Chapter Eleven -- The Fall of the House of Castle

          “It’s all this activity in the brain and you don’t know
     what’s you as a person and what’s some neuron that just 
     happens to fire or just happens to misfire.”
                                   -- “White Noise,” Don DeLillo


     Foxglove awoke with her ears ringing badly. The overwhelming
stench of that vile liquid had been more painful than any actual force
she’d encountered in a long, long while. Loud, resonant noises weren’t
helping to ease her pounding headache, either. Carefully, she cracked
open her eyelids, and tried to use her wingtips to rub her temples a bit in
a feeble attempt to ease the pain.
     She came to realize that she was begin suspended, though she
wasn’t tied up. Groaning, her eyes opened fully, the flickering light of
fire from a series of wall-mounted torches illuminating the setting before
her in a truly appropriate somber and unsettling way.
     She was sitting in a small, iron cage, reminiscent of a birdcage,
except that it was barely big enough for her to sit in without her ears
scraping against the domed top. A heavy chain was holding the cage up,
reaching high towards the ceiling, shrouded in impenetrable shadows.
Glancing down, she saw that she was about a two feet off of the floor --
and an actual floor, not the barren cement floor of the Edge or some other
hole in the wall. The entire situation was highly unnerving, and became
even more so as she looked about her.
     More cages were hanging around her, and she could see the rest of
the Rangers and the Wiretappers -- including Gadget -- each encased in
their own little prison. Foxglove gulped as she released that they all
seemed to be shifting and moving in relationship to each other -- they
weren’t attached directly to the ceiling, but were instead part of some
grotesque mobile, each person’s weight balanced out by distance and
height position.
     The others seemed to be awake, but Foxglove couldn’t tell, as they
weren’t moving about too much.
     Below her, to the side, she spotted the source of the noise -- which
was in fact deep, sonorous piano chords, as well as a single male voice.
The tune sounded strangely familiar to her, with slow moving notes and
majestic chords, but she couldn’t seem to place it. She wasn’t too
familiar with Latin, either, making it even more confounding.

Quia apud Dominum misericordia: et copiosa apud eum redemptio

     With a start, Foxglove realized the she knew this number; from one
of the many times she had spent the night and early morning in one of the
numerous churches of varying faiths and dominions.

Et ipse redimet Israel ex omnibus iniquitatibus eius.

     What had thrown her had been the fact that it was being played on a
piano, rather than a church organ, and that a sole male voice was singing,
instead of the full male choir the piece was written for.
     As the Count finished the final line and let the last notes linger in
the dying music, Foxglove reflexively spoke up.
     “Arvo Part,” she said, almost mechanically. “De Profundis.”
     The Count glanced up at his prisoner and nodded. “Psalm 129,” he
replied. “Regretfully, I do not have a church organ to play it on, but then,
I do not have a male choir to sing it, either, so it does not bother me a
great deal.”
     In the ensuing silence, the Count closed the keyboard case, took his
cane in hand and strolled slowly over to the staircase, making his way up.
None of the caged animals said a word, waiting for the Count to make the
first move.
     But, he never did. Instead, the Count merely walked to the second
floor balcony, then turned down the hallway and disappeared from sight.
     Those who had been within the Castle before recognized it as the
hallway which led to the back room were his “wife” had been kept.
     After a few minutes, Dale finally broke the ice.
     “Guys?” he asked hesitantly. “What now?”
     Nobody replied at first. Chip took a few moments to gather his
thoughts.
     “First things first,” Chip said, his voice surprisingly strong despite
their predicament. “Is anyone grievously injured?”
     Nobody seemed to be, although Monterey was by far the worst for
wear -- the fumes which had knocked him out hardly constituted anything
restful. He would be able to operate, but chances were slim he’d be able
to greatly assist the rest of group in any escape attempt. Even Strict felt a
twinge of concern for the large Aussie, knowing that he had personally
provided a lion’s share of Monterey’s wounds.
     Everyone else, despite bruises, aches, and pains, was in good
enough shape to feel like they could make a break for it if they had the
chance.
     Getting that chance, though, was a decisively different matter.
     The cages were locked through the chains attaching the cages to the
mobile. Unlocking the cage latch would spring it free from the mobile,
not only sending it, and its occupant, plummeting to the hard floor below,
but also unbalancing the rest of mobile, which would, in turn, upset the
delicate balance of weight, and send the reminder of the group crashing
to the floor as well.
     While they would be down, most of them would also likely be killed
from the impact and confining limitations of the cage. Those that
survived wouldn’t be in any shape to free themselves from their own
cages, and that wasn’t even counting the loud clamoring that would
surely summon the Count, and who knows what else.
     They clammed up quickly as they heard the Count make his way
back to the main room. As he rounded the corner, however, again the
Count said nothing, and didn’t even bother to look up at them. He
simply walked down the stairs to the main floor, crossing under them
towards one of the doors near the back.
     “Hey!” Dale yelled out suddenly, tired of the mind games. “What
happened?”
     The Count stopped, and turned to face the irate Ranger, clearly
annoyed by what he perceived to be an blatantly ignorant question. “I
tossed in an open bottle of chloramine, the fumes of which were more
than sufficient to overpower your ability to remain conscious.”
     “But how’d you know we were there?”
     “Despite comments made to the contrary, I took the liberty of
wiring a microphone secretly to that location. Consider it an insurance
policy, which I cashed out when I learned that Cyan and his companions
had betrayed me.”
     “Betrayed you?” Cyan snorted. “By keeping your dirty secrets
under wraps?”
     “By harboring enemies to the Edge,” the Count answered smoothly,
his demeanor eerily calm, and a stark contrast to the raving madman he
had been only hours before. “Monterey and his cohorts had kidnaped my
daughter and attacked my wife, who is also your Countess. You willingly
housed them and protected them. Attempted to hide them from me. Your
actions speak for themselves, Cyan.”
     “You ain’t still on that daughter kick, are ya?” Monterey
grumbled, albeit weakly. “Then why is she chained up here with us?”
     “Because it’s obvious that you’ve brainwashed her,” the Count
replied, exasperated at his captives’ lack of originality behind their
fallacies. “I cannot trust her by herself until what you and Geegaw have
done to her is removed.”
     “Removed?” Gadget repeated, swallowing hard as she gripped the
metalwork of her cage nervously. She didn’t like the sound of that.
     “Do not worry, my dear,” the Count said, honest reassurance in his
voice towards Gadget. “You will not be harmed. In fact, you will be
cured, at last, from the horrible lies that my old friends have inflicted
upon you.” He sighed deeply. “I shall never understand what happened to
Geegaw, to turn him into such a monster. Nor to you, Monterey,” the
Count said, sadly. “I wish it would have been different for us, but alas, I
suspect that fate knows what is best. Now that I have seen your true
colors, I marvel at the fact that I ever could have called you an ally.”
     Monterey was still dumbfounded over the feeling that he felt that he
truly had known the Count at one point, but could not, for the life of him,
remember who it might be. This only heightened his already considerable
apprehension of the Count -- it was hard to believe that the seemingly
rational captor below was that same enraged killer who had nearly
skewered him just a few short hours ago.
     “But no matter,” the Count continued, seeming to brighten. “Soon,
my friends will arrive. Gadget will be cured, and the rest of you taken far
away from the Edge, where none of you will ever risk harm to my loyal
subjects again.”
     “You have friends?” Chip asked, a bit more darkly than he
intended.
     “Yes, my interloping chipmunk,” the Count said with another sigh
of worn patience. “And a friend of yours, from the sound of it.”
     The Rangers glanced at each other in confusion.
     The Count smiled; congenially, no less. “The gentleman that sought
my assistance in acquiring Glyph as his latest ally; Raset.”
     He turned and headed off, closing the door quietly behind him. In
their cages, the Rangers bit their lips.
     “Well,” Dale offered weakly, “we wanted to find Raset, didn’t
we?”

*     *     *

     “Excuse me?”
     Dr. Speck jumped about a foot in the air. Or he would have, at
least, if he hadn’t rebounded from the balloon overhead, landing roughly
in the front passenger seat. He struggled to upright himself, adjusting his
large glasses as he turned to glare at the person who had so rudely
interrupted his enjoyment of Dale’s comics.
     “Don’t *do* that!” the doctor snapped automatically, then froze
when he saw that he was addressing a large, looming wolf spider.
     “Sorry,” the spider replied honestly, and bit ashamed. “Didn’t
mean to frighten you.”
     Dr. Speck’s heart rate had spiked as he faced another predator --
he was having more brushes with the food chain these past few days than
he had had for the past few years. He was tempted to blame it on the
Rangers’ involvement, but realized that it wouldn’t be fair.
     Even if it was true.
     The spider, however, made no move to attack, or any quips about
lunch. In fact, the arachnid seemed content to wait for Dr. Speck to join
him in a neutral, causal conversation. Dr. Speck also decided that if the
spider had wanted to eat him, the spider would never had said anything in
the first place.
     “C-Can I help you?” Dr. Speck finally managed, trying to be civil
despite his shattered nerves.
     “Actually, yes,” the wolf spider nodded with a smile. “You’re a
friend of the Rescue Rangers, am I correct?”
     “Uh, yes,” Dr. Speck replied.
     “Oh, where are my manners?” the spider suddenly said, then
extended one of his hands. “My name is Dominic.”
     “Dr. Speck,” Dr. Speck returned, slightly mutely, as he shook
Dominic’s hand. This was turning out to be one of the strangest
Thanksgiving weekends of the doctor’s life.
     “You friends are in grave peril, I’m afraid,” Dominic informed the
mouse gently. “They’ve all been captured.”
     “What?” Dr. Speck said, any remaining trepidation about the
proximity of a predator evaporating in a swelling concern for his
long-standing friends. “What happened? Are they all right?”
     Dominic winced. “I’m afraid I don’t know the details. I haven’t
even seen some of them.”
     “You mean some of them have vanished?”
     “No, I mean I’ve never even met some of the Rangers before. In
fact, I’ve only met Gadget,” Dominic explained. “To be honest, I
didn’t even know they had been captured until her angel sought me
out.”
     Dr. Speck paused. “Run that by me again, please?”
     “Oh, I’m sorry -- you don’t know about me, do you?” Dominic
chuckled. “You see, I can see people’s angels.”
     Dr. Speck changed his earlier prognosis. This *was* the strangest
Thanksgiving holiday of his life.
     “Her angel visited me while I was making the rounds in the Edge,”
Dominic went on, as if seeing angels was nothing to be surprised over.
“Gadget was in trouble, and he knew that it was allowable to seek my
help.”
     “Allowable? What-- no, never mind. I really don’t want to know.”
     Dominic smiled affably, then concern overtook his features. “I went
to the dwelling of the Count, and I fear that the unbalanced
self-proclaimed ruler of the Edge has them all locked up, in some type of
disturbing mobile. Gadget’s angel then explained that you were up here,
and would be willing to help free them.”
     Dr. Speck pondered his quandary for a moment. The spider was
obviously delusional, but he seemed truly honest about the Ranger’s
current plight. Still, it might just be some aspect of a larger mental illness.
For all Dr. Speck knew, after all, the Rangers were running for the
position of Canada’s Prime Minister, and were currently on the set of
the Royal Canadian Air Farce.
     But Dominic was... sincere.
     Even though Dr. Speck had been spooked a few minutes ago by the
wolf spider, the world-wise mouse felt a certain, tangible level of trust
from the arachnid. It had been quite a long time since Chip and Dale had
headed off, as well.
     Then again, Dominic could also be a very good actor, and be
leading the unsuspecting doctor into a trap... although, again, why trick
him when the large and more powerful Dominic could have easily
subdued the doctor in the Plane by ambush?
     Well, Dr. Speck finally decided, The Rangers have risked their own
lives for me... why not?
     “Of course I’ll be glad to help,” Dr. Speck nodded, then settled
into the pilot’s seat of the Ranger Plane. “Climb in. We’ll go and grab
some people who can help. McDugell and his A.P.F. boys should--”
     Dr. Speck was cut off as Dominic grabbed him by the shoulder and
hoisted the stunned mouse out of the Plane. “No time! We have to free
them, now, before the Count turns them over to Raset.”
     “Who? What? What’s going on?” Dr. Speck protested as Dominic
jogged back to the opening into the building, holding the struggling
doctor over his head effortlessly.
     “Raset -- some type of hypnotist or something,” Dominic replied.
“The Count’s planning on having him ‘fix’ Gadget’s mind into
something it’s not.”
     “What, again?” Dr. Speck interjected. “Did Gadget recently have a
revolving door installed in her brain? Osiris tried that--”
     “You know Osiris?” Dominic asked, coming to a halt and dropping
the doctor down to look at him in surprise.
     “Doesn’t everyone?” Dr. Speck grumbled -- he was being held
upside-down, and wasn’t in the mood to swap war stories. “I helped the
Rangers in a case with him a few years ago, and was recently kidnaped as
bait so Raset to get his hands on the toothless wonder. Look-- either turn
me right-side up or set me down, please?”
     “Oh! Sorry,” Dominic apologized as he gently placed Dr. Speck
back on the ground. “But you know how Osiris acts?”
     “Well, I should hope so,” Dr. Speck replied. “I did a case study on
him, after all.”
     Dominic stroked his heavy mustache. “I have an idea. I can free our
friends, but I’ll need you’re help.”
     “Of course,” Dr. Speck replied, then frowned. “I certainly hope you
don’t expect me to swing down on a zip line with a gun blazing and
frothing at the mouth like some fanfic character, though.”
     “No, no, no,” Dominic shook his head quickly, a smile forming. “I
think we may be able to use the Count’s madness to our advantage, this
time.”
     “Madness?” Dr. Speck said, suddenly intrigued. “I *am* a
qualified psychiatrist, you understand.”
     “Oh, really? I didn’t know that, no,” Dominic replied. “But I
don’t need you to psychoanalyze him.”
     “So... what *do* you need me for?” Dr. Speck was starting to
become less enthused.
     “I’ll explain on the way,” Dominic responded, leading his
newly-found ally swiftly along.
     Dr. Speck allowed himself to be drug deeper into the Ranger’s
web of danger and deceit -- by a spider, no less -- and was thoroughly
dreading every minute of it.

*     *     *

     Gadget glanced up with a start as the front door knocked forcefully,
signaling the arrival of the Count’s expected company. She and the
others braced themselves for whatever was about to unfold. Even then,
however, none of them were ready for what happened next.
     The Count, who had been reading from his large book, resting on
the pedestal once more, glanced up and smiled, adjusted his monocle,
took his cane firmly in hand, and briskly walked over to answer the door.
His business companion had arrived sooner than expected, meaning that
his daughter could be cured all the more sooner.
     He frowned in annoyance, however, as he opened the door.
     “What are you doing here?” he asked, a slight trace of irritation in
his voice. The tone switched to suspicion swiftly, though, as he spoke
again. “And who is this?”
     “It appears that there has been a change in plans, my good Count,”
Dominic explained with confidence as he almost practically forced his
way past the Count and into the large living room. The mouse that
followed wasn’t nearly as steady.
     “Dr. Speck???” The Rangers silently whispered as one.
     “Dominic???” The Wiretappers similarly chorused in hushed
unison.
     “This is Osiris,” Dominic said, indicating the barely-smiling Dr.
Speck. “A long-standing partner of Raset, who was unable to attend.
Detained due to last-minute complications, unfortunately.”
     “Oh?” The Count said, suspiciously. “And how did you come by
this knowledge?”
     “Well, the good Osiris told me,” Dominic replied simply. “He was
dispatched as soon as Raset realized he would be unable to make it.”
     Dr. Speck hadn’t acted since his high school days, and even then it
was only as a bit actor in the musical “North Dakota!” He hoped it
wasn’t showing as he politely extended his paw towards the Count --
whom, according to Dominic, suffered from delusions of grandeur and
psychotic episodes of uncontrollable homicidal rage.
     “Charmed,” Dr. Speck said through a pleasant smile.
     The Count dubiously shook the mouse’s hand; it seemed odd that
Raset couldn’t make it, given the interest the reptile had displayed for
the Rangers. But, on the other hand, Raset had mentioned in passing that
Glyph was needed to spring his old partner, Osiris. Given that Raset went
to so much trouble to arrange for Osiris’ release, it did make sense that
the chameleon would send his most trusted friend to pick up the charges
in his stead.
     “Well, this is a bit of a surprise for me, I must confess,” the Count
admitted. “I was expecting Raset and his other accomplices, but I’m not
terribly surprised that he sent you, Osiris. Considering he spoke so highly
of you.”
     “Did he?” Dr. Speck asked.
     “Oh, most certainly,” the Count answered, relaxing into a causal
conversation. “He had said that he was holding one of the most respected
psychiatrists in the city hostage in exchange for your release.”
     Dr. Speck grinned broadly. “How about that?”
     The Count looked to Dominic with a bit of a somber expression. “I
hope you understand, Dominic, that I would not wish these captives to be
harmed if it could be any other way. But they attacked my wife, who was
lying helplessly in bed, and I cannot forgive such an unwarranted display
of unprovoked barbarism.”
     Dominic gave a pained expression. “You know my feelings on any
type of cruelty or death, Count. But I know that you are not a mouse to
change you mind, nor one to make such grave decisions without great
self-deliberation. I do not condone your choice, but I cannot try to force
you to act otherwise.”
     Up above, Dale snorted silently. “Says who?”
     As always, without fail, Dale brought a grin to Foxglove’s lips in
even the most dire situations.
     “Raset mentioned that you were a hypnotist?” The Count asked Dr.
Speck politely as he led his visitors over towards the side of the living
area.
     Dr. Speck nodded. It was much easier to go through with this
charade when, in fact, the doctor was being honest. “Have been for many
years, yes.”
     “Excellent,” The Count smiled happily. “Raset was wise to send
you along. I’m afraid my daughter has had her mind altered terribly.”
     “You daughter?”
     “The blonde-orange haired one,” The Count replied. “Gadget.”
     “Ahhhh....” Dr. Speck responded, as if he should have figured that
out. “What’s wrong with her? Besides the obvious, I mean.”
     Gadget blinked. “What?”
     “She’s apparently been subjected to some type of mental
conditioning,” the Count replied in a regretful voice.
     “I see...” Dr. Speck nodded thoughtfully. “She is delusional?”
     “Very much so, I fear.” Interestingly enough, Dr. Speck could hear
the honest regret in the Count’s voice as the captor continued. “She has
been led to believe that her father was actually Geegaw Hackwrench, not
I. She has seen her mother living and breathing, but cannot seem to
accept it. Alas, it would seem that she is so frightened of reality intruding
on her fantasy world that she directly opposes any attempts to bring light
to the truth of her situation.”
     “People who live in glass houses, ‘Count’....” Gadget muttered
under her breath.
     Dr. Speck stole a glance up at Gadget -- or, more accurately, the
elaborate and delicate set of iron-wrought cages that held the Count’s
prisoners suspended high above the floor, like some gruesome chandelier.
     “Since I’m afraid I don’t know the subject that well--”
     “Didn’t she knock your teeth out?” The Count asked a bit
suddenly. “Raset mentioned something to that affect, but you have
teeth....”
     “Oh... yes... well....” Dr. Speck coughed a bit. Dominic gulped --
the doctor was either choking or panicking. Maybe both.
     “I’m afraid that those tales were a bit exaggerated,” Dr. Speck
finally forced through a chuckle. At times like this he was very grateful
for a pelt: it’s absorption power was helping mask his cold sweat. “You
understand how rumors run rampade, surely.”
     “Only too well, my friend,” the Count nodded sagely. “Many times
my own far-reaching vision has been challenged. I have had to quell
numerous uprising in my small country, unfortunately.”
     Cyan, Monterey, Gadget, and Zipper’s blood ran cold. He had
better not be saying that those bodies were the genuine article. To their
relief, Dr. Speck unknowingly side-stepped the issue entirely.
     “Your country?” the doctor asked. This was a new one.
     “Yes, all the lands you passed through on your way to my humble
castle; my abode,” the Count smiled warmly as one hand swept around
him in a softly humble manner. “It is here where the Castle clan has been
settled for generations untold, watching over our fellow countrymen as
the shepard tends to his flock: with compassion, care, and unending
devotion.”
     Dr. Speck smiled, a bit distracted. Stream of consciousness, heck --
this guy was a torrent of deliriums.
     “Of course,” Dr. Speck wisely replied. “In order to best cure
Gadget of this disorder, you understand, I’ll need to know more about
her ‘actual’ past.”
     “But of course,” the Count agreed.
     “So,” Dr. Speck said, motioning to the nearby couch, “please,
make yourself comfortable.”
     The Count complied affably, sensing that this would indeed help
speed along his daughter’s recovery. Dr. Speck moved one of the large,
cushioned chairs over closer to the couch, and settled into it with his
usual air of professionalism. He took out a small pencil and notepad, then
smiled disarmingly at the Count.
     “Please,” he said with an encouraging smile, “tell me about your
childhood.”
     “Dear God,” Chip grumbled as he ran a hand over his face, “Speck
is trying the psychoanalyze the Count....”
     Dale thought about this, then shrugged. “Isn’t that what’s he’s
supposed to do?”
     Monterey sighed in sync with Chip. “Not when he’s supposed to
be gettin’ us outta here, first.”
     “Oh,” Dale said in understanding. “Yeah, I see what you mean.”
     Down below, Dominic, too, realized that while Dr. Speck’s desire
to iron out the mental wrinkles within the Count’s moral fabric was
commendable, it was highly improperly timed. The wolf spider had no
idea when Raset would actually arrive. It could be in the next five
minutes for all he knew. Somehow, he had to cut this session short and
get the Rangers and the others freed from their cages, and completely out
of the building before Raset and his entourage arrived.
     Well, one option existed that he could think of. Not his first choice,
but undeniably the most expedient.
     Deep into their discussion, neither Dr. Speck nor the Count noticed
when Dominic went missing.
     “...I was born the son of a poor Ukrainian merchant,” the Count
was dramatically reminiscing. “I remember setting on the tenement stoop
of our cobblestone village... I was... uh... I was....”
     “Crying?” Dr. Speck helpfully offered.
     “Yes, thank you,” the Count replied, dabbing a handkerchief at his
eyes. “I was crying....”
     From Cyan’s vantage point, he could clearly see the Count
scribbling notes, but was unable to read any of them. He suspected,
though, that they mainly consisted of “This guy’s wacko.”
     Glancing about, Cyan realized that Dominic was nowhere to be
seen. Just as he was about to ask Strict and Arc if they had spotted the
spider anywhere, Dominic reappeared in Cyan’s field of vision. The
arachnid had smoothly slipped out from one of the doors near the back,
well out of sight of the doctor and the nut. Cyan saw the look of
determination -- and regret? -- on Dominic’s face and worriedly glanced
back at the doorway from whence the spider had scuttled.
     “Dominic,” Cyan whispered to himself, “what are you up to?”
     Dominic watched with surprising patience as Dr. Speck and the
Count continued their intense conversation. A few of those present were a
bit surprised that the Count had been so willing to discuss his own world
views, rather that focus on Gadget’s need for mental realignment, but
both Dominic and Chip understood that the Count needed to reassert his
belief in his own illusionary world on regular basis to keep it intact; the
Count would spout on about his delusional life story whether or not
someone had asked him, so actually having someone show genuine
interest was a lure that the Count could not ignore.
     Chip frowned as he concluded that Dr. Speck was also fully aware
of this, and must have felt that attempting to either cure the Count, or
gather his full trust, right at this moment was helping. It was, in fact,
hindering everyone, to the point of endangerment. Dr. Speck was used to
having all the time needed to fully build up a communication with his
patients, but they just did not have the time right now. Chip couldn’t
blame the doctor, of course -- the Ranger surmised that Dr. Speck already
felt way out of his element, becoming so tightly entwined in a case like
this, and this therapy session was undoubtably helping to ease his nerves.
     Dr. Speck was, to be sure, relaxing, but he was still tense enough to
jump a foot in the air when Dominic shouted suddenly in alarm.
     “Fire!”
     Everyone immediately glanced over to the direction that Dominic
had pointed -- smoke could be seen pouring out from the cracks of the
door. The same door, Cyan remembered, that Dominic had exited only a
few minutes earlier.
     The Count was up in an instant and ran to the door, while Dr. Speck
glanced about in confusion.
     “I don’t see any type of fire extinguishers,” he said hastily. “Not
even the typical buckets of sand!”
     “And you won’t find any,” Dominic grimly explained. “The
Count fashioned this place after his phantasmagoria of the early 19th
century. They never incorporated the precautions we do, nowadays.”
     Throwing open the door, the Count stumbled back in surprise as
eager flames leapt out to the fresh source of oxygen and readily-available
combustible materials. Indeed, already the tapestry on the back wall was
catching.
     “No!” The Count cried as the fire spread like lightning. “My lovely
home -- I’ll lose it!”
     “You’ll lose you lovely daughter, too,” Dominic pointed out
sharply, pointing to Gadget in the iron chandelier, “unless you get her and
the others out! Now!”
     “But--”
     “Count, move! I’ll keep the fire at bay best I can, but you and the
doc-- Osiris have to get them free, first!” Fortunately for everyone
involved, the Count was too preoccupied with the growing blaze to query
the momentary verbal slip of Dominic.
     In truth, the Count cared nothing for the remainder of his captives,
but he nevertheless couldn’t open Gadget’s cage unless all were
lowered to the floor. And for the life of his baby girl -- especially after
they had finally been reunited after so long -- he would do anything. With
a single leap, he crossed to the release level for the mobile, thrusting it
down harshly. The catch sprang free, quickly lowering the entire mobile
from above, until the cages rattled abruptly on the floor.
     True to his word, Dominic was busy attempting to stall the fire, a
difficult task without any type of extinguishing materials. Having no
ready means to combat the growing blaze, the arachnid concentrated on
diverting the flames away from the rest of room’s occupants. Grasping
the already burning tapestry, Dominic strained with all his might,
attempting to pull the entire thing down. If it was yanked down, it would
delay the spread of the fire, hopefully long enough for the others to
escape. The heat was beginning to wilt his fur and whiskers, but he held
fast and heaved with all his might, until at last the cloth tore free with a
gargantuan rip. The thick cloth tumbled around Dominic, smothering
him, while the fire slowly crept over it -- but he had managed to buy the
others the time they needed.
     The Count had already vaulted to Gadget’s cage and had sprung
the lock within moments. Before she could so much as yelp he had
strongly grasped her and pulled her from the metalwork and away from
the others.
     “My friends!” she yelled, struggling to get clear of the mouse
dragging her away. Her eyes widened in terror as she saw the flames
inching towards the rest of the Rangers; Zipper was struggling furiously
to properly reach the release mechanism on his cage, but couldn’t reach
the lock to even an attempt to pick it. It was clear the within a matter of
minutes, the rest of the captives of the iron mobile would be roasted
alive.
     “They’ll be killed!” she yelled again, fighting to break free of the
Count’s vise-like grip.
     “I care not about them!” The Count yelled back over the steadily
rising roar of the flames. “Only you!”
     “But--”
     “Silence!” The Count yelled as he yanked her so violently that she
screeched as she felt her shoulder almost pop out of its socket.
     “I’m truly sorry,” Gadget said, tears forming around her eyes from
pain and frustration. “But I won’t let my friends die!”
     Simultaneously she wretched her wrist against the Count’s thumb
while slugging him square in the face with her other hand. She hated to
resort to violence, especially against this disturbed mouse, but she had no
time to be subtle.
     Her gambit paid off; the Count’s utter surprise that Gadget would
even resist him was a greater blow than her actual physical strike. His
concentration broken, Gadget’s wrist pulled free and the female inventor
darted back into the flames which were now finally starting to engulf the
entire room. Already Gadget could tell that the only possible way out was
through the front, right where the Count was recovering.
     But that was far less important than freeing her friends from a slow
roast by an open fire. She sprang to Zipper’s cage first, rushing to pick
the lock with her tail then triggering the release latch and throwing the
door wide. Without even speaking to each other, the Rangers leaped into
unified action, as if this had been planned from the get-go. They split up
and, starting with the cages closest to the flames, began freeing the
others.
     It only took a fraction of a minute for them to all to be released, but
by then the fire was firmly entrenched in the mansion. Everyone knew the
entire mansion would be up in flames within a minutes.
     “Where’s Dominic?” Cyan called out, looking around for the
spider.
     “And Dr. Speck?” Foxglove added, having lost track of her
newly-found friend and theological debating opponent in the rush of
events.
     “First, get outside!” Chip ordered them all. “We have to get this
fire out before it catches the rest of the building!”
     Everyone else blinked in startlement. They had completely forgotten
that the Edge was in the bottom of the Malek Research Building. Once
the Edge was ablaze, the rest of the actual human building wouldn’t be
far behind.
     “Where’s the Count?” Gadget suddenly said, her eyes darting
nervously around them. Their captor was no longer in front of the door,
and Gadget was worried if he might have gone off the deep end once
more.
     But seconds later, Monterey shouted over the din of the raging fire
and pointed to a figure swiftly moving up along the stairs, away from the
fire, then disappearing from view.
     “Where’s he going?!” Cyan cried out, dumbfounded. “Hasn’t he
noticed this entire place is about to go up in smoke?”
     Monterey understood immediately. “He’s goin’ for his wife! Or
whatever you wanna call it!” He swore under his breath and tore up the
stairs after the Count.
     “Monty!” the remaining Rangers screamed.
     Barely, they heard the determined Aussie’s reply float back to
them, “Someone’s gotta save the blighter, right?”
     Chip grimaced -- this was prime Monterey Jack country now; they
only had time to act, not to think, let alone debate. Zipper signaled that he
was going after Monterey and flew off, leaving Chip with the knowledge
that Monterey and Zipper in a burning building going after a seriously
mentally disturbed mouse was not a scenario conducive to keeping
everyone alive. But, as much as he hated to admit it, Chip had bigger
concerns on his mind: unless this fire was put out, and soon, the entire
building would catch. Both animals *and* humans would likely perish in
such a result.
     Swiftly Chip led everyone outside, trying not to think about Dr.
Speck and Dominic, both of whom they had lost track of in the flames.
     “Gadget!” he called out, trying to locate her as they put a distance
between themselves and the developing inferno known as Castle
Koo-Koo.
     “What is it, Chip?” she called as she darted over. Caught up in the
intensity of the past few minutes, and Chip’s commanding presence,
even the Wiretappers gathered around.
     “We need a way to put that fire out, and now!”
     Gadget’s brain kicked into full gear, and she snapped her fingers
with a triumphant grin. “A fire hose! We can snake one from the ground
floor through to the interior of the wall and turn it on!”
     “I know where the closest one is,” Cyan suddenly suggested, not
realizing that he was actually volunteering to help others for free. “Follow
me!”
     As one, the entire group raced up the crossbeams and rafters
towards the nearest entrance to the awaiting fire hose while the sounds of
a growing fire continued to build.

     “Dominic! Answer me!” Dr. Speck had spent what felt like several
minutes shifting through the tapestry for the arachnid. It was terribly
difficult, for not only did he have to maneuver around the burning
sections, but he was also being forced to do so more and more frequently,
as the cloth was quickly becoming consumed by fire. Indeed, if he
didn’t locate Dominic within the next few moments, he’d have to
abandon the search, lest he be suffocated from smoke inhalation. Even
now, his eyes were tearing profusely, and only the extremely high ceiling
was keeping him from--
     There!
     Eagerly, Dr. Speck threw off the last section of the tapestry,
revealing the very hot and somewhat groggy, but breathing and
conscious, body of the wolf spider that he had met only a few hours ago.
     “Come on,” Dr. Speck grunted as he bent over Dominic and started
to drag the other away from the approaching fires. “We’ve got to get out
of here, and fast.” In the back of his mind, Dr. Speck’s mind whirled
around the realization that he never thought he’d see the day when he
was risking his life for an animal that normally would kill him without a
second thought. It was so ludicrous that the doctor actually laughed.
     Conscious makes weirdos of us all, he thought amusedly.
     “I’m okay,” Dominic coughed slightly, starting to his feet. “I was
having trouble breathing under that heavy cloth, but I think I’m getting
better.”
     “I have some despairing news for you, my friend,” Dr. Speck said
with a smirk as he continued to support the spider, “the breathing out
here isn’t a whole heck of a lot better.”
     “The others?” Dominic asked. He was far more concerned with the
Rangers and the Wiretappers than his own life.
     “I don’t know,” Dr. Speck answered honestly. “But I bet my
spectacles that they’ve already managed to get out. Heard some
shouting and running over the fire. They were on the other side,” he
indicated a wall of fire next to their slow path with a nod, “and the front
door’s over there. I’m betting they managed to get free.”
     “The Count?”
     Dr. Speck shrugged. “No clue. And frankly, I’m more concerned
about our perdicament at the moment. Just in case you’re not aware, the
front door is blocked off from us, the fire is growing alarmingly fast, I
have no clue where the nearest exit is -- *if* one is clear for us to get to
in the first place...” he grunted as he continued support Dominic along
“...and you’re not getting any lighter.”
     Dominic smiled slightly as they stumbled along. “So why are you
helping me?’
     Dr. Speck barked out a laugh. “Someone who acts like Mother
Theresa’s understudy has to ask that question? I suggest you concentrate
your energy on figuring out how we can get out of this mess.”
     Dominic used one of his arms to point ahead of them, off to the
left; a small alcove was visable, which apparently housed a door. It was
difficult to see, true, as the overhang was currently on fire.
     “That’s our best bet,” the wolf spider admitted with a trace of
doubt in his voice. “I have no idea, though, if the fire has collapsed the
hallway beyond.” He paused. “Or might yet still collapse it.”
     Dr. Speck grumbled something about missing his desk job as he
helped Dominic over to the doorway. The fire above singed their fur and
was throughly nerve-wrecking, but together they managed to open the
door -- no backdraft, Dominic noticed with a silent prayer of thanks --
and slip through into the hallway beyond.
     A few moments later, the weakened entranceway caved in, piling
burning debris down and utterly cutting them off from any hope of
getting back out.

     Maynard blinked. He turned around from coffee pot in the small
cubby-hole which was practically his second home by now, this being his
eleventh visit. He blinked again, his eyes and brain a bit fuzzed after all
the information that he, Doug, and Ted had been slowly sifting through.
A lot of it could be dismissed, of course, but you never knew which could
be and which couldn’t until each scrap of data was relentlessly inspected
and analyzed. The trio of scientists had made some progress, at the very
least, making it easier to push on as their field of focus was slowly
narrowed.
     Still, the body needed as much stimulation as the mind for these
long endurance hauls through the mounds of information. Thus, Maynard
had made another coffee run, glad for the opportunity to both refill his
mug as well as stretch his slowly cramping legs.
     In his current state of detratchment from his present surroundings,
he wasn’t sure if that light clinking he heard was just part of his
imagination or not. He didn’t see anything around him to account for it,
at any rate. Poking his head out of the door, he heard it stop, only to soon
be replaced with a sudden, quick grating of metal.
     The fire alarms flared for a brief second before cutting off, as if
someone had pulled out a wire by accident.
     Silence.
     Some muffled noises, as if coming from behind the walls.
     Curiously, Maynard wandered down the hallway, trying to pinpoint
the source of these odd sounds. He turned a corner, and walked along the
wall, staring at it intently as if he had never seen a wall in his entire life,
and couldn’t even begin to fathom what on Earth such a construct was
used for. He paused after several feet, and leaned forward, pressing his
ear against the wall.
     He could just barely discern the sound of water running through a
hose, such as used by washing machines and dishwashers.
     Maynard blinked again, and chuckled. “Or someone might have
just flushed a toilet upstairs,” he laughed to himself. Shaking his head, he
turned and headed back to the coffee pot.
     I’m reading too much into this animal intelligence, he thought
with a grin.

     “Water’s on!”
     Gadget turned her head at the shout from Arc, and signaled to
Strict, Cyan, Chip, and Dale, who were all bracing themselves to keep the
nozzle aimed at the burning building below them. Foxglove had flown off
down to the Edge, to warn and herd the residents of the Edge away from
the blaze as best she could; at the very least, she was fully intending to
make sure that none of them got any closer to the fire.
     Those manning the nozzle waited with their breaths held, expecting
the worst type of high pressure that fire hoses were designed to handle.
They had wedged the nozzle into position between two crossbeams, but
they had no idea if they could hold it in place when the hose snapped to
life.
     Stoically, they gritted their teeth and prepared for a fight.
     They were disappointed when none ever came.
     “There’s a kink!” Gadget yelled, pointing behind them to a section
of the hose that had been accidentally pulled into a tight crack between an
iron fastening and a thin, wooden plank.
     A moment’s indecision hung in the air like wet velvet, then Chip
turned to rest.
     “Come on! We’ve got to clear the line!”
     “All of us?” Dale asked in surprise.
     “You’re nuts!” Strict growled. “When that water slams through
here, this nozzle is going to jerk about hard enough to break necks!”
     “We have to get the water flowing *now*!” Chip snapped back.
“Or the fire will get too big for us to handle and grow out of control, and
broken necks will be the least of our problems!”
     Without waiting any longer, he turned and bounded off towards the
kink, Dale immedately following behind him. Cyan and Strict exchanged
glances, but having no other plan themselves, left the nozzle and raced to
catch up with the two Rangers.
     Gadget glanced worriedly from her friends working on the kink to
the Castle afire, where her other friends were still toiled against the odds
to survive.

     Monterey coughed again, more frequently than he wanted to admit.
Zipper was currently flying a scant hair over the floor, trying to keep as
much space between him and the smoke collecting at the ceiling. Both
Rangers knew that right now they stood a far greater chance of dying
from smoke inhalation than anything else. Monterey tried to remember
the position of the last window they passed, should they have to abandon
their search.
     They were grateful that they hadn’t had to make any turns, as
otherwise they would have been lost by now. But the hallway was straight
and without deviations, just as it was when they last walked it to that
desolate and unnerving far room, where the mock-up of Terica
Noteworth had lain, peaceful and unmoving.
     Monterey only found the door because he had bumped into it.
Staggering a bit, Monterey collected what he could of his slowly
suffocating mind and fumbled for the doorknob, swinging the door open
wide.
     “Count?” he called out. Dimly, he knew that the Count could easily
get the drop on him, and skin him and Zipper alive before either even
blinked, but it was a risk they accepted when they first decided to become
Rescue Rangers.
     “Monty?” a surprised and tired voice replied.
     The room had a single, weak light, but a light smoky haze was all
around, as if the people within really didn’t exist, and the room itself
was imaging it all while in the midst of a hay fever.
     Barely, Zipper could discern the darkened figure of the Count,
hunched over his “wife” from the side of the bed opposite the door. Even
in the poor lighting, Zipper could see that the Count had been crying; the
wet trails had washed away the accumulation of ash and soot which had
settled on to the Count’s cheek fur.
     “Is Gadget safe?”
     Monterey nodded his assurance, knowing that she and the others
were no doubt working some way to try and put out the fire even as they
spoke. “Come on, we’ve got to get you out of here!” Monterey
announced, lumbering towards the bed.
     “Monty, no,” the Count said in a slow, patient voice, a sigh
escaping him.
     Monterey, caught-off by the tone of utter complacent in the
Count’s voice, halted.
     The Count shook his head again, and looked down upon Terica’s
-- the mannequin’s, Monterey reminded himself -- face. “I feel that this
is best, to die here, alongside my dearest love.”
     “Don’t be--”
     “Monty!” The Count interrupted, but not in a threatening way.
“Please, don’t. You know me better than that.”
     “Help me remember,” Monterey growled, clenching his fists in
fustration. He would have jumped over the bed and knocked out the
Count, then carried him out of here, but Monterey doubted he’d ever be
able to get the initiative, even if he was in top-notch condition. The Count
was just too quick.
     And unpredictable.
     Monterey watched in confusion, mixed with a dash of disquietude,
as the Count tenderly stroked the doll’s cheek with a light, affectionate
hand. “I... I can feel my grasp on my life... slipping away. Every day,
things get more and more hazy. My memory changes on me; I can’t
remember things that I feel I should know. It feels like my sanity is
dissolving out from under me....”
     This isn’t the time or place for a deep, meaningful discussion,
Zipper’s discreet yet worried buzzes informed Monterey.
     But Monterey wasn’t so sure. He was positive that he knew this
mouse from somewhere, but he could honestly for the life of him not
remember. And, shut off in this surrealistic setting, the fire in the
mansion might as well be on the moon for all Monterey could care.
     “All I ever wanted was to be with Terica,” the Count continued to
reflect, “until we died. Gadget has come home, and knows that she is heir
to all I posses. I do not care for the mantle of ruler anymore; I should
have spent more time with my wife. I see that now. Everything seems so
much more clear to me.”
     Monterey stiffened at that comment. Either the Count had finally
gone completely off the deep end or had somehow found his way back to
reality.
     “Who are you, mate?” Monterey asked.
     Zipper heard some creaking below. He was suddenly frightened,
although he wasn’t sure why.
     The Count looked over to Monterey, and took Terica’s paws in his
own. “I don’t know anymore, Monty. I thought I did, but... I think I was
your friend, once. Long ago. Before I got sick. Before I started doubting
who I really was.” He paused, and looked long and hard at Monterey,
apparently looking for the answer in the battered and bruised Australian
Rescue Ranger.
     A momentary flash of insight, and final understanding, lit up the
Count’s eyes, and he opened his mouth to speak.
     Zipper suddenly realized what it was that was terrifying him, and
slammed into Monterey, shoving him back a few paces scant moments
before over three-quarters of the floor caved out, tumbling down into the
roaring fire below. Monterey managed to flop on his back in the hallway,
the tip of his tail dangling over the edge of the gaping hole, fluttering
about in the hot updraft.
     Grunting as he shifted to a sitting position, away from the edge of
the floor, Monterey tried to catch his breath as he looked back into the
room -- or rather, where the room used to be. The bed, and the Count,
had fallen into the awaiting flames below, which were burning so brightly
that it was impossible to see anything more than just an impenetrable red
glare.
     Zipper glanced at Monterey, both of them wearing the same
expression of loss.
     Despite the danger they were in, each waited a few moments before
moving, or even speaking. Partly out of their failure to rescue the Count,
partly out of frustration -- because the Count didn’t *want* to be helped.
But mainly, their silence was borne out of respect for the dead.
     “He got his wish,” Monterey stated numbly, and Zipper nodded
soberly to the succinct eulogy.
     Together, the two Rangers crawled away from the blazing pit, and
back towards the last window they had passed.

     “Move back!” Foxglove shouted over the din of the disturbed and
crazed denizens below her. She didn’t even know if some of them
understood what she was saying, but she was hoping that her desperate
body language and gestures to escape out the back would convey the
urgent need to vacant the premises.
     “This is it!” Daytona yelled triumphantly, rooted in place while
others darted about in a confused frenzy. “This is the reckoning!”
     “It’s a fire!” Foxglove replied as she dropped down to land in
front of the obsequious cockroach. “And you need to get out of here!”
     She glanced over his shoulder, and was pleased to see that the rest
of the residents were, indeed, moving away from the fire. Again she
wasn’t clear if this was due to their understanding of the situation, her
forceful pleas to retreat, or even -- her throat constricted sharply -- from
perhaps any fear of bats they may have. Pangs of guilt jabbed suddenly
and unexpectedly as she recalled her own reaction to Glyph the first time
he surfaced, and she wondered if anyone here was reacting in the same
manner, and for he same reasons.
     Oh well, she thought resolutely, as long as it keeps them moving
away from the real danger.
     “I have proclaimed the end,” Daytona continued to rant on to
nobody in particular, “and lo and behold, it has come, just as I have said!
Hear my words, people! For I speak the truth!”
     “The truth is to run!” Foxglove yelled at him, trying to push him
towards the rest of the escaping animals.
     “In my hour of triumph?” Daytona shrieked, wild with indignation.
“I have foretold the end of the world, and they laughed at me! I have
dared to speak the truth about the dream, and they have claimed I was
wrong! And you expect me to give up my greatest victory?!”
     “Yes!” Foxglove snapped,
     “NEVER!” And, to reiterate his point in the most annoying manner
possible, Daytona burst into song:

“You better get ready, be very afraid
Because your money’s no good and you’ll never get paid
And the car won’t start and the phone won’t work
And the juice won’t squeeze and the coffee won’t perk
No more decaf latte, baby....”

     Foxglove gritted her teeth and was considering decking this
exceptionally annoying insect (for both business and pleasure), but a hand
on her shoulder stayed her.
     “Please, my dear, allow me,” Dominic rasped amiably as he
plucked Daytona up easily and limped off to continue to move the rest of
the animals on their way. Foxglove was further delighted when he
slapped one of his hands over Daytona’s mouth; having actually shut
Daytona up, Foxglove had no doubts that Dominic was indeed spiritually
gifted beyond normal mortals.
     “Doctor?” Dominic called out over his shoulder, “if you could help
Jar, please?”
     Foxglove turned and practically beamed with joy when she saw Dr.
Speck, who was nodding to Dominic and swiftly moving to help the
immobile bird who was still sitting quietly off to the side, taking no
notice to the world around him.
     “Dr. Speck!” Foxglove greeted the mouse, giving him a strong hug.
     “While it’s good to see you too, Foxglove,” Dr. Speck said, a bit
muffled, through Foxglove’s enwrapping wings, “would you be a dear
and save your energy for after we get Jar to safety?”
     “Hmm? Oh! Sorry,” Foxglove quickly apologized, then assisted the
doctor in lifting Jar to his legs. Foxglove and Dr. Speck each took a side,
and together they walked the shattered bird away from the growing
danger behind them.
     “How did you and Dominic escape?” Foxglove asked, intrigued.
“We couldn’t see anything -- did Dominic see some other way out?”
     Dr. Speck grunted in response, but otherwise didn’t reply right
away; he seemed to be composing he next words very carefully.
     “He did,” he said at length. “By all rights, we should have died
back there....”
     Dr. Speck seemed like he was about to say something further, so
Foxglove waited. When it was apparent that he wasn’t, she prompted
him.
     “What happened?”
     Again, Dr. Speck took his time in replying, and when he did, it
didn’t seem as if he was answering her question. “During World War I,
a group of soldiers were penned in by the Germans, and all told, should
have been cut down cold. But instead, they somehow -- defying all laws
of rationality -- managed to escape, making it back across to their own
lines. To a field hospital, I think.”
     “...and?”
     Again the long wait. Dr. Speck was obviously very uncomfortable
with this subject. “Later,” was all he said.
     Foxglove watched Dr. Speck carefully as they helped Jar to safety.
     Strange, she thought, but he seems... troubled.
     Foxglove realized, of course, that almost being killed in a fire would
trouble anyone, but still, this trouble seemed to stem from something
other than a physical threat.
     It seemed more... spiritual?
     Dr. Speck, however, was not forthcoming with any more
information.

     The group working on the kink in the hose heaved mightily,
attempting to pop the kink out from the spot it was stuck in. The water
pressure being clogged, however, was making the task nearly impossible
to complete, as it only served to wedge the twist in the hose even tighter
in place.
     “It’s not working,” Dale grunted in frustration as they strained
with every fiber in their being, all to no avail.
     A loud crack snapped in the air around them, causing them all to
momentarily freeze, despite the desperate need for the water below.
     “What was that?” Strict asked in a hoarse whisper.
     Another one sounded, sending chills down their collective spills.
     As the third one sounded, Chip grasped them as the warning they
were. “It’s the wooden beam!” he called, pointing at the narrow slab of
wood that the hose was braced against. “All the strain from the pressure,
plus us, is breaking it out of place!”
     “Oh, great,” Cyan growled, starting away from the beam with
apprehension.
     “No, great!” Chip corrected, bounding over to the beam and
throwing his shoulder into it. “If we can’t move the hose, then we’ll do
the next best thing and move the beam out of the way!”
     The others stared dumbfounded at this suggested course of action.
Dale shrugged and leapt into place next to Chip. “If ya wanna make an
omelet, ya gotta break some beams!”
     Cyan and Strict looked helplessly at each other, then spared a quick
glance down below to the continuing growth of the fire. For Cyan, the
Edge has been their prison; but it had also been their home.
     He jumped down from his position, and Strict was soon to follow.
The four of them kept a steady increase in their force as they pushed
fiercely against the weakening beam, their strength aided by adrenaline
and fear of the entire building catching fire.
     With a massive effort and tenacity of will, and backed by the
powerful pressure built up in the hose, the four rodents breathed a brief
sigh of relief as the outmatched support beam finally gave in with a
mighty, resounding crack. The hose snapped into life as the water was
finally able to freely flow through the entire length towards the nozzle;
the backlash snapped the hose taught, and it swept across the area madly,
plucking the four animals off of their perch with childish ease.
     Chip and Dale landed a few feet down, after bouncing off of a few
crossbeams and walls, while Cyan and Strict, familiar with the interior of
the walls, both managed to snag a handhold before they, too, dropped like
a rock into the darkness below.
     Water was spraying out madly from the nozzle, but with no-one
around to brace it, let alone aim it, it did little more than begin soaking
the interior of the wall and clattering about noisily against the wood and
metal.

     “What in the world...?” Ted asked, looking up from his file with a
questioning frown as a sudden barrage of muffled clunks and thuds could
be heard.
     Doug and Maynard paused in their own research, glancing about in
puzzlement at this strange noise. The three men remained silent for a few
seconds, just listening. Finally, Ted spoke up. “Was there any scheduled
maintenance for today?”
     “Not that I know of,” Doug replied, scanning the ceiling and walls
as if he was able to see through them.
     Together, they completely forgot about their present work,
fascinated by this new development. Deep down, they all were suspecting
the same thing, but none had the courage yet to voice it.
     Yet.

     Gadget watched with a determined look on her face as the nozzle
continue to thrash about wildly. She had no idea what happened to the
boys, but was positive that they must have been forcibly delayed, or they
would have been back by now.
     “Now what?’ Arc said, with the same inflection of frustration in
her voice that Gadget was presently feeling.
     “We’ve got to brace that nozzle,” Gadget stated matter-of-factly.
“All we have to do is point it in the right direction, and it’ll put out the
fire quick enough.”
     “Yeah, but how do we aim it?” Arc snorted. “Strict and the rest
would have been hard pressed to keep that thing in place, and with all due
respect, sunshine, we ain’t got the muscle to handle it.”
     Gadget only hmmed in response, her eyes already taking all of their
present surroundings into account. The nozzle was boxed into an area
formed by sturdy beams and pipes, so it was at least in the right place to
be aimed -- what she needed was some way to securely hold the nozzle
steady; something to give her the advantage of leverage, which would
make it possible to properly control.
     Her breath caught as she spotted a vent, and remembered something
Monterey had said about wired cameras through the air conditioning
system.
     “Arc!” Gadget shouted
     “What?” Arc replied as she ducked, mistaking Gadget’s energy
for alarm.
     “Does that vent have wiring in it?” She pointed up to where her
eyes were pinned on.
     “Of course, but what--”
     “That’s it!” Gadget happily cried out, then without waiting for a
response from Arc, grabbed the squirrel by the hand and practically
dragged her up one of the beams.
     “Hey!” Arc spat out in protest, “What’s the big deal, girl?!”
     “Come on, Arc! I need your help!”
     “With what? I don’t--”
     “We don’t have time to argue, Arc! I need an extra set of hands
and you’ve got the closest pair!”
     “Okay okay! Just let me climb on my own, all right?!” Arc relented,
more so to get Gadget to stop dragging her along than any real desire to
help. The squirrel was actually fairly surprised at Gadget’s strong grip;
this was one beauty who apparently wasn’t in the fragile category.
     Gadget hopped up next to the vent and almost instantaneously
pushed her way through the sliding door, slipping inside and finding the
desperately needed wires. Arc was only a few moments behind her, but
by the time the Wiretapper arrived, Gadget had already crouched by the
wires and was about to bite through them.
     “Wait!’ Arc shouted as she moved forward to stop Gadget.
     Gadget’s teeth bit down heartily, cleanly severing the thin wires
and delivering an attention-getting jolt to the female inventor, shooting
her back against the interior of the vent with impressive force.
     “Gadget!” Arc said and she crouched by the Ranger, who was
already getting to her knees, although they were a bit shaky.
     “Yes...” Gadget moaned in a daze, “tastes like a 120 AC current...
not a good year....” her eyes wavered about momentarily, then refocused.
She shook her head slightly, sending small static discharges free from her
hair. “Whew. I’m out of practice -- normally that wouldn’t really bug
me.”
     “Normally?” Arc echoed in disbelief.
     But Gadget didn’t have time to respond, and was already sprinting
up from the cut in the wires, stopping a few feet away, and then kneeing
to bite through the wires once more. Since she had cut off the current
with the last bite, no jolt came this time, and she grinned at her foresight.
Sparks danced from her teeth, causing Arc to slightly back away.
     This was one weird chick.
     “Okay,” Gadget stated, springing back to her feet and snatching up
one end of the wires. “Grab the other end other there!”
     Arc did as she was told, but was starting to have a sinking feeling in
the pit of her stomach as she followed Gadget back out into the interior of
the wall. While Gadget studied the hose and made some preliminary
calculations in her head, Arc worked up her nerve and finally broached
the subject of what exactly they were doing.
     Gadget turned to Arc and smiled brightly. “A fascinating live
demonstration concerning the laws of physics, probabilities, and spatial
geometry.”
     Arc swallowed. “Translation?”
     “Jump!”

     “...mommy mommy mommy....” Chip repeated in a dazed voice as
Cyan struggled to hoist the fallen leader of the Rangers into a sitting
postilion.
     “Hey, wake up!” Cyan screamed, just a tad panicked. “This was
*your* brilliant plan, buddy, so tell us what the heck we’re doing now!”
     “Huh? What?” Chip started back to full consciousness, glancing
around. “Where’s Dale?”
     “Strict’s getting him,” Cyan replied, then pointed back up to the
nozzle, still jerking about dangerously. “But what are we gonna do about
that?! I’m no musclemunk, and neither are you, and that’s gonna mean
that we’re going to be struggling with that thing for too long! Unless we
can get that nozzle aimed at the Castle, we’re all....”
     Cyan stopped as a new sound greeted the chipmunks. A
high-pitched scream, gradually getting louder. Another sound was behind
it; a laughing noise which, while not as high-keyed, was no less energetic
in its tone.
     “Gadget?” Chip stated in wonder.
     “ARC?!” Cyan exclaimed in shock.
     The two chipmunks watched, transfixed, as the two aforementioned
ladies fell out from the rafters above, heading down over the
highly-animated nozzle. As they neared their destination, Cyan and Chip
could make out that they help some sort of cord between them, spread out
by about a foot or so.
     They dropped past the nozzle, slipping down past the wide berths
on both sides, the wires between them crossing over the top of the hose
and starting to pull it down into place. The water pressure, naturally, was
far greater than the weight of two falling rodents, and still yanked about,
which was entirely what Gadget had planned on.
     The sudden forceful tugs on the wires sent both Gadget and Arc up
around the opposing horizontal rafters running parallel with the hose,
flipping each airborne female around several times. Their momentum
whipped them about fast enough for the wires to tighten in a crude but
effective hitch, stabilizing the hose and holding it steady.
     “Now!” Gadget cried out over the roar of the fire, the rush of water,
and the wailing of Arc. “Tie it off!”
     Gadget had already secured her side in a clove hitch and was
bouncing up towards the nozzle before Arc’s brain even registered that
they weren’t dead. The nozzle was shifting slightly against the pressure,
but the wires held it in place enough for Gadget to take careful aim,
judging the distance between the nozzle and the V-shaped crook in two
crossbeams where the boys had originally planned to wedge it.
     Still moving, she increased her speed, sprang up over the hose
lengthwise, flipping over completely and landing with her feet squarely
hitting the nozzle in its center, driving it perfectly into the awaiting nook.
Her excitement over her crackerjack acrobatics and calculations was cut
short as she realized that she had forgotten to take into account that the
momentum which drove the nozzle into place would also drive her
*over* the edge of it, directly into the path of the highly-pressured water.
Which, in turn, would send her into the flames it was now aimed at, far
below.
     “Aw, shoot,” she grumbled as she tipped over towards a
spectacular but nevertheless painful death.
     A strong yank of her tail pulled her back from the brink of disaster,
however, and she landed in a heap with her rescuer, behind the nozzle.
     Arc grunted as she shifted to a sitting position, then looked over at
Gadget and chuckled. “Watch your step, sunshine,” she remarked, “that
first step’s a lu-loo.”
     Now aimed at the right place, the water from the fire hose
hammered mercilessly into the base of the fire, ripping away the heat and
oxygen from the flames. While the fire was huge by mice standards, the
water pressure was equally phenomenal, and the blaze was noticeably
being beat down with each passing breath of the stunned onlookers.
     After all the excitement, Arc and Gadget watched in tense
anticipation as the fires slowly receded away. As they did, however, the
two females noticed that a side effect of the water pressure was that its
tremendous force was also severely damaging the castle, itself. Walls
already weakened by the fire were knocked down, and the whole building
shuddered violently from the onslaught of the water.
     Within minutes, the entire fire was out, and the water was merely
soaking the ashes and scattering them out against the very back of the
edge, against the cinder block wall. Electric sparks shot out from the
destroyed electronics built into the Count’s Castle, but presented no
danger -- there was nothing left to burn.
     “Shut it off!” Chip yelled down to Dale, making both Arc and
Gadget jump. So engrossed with the visuals of the end of the ferocious
firefight, neither had noticed his arrival. Down the way, Dale nodded, and
shouted the message on to Cyan, who in turn passed it to Strict, the only
one with the strentgh left to shut off the water quickly.
     A few more seconds, and the hose lost pressure, eventually going
completely limp and resigning itself to a small, pitiful trickle dripping
from its mouth.
     Dale walked up and joined the silent trio on the parapet, looking
down onto the ruins below. They were still in quiet contemplation when
Cyan and Strict joined them.
     “Whew,” Dale finally said to break the ice. He looked at Chip,
smiled, and said in a deep voice, “Only *you* can prevent research
building fires.”
     Chip slowly turned to face his best friend; Dale’s face was sooty,
bruised, and streaked with trails of sweat. And it was smiling.
     “You’re a nut, Dale,” Chip finally announced.
     “Thanks, buddy,” Dale grinned.
     The others shook their heads, except for Cyan, who was still
starting down at the wreckage below. “You think Dominic and the others
made it out okay?”
     This thought sobered the rest of them quickly.
     “Let’s find out,” Chip commanded, and immediately started to
climb down, Gadget and Dale right behind him. Without even realizing
that they were willingly followed his orders, the Wiretappers were hot on
their heels.
     As they slowly approached the blackened husk of Castle Koo-Koo,
all six newly-christened firefighters gulped audibly. The Castle looked
foreboding before. Now, it looked downright hostile. The walls leaned at
unnatural angles. Windows had been knocked free from their places,
leaving gaping holes where some light smoke still drifted from the
steaming remains of the once grandiose manor.
     “Be careful,” Chip advised, even though everyone was well aware
of the danger of entering the building. Floors and walls would be rickety,
and could give way without warning. Soot and ash could fall through
from above, blinding and choking anyone unfortunate enough to be
underneath. The entire building could collapse under its own weight, its
thoroughly ravaged supports no longer strong enough to fully hold it
upright. It was exceedingly dangerous to enter this place so soon, but they
had no choice. If anyone was still in here, and alive, they had to be
rescued before the deathtrap once known as Castle Koo-Koo buried them
alive, during its own death throes.
     Dale risked a glance around, but didn’t see anyone. No other
creature could be seen stirring, although the poor lighting of the Edge
made it difficult to tell, and the smoky haze lingering in the air cast the
entire area in some sort of dream-like trance. Dale shook his head and
returned to the task at hand.
     “Wait!”
     The group froze and spun around, their nerves on end. As one they
breathed an audible sigh of relief as they spotted Foxglove flying over to
them from the other end of the Edge.
     “It’s okay,” she said with a smile. “Dominic and Dr. Speck made
it out okay, and we all moved away the rest of everyone to the very back
of the Edge, away from the fire.” She grinned, completely pleased with
her successful part of this mission.
     Her eyes traveled to Dale... and she beamed unabashedly at her
red-nosed, impeccably-dressed chipmunk of choice. Dale’s tuft of fur
on the top of his head was delightfully mussed, and he looked deliciously
rugged and handsome from all the soot and dirt criss-crossing his shirt and
fur. And that smile of his-- it melted her in her tracks every time he
choose to favor her with it.
     She bounced next to him and hugged him tightly. “Hiya, cutie!”
She felt that he deserved a strong hug, not because of his heroism, not
because of his bravery, not even because of his adorable two front teeth,
but because she loved him and wanted to show him every chance she had.
     “Heya Foxy,” Dale replied as he returned the hug, rubbing her back
with pride. He was a lucky, lucky man to have found Foxglove. Or, more
appropriately, for Foxglove to have found him.
     “Oh, I’m fine, really,” Monterey’s voice called out from
blackness beyond the ruins of the Castle. “You go on with yer huggin’
and sappiness; me and Zip don’t need any help, really.”
     “Monty?” Chip called out as the entire group spun around, trying to
locate the sarcastic Aussie. “Zipper?”
     “Crikey Chip,” Monterey’s voice returned, “yer askin’ that, and
you call yourself a detective? Sheesh.” But there’s was an unmistakably
facetious flavor to Monterey’s tone, and the others knew that he was
enjoying the fact that they had survived as much as anyone.
     After a few moments of shuffling, and some random creaks and
groans from the Castle, Monterey slowly emerged from the masking
shadows, Zipper resting securely on the large mouse’s shoulder.
Considering all that Monterey had been through, the others knew that his
outward appearance was, in fact, better than the shape he was actually in.
     Zipper motioned to the others that he was a bit winded and still
coughing out smoke, but was otherwise unharmed.
     Gadget was quick to Monterey’s side, and despite his protests,
began the long, arduous task of sterilizing and cleaning his wounds
before the risk of infection grew even larger than it currently was.
     “Where’s the Count?” Cyan asked, suddenly realizing that the
madman ruler of the Edge had not yet been accounted for.
     Monterey flinched, but not because of any physical discomfort.
“We lost ‘im,” he admitted guiltily, obviously feeling it was his burden
to shoulder. “He was in the room with his ‘wife,’ and the floor buckled
under.” He turned and looked over his shoulder at the remains of the
Castle.
     “Ashes to ashes...” Arc said quietly.
     Monterey stared at the charred skeleton of the Castle, still in danger
of collapsing any moment, and fought against a powerful feeling of
sadness. And of loss. The Count had tried to kill him, kidnap Gadget, and
destroy the rest of the Rangers, and yet Monterey fully believed that the
Count was telling the truth when he claimed to have been a friend of
Monterey’s, from long, long ago. Still, Monterey just could not place
the Count in his vast memory banks, which, in honestly, was the most
saddening part of it all; that the Count never be remembered for who he
was early in life, but only as someone who succumbed to a madness
which eventually drove him to his own death.
     Foxglove leaned against Dale, needing his strength through this
dour moment, the previous feeling of accomplishment soured horribly by
the fact that a person -- regardless who it was -- had perished during the
process.
     “Well,” Chip said, breathing deeply, “I suppose we should look
into knocking this place down,” he nodded towards the Castle remains.
“Before it crashes in upon itself while someone is wandering around
inside.”
     “We also have to help the people stuck here, Chip,” Gadget said,
looking at him with those large, deep blue eyes, hope and trust welling
out at him from their immeasurable depths.
     “Right,” he replied automatically, without even fully processing the
question.
     “But where can they go?” Dale asked.
     “Yeah,” Cyan nodded, “most of them won’t be able to survive on
their own. I mean, this is their home, after all.”
     Chip thought for a moment. “Maybe if we--”
     “Quiet,” Foxglove suddenly ordered in a curt whisper.
     Everyone blinked at this show of assertion from the normally meek
and gentle bat. In fact, half of those around were quiet not because *she*
ordered it, but because she *ordered* it. Everyone subconsciously knew
that this was vital, however, and held their breath as one tense second
after another ticked by, until....
     “There!” Foxglove cried, pinpointing the noises she heard and
darting off without warning or explanation. “Zipper, c’mon!”
     Zipper was immediately by her side, although he wasn’t quite sure
what was going on.
     “We’re the only two who are fast enough to catch him before him
gets away,” Foxglove explained to the fly as the two winged avengers of
justice shot through the maze of rafters and supports. “I could just hear
him as he was trying to-- look over there!”
     Foxglove swooped and cut down through the air, Zipper working
his wings hard to keep up, but he spotted where Foxglove was heading: a
small, hinged porthole in the wall that was just swinging shut. They
rushed the porthole and popped through to the over side, only to be laid
flat by some tremendous force that blindsided them from behind --
whoever their attacker was had waited by the porthole and jumped them
as they passed through, into the hallway of the actual building.
     Once more relying on his own survival instincts than any semblance
of logic, Zipper tucked into a roll, feeling something shoot past his head;
something warm and wet. He came to his feet and sprang upwards into a
power climb, the same thing flashing by him as he barely dodged it. The
sickening sound of it smacking into the wall told him all he needed to
know without having to look.
     Their attacker had a long, sticky tongue, like a frog.
     Or a chameleon.
     Zipper spiraled around as he climbed out of reach of the
considerable length of the tongue, eventually reaching a safe enough
distance that he was able to hover and spin around, scanning the area
below.
     Foxglove was slowly gaining her feet, but groggily. Zipper gnashed
his teeth in fustration as he futilely searched the floor and walls for that
telltale discoloration which would outline a chameleon who was
camouflaged. The Ranger had no doubts that they were facing off against
Raset again, who apparently had just arrived to meet with the Count.
Zipper surmised that Raset got close enough to hear Monterey
mentioning that the Count had died, and then attempted to sneak off, only
to fall prey to Foxglove’s superior sense of hearing.
     For the first time in his life, Zipper found himself immensely
grateful for the superb ears of the bat.
     It wasn’t helping them now, unfortunately, as Foxglove was too
dazed to do more than regain her sense of balance. But Zipper should be
able to spot a moving chameleon...
     Unless he’s not moving, Zipper thought with a dash of hope.
     Moving his aerial search back over the spot where he had been
nearly pegged by Raset’s tongue, Zipper slowly began to scrutinize
every inch of the floor and wall, confident that he’d find the elusive
criminal. Raset shared this opinion, for he suddenly sprinted from his
motionless position by the corner of the floor and wall, and slid in behind
Foxglove. In one fluid motion that belied his awkward-looking form, he
had Foxglove’s wing pinned behind her back and his arm looped around
her neck. With very little effort he could either snap her arm or crush her
windpipe, which he demonstrated by choking Foxglove enough to get
her, and Zipper’s, full attention.
     “We keep meeting in less than ideal circumstances,” he mentioned
to them both, “wouldn’t you agree?”
     “Y-[choke]-yes,” Foxglove managed, having to agree.
     Zipper landed in front of both of them, eyes fixed on Raset. The
reptile wasn’t attempting to make any trance-inducing color patterns
across his skin, but Zipper knew that was because Foxglove was blocking
the line of sight needed to make it work. Zipper was able to make out that
belt he had seen Raset wearing when they met last, as well; a nylon web
belt encircling the reptile’s waist, allowing Raset to carry items on him
without greatly risking his skin coloration ability. The belt seemed empty
aside from some scrap papers, though, easing Zipper’s mind that no
weapon was about to be brought to bear. With a slight smirk, Zipper took
a step forward.
     You’re in it deep now, Raset, Zipper motioned to the Ranger’s
adversary. No back-up, no escape route, and you can bet your last scale
that the rest of the Rangers will be here shortly.
     Raset didn’t reply right away; Zipper was right, of course, but
Raset currently held the decisive bargaining chip: Foxglove. As long as
he had her, he was safe. Alas, Raset was also painfully aware that he
couldn’t hope to escape in this manner of slowly dragging a hostage
along. He needed to make a move, and quickly, before the rest of
Rangers arrived on the scene.
     As if summoned forth like the avenging angels of biblical legend,
the Rangers burst forth from the small porthole in the wall. As one, they
hit the floor running, spying the confrontation further down the hallway
and sprinting for it with all dispatch. Raset cursed under his breath and
glanced around.
     They were nearing an edge of an intersection; it was the same one
Raset had first entered through, so he knew that a doorway to the outside
was just down the corridor. Unfortunately, it would be a flat-out foot race
for the exit, and the odds were not stacked in his favor to outdistance all
the Rangers at once.
     Fate twisted once again, however, and Raset saw his salvation turn
a corner. A human -- even better, wearing one of those ubiquitous white
lab coats, complete with small, seemingly unidentifiable stains -- was
slowly heading in their direction. He was currently too engrossed in
shuffling through the contents of the file folder he was holding to pay any
heed to tense hostage situation just a few yards away from him.
     Raset’s skin was already shifting to blend back in with the dull
pattern of the carpeted floor. Chip and the rest, not able to see the human
around the corner of the intersection yet, mistook this as a desperate ploy
to escape.
     “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Chip snorted as he drew near with
the rest of the pack. “You think we’re going to--”
     “Chip! Look!” Dale called out as he grabbed his friend’s shoulder
and pointed towards the towering human who was almost on top of them,
still oblivious.
     The rest of the Rangers all turned with a start, and Raset milked that
instant of distraction for all it was worth.
     Foxglove was heaved mightly at Zipper, completely broadsiding the
small fly and knocking the wind clear out of him, while Foxglove was too
caught up with coughing and trying to coax her pained neck muscles back
into breathing to otherwise move.
     Raset had sprang right after throwing Foxglove off, flying into a
rough tackle of Chip, snapping his tail around to sideswipe Dale. Both
chipmunks hit the ground, their already tired muscles groaning in agony
as further abuse was dished out to them.
     The reptile kept his momentum going as he rebounded from
Chip’s fallen form, diving headlong into Monterey Jack. After all the
events Monterey had suffered through, he was no match for a healthy and
devious fighter such as Raset. The Aussie was knocked flat within
seconds, and too drained to even attempt to sit up.
     By this time Gadget had recollected her surroundings, and was able
to roll to the side as Raset swung out to grasp her. She came up a safe
distance away, only to realize that she had played directly into Raset’s
game plan. She was on the opposite side of the hallway as the exit,
leaving him a clear path to make a dash from the intersection.
     As he suspected, the human was still absorbed in reading the
research material in the file to notice the opportunity for escape which he
had inadvertently supplied for Raset. The human was still walking down
the hallway, towards the exit, and with a running leap, the chameleon was
able to grab onto the lower hem of the lab coat.
     Gadget, however, was far from out of the picture. She had made an
impressive run after the fleeing quarry, his camouflage easy enough to
see through from all his running. When Raset had leaped to the lab coat,
he only served to stick out even more, and Gadget knew she could catch
him before the human exited the building.
     Neither Gadget nor Raset, however, expected the human to come to
a complete stop and turn around. Raset hadn’t guessed it, but the human
actually felt the sudden addition of the newly acquired passenger, even if
it was a minor amount. Nevertheless, it was enough to get the attention of
the human, who halted and looked behind him.
     The sudden stop and twist of the human’s body snapped out the
hem of his lab coat, which only added to Raset’s already considerable
momentum from the jump seconds earlier. The chameloen lost his
tentative grip and sailed across the floor, bouncing off of the door which
he had raced to reach. He sprang his feet, only to succeed in making his
head spin from getting up too fast, and he wobbly collapsed on his rear
while his brain slowly settled back into place.
     Gadget could have easily caught him, if the human hadn’t
immediately spotted her when he turned around, and reached down to
pluck her up with a quickness that befooled most people’s images of
scientists.
     As she was lifted up to the human’s face by her tail, Gadget
suddenly gulped. This *was* an animal research lab, after all....
     But before she could ponder the possible implications, she found
herself staring into the eyes of her captor, while she dangled helplessly
over five feet in the air.
     The human was staring at her in a way that Gadget hadn’t seen
before. No reactions of fear, or of disgust, or even of amusement.
Instead, the human’s features were etched into a face of intense scrutiny,
as if this was the first time he had ever seen a mouse, and wanted to
mentally note every detail for some future research paper.
     “Hello,” he said quietly, “my name is Maynard.”. The fact that he
was talking to her made her blink. Aside from Clyde Cosgrove, a human
inventor she had helped once before, most humans weren’t interested in
striking up a conversation with mice. Mainly because humans generally
couldn’t understand animals’ speech.
     Maynard, however, didn’t seem bothered by such a proposition in
the least.
     “So...” he said aloud, still looking her over, “just how smart are
you?”
     Gadget was seriously becoming concerned by now; this guy was
acting as if he had never seen a mouse in his entire life.
     She was partly right; Maynard was just now seeing a mouse
through a new set of eyes.
     Maynard was trying to see if any signs of sentience were, indeed,
present in this mouse he had happened to snatch. She didn’t have any
type of I.D. tag, so she wasn’t an escaped lab animal. He couldn’t help
but chuckle at the thought of mice living within the walls of an animal
research laboratory -- heck, maybe they were a group of resistance
fighters, bent of freeing all animals from labs around the country. He
shook his head and sighed at the thought, even though it didn’t seem
nearly as laughable as it would have just a few days ago.
     Especially considering that Maynard was beginning to think that he
could recognize some signs of understanding in this mouse -- it was a
female, he was sure of that. He found, with a bit of nervousness, that
when the light hit her just right, it seemed that she had a mane of
golden-blonde hair, rather than it just being a long-haired section of her
pelt.
     “Can you understand what I’m saying?’ he asked, seriously. It
was a toss-up if he was talking to Gadget or just speaking his thoughts.
“And I mean beyond just the old, ‘sit ubu, sit -- good dog’ bit. I mean,
can you understand the parts of my speech as actual formalized thoughts
and ideas? As a means of communication beyond just warnings of danger
or locations of food?”
     Gadget’s fear slowly drained out as she watched Maynard with
growing interest. She had heard of humans who could understand
animals, but they all had been able to do so as children, and were well
aware of the animal culture the coexisted with human civilization. Was
Maynard one of those handful of humans who could understand her?
     Before she could test her theory, however, Maynard spoke again.
     “Just how advanced *are* you?” he asked, interestingly, completely
mesmerized by the fact that he might very well be holding an intelligent
creature in his hand right now -- one who might even be considered a
colleague. “Did you ever attend college?” he asked, a smile forming as he
started to parallel various women he had known with this small mouse in
front of him.
     “You a career-oriented girl?” he asked, causally, making Gadget
blink. “Job first, and all that? No time for raising a family or seeing the
world; have to hit the office every day, armed with a box of doughnuts?
No doubt accompanied by a full coffee mug?”
     Gadget felt a bit guilty over the last one. She felt she needed to cut
down on her caffeine intake.
     “Or maybe you’re one of those rare girls who still like the home
life. You don’t have a husband, I don’t suppose. Not sure if marriage
is really a big deal for mice, anyway. Still, maybe you have a boyfriend....
Any guy you like to cuddle up with under the covers on a lazy Saturday
morning?”
     Maynard swallowed his smile. For a second, he could have *sworn*
that he saw this mouse blush.
     By this time, the rest of the Rangers and Foxglove had regained
their senses and were crouched around the corner, nervously watching as
Maynard held Gadget aloft.
     “What’s he doin’?” Monterey grumbled low.
     Dale shrugged. “Offhand, I’d say he’s talking to her.”
     “But why?” Foxglove asked. “Is he actually expecting an answer?”
     Chip frowned, but shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. It sounds
more like he’s basically debating with himself than anything else.” Still,
Chip was far more interested in watching Maynard carefully than
attempting to locate Raset -- somehow, Chip sensed that a greater threat
lay within Maynard’s near acknowledgment of Gadget as something
more than just an animal.
     While the four bipeds waited apprehensively for their chance to
somehow rescue Gadget, Zipper made a quick scan for Raset. He spotted
the chameloen still sitting by the door, apparently just recovering from a
daze, as well.
     Once again, Maynard surprised everyone by turning around and
pushing the door open, heading outside with Gadget still in hand. Raset
seized the opportunity, and ducked out right after Maynard, slipping free
to the vast outdoors.
     “After him!” Chip shouted, conveniently using a pronoun which
could be applied to both Maynard and Raset. Foxglove and Zipper were
off in a hearbeat, rocketing towards the already closing door and clearing
it before Chip, Dale, and Monterey had even made it halfway. Chip
watched with growing fustration as the door narrowed even quicker than
he expected, forcing him and his companions to pour on the speed
generously. They leaped in unison, barely clearly the door frame before
the door swung shut solidly.
     Monterey immediately collasped to the side, again out of breath.
Dale and Chip watched in a momentary bout with confusion as Zipper
and Foxglove separated -- the fly pursued Raset over the manicured lawn,
while the bat attempted to catch up to Maynard, who still held Gadget, as
the human headed off towards the street.
     Watching his business and personal lives again forcing him to
choose, Chip swore, then pointed Dale towards Foxglove and her quarry.
“Go! I’ll help Zipper!”
     Dale nodded once and was off in a flash, scampering with
impressive agility to catch up to his designated group. Chip pivoted and
sprang off after Zipper, hating himself for his devotion to his job as a
Ranger -- Osiris was as good as dead if they let Raset slip away now.
Again he tried to tell himself that Gadget would be fine, but it didn’t
help to ease his already frayed nerves.
     It was impossible to tell where Raset was at, as the lawn was easily
as tall as Chip, and healthy, making it thick, and providing a perfect
backdrop for a chameleon to disappear into. Fortunately Zipper was
flying high enough to be seen and followed, and Chip knew that the
sharp-eyed fly was probably the only one of the Rangers who could see
through Raset’s camouflaging ability with any degree of accuracy.
Zipper was flitting about, apparently trying to keep track of Raset without
getting in range of the chameleon’s lengthsome tongue. All it would
take would be one successul hit by Raset and Zipper would be the first
Ranger hors d’oeuvre.
     As if on cue, a tongue snapped out from seemingly nowhere, but
Zipper was able to dodge it nimbly. What’s more, it gave Chip a
reference point to look for Raset, even though it didn’t help much, as
Zipper again darted off in pursuit of the enemy that only he could
currently see. Chip growled as he continued to stumble onward, wanting
to at least be able to see Raset.
     He got his wish, as Zipper suddenly double-backed, and attempted
to shout a warning, but it was too late. Chip heard the grass rustle and
spotted the unnerving outline of a figure rushing towards him; Raset’s
skin pigmentation was practically conferring invisibility, forcing Chip to
watch the edges of the apparent silhouette to keep track of the chameleon,
although Raset’s belt also stuck out slightly. Not that it mattered in the
end, as Chip knew exactly where Raset was, for the hypnotist rammed
into him forcefully, flipping the chipmunk up over him in a practiced
move of a professional.
     Chip crashed to the ground with a grunt, but quickly rolled upright
and darted his eyes about. Zipper was overhead now, but he had lost track
of Raset.
     “Can you see him?” Chip asked, almost fearful. He knew that
somewhere around him, within striking distance, was his foe. And the
knowledge that Raset could probably hit him before he even had time to
react was perhaps the most devastating tactic which the elusive
chameleon employed against his enemies.
     Zipper scanned hard, but with the rough, thick grasses, Raset’s
cover was far superior than that of the hallway indoors.
     “Can’t find him,” Zipper articulated. “He must be still.”
     Chip nodded his understanding. As long as Raset remained
motionless, they would probably never spot him; if he started running,
Zipper would be able to locate him within seconds. The down side was
that this meant Chip and Zipper would have to physically search the field
if they hoped to find the reptile, and since Raset would easily be able to
launch a surprise attack before either of them could react, they knew that
this was exactly want Raset wanted them to do.
     Chip swallowed hard. Fact of the matter was, they had no other
recourse.
     Carefully, ever so slowly, Chip stepped forward. He never noticed
until now how dense grass could get. Every step, and he had to brush
some more blades aside, each one a perfect hiding place for an ambush.
And thousands more surrounded him.
     Gritting his teeth, Chip forced his rising fear down and focused on a
search pattern. He started a slow spiral out from where Raset had
attacked him, as the lizard couldn’t have gotten far afterwards. Raset
would have had to stop only a few seconds after the sneak attack, or
Zipper would have spotted him.
     But, for all intents and purposes, he could be anywhere.
     As stealthily as Chip knew how, he parted the grass before him, and
cautiously crept forward into the seemingly suffocating foliage. Zipper
kept a sharp eye out above him, while Chip focused his own gaze on the
area before him. His ears strained to pick up any rustle of movement
which was out of the ordinary. Even thought they were just a dozen feet
or so from a large, towering building, it felt more like some God-forsaken
stretch of land which no animal had inhabited for decades.
     Each second seemed to crawl by agonizingly slow, with every beat
of his heart seeming to grow louder.  His body was aching from all the
running around, not even counting the lack of substantial sleep, or the
beating he had received only a couple of days ago in that fishing shack.
As always, though, Chip placed his trust in his fellow Rangers to guard
his back. Zipper’s ever present vigilance was unquestionably Chip’s
best defense.
     It was only a slight shift of movement, but Chip heard Raset’s
lunge a split-second before the reptile managed to strike. No time to
dodge, Chip instead braced himself for the tackle, keeping his bearings
and grabbing hold of Raset as the two of them plowed into the sod. Raset
didn’t seem to be concentrating on Chip, however, as he instead rolled
on his back and unlatched his webbing belt. As he snapped it free from
his waist he slung it outwards, connecting perfectly with the incoming
Zipper.
     The fly was caught completely off guard, his arms and wings
completely ensnared in the garment. As he started to lose control and
plunged towards the ground, Raset’s tongue shot out and snagged
Zipper with ease, yanking the helpless fly into the reptile’s awaiting
mouth.
     For all his love of plans, Chip was never one to dally in a fight.
Instantly Chip maneuvered up over Raset and drove his elbow into the
other’s stomach with such tremendous force that Zipper popped free
from the reptile’s mouth with such velocity as to land several inches
away behind a row of grass blades.
     Down to just Chip and Raset, the ensuing fight was personal and
intense.
     Chip was barely half the brawler that Monterey was, but he had
enough experience through the trials of the Rangers to hold his own
against nine out of ten of the opponents they faced.
     Alas, Raset was number ten.
     The leader of the Rangers could tell that Raset was trained in
unarmed combat, but he had no clue to as to what the style was like, aside
from the fact that is was very effective. Chip was having his clock
cleaned, and he knew it.
     Fortunately for Chip, Raset wasn’t out to kill him. Not today, at
least.
     Raset’s tail snapped around suddenly, slapping into Chip’s
unprotected chest, knocking the wind out of the battered chipmunk. A
follow-up punch drove in against Chip’s skull, sending Chip’s fedora
flying one way and the rest of him the other.
     With both Rangers effectively taken care of, Raset slipped away
from the scene, the grass swallowing him up immediately and forever
erasing any hopes of ever finding his trail.

     “Now what?” Foxglove asked, unsure.
     Dale grimaced. He hated being called on to make decisions.
Partially when they involved the possible loss of a teammate. Which
happened a lot more often than he was willing to admit.
     The two mammals were flying after Maynard, just above and
behind him as he crossed the practically deserted street to the open fields
beyond. He hadn’t made any move to harm Gadget yet, though, and
from the way he was acting in the building, Dale seriously didn’t think
that he was about to hurt Gadget. Dale was more concerned that a bat,
carrying a chipmunk, suddenly swooping in out of nowhere might alarm
the human. They were such touchy creatures at times. Especially around
bats.
     “What do we do, cutie?” Foxglove asked again, looking to Dale (as
always) for the solution to the problems of life.
     And (to her), Dale -- as always -- did not disappoint.
     “Uhm, let’s keep followin’ him like this.”
     They carefully kept pace as Maynard walked out into the open,
untamed field beyond the road. The grasses here were easily a couple of
feet high, and an occasional patch of brush or even the lone, small tree,
served as reminders that the rural sections of Stones City were not far off.
     Stopping after about twenty feet, Maynard glanced over his
shoulder at the Research Center behind him, and nodded to himself.
     “This should be far enough,” he said, apparently to Gadget.
     He then gently set her down in the field, and took a few steps back.
     Gadget looked up at him; this was perhaps the first human she had
met that completely threw her for a loop. She just couldn’t seem to
figure him out.
     Maynard paused momentarily, then smiled and waved. “Go on,” he
said in an honest and friendly tone. “You’re much better out here than
back in there, trust me.”
     Gadget slowly began to understand, and smiled.
     In the depths of Maynard’s heart, somehow, he knew this.
     “Goodbye,” he said with a grin. Then, silently, he turned and
walked back towards the building.
     Foxglove and Dale looped up out of his range of vision, circling
around to land next to Gadget.
     “Gadget!” Dale called out as Foxglove dropped him next to her.
“You okay?”
     “Hmm?” Gadget said, still watching the back of Maynard as he
walked at of sight.
     “You hurt at all?” Foxglove asked as she landed on the other side
of the female mouse. “I mean, he didn’t bruise you or tag you or
anything, did he?”
     “What? Oh, no, Foxglove, he didn’t,” Gadget said, smiling. She
looked at Foxglove and placed a hand on the other’s shoulder. “He let
me go, is all.”
     The others let this sink in.
     “Whoa,” Dale remarked, astutely. “A guy who works in an animal
lab lets mice go free. Man. There’s something you don’t see every
day.”
     A series of rustles and snaps heading towards them broke the brief
respite from the day’s action, making them all jump. They breathed a
collective sigh of relief as they saw Monterey pop through the wall of
grasses, panting heavily.
     “Crikey!” he wheezed, “don’t leave me like that again, huh? I
mean, if I haven’t spotted Foxy here flyin’ around with Dale, I
wouldn’t have had any bloomin’ idea where any of you went.”
     “Sorry, Monty,” Dale apologized.
     But Monterey waved it off. “Aw, blimey, Dale, forget it. It’s my
fault for bein’ out of shape in the first place.”
     Foxglove scratched her head. “I thought it was more like because
you got beaten up by Strict so bad.”
     Monterey blinked. He hadn’t thought about that. “Hey, yer right,
luv... thanks! It’s all his fault,” he grinned with a wink.
     Gadget rolled her eyes, but nevertheless smiled. “Monty...” she
cautioned in an affectionate tone.
     Monterey chuckled as he glanced about, then looked back at them
with a questioning expression. “Where’s Chip an’ Zipper?”
     Gadget looked to Dale. “Didn’t they follow you?”
     Dale started at the question; he had been so relieved about
Gadget’s safe return that he had completely forgotten about Chip and
Zipper’s own chase.
     He and Foxglove stared at each other as their jaws dropped.
     “Raset!” they yelled in unison.

     “Chip!?”
     His eyelids fluttered briefly, and he groaned. The part of his brain
which wasn’t bruised and screaming at him with headaches recognized
the name as his own, and that it probably meant someone was looking for
him.
     He heard some faint buzzing that sounded familiar, then some more
noises, growing louder.
     “I found ‘im!”
     That was Dale’s voice, he recognized, and he slowly let awareness
creep back into his mind, even though it brought with it the pain and
exhaustion from the past two days, as well.
     Abruptly, Chip found himself jerked to a sitting position.
     “You know,” he mumbled, “it’s probably not a good idea to
manhandle a guy who’s had a severe blow to the head....”
     Dale grinned and waved to the others as they made their way over.
“He’s woozy, but fine.”
     Chip’s eyes opened and he slowly took a few deep breaths, getting
back up to speed to remember that he and Zipper had lost track of Raset.
He was glad, however, to see that Zipper was all right, albeit still wet
from Raset’s saliva, and still partially wrapped up in that web belt.
Monterey was busy using some clumps of grass to wipe Zipper clean as
best he could, while Foxglove, Gadget and Dale helped Chip back to his
feet.
     Before he addressed the rest of his friends, Chip turned and smiled
at Gadget -- she was okay, and that’s all that was important right now.
     She smiled warmly back at him, and the aches and bruises covering
his body seemed to ease a bit.
     “Raset got away, huh?” Dale asked, even though it was fairly
obvious that the reptile had escaped.
     “You might say that,” Chip glumly confirmed, then sighed.
     Dale was quiet for a moment, sensing Chip’s sizable guilt over
having failed to stop Raset yet again. He cupped Chip’s shoulder with a
friendly grasp. “Hey, you did your best, Chipper,” he informed his
long-time friend in quiet earnesty. “Most folks wouldn’t have even
lifted a finger to try and help Osiris out.”
     “I know Dale,” Chip sighed. “But it doesn’t make it any easy to
accept.”
     The small group lapsed into silence once more, each thinking about
how much longer Osiris had left to live in this world.
     Finally, Dale looped Chip’s arm over his shoulder, and headed
back towards the building. The Ranger Plane was waiting at the top.
     “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go home.”