     “We are not,” Cyan dismissed. “You know how to run the security
monitors as well as anyone; and half of the nuts in this joint can too.
We’ve been here long enough, Count, give us a break!”
     “I’m sorry,” the Count replied coldly. “You know I cannot allow
you to leave.”
     “You know you can’t stop us,” Cyan responded evenly.
     The Count paused. He stood up straight, having been stooping over
to talk to the short chipmunk. And the grin that formed sent those same
chills down Cyan’s spine, just like every time this conversation came
up. “And you know what shall happen to the rest of the Edge if you go,”
he remarked with that terrible, inhumane glint in his eye. “I’m calling
your bluff, Cyan. Care to call mine?”
     Cyan gulped and backed down. He had stumbled across proof that
the Count wasn’t bluffing over a year ago, and they both knew it.
     Satisfied that his trump card had prevailed once again, the Count
motioned for Cyan to leave. “Now go. You’ll get your latest batch of
equipment, as I promised to begin with. I’ll even see about tossing in
something special for your splendid work today.”
     Cyan headed off to the door, Arc and Strict joining him. They could
tell by his face not to ask. Truth be told, they really didn’t want to know.
     Carl watched them go, being careful to stay in the shadows, lest his
daughter see that particular smile; in time, of course, she would come to
wear one just like it herself, but first she had to be gently returned to the
fold. His other children... well, he wouldn’t kid himself about the
possibility of ever seeing them again. But Gadget -- his dear, sweet,
innocent Gadget... he had always had a feeling about her being the true
heiress to his rule.
     Taking a moment to clear his mind, and refocus on the important
matter of his daughter finally returning home, he strode back over to the
couch on which she sat, still a bit mummified, although now showing
outward signs of coherence.
	"Come now," Carl said with an encouraging smile. "This is good 
fortune for us all. For you, having finally been returned home. For me, 
at last able to see you as the grown woman you are. And for your mother, 
as your return will undoubtably speed her recovery along -- she is very 
ill, you understand, but I have faith that with you now safely home, she 
will once again regain her strength."
     “I...” Gadget started, then blinked as the thought of her mother 
still alive crept in. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but this has got 
to be a big mistake.” She deeply sighed. Truth was, she almost wished it 
wasn’t.
     A couple of years ago, she had been blessed with a second chance
with her father, whom she thought long dead. He was, in fact, alive,
although dying from cancer. Nevertheless, she had found him through
fate, or through God’s will, or through karma, or whatever guiding force
a person put their faith in. She didn’t regret it for a moment; she had
cherished each moment with her father, and was at his side when he
finally left for the next life. It had been hard, but not nearly as hard as
having to burying an empty coffin.
     The possibility that her mother might still be alive, regardless of her
health, was almost too good to be true. She had never even met her
mother; Terica had died during childbirth. All Gadget had was
photographs, notebooks, and stories from her father -- her *true* father,
Geegaw Hackwrench.
     Inwardly, she had to suppress a smirk at the fact that if it was true,
then it was awfully ironic that she should find both of her parents, still
alive, only to have each of them turn out to be terminally ill. If so,
someone in charge had a truly sick sense of humor.
     She shook her head briskly, and looked back up at Carl. He was still
smiling down at her, honest pride brimming in his eyes. He certainly
believed that she was his daughter, despite the truth. She smiled back up
at him, her nerves returning the normal. Numerous reasons could explain
away how he knew about her without having ever met her -- even the
most minute details such as her mother’s lullaby.
     “You see,” she finally stated, standing back up, “I’m afraid that
some incredible misunderstanding has happened, here.” She took hold of
the small necklace around her neck, lifting the heart-shaped locket
attached to it free from under her coveralls. “You see, this was taken of
my parents.” She pressed down on the top button, hinging the locket
open. On one side was the group photo of the Rangers they had taken
shortly after their headquarters had been repaired from the Swarm
invasion. On the other side of the locket was a photo far older, and to be
honest, far closer to Gadget’s own heart.
     Geegaw was behind Terica, leaning over and hugging her from
behind, his eyes locking with hers. Gadget’s mother was smiling widely
as she returned the hug be grasping Geegaw’s arms and pressing them
even closer to her. The look they shared was only seen on the young
newlyweds, so madly in love with each other that they forget that their
photo is being taken.
     Gadget turned it, so Carl could see it more clearly in the low
lighting. Carl leaned over, but his warm smile showed that this particular
picture mattered not to him. In fact, he looked at it only for a moment
before glancing at the other one, of the Rangers.
     “Your friends?” he asked, a wide smile forming. “I imagine you
attracted a lot; you’ve inherited your mother’s radiant beauty.”
     “Gosh, thanks,” Gadget smiled a bit. “Yes, they’re my friends.
But see this one?” She directed his attention back to the one of her
parents. “See? That’s my mother, and that’s my father. You see, I
wasn’t kidnaped by gypsies; I grew up in an old airplane by the airport.
My dad -- Geegaw -- he raised me after my mom died.”
     But Carl gently shook his head. “Gadget, I’m sorry, but I don’t
know who put these ideas into your head. Your real full name is Gadget
Castle, heiress to my title, my lands, all I posses. I don’t know why my
old friend Geegaw would have attempted to give you his name -- maybe
he thought he was protecting you--”
     “You knew my father, Count?!” Gadget’s eyes flew open.
     Carl laughed lightly. “This is going to take a while, isn’t it, dear?
It’s ‘dad’, remember. Or at least ‘Carl’, until you’re comfortable.
Please, humor an old man.”
     “Sorry Count-- I mean, Carl,” Gadget quickly apologized then
skipped on to the good stuff. “How did you know my father?”
     “I knew *Geegaw,*” Carl stressed the name politely, “quite well.
He was a close friend of the family. He dated your mother for quite some
time, before she and I fell in love.”
     “What?”
     “That photo was taken while they were going out, true. In fact, I
was the one to take it. But then your mother and I fell head over tails in
love, Gadget. We were wed within a month after our first date and it was
bliss ever since. Geegaw took it in stride; he always was the chick
magnet, after all--”
     “But I grew up with him!” Gadget insisted. “We lived in that old
run-down plane for years and it was the most wonderful home a girl
could ask for!”
     “Easy, easy, dear,” Carl gently shushed her. “Remember, the last
time I ever saw you, you were just a little, tiny thing. I know you don’t
remember me, and I don’t know what happened to you after you were
kidnaped, but I do know for an absolute certainty that you are my baby
girl, just as surely as your mother is upstairs right now.”
     Gadget’s frustration at trying to convince this poor, deluded man
of the truth slowly melted into a smile as an idea formed. Something very
simple, and something that would hopefully be the most gentle way to
bring the light of reason to his clouded mind.
     “My mother’s upstairs?” she asked hopefully.
     “Yes,” Carl replied, then sighed. “She’s quite ill, you know.
Hasn’t left the castle in weeks.”
     Longer than that, Gadget thought to herself, from what the others
told me.
     “Well, may I please see her?” Gadget asked, smiling.
     Carl was taken aback. “What? Now?”
     Gadget nodded. She knew that her mother was buried next to her
real father, back at the
airport, and not upstairs. Being forced to confront the truth might break
through Carl’s shell.
     But Carl sighed and nodded somberly. “Yes, I suppose you should.
But please, remember, she is very sick, and needs her rest. If we go up
there, you must promise me not to rouse her, no matter how much you
may want to. It’s for her own good. Understood?” He looked at her as if
he was telling her to be back from a dance by ten, as it was a school
night.
     “Deal,” she proudly nodded.
     Carl smiled again and reached for her hand, which she gave. He
certainly seemed nice enough, even if he was operating a V6 without all
six cylinders. She giggled slightly at what it must be like to be slightly
kooky.
     Carl mistook the giggle as an anticipation of seeing her mother for
the first time in ages, and chuckled to himself.
     They headed up one of the stairwells along the wall to the balcony,
which they followed to the far right corner. Another long, still hallway
stretched out before them, almost running down the entire width of the
castle. They walked to the end of it, where a small, simple door waited in
the deepening darkness -- few lights were on. Carl opened the door and
stepped through, walking to the door opposite, then halting and taking a
moment to light a candle. Gadget glanced about the room they were in,
which was somewhat smallish compared to the rest of the house, with a
dresser against the side wall, a lavish rug on the floor, and some
photographs she couldn’t make out lining the walls.
     “Our bedroom is actually on the other side of the castle,” he said in
a hushed whisper, “but this is the quietest room in the house, so your
mother is here for the better resting. Now, remember to be absolutely
quiet.”
     Gadget nodded, then looked curiously at him as he withdrew a
small key from his pocket and unlocked the door. Locking the door
seemed somewhat odd, but then she remembered that he was off-kilter,
so shrugged it off. The important thing was to be able to prove to him
that her mother wasn’t in the room.
     As Carl slowly creaked the door open, Gadget finally realized that,
being in his own realm of sanity, the fact that Tercia wasn’t there
wouldn’t bother him. She frowned; of course -- he hadn’t been
reluctant at all about conceding to her wishes because she could point to
an empty bed and say nobody was in it, but he’d nevertheless see, in his
mind’s eye, her mother. Or maybe he’d say that Terica must’ve been
well enough to go for a walk. Or any number of hundreds of excuses.
     She sighed, somewhat dejectedly, as she waited for him to pull his
head back out from the room. This wasn’t going to prove anything after
all.
     Finally, he motioned for Gadget to follow him inside the darkened
room.
     “She’s asleep,” he said, very quietly, as he gently swung the door
closed behind them, though did not bother to shut it fully. “But she seems
to be doing better.”
     Gadget couldn’t see a thing. The room was pitch-dark, aside from
the sole candle Carl was holding, and right now even its radius of
illumination was too small to reach too far into the room. Carl stepped up
next Gadget, took her hand tenderly, and asked in a voice full of concern,
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
     Gadget smiled and whispered, “Yes. I’d like to see my mother.
It’s been a long time.”
     “Yes,” he said, returning her smile fully. “Yes it has. Come along.”
     Carefully, they stepped across the floor. A thick throw rug was in
the center, and as they passed over it Gadget saw that this room had even
fewer furnishings. A mirror on the wall, a antiquated hatrack against the
other wall, a nightstand, currently supporting a desk lamp -- turned off --
and a tray. The tray had an empty bowl with a spoon in it, although
Gadget could see some leftover soup lining the sides.
     Carl smiled at this. “Ah, good; she’s eaten. Perhaps she’s
gathering her strength so that she may hug you again when she finally
awakens, hmm?”
     He nudged her lightly, as any father would his daughter, and Gadget
obliged him with a nudge of her own. Whatever his psychosis, he seemed
too happy in it for her to try and dissuade him of its falsity.
     Next to the nightstand was a wooden chair, where Carl had no
doubt spent many nights in, waiting hand and foot on his beloved,
imaginary wife. As the light crept up over the side of the actual bed,
Gadget thought that the top bedspread looked familiar. It was a thick, rich
quilt, patterned with small airplane propellers; one each in a sperate
square.
     It hit her like a ton of bricks.
     She had seen that quilt before -- it was her mother’s! Her mother
had made for her father; for those long, cold nights away from home, he
had told her. The same one that he had used to cover her up with at night,
when she was a child.
     But it couldn’t be the same one! That one had been missing for
years! She had last seen it before she went off with the Rangers, but
couldn’t find it several weeks later, when she was packing things up to
move to the newly-christened Ranger Headquarters in Central Park. How
could--
     The flickering candlelight finally crossed the full breadth of the bed,
and Gadget forgot all about the quilt.
     A tiny sound escaped her.
     A short, female mouse was in the bed. One with ashen blonde hair,
one with peach-colored fur, one with the same cheekbones that Gadget
had inherited. The same mouse that was hugging Geegaw in the photo
clasped in her locket was now before her very eyes.
     Terica Noteworth lay peacefully asleep, a slight smile on her soft
features.
     Gadget was unconscious before she hit the floor.

*     *     *

     “You need to get some sleep,” Dr. Speck stated unapprovingly, like
a cardiologist telling his patient to quit eating grease-burgers. “You’re
not just burning your candle at both ends -- you’ve dipped the whole
thing into kerosene.”
     “I can sleep later,” Chip said. He wasn’t yawning, strictly because
his body was too tired to facilitate the process. He managed to keep his
focus on his flying, maneuvering the Ranger Plane back towards the
Malak Research Building. “Gadget was missing when we left; Monterey
and Zipper will be expecting us to either meet them all on the roof or help
in the search for her.”
     “You won’t be any help if you can’t keep your eyes open,” Dr.
Speck replied with a shake of his head. He turned around and glanced at
Dale and Foxglove in the backseat. Dale was fast asleep, his head resting
comfortably against Foxglove’s lap. She, in turn, was lightly playing
with his tuft of hair, a look of pure adoration on her face.
     “Dale is getting a nap right now,” Dr. Speck continued, turning
back to face Chip, “and one would greatly help you, as well. A good
sleep makes the mind run smoother.”
     “It does not,” Chip replied without thinking. “Besides, you don’t
know how to fly the Ranger Plane.”
     “I can watch over it if you would just land the stupid thing and grab
some shuteye,” Dr. Speck replied. “A fine line separates noble tenacity
from idiotic stubbornness, Chip; I think you passed it miles ago.”
     Chip would have glared at his passenger, but didn’t have the
energy to spare. His adrenal gland had been tapped so much over the
past twenty-four hours that it had nothing left to give, and without its
support, the weariness of his tired muscles was constantly building, to the
point where he could feel himself growing sleepier every second. All the
running around, the pain from the beating yesterday night, the mental
exhuastion... it was all starting to line up and take shots at Chip’s
heavily-drained will.
     But the thought of taking a break -- even for five minutes -- while
Gadget might still be missing precluded any thoughts of following
doctor’s orders, yet again.
     “We’re almost there,” Chip said, fighting to keep his eyelids open.
“With any luck, Gadget’s been found--”
     “--and you can take a nap,” Dr. Speck interrupted. It wasn’t a
request.
     “*And*,” Chip pushed on, trying to sound aggressive, “we can
head off to start tracking down Osiris.”
     “Oh? You’re going to sleepwalk to him?”
     “Will you get off my back?” Chip growled. “You and Foxy know
what kind of guy Raset and his cronies are. Every second that we don’t
find Osiris is another inch deeper he’ll be in his grave.”
     “And we can bury you right next to him,” Dr. Speck replied, “the
first creature to die from sleep deprivation.”
     Chip made a series of inaudible noises, although Dr. Speck
suspected that they were nevertheless rather rude and mocking. The
chipmunk could be unusually irate at times.
     “Ha,” Chip stated -- he had tried to make it a vindictive shout of
triumph, but the feeble power left in his vocal chords had barely been
able to get the comment to clear the net into “exhausted” territory.
“There’s the research center. Once we land, we can... uh....” Chip’s
thoughts trailed off; his synapses firing repeatedly until they could find a
dendrite which hadn’t closed for the night. “We can find Gadget,” he
said at length. He wasn’t sure if that was the point he had been
originally driving to, but it make a convenient rest stop, in any case.
     Dr. Speck didn’t bother to reply, but merely rolled his eyes.
     The Ranger Plane landed solidly on the roof, although Chip’s
consciousness was too far away for his senses to inform him of this fact.
He took a moment to rest, trying to gather his thoughts, which had
dispersed over the vast expanse of his weathered and weary mindscape.
Rhythmically, he took a deep breath. Then, he took another one. And
another. And another....
     “You want to wake up Dale?” Dr. Speck said as he gazed out over
the roof. “I don’t see Zipper or Monterey around anywhere, and I can
only guess that they would have been right here in an instant with Gadget
if they had indeed found her.” He frowned slightly; like the others, the
thought of Gadget having been abducted made his fur crawl. “Looks like
we’ll have to--”
     He stopped as he turned back to Chip, and smiled approvingly.
     The Rescue Ranger was deep in slumber, his hands still on the
steering wheel, and his head bowed in respect to the sandman who had
mercifully shut off the outside world and its troubles for a short while.
     “Good,” Dr. Speck said smugly, settling back into his seat. “I
won.”

*     *     *

     “No sign of anyone yet, mate,” Monterey sighed as he looked back
down the interior of the duct.
     Zipper nodded, and gave a shrug which explained that since they
had only disconnected the transmitting wire an hour ago, it might still be
a while before anyone arrived. He doubted it was a full 24-hour
surveillance; merely used when needed.
     Monterey nodded glumly in understanding, but still wished for a
way to speed things along. Zipper, however, had pointed out early on that
they needed to make sure that the malfunctioning camera looked like it
was disabled by accident -- a sudden, accidental force from outside
knocking the wires loose.  Anything more direct would surely give them
away, as the person who came to repair it would figure out that the extant
of the damage was too great to have been caused by a happenstance
occurrence.
     The two Rangers’ best bet was to remain in hiding, further up the
air vent, and wait for someone to arrive in due course. Zipper felt secure
in his belief that they would be able to track the repairman back to hub of
whatever activity went on in the depths of the building’s interior. They
were operating on Zipper’s summation that whoever came to check on
the camera would be coming from down below, rather than up above. No
real concrete evidence existed to support this, but both Zipper and
Monterey Jack had lived long enough in their crimefighting careers to
know when to follow an instinct.
     Zipper yawned a bit, and Monterey glanced down at his oldest
friend. “Hey mate, why don’t you grab some shuteye? We’ve been on
the go for days, it feels like. I’ll keep my peepers peeled for anyone
scurrying about.”
     Zipper thought about this, and nodded his agreement. His tired
squeaks let Monterey know that after awakening, Zipper would take the
second shift, affording Monterey some time to sleep, as well. Monterey
grinned and gave a thumbs-up in affirmation, then cast his vigil back
down to the small and currently disrupted remote camera set-up.
     Settling down in the protective cover of a thick shadow, Zipper
stretched out a bit and closed his eyes, his mind still agitated over the
how easily Gadget had been snatched from their team. And now clues
had surfaced that some sort of community might be living around them.
Neither Ranger wanted to admit it, but the thought of some sort of hidden
sub-culture which had been operating unnoticed under their noses this
whole time was more than a bit disquieting.
     Zipper gave an ironic chuckle as he drifted off, now aware of how
any humans would feel if they ever stumbled upon the animal subsociety
that the Rangers, themselves, were a strong part of.

*     *     *

     Maynard closed his apartment door behind him with a gentle push,
then locked the deadbolt into place. He didn’t bother to turn on the
lights; the apartment complex lights outside sneaked enough illumination
through the partially-drawn blinds for him to navigate his drained body
through the living room and into the bathroom.
     He still had enough presence of mind to shield his eyes before
switching on the lights, preventing the harsh brightness from the bulbs
from blinding him. Nevertheless, he squinted uncomfortably as he leaned
over the sink and turned on the faucet. Splashing the running water in his
face a bit to wash off the dried sweat from his extensively long day at
office, Maynard’s mind was still oscillating around their discoveries
today.
     And the possible discoveries they might uncover tomorrow.
     He wiped his face off on a towel, flipped off the lights, and headed
into his bedroom. Not even bothering to get undressed, the scientist
collapsed on his bed with a sigh.
     Unfortunately for the man, sleep was long time coming.