Chapter Twelve - The Price of the Piper

          “I have always depended on people being nicer than me, and I
     have never in my life been disappointed.”
                              -- “Zorro the Gay Blade,” Esteban


     It was a few hours before they finally returned to the tree. They had
managed to sneak back inside and find their new compatriots, the
Wiretappers -- they had really taken to the term. Dr. Speck remained
behind, with Dominic, in order to try and move the remaining residents
of the Edge out and to some new homes. Dr. Speck knew of some
various animal hospitals and clinics in the city that would take in most of
the residents. As for the rest, well, Dr. Speck had sighed and said that he
was bound and determined to find someplace for them all to live, even if
they had to build a new home for them.
     “Gosh, Dr. Speck,” Dale had told their old friend, “it seems like we
might have brought out the adventuring spirit in you, huh?”
     “Unfortunately,” Dr. Speck agreed with a snort.
     Monterey had chuckled at this. “You think you’ll be interested in
joinin’ our roster of active, reserve Rangers?”
     Dr. Speck’s answer was heartfelt and immediate. “Not on your life
-- I’m going back to my job, where you never have to worry about being
kidnaped by falcons and giant armadillos before being swindled into
trying to fool a madman while an inferno burns the place down around
your ears!”
     And with that he had stalked off in a huff.
     “Golly,” Gadget had noted, “I guess not everyone likes the idea of
risking their life every day.”
     Dale had shrugged in response. “His loss.”
     After exchanging a few goodbyes with the Wiretappers -- Monterey
and Strict still weren’t over their initial fight, although they at least
managed a curt nod of acknowledgment to each other -- the Rangers had
headed back up to the Ranger Plane and took off for home.
     Now that they were back, they seemed to be at a bit of a loss as to
what to do. Besides recuperate.
     “Hold still, Monty,” Gadget instructed her uncooperative patient.
     “Sorry luv,” Monterey said as she applied some more disinfectant
to one of his many abrasions. “It burns like a brushfire, thought.”
     “That means it’s healing,” Gadget said proudly.
     “No, it means it hurts like blazes.”
     The others had already been patched up, but none were nearly as
garishly decorated with gauze strips and bandages as Monterey. Chip, the
only one who came close, had a wrapping around his head, but was
otherwise in good shape, considering the punishment he had gone
through. Dale and Zipper had been banged around a bit, which was
normal in the line of duty, and easy enough for them to shrug off. Gadget
and Foxglove had practically escaped with just the same general
weariness that everyone in the group shared. It had been a long and hard
Thanksgiving weekend.
     Foxglove tenderly stroked the bat charm around her neck,
wondering if helped her make it through such a gauntlet with so few
physical pains. In any case, she certainly wasn’t about to look a gift
horse in the mouth.
     Chip, Dale, and Foxglove were gathered around the table while
Chip flipped through some blank scraps of paper, which had been found
in Raset’ belt. The stubborn chipmunk had held the brief glimmer of
hope that the papers might be clues pointing to Raset’s hideout, but they
were all blank, without even the slightest indication as to what Raset
might have been up to. Chip’s frown deepened as he shuffled through
them uselessly, acting more out of reflex than any viable logical reason.
     “I think they’re blank, Chip,” Dale observed as Chip began
shifting through the papers again.
     Chip stopped and glared at Dale, then dropped the scraps to the
tabletop. “I know that; don’t you think I know that?”
     “Well... no,” Dale admitted. “I mean, why else are you still staring
at ‘em?”
     “Because there’s nothing else I can do,” Chip answered, trying to
keep from taking his anger out on Dale. It wasn’t Dale’s fault, after all. 
     Foxglove, who was draping a wing over Dale and leaning into him,
sighed. While she wasn’t a Ranger, per se, she could still feel the
disappointment that Chip had over having almost nabbed Raset, only to
be beaten in the final moments of the game.
     “You don’t like losing, do you, Chip?” she asked innocently, not
quite comprehending the less than tactful way with which she had chosen
to brooch the subject.
     Chip glanced at her, but her statement had come from honest
concern, and wasn’t a snipe at his character. He shook his head as he
replied, “No, I don’t like losing, Foxglove.”
     Dale let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.
     Zipper flew in from the hallway and landed on the table, giving a
quick greeting and making an inquiring look at the blank papers scattered
about the table.
     “No good, Zip,” Dale informed the fly with a shake of the head.
“They be as blank as yonder unused TV screen.”
     Zipper frowned, and, like Chip, was too stubborn to admit defeat
right away. He started sorting through the papers himself, for no other
reason than to feel like they still had a chance to win this match-up.
     “At least the hole out front is filled,” Foxglove noted to the
chipmunks, hoping to raise their spirits a bit. “The landscapers certainly
were on the ball.”
     Chip grunted, which Foxglove decided was an encouraging sign.
Dale hugged her with one arm, causing a grin to appear on her features.
     Well, she thought, cheering up Dale shouldn’t be too hard....
     Chip, not really in the mood to watch the Dale & Foxglove Snuggle
Show, directed his attention down at Zipper, who was doing a marvelous
job of seeming to be absorbed in studying the blank pieces of paper.
     “Let me guess,” Chip said with a smirk, “lemon juice?”
     Not quite... Zipper absent-mindedly replied as he slowly studied the
papers.
     Chip watched distractedly, trying to take his mind off of the
nagging truth that Osiris was as good as dead; Raset didn’t seem the
type to give Osiris a quick, painless death, either. Osiris would probably
be alive for a day or two, at least, until Raset grew tired of having to put
up with the hypnotist, and snuffed out the mouse’s light forever.

*     *     *

     In the darkness that surrounded him, Osiris was finding it hard to
do anything other than fret and worry about his life. His dim hope that the
Rangers would ride to his rescue was the only thing that kept him from
caving into the incredible weight of despair hovering over his head.
     The loud creak of the door opening, as well as the sudden intrusion
of a glaringly bright light caused him to jump. When he saw Raset
walking towards him, Osiris’s heart rate tripled with fear, and the mouse
found himself suddenly very grateful that he was in a strong, sturdy cage,
and that Raset, for the time being at least, was on the outside.
     The reptile halted in front of the cage, while Glyph, who had
opened the human’s door to the room, waited in the doorway. The light
cast the mammoth animal in a ghastly silouette, while just enough
ambient light was present to show Raset’s face to be stone cold
impassive; devoid of nearly any emotion, save for perhaps anticipation of
long-awaited retribution.
     Raset gave a smile totally absent of any warmth. “Hello again,
Osiris. I’m going to kill you.”
     Osiris gulped. He knew that was coming, but actually hearing it
stated with such conviction was unlike anything he had experienced
before. He closed his eyes and forced himself to keep a steady voice
when he looked at Raset’s looming form again.
     “What did you do to Horus?” he rasped. “To Lady Vitae?”
     “Nothing.”
     “They’d never go along with this, Raset.”
     Raset sighed. “You were always short-sighted, Osiris; nice to see
you’re as shallow as ever.” He leaned back and folded his arms over his
chest. “I had been looking for you for a long, long time, my friend. After
I escaped from your feeble attempt at a double-cross, and gathered up
Horus and Lady Vitae, who were the only ones I could find after that
debacle. We left Russia, and I picked up what I could from your fleeing
trail, bringing me to the States. After a while, I joined up with a traveling
carnival, to better search for you, while Lady Vitae and Horus scoured the
surrounding countryside.” He paused, then chuckled. “It’s where I first
met the Rangers, as well. They failed to stop me that time, too, even if
they did force me to drop my cover and leave the carnival. Still, it turned
out to be heaven sent, as I learned that you were here, in Stones City. In a
way, I have them to thank for your head now on a platter.”
     “They’ll find you,” Osiris attempted to sound confident, but it
barely had enough force behind it to even be counted as a plea.
     “No, they won’t,” Raset replied evenly. “I would have been back
sooner, but I had another little run-in with them. Rest assured, Osiris, that
none in this city will be coming to your aid.”
     “I don’t believe it,” Osiris said, trying to convince himself more
than Raset.
     “I couldn’t care less what you believe, Osiris, because I know the
truth of this whole situation. The Rangers have been pounded into the
ground -- twice, now -- and still haven’t the foggiest idea where we
are.”
     “Where are we?”
     “Not important for you to know. I will point out for your troubled,
and weak, mind that I have employed no hypnotic tricks or any such
bombastic means to enlist Horus and Lady Vitae’s aid, either. Just used
good ol’ fashioned guile. Actually, you did a better job of convincing
them than I ever could.”
     “I don’t follow you.”
     “You never could, Osiris,” Raset sighed, rolling his eyes. “I
informed them that you had deliberately lead us all into a trap, figuring
that you could finish us all off and collect the money solely for yourself.”
     “That’s not true!” Osiris snapped.
     Raset laughed. “They said the exact same thing, Osiris. And all I
had to do was show them that you had already taken the money for the
job and ran. Really, Osiris, I never would have convinced them if you
hadn’t been so cooperative. I’m not sure which of your hallmark traits
was more helpful to me: your greed, for grabbing all the money before
even bothering to wait and see if anyone else survived, or your
cowardice, for hightailing it out of the country on the first available ship.”
     “But I never would have done that if I had known....”
     “I know that, and you know that. But good luck trying to convince
your two ex-best friends of the truth, Osiris.”
     Raset nodded satisfactory to himself, then continued. “And now,
you’re being tortured for your mistakes. For your idiotic belief that you
could actually get away with this; you, a two-bit hood if there ever was,
with delusions of grandeur.”
     Osiris was too busy stumbling around one word to fully appreciate
the accuracy of Raset’s assessment of his character. “Torture?”
     “Oh, nothing physical,” Raset chuckled. “Nothing so easy. No,
I’m going to let you sit for a bit, here... alone in the dark.” The reptile
leaned forward, and the shadows cast across his face etched a portrait of
sheer, unadulterated evil. “Alone with the knowledge that you are going
to die, but you will have no idea when. Alone with the knowledge that
you have no friends left in this world, let alone in this building. Alone
with the knowledge that your only hopes for salvation are too busy
licking their wounds to even care about a waste of life such as yourself.
I’m leaving you alone with comforting thoughts that everything you ever
hoped for, everything you ever dreamed of, everything you ever wished
for, will never... *never*... come true.
     “You are utterly, totally, alone.”
     Raset turned and walked off, the door slamming behind him to a
horrifying, final close, cutting off the rays of light as surely as Raset had
severed Osiris tentative grasp on hope.
     The darkness and helplessness crashed down mercilessly on the
small, lone mouse left in the room, who lay sprawled out on the floor and
wailed in self-pity.
     It was a useless action, but the only one Osiris could preform.

*     *     *

     “What are we looking at?” Gadget asked.
     “Blank paper?” Dale ventured.
     “Besides that, mate,” Monterey noted.
     “You think you’ve found something, Zipper?” Chip asked
encouragingly.
     Zipper nodded. He was standing the table with the Rangers and
Foxglove gathered around. The papers were strewn out over it, as well as
the original ransom note that Lady Vitae had first brought with her.
     Dale looked over the scraps of paper again. “I don’t get it,
though,” he confessed. “This look just like some trash fodder to me.”
     Ah, Zipper’s smile said, but any man’s trash is my treasure.
     “Go ahead, Zip,” Chip said through a growing grin.
     Zipper directed their attention first to the ransom note for Dr.
Speck. He pointed out that while the paper was, in fact, blank, it had a
few deeply faded lines of color across the written surface. The Rangers
spotted what he meant; the top portion was a almost completly faded
yellow, below of which were two successive flat areas of highly jaded
color -- red and blue, respectively.
     The astute fly then pointed out that the same type of faded colors
were on the scraps of paper on Raset’s belt.
     “Why was Raset carrying this stuff, anyway?” Gadget pondered
aloud, but Chip had this one figured out long beforehand.
     He pulled out his notepad and tapped it. “Same reason I carry a
notepad around with me,” he replied. “There was a pencil in that belt, as
well.”
     Zipper nodded, although he admitted it was completely broken after
the fight.
     “To bad it wasn’t the blighter’s bones...” Monterey grumbled,
making the Rangers chuckle and Foxglove blanche.
     “Okay, so we’re pretty sure that this paper came from the same
place,” Gadget said. “Makes sense, as Lady Vitae and Raset are working
together.”
     “But what is this stuff?” Foxglove asked, picking up a scrap. “I
mean, it doesn’t feel like notebook paper.”
     Chip grabbed a piece and nodded. “Stiffer. And aged. This stuff has
been around for a while.”
     Zipper took the ransom note and expertly bit off a corner, and
thoughtfully chewed on it for a few seconds while the rest stared on in
wonder. Through a series of gestures, pausing only to chew as only a
connoisseur of garbage can, Zipper explained:
     Tastes like aged posterboard, and I would guess the ink is from an
‘82 vintage... (munch munch) ...ink also has that signature sun-faded
taste, but a very slight one -- must have been outside for the first year or
so, then moved indoors... (munch munch) ...glue on the back... (munch
munch) ...fairly decent brand, also an ‘82, I’d wager... (munch munch)
...not much in the way of decay for the actual paper, so it’s probably
been stored someplace dry and with a fairly consistent temperature; like a
basement or underground storeroom... (munch munch) ...oh, and there’s
just a trace of airborne fertilizer, probably from cattle manure.
     Everyone else involuntarily gagged as Zipper swallowed and patted
his stomach with approval.
     If we don’t need this later, Zipper causally motioned, I’d like it
for a snack.
     “Er... whatever you say, pally,” Monterey grimaced, having
completely lost his appetite.
     Zipper took a small bite from the other scraps of paper, confirming
that they all had the same “flavoring” as the ransom note.
     This tells us, Zipper explained, that not only did they all come from
the same place, but also probably from the same source. Which, unless I
miss my guess, is some type of old poster made back around 1982 or so,
maybe a bit later. This poster was outdoors for anywhere between six to
twelve months, then moved inside, downstairs to a lower level, and
placed in a storage area. The trace of fertilizer was picked up from its
exposure outside, which means that it’s up in northern part of the city--
     “Where the dairy farms are!” Chip concluded, reaching the same
connection that Zipper had.
     “Wow, Zip...” Dale said, a bit taken aback at the fly’s impressive
deductions. “That was too cool!”
     Zipper shrugged nonchalantly, expressing that living off of refuse
his entire life had some nifty side benefits.
     Chip had dashed from the room, and Gadget felt a fond smile
surface as he ran back in.
     Giddy as a schoolboy, she thought amusedly to herself.
     Chip had grabbed a map of the city and was spreading it out in front
of the assembled group.
     “Okay, here’s the northern area of the city,” Chip said, tracing a
line along what would be considered the bottom border. “Dairy farms are
up this way,” he tapped near the top of the map.
     But Zipper shook his head, motioning that it was just a trace on the
poster, so minute that only his expert taste buds could detect it. This
suggested that the poster, when it was outside, was a good distance from
the dairy farms.
     “Yeah, but wait, mates,” Monterey said. “How do we know that
this poster was stored in the same building, or even the same area as
when it was outside?”
     “We don’t,” Chip grudgingly admitted. “But it’ll be a place to
start looking for a trail.”
     “Hey,” Dale blinked. “Good point, Chipper.”
     Chip grinned. “I have my moments.”
     “So...” Gadget said, studying the map, “we’re looking for a place
that would have an outdoor poster. Like a movie theater.”
     “Or an opera,” Dale chimed in, remembering their encounter with
Sewernose.
     Chip and Zipper hit upon the answer at the same time, and as if
sensing the other’s conclusion, slowly looked at each other.
     “Or a playhouse,” Chip said quietly, to which Zipper resolutely
nodded.
     “What?” Foxglove asked. She was still trying to get over Zipper’s
preferred diet of old posters seasoned with aged fertilizer.
     “The Kimball & Leon Playhouse!” Chip exclaimed triumphantly.
“Think about it! They make their own posters for the plays they put on,
and I’m willing to bet that they save some of their old ones. What’s
more, it’s only open from late spring to early fall; it’s closed now, so
it’s the perfect place to hide a six-foot tall giant armadillo!”
     And, Zipper added, it’s close to the J.J. Roberts Department Store
Distribution Center, as well.
     “That’s it,” Chip said in that same excited tone he always got
whenever he felt a tough case finally crack. “That’s *gotta* be it! Let’s
go!”
     But he was snatched back from his dash to the door. After crashing
to the ground, and being drug back a little, he was surprised to find that it
was Gadget who had halted his momentum.
     “Easy, Chip,” she told him as she helped him back to his feet. “But
in your understandable eagerness to dispense your own patented brand of
justice -- justice from Justice, if you will -- you forgot that we’re
severely ill-equipped to tackle our foes right now.”
     “Oh...” Chip said slowly, a bit embarrassed. Usually he was the one
who pointed out things like this to Monterey or Dale. “You’re right,
Gadget. Thanks.”
     “My pleasure, Chip,” she responded with a understanding smile.
     “Oh man, that’s right,” Dale moaned, “we’ll have to face Glyph
again.”
     “Maybe he won’t bother us,” Foxglove suggested hopefully.
“Maybe we can get Cyril free first, like we originally planned.”
     Chip stroked his chin as he threw plans together and took them
apart in an effort to figure out what to do.
     “Time is not our ally this time around, gang,” he stated at last. “We
could go to all the trouble of freeing Cyril, only to arrive at the Playhouse
to find out that we’re too late. Or worse, that maybe we had the wrong
place figured.”
     “You don’t think that,” Dale said, then paused. “Do you?”
     “We have to consider it, Dale,” Chip replied. “I hate to say it, but I
think we’re going to have to go for Osiris without Cyril in our ranks.”
     “But how?” Monterey looked bewildered. “Glyph can take out
anything we throw out him with one swipe! Crikey, Chipper, I’m all for
the attack route, but not if it’s just gonna make splinters outta whatever
we at ‘im with.”
     “Maybe not, Monty,” Gadget said slowly, and idea building fast
and furious in her brain. “He can’t knock us over if, no matter which
way we land, we’re right-side up.”
     “Come again?” Zipper announced for the group.
     “I can make us a transport,” she said, turning to Chip, “but it’ll
take time to make. And I know time is in short supply right now.”
     Chip breathed deep. Gadget was asking him if it’d be okay to let
her build her invention first; Osiris might be dead by the time she had it
finished, but Chip knew in his heart that if anyone could make something
to give them the best possible odds of rescuing Osiris, it’d be Gadget.
     He grasped her hand supportingly. “Go for it.”
     She lightly pecked him on the cheek in appreciation; both of his
faith in her, and his trust of her to get the job done.
     “Okay, let’s go!” she cheerfully called out, heading for the hanger.
     “Go?” the rest of the Rangers echoed.
     “Yeah,” Gadget called back, out of the room, “I’m going to need
to recruit some help on this one!”

*     *     *

     “How much longer before he dies?” Lady Vitae asked Raset, who
shrugged.
     “He’s still crying. I’d rather wait until he’s completely drained
of hope and emotion, so there’s no pathetic pleas for mercy. I hate that.”
     “You think he’d beg for his life?”
     Raset looked evenly at Lady Vitae. “We’re talking about Osiris,
here.”
     “Oh, point,” she acquiesced. She glanced over at Horus, who
returned her look of slight uncertainty. Some of their old doubts were
lightly gnawing away, and it was starting to linger on both her and
Horus’ minds that they were about to kill one of their oldest friends.
Especially for Lady Vitae, who -- like Isis with Osiris -- had been very,
very close to the condemned mouse.
     The three of them were in one of the dressing rooms of the theater.
Glyph wasn’t present, which was just fine as far as Lady Vitae was
concerned. True, he was on their side, but the sheer brute force Glyph
possessed didn’t sit well with her -- what was to stop him if he decided
to betray them? Still, Raset seemed to have everything well in hand, as he
always did.
     Raset hopped down from the dressing table, heading out the door.
     “I’m going to go look over those offers we received for work after
we’re done here,” he said as he left. “Give a shout if you need me.”
     After he left, Lady Vitae sighed and glanced over at falcon. “You
having doubts, as well?”
     Horus sighed and nodded, settling down next to her.
     “He deserves this,” Lady Vitae stated, reminding them both of the
treachery they had endured. “Leaving us to die and swiping the money.”
     A few seconds passed with neither of them saying anything.
     The silence ended completely with a thundering crash ripping
through he entire playhouse, as if someone had rammed through the front
doors, into the auditorium, causing the entire place to quake.
     “What in the world--?!” Lady Vitae stated in bewilderment, then
hopped up onto Horus as they flew out of the room.
     They gaped at what they saw -- indeed, someone *had* rammed
their way through the front doors into the Playhouse. Or rather,
*something*.
     Inside the vehicle, the Rangers, Foxglove, and the Wiretappers were
busy trying to reorientate themselves.
     “Golly! The Hub-Vee works even better than I hoped!” Gadget
announced with utter pride.
     “Good...” Monterey mumbled, happy he hadn’t eaten anything in
the past several hours.
     The Hub-Vee was seven tires lined along a makeshift, hollow shaft
working as both an axle and the control room for the machine. The
occupants within were sitting in a rolling cage, resting on ball bearings
between the actual interior of the axle on the walls of the cylindrical
control room. Since there was no top or bottom for the vehicle, it was
always in an “upright, locked position” as Gadget had professionally
announced when they first entered. Weights situated on the bottom of the
rolling control room allowed it to right itself by letting gravity do the
work. True, those within still had their own cages rattled, but, as Gadget
had promised, they would land right-side up every time. The ends of the
Hub-Vee did indeed have hubs, but these were rather bulky and
compartmentalized, holding numerous special equipment, as well as a
hatch to get in and out of the vehicle.
     Gadget studied the numerous readouts and video screens in front of
her. The Wiretappers had dug into their War Chest for this one, outfitting
the Hub-Vee with fiber-optic wireless video cameras, with one situated in
an adjustable ring placed in between each tire. It was tucked back far
enough to prevent damage, as the tires doubled as bumpers, stopping
anything before it could connect with the lenses. The screens, salvaged
from hand-held televisions, were blurry and the feed kept getting static,
but they did the job well enough for Gadget to see.
     The stage was empty, with the curtains drawn up and back. She
could spot some various props and backdrops lined up near the back, and
off to the side were several heavy, moveable set pieces, such as castle
walls, towers, and balconies. Gadget was aware that those things were
heavy, and that they’d just bounce off of them, even if they hit them at
full speed. Hopefully, they wouldn’t have to contend with the
heavyweights, so to speak.
     A bird flying in from the side caught her eye.
     “Bird in the northwest corner!” she called out to the Wiretappers,
who were all strapped in like everyone else, off to the right, where they
monitored the audio and video feeds and power levels.
     “Got it!” Arc called back. “Punching up a close-up on camera
three!”
     “Dale?” Gadget called out, as the image appeared on the screen he
was monitoring.
     “It’s Horus,” he replied, “and Lady Vitae, I think.” He squirted.
“My eyesight is still a bit fuzzy after that entrance.”
     “Yeah,” Gadget said, a bit humbly, “it was pretty good, wasn’t
it?”
     “No sign of Osiris or Glyph yet,” Chip called out from his station.
     “Raset?” Monterey asked.
     “None here,” Foxglove announced. “But when I was captured with
Dr. Speck, I wasn’t up here.
     Zipper nodded and pointed out that Osiris was probably in the same
place, and suggested they head downstairs.
     “How?” Monterey asked. “This thing barely fit through the double
doors to this place!”
     “No problems, boys!” Gadget announced.
     The rest of Ranger gripped their armrests in a deathgrip and prayed
that their seat belts were up to code.
     The tires squealed as Gadget slammed the Hub-Vee into gear and
barreled down the aisle towards the stage. By this time, Raset had arrived,
with Glyph in tow. Both had to stare in awe at the contraption racing up
to the stage and still gaining speed. The Ranger symbol painted on the
hubs told Raset all he needed to know.
     “Stop it!” Raset ordered, and Glyph, at a loss for a better plan,
leaped down in front of the onrushing vehicle, planning to knock it aside
and into the seats.
     “Glyph!” Chip shouted. “Right in front of us!”
     “Brakes, luv!” Monterey yelled.
     “No!” Gadget said, politely declining life-saving advice. “I planned
for this!”
     Chip wanted to mention that this was not the time to try a beta-test
an option Gadget installed on the Hub-Vee, but he never had a chance.
     “I love this part of the job,” Gadget said in an excited whisper as
she yanked a lever.
     A small port opened on the Hub-Vee’s left hub, and a blast of
highly pressurized air shot out at an angle to floor, kicking the Hub-Vee
up onto one tire, and practically standing it straight up.
     Glyph started to backpedal, but was far too slow to get out of the
way. The tires of the Hub-Vee pummeled into him at full force, punching
him to one side of the stage while the Hub-Vee bounced off in the
opposite direction. Gadget cut the throttle so they wouldn’t be thrown
about (anymore than they already were), while Glyph crashed into the
other side of the stage with a terrific crunch, breaking through the actual
wood, and giving the toughened armadillo quite possibility the worst hit
of his entire life.
     “Wow!” Gadget gleefully cried out, eyes flashing with excitement.
“Wasn’t that fun?!”
     “No...” came the weak and dazed replies all around her.
     She shrugged, but was still pleasantly smiling as she maneuvered
the Hub-Vee back into forward gear. She swung the transport around to
face the steps leading up to the actual stage, and flipped a few switches.
     “How’s Glyph?” she asked as each of the hubs of the Hub-Vee
opened another small port, and a pair of hydraulic lifts moved into
position.
     “He’s down, but not out” Chip replied, his body slowly moving all
of its internal organs back into their proper locations. “We have a minute
or two before he’s a threat again.” He paused to check Gadget, who
apparently had no difficultly adjusting to sudden, jarring forces.
Obviously, she was far more resilient than her lithe form indicated. He
was already aware of that from her service over the years as a Rescue
Ranger, but still, to watch it in action like this never failed to stun him
with her unyielding durability.
     “Horus and Lady Vitae aren’t making any moves towards us,”
Dale called out, “although they ain’t taking off, either.”
     “Raset?” Gadget asked as she gripped the manipulation controls for
the lifts.
     “No sign of ‘im, luv,” Monterey noted.
     “Well, hopefully he’s not anywhere near the stairs. Okay
everyone: Brace!”
     “What?” was the general consensus.
     Everyone except for Gadget found out “what” a second later, as she
triggered the release button for the lifts, causing them slam down with
tremendous force, catapulting the whole Hub-Vee up a few steps.
     “Brace!” Gadget warned before they had even landed, as she would
have to fire the moment they touched down, lest they roll back down the
stairs and have to start all over again.
     The rest of crew, not even recovered from the first jolt, barely had
time for a heartfelt scream of pure terror before the lifts fired again,
shoving the Hub-Vee onto stage with all the grace of a drunken rhino.
     After everyone’s neurons settled back into place, Gadget scanned
her screens. Glyph, breathing heavily, was starting to crawl back onto
stage, and he did not look pleased in the slightest.
     “I think we may have made him mad,” Gadget dutifully noted.
     “Oh my....” Strict said, as he and the rest of the Wiretappers got
their first good look at what they had gotten themselves into by agreeing
to this now-obvious lunacy.
     We need to get down below, Zipper managed to buzz loudly to
Gadget.
     “Right, Zip. Where’s the stage door?”
     “There it is!” Cyan announced pointing to a trapdoor near the back.
“That must be the quickest way down, anyway.”
     “Oh come on, Cyan,” Arc snorted, “this thing can’t open that!
Someone’s going to have to get out to open it up.”
     “No need for that, Arc,” Gadget called over her shoulder. “I’ve
got just what we need here!”
     Her smile blossomed into a beautiful grin as she grabbed the release
for the Pivot-and-Saw mechanism.
     The left hub swiveled a side panel up, shooting a piston into the
floor and securing the left side of the Hub-Vee. The right hub, on the
other hand, had a narrow, long slot near the base slide open, and a
toughened hacksaw snapped out while running, punching through the
floor with a burst of sawdust. Gadget moved the vehicle into drive; the
piston allowed the Hub-Vee to swing about in a perfect circle, while
cutting a swath through the floor as it neared completion of a full 360
degree circle..
     “I hope this place has insurance,” Strict mumbled as the sawdust
and wood splinters fired up into the air.
     “Wait a minute,” Chip said, eyes getting wide with anxiety. Again.
“If this thing cuts a hole in the floor while we’re still on top of it--”
     The rest of Chip’s theory was unnecessary to vocalize, as it was
demonstrated to be true. Even before the hole was fully complete, the
weight of the Hub-Vee pushed the entire contraption through he
grievously weakened floorboards. Unbeknownst to the passengers (and
driver) of the Hub-Vee, however, they had cut a circle above one of the
supporting posts below. The sudden shift, plus the unbalanced weight of
the transport, proved too much for the lone wooden support, snapping it
at the base and sending the Hub-Vee flying across the storage room
below, breaking three more beams along the way until it bounced off of a
wall and clattered to the floor nosily.
     “See?” Gadget said, brushing her hair out of her eyes and looking
over to Chip, who appeared to recovering from cardiac arrest. “We got
down here *much* faster, and a lot safer.”
     “Speak for yerself....” Monterey’s weak whisper trailed from
across the control room.
     “Gadget!” Dale called out, years of experience on amusement park
thrill rides giving him the shortest recovery time. “What if you squashed
Osiris?”
     But Gadget shook her head. “No to worry, Dale -- I kept the tires
spinning as we were falling, so if we hit him, he’d just harmlessly shoot
off to the side.”
     “And ram into something at top speed,” Cyan qualified with a
shrug.
     “....oops.” Gadget flushed, embarrassed.

     Up above, on the stage, one of the moveable set pieces Gadget had
spied earlier -- a castle wall about fifteen feet high and twenty feet wide,
to be precise -- shifted a few inches towards the center of the stage from
the vibrations, but it was too far away to be of any concern.
     If anyone had been paying attention to it.

     “I can’t see anything,” Arc grumbled. “Still too much dust and
sawdust around here.”
     “That,” Strict added, “and this guy might be buried under that pile
of debris.”
     “Are we sure that we even have the right room?” Cyan asked to the
Rangers.
     Foxglove took a look at the screens and nodded. “This is were I was
being held, anyway.”
     “Then it’s our best place to start,” Chip replied. “We’ll need
someone to go vacant their post in the Hub-Vee and go outside for a
better look--”
     A chorus of  “ME!” drowned out the rest of Chip’s sentence, but
never one to think before acting, Dale had already unhitched himself
from his seat, grabbed Foxglove, and stole away towards the exit.
     “On our way!” he called out as he popped the hatch open and
leaped out, towing Foxglove right behind him before she could object and
possibly keep him inside that gigantic cocktail shaker.
     Monterey and the Wiretappers, looking for an excuse to exit before
they wound up needing their spines realigned, were halfway out of their
seats by the time that Dale and Foxglove slammed the hatched closed
again.
     “Hey, wait a minute....” Monterey said, and made the mistake of
momentarily relaxing.
     Chip looked over at the only other person besides Gadget who was
still strapped in. “Where’s Glyph?” he asked to Zipper.
     A thundering crash resounded around them, answering Chip’s
question. Having dropped directly next to the Hub-Vee, Glyph was able
to grasp it before Gadget could accelerate away. Although he had to
strain, he was able to hoist the vehicle up over his head and pitch it
through the wooden door on the opposite side of the room, taking out a
few more support beams along the way.
     The Hub-Vee smashed through into the long, concrete hallway
beyond, ramming down with the left hub and flipping end over end in a
relentless barrage of jerks and slams. It finally came to a violent stop as it
wedged forcefully into a nook of two vertical metal water pipes.

     The castle wall rolled a few more inches towards the gaping hole in
the stage, the missing support beams making a noticeable depression for
the casters on the set piece to follow. The grade of the slope, however,
was still too minuscule to be a threat, and the wall halted after only a foot
or two of movement.

     “We’re jammed!” Gadget called out in alarm, although
everyone’s ears were ringing so badly they wouldn’t have heard a
21-gun salute fired in a confined space. Monterey and the Wiretappers, in
particular, were dangling from their seats, their loosened harnesses unable
to keep them in place during the catastrophic landing, but nevertheless
preventing them from having their necks snapped.
     Chip and Zipper felt decisively ill, and tried swallow past the bile
that had formed in their throats.
     While the rest of the crew laboriously climbed fully into their seats
-- which was difficult, considering that the transport was almost
perpendicular to the floor, making them fight gravity in addition to the
powerful waves of nausea washing over them -- Gadget tried to free the
Hub-Vee from their predicament, but it was too forcibly wedged into the
nook for the wheels to get the proper leverage to pop out.
     “I can’t get us free!” she called out, searching the flickering
screens before her. She clicked a few buttons, rotating a camera into
place. Sure enough, in the low fluorescent lighting, she could see that
Glyph was heading down the hallway towards them. The sole benefit
from his Herculean throw was that it had slowed him down, as he ambled
over to close on his prey, trying to catch his breath.
     Chip’s head was swimming, but he didn’t have time to entertain
thoughts of blacking out. Not yet, at any rate. He craned his neck to look
behind him at the monitors in front of Gadget. He licked his dry lips and
called across to Gadget, “The hydraulic lifts! You can use them to pop us
out!”
     Gadget blinked and nodded, moving her hands to the bring out the
lifts.
     “Wait!” Chip managed to yell before she released them.
     She looked back to him, expectantly. She didn’t like being a
sitting duck any more than the rest of crew did.
     “Wait until my mark,” he said finally, keeping his eyes glued on the
screen.
     Gadget took a deep breath, and tried to settle her nerves. She
prepared the lifts, moving the right hub’s lift into position against the
wall, while keeping the left hub’s within the hub casing. She knew the
best way to free them was to fire out the left hub lift against the floor to
create a sudden shift against the wedge at the top, then a fraction of
second later, fire the right one against the wall. The two forces acting
perpendicular in relation to each other should be adequate to blast them
from the space between the pipe and wall.
     The rest of the group had securely fastened themselves in and
waited with their eyes squeezed shut and their teeth clenched.
     Chip watched as Glyph drew up next to the Hub-Vee, and was
about to drive his claws through one of the small gaps between the tires,
where the ring-mounted cameras were at.
     “Now!”
     Two rapid-fire bursts in split-second succession shook the interior
of the Hub-Vee as the Gadget fired the lifts in perfect sequence. Glyph
was caught completely off-guard as the vehicle launched itself from the
wall, throwing him back towards the doorway to the storage room,
landing him flat on his armored shell.
     The Hub-Vee bounced and rolled slightly on the floor until Gadget
had it lined up perfectly in the hallway. Fortunately, its berth was wide
enough to fully accommodate the craft. Getting back through the
doorway would require some tricky maneuvering, but Gadget wasn’t
worried about it for now.
     “We made it!” She announced happily, and while the others
couldn’t quite match her level of energy, they nevertheless shared her
happiness at the good news.
     Chip managed a weak smile as Gadget did a quick diagnostic check
from her driver’s position.
     “Dale would have liked this, actually,” he chuckled.

     “Over here, cutie!” Foxglove called out, directing Dale to the far
end of the storage room, on the other side of the rubble pile. Dale quickly
scampered over, and skidded to a stop in front of a cage, which, he was
happy to find, was neither squished nor empty.
     Osiris was huddled up in the far corner, trembling noticeably, and
eyes wide with blatant fear over the whole ordeal he was somehow
managing to survive.
     “Okay, come on,” Dale said as he leaped over to the cage, “we’ve
got to get him out of here!”
     “Wha--uh....” Osiris babbled, then recollected his scattered wits
well enough to recognize this as the rescue attempt he had thought would
never come. “Yes! Please, save me!”
     Dale hopped up to the top of the cage, and between him and
Foxglove they struggled to swing the cage door open, enabling Osiris to
fervently squirm his way free. Before he could take more than one breath,
however, Dale roughly forced him to the top of the cage, and pinned him
flat.
     “Quick Foxy,” he yelled over his shoulder, “get me some string or
somethin’ to hogtie this guy!”
     Foxglove nodded and flew off while Osiris struggled and screamed
to be released.
     “No way, bub,” Dale replied. “This isn’t a prison break; just a
transfer.”
     “No!” Osiris sagely refuted. “Let me go!”
     “Nuh-uh,” Dale expertly quipped.
     “Let him go,” a cold, familiar female voice said over his shoulder.
     Both Dale and Osiris grimaced at the sound of it.
     “Dang it,” he growled.
     Yet again, he found himself plucked free by Horus, and thrown
heartily across the room to the rubble heap near the center.
“Foxxxxxyyyy!” he wailed as he began his descent.
     “What, cutie?” Foxglove asked as she turned around from the far
corner of the room, just in time to see her hero flop into the pile of
broken wood and splinters, wherein he vanished from view.
     “Dale!” she cried, and immediately sped to him.
     On top of the cage, the reunion between Osiris, Horus, and Lady
Vitae was not running as smoothly as Osiris had hoped.
     “I can’t believe you,” Lady Vitae stated with cold indifference.
Behind her, Horus’ own face was a mask of ambiguity.
     “I swear to you, this is the truth!” Osiris pleaded. He often acted
arrogant, but Osiris had little pride when his life was on the line. And, he
proved as such be throwing himself to Lady Vitae’s feet and begging. “I
would never have left if I had known that you and Horus were still alive!
You two were-- are still my dearest friends! Raset was the only one I
wanted dead, and that wasn’t until I saw the chance to leave him
behind!”
     “You blew your chance, it seems,” Raset calmly noted, dropping
his camouflaged skin pigmentation, causing everyone on the cage top to
jump.
     A clever and collected person would have immediately made a dash
for it, before Raset could react. Osiris, however, was neither of these.
     “Stay away from me!” he cried, throwing his hands up in front of
him and attempting to crawl behind Lady Vitae as much as possible for
defense.
     Lady Vitae, for her own part, allowed herself a fond smile at
Osiris’ ability to remain true to form. She liked weak-willed males. Very
easy to control.
     “Back in the cage, now, Osiris, like a good little boy,” Raset
ordered. “Or I’ll have to put you in there myself.”
     “No,” Osiris said, finally regaining in the few remaining shreds of
dignity he had left. Standing up, he backed away from Lady Vitae and
Horus. Later, he would tell them that it was to place them out of any
danger that might befall him -- of course, they knew the real reason was
because Osiris was afraid they might jump him unexpectedly, but they
didn’t mind the lack of trust.
     Theirs was a strange set of friendships.
     “I’m not going back in that cage,” Osiris resolutely declared. “Not
by you, or anyone. I’m not going to die.”
     “And how are you going to stop me from killing you?” Raset asked
in a genuinely amused voice. “Without your teeth, you couldn’t even
hypnotize a drunken bird with a mirror.”
     “I thought your voice was different,” Lady Vitae remarked.
     “And you want to fight me?” Raset continued, openly laughing at
this thought. “You? Who had your teeth knocked out in the first place
from one punch? From a girl?”
     “She has a strong right cross,” Osiris snarled, humiliation coloring
his tone more than he’d care to admit. He turned back to Horus and
Lady Vitae. “I promise you two that I never wanted to leave you two
there.” He pointed a finger at Raset. “He’s the one we didn’t like, and
for a good reason! He’s treacherous -- a lout, a conniver, who would--”
     “Kill as easily as drink his morning tea,” Lady Vitae finished with a
smug look as she crossed her arms. “That’s why he was the brains
behind the operation, Osi.”
     “And that’s why you never felt as close to him as you did to me,”
Osiris returned, sensing an opening. “That’s one thing you know is true;
that we are soul mates. Two sides of the same coin.” He glanced up at
Horus. “And you, Horus -- my God, but we were the best of friends,
weren’t we? Didn’t we always look out for each other? Always share a
beer after a successful caper?”
     Raset rolled his eyes. “Not on the last job, you didn’t. You ditched
everyone in the snow and grabbed the payment without looking back.”
     Osiris nervously glanced between Raset and his quondam partners.
Lady Vitae and Horus knew Osiris well enough to know that it was likely
that he was telling the truth; not because he was trustworthy, but because
Osiris didn’t have the capabilities to plan such an effective double-cross.
It was far more likely that the whole thing was an accident as Osiris
claimed, and he just got greedy and scared and ran off. But, Raset hit the
nail on the head when he had pointed out that everything changed with
their last job. Osiris *was* greedy and opportunistic, after all. He could
have sold them out beforehand, only to lose control of his plan, and wind
up escaping through sheer luck. That was another likely possibility.
     They were on the brink, and both Osiris and Raset knew that
whoever they sided with would win this confrontation. Lady Vitae was a
skilled fighter by herself, but with Horus added in -- whoever would be
on the receiving end would never stand a chance.
     Tensely, both Raset and Osiris waited as their old partners in crime
weighed their decision.

     “You want some of me?” Gadget quietly breathed in a taunting
fashion as she watched her opponent’s countenance on the screen with
riveted eyes. “Come and get some, baby.”
     Over ten yards apart from each other, the Hub-Vee and Glyph faced
off against each other in a chilling staredown, despite the fact that the
Ranger transport had no eyes. Both had proven that they could dish it out
as well as take it, but the time for pussyfooting around was over. The cool
fluorescent lights overhead cast the scene in a blue-tinted stillness that
held both the smoothness and fragility of glass. It was a standoff between
juggernauts; the irresistible force meeting the immoveable object; the
clash of the titans. And with each passing second, the wills of the
contenders was pushed even closer to the breaking point.
     Within the Hub-Vee, everyone’s eyes were on Gadget. Nobody
made a sound. Nobody moved. Nobody even dared to breathe. They
watched the inventor of the Rangers locked in a steely concentration akin
to the gladiators of the Colosseum. Although she was never a fighter on
the ranks of her teammates, Gadget’s faith in her inventions was
unsurpassed by anyone they had ever met. For this brief, but potentially
explosive contest, the Hub-Vee was as much a part of Gadget as her
heart-- no, it *was* her heart.
     Her mind was still her own, however, and she realized that Dale and
Foxglove might need help, and the only way to them was through the
massive roadblock known as Glyph. And while he could wait all day, she
could not.
     “Blast it,” she muttered under her breath. “You win, Glyph.”
     Fuming, she slammed the throttle wide open, and the tires
screeched in eager response. Glyph may have won the battle of wills, but
she was bound and determined to win the war.
     Glyph answered the rush by springing towards the Hub-Vee,
accelerating into a sprint towards an inevitable head-on collision of epic
proportions.
     “Get ready, guys,” Gadget announced over her shoulder as the
distance rapidly evaporated between the two headlong freight trains. The
rest of the occupants of the Hub-Vee prepared themselves as best they
could, ranging from crossing themselves to outright whimpering.
     The distance of yards turned into feet, then into inches, and that’s
when Gadget pulled out the ace in her sleeve.
     “Spin cycle!”
     Throwing the left tire in full reverse while the right continued
forward, the Hub-Vee abruptly snapped into a high-speed whirling rubber
club. The steel-belted tires did their job perfectly by belting the totally
surprised giant armadillo violently and repeatedly, sending the animal
flying back down the length of the hall, to tumble back through the
remains of the door, obliterating the rest of it.
     And although he’d never know it, Glyph did leave his own parting
shot.
     His armored hide had, as he was being kicked back, knocked the
ends of the Hub-Vee up off the floor, sending it spiraling completely out
of control. Gadget attempted to right the vehicle, but the centrifugal force
wrestled against her over the controls, and the rattling was too much for
even her to compensate.
     The Hub-Vee skimmed and ricocheted off of the floor, walls, and
ceiling, scattering skid marks about like confetti and busting several of
the lights overhead with unparalleled ferocity. Glass shards and sparks
rained down as the Hub-Vee flipped end-over-end down the hallway,
away from the storage room that it had so desperately wanted to reach. It
banged against the hard concrete relentlessly, eventually knocking it’s
way through the metal exit door at the end of the hallway, and smashing
into the steel railings leading back up to the first floor, where it
permanently crushed its way to a complete, and dead, stop.

     The crooks atop the cage heard the squeal of tires, momentarily
freeing them from the heavy netting of uneasy silence which was weaving
around them. They glanced over to the doorway, just in time to see Glyph
come sailing through, totally destroying the rest of the door and breaking
a number more support beams in his wake. He skidded to a stop, and
groaned. Dazedly, he limped to a half kneeing positions. It was clear from
the marks about him that he had been through a monstrous fight.

     Unseen, above their heads, the castle wall began slowly rolling
again towards the awaiting hole.

     “Ah good,” Raset cheerfully said upon seeing Glyph. The giant
armadillo may have been bruised, but he was still more than enough
muscle to back up the reptile, if need be.
     But Osiris saw Glyph as possible back-up, as well.
     “Glyph!” he called out frantically. “You were there! When Raset
confessed that he lied to these two about what I did! Tell them!”
     Raset’s head snapped around, but he managed to hide his surprise
before anyone saw it. “Desperate, aren’t you?” he managed to say with
the perfect blend of nonchalance and exasperation.
     But Osiris wasn’t giving up. “Tell them! I know you heard it!”
     Raset shook his head with a chuckle. Unfortunately for Osiris,
Glyph had no reason help Osiris out. Especially not since it meant
sacrificing Cyril’s freedom. Glyph would gladly sacrifice his own
conscience.
     But, just as Abraham was stayed from making a sacrifice by a voice
from the Heavens, so to, was Glyph.
     “Glyph, wait!” Foxglove called out from up above. She had lifted
Dale out of the rubble heap, and while he attempted to sneak around to
blindside the bad guys, she had been hovering over everyone, where she
could watch her snugglebunny’s back, as well as witness the situation
below as it grew more and more convoluted.
     Glyph looked up to Foxglove, listening.
     “Did Raset tell you that the Count is dead?” she called down. “And
that the guys who freed you are friends of the Rangers? We can get Cyril
free for you, Glyph! You don’t need to follow Raset anymore!”
     She smiled at her new friend.
     “You can live your life the way you want to, now.” It was a very
gentle comment, but Glyph heard it nonetheless. And while nobody could
physically see it, Glyph’s soul did a cartwheel.
     He nodded to Osiris. “Yeah, I heard. He said some jazz about how
he used ‘good ol’ fashioned guile’ on them, and told ‘em that you
had deliberatively lead them into a trap.” He shrugged. “That’s what I
heard, at any rate.”
     Osiris looked hard at his old lover. “Place yourself in my shoes;
would you have waited around for me if I was missing, or would you
have taken the money and run?”
     Lady Vitae blinked, then sighed happily at Osiris. “I would I have
taken the money, my love.”
     “Exactly! I knew you would; we’re soul mates, you and I!” He
grinned at her. “You’ll always be my Isis.”
     They embraced passionately.
     Very twisted souls, Dale thought to himself as he neared the small
collection of villains, with money at the root of their passion.
     Now that Dale was close, though, he wasn’t sure what to do, as he
was outnumbered and outmuscled something fierce.
     Except, Dale brightened, that now Glyph might be on our side.
Coooool....
     Foxglove became aware of a slow, but steady series of creaks and
groans. Little ones, like the sounds of a house settling. But as she glanced
about, she couldn’t quite place the origin of it. That’s when she noticed
another disturbing fact that completely stole her attention away from the
trivial sounds above her.
     “Where’s Raset?” she called down suddenly, and everyone froze.
     During the previous discussions, Raset had made good use of the
distractions and shifted his skin coloration to blend into the background
and had disappeared. Everyone stole their gazes about nervously. He did
have, after all, a reason to attack each and every one of them, with the
possible exception of Glyph; Raset was not suicidal.
     Dale wanted to call out to Foxglove, to see if she could hear him,
but doing so would spoil his cover, and he might only get one shot at
Osiris -- Horus could easily sweep both Lady Vitae and Osiris up and
take off through the gaping hole in the ceiling before Dale could get a
second chance to grab the villain.
     Holding his breath, Dale tried to remember what the heros in all the
films he ever saw did when dealing with characters who could go
invisible. Sometimes they used deep ultraviolet light and goggles to track
the creatures, but Dale didn’t happen to have any of that stuff on him.
     One option that didn’t occur to Dale was that by holding
completely still while pondering ways to find such a foe would cause him
to almost become part of the rubble about the floor, and the invisible
enemy would stop right in front of him while sizing up his prey on top of
the cage.
     Not that Dale needed to think of this particular option, as it’s
exactly what unfolded.
     Dale’s eyes widened as he watched Raset -- or, more
appropriately, Raset’s outline -- step not more than an inch in front of
him. Raset apparently had his back to Dale, concentrating on the best
method for a surprise attack against Osiris before the others could react.
Dale had to fight to suppress a laugh; he was wearing a loud Hawaiian
shirt, and yet Raset never even noticed him.
     Sometimes, Dale felt that whoever was watching over him had a
really great sense of humor.
     While Dale had been planing on trying to bag Osiris, he wisely
applied his Role-Playing Game mentality to this current development, and
realized that Raset would be worth far more Bounty Points.
     Besides, he still owed Raset for what he did to Foxglove.
     With that fact lodged firmly in his mind, Dale’s carefree attitude
solidified into a rock-solid form of determination.
     Without a sound, Dale sprang up and completely clobbered Raset
from behind, knocking the reptile flat down on his face. While he held
the upper hand, Dale snatched up a copious amount of sawdust laying
about and smeared it across Raset’s skin, effectively nullifying any
camouflaging ability.
     “Gotcha,” Dale grinned as he pinned Raset’s arm into a painful
armlock, just like the pros used on television wrestling matches. The only
things that could break this hold, he knew, was either an interfering
manager or a metal ringside chair. Neither were here, Dale triumphantly
noted to himself.
     “Foxy!” he called out, “I got ’im! I got ‘im!”
     “All right, Dale!” Foxglove called down as she beamed with pride.
With Dale, was there ever any doubt that he’d come out the winner?
     Osiris, Lady Vitae, and Horus all looked about a bit confused. It
started to dawn on them that they should make a break for it, but Glyph
was towering over them now. He wasn’t paying them any heed, but they
worried that any sudden moves might make him decide to grab hold of
them. He was, after all, apparently now on the side of the crimefighters.
     “Wait...” Foxglove said, pausing in mid-flight and spiraling around
to face the hole above her. “What’s that sound?”
     Everyone heard it clearly now -- the steadily growing creaking and
groaning noises, and within seconds they could spy the very top of the
looming castle wall above them. And thus, as the weakened wood of the
stage began to give way, they all knew that the set piece was about to
come tumbling down through the floor, directly on top of them.
     Foxglove swooped down to grab Dale, while Horus grabbed Lady
Vitae and Osiris in his claws before darting for the open doorway. As
Foxglove reached Dale, however, she could hear the snapping of the
ceiling and the first shower of wood splinters begin to hail down.
     They’d never escape before the wall sealed their fates.
     A single thought flashed through Foxglove’s mind: At least I get
to die by Dale’s side....
     But it was Glyph’s turn to prevent a sacrifice. Or, more accurately,
to exchange one for another.
     “Go!” he cried, having leaped forward in the nick of time to snatch
both Dale and Foxglove up in his clawed hands and fling them quickly
away from the oncoming avalanche. He had just tossed them clear as the
last of the ceiling’s weakened support beams around them gave a dying
groan and snapped, bringing down the entire castle wall and most of the
rest of the stage down on top Glyph and Raset.
     Foxglove and Dale both landed outside the doorway, a billowing
cloud of dust and sawdust blowing out right behind them, and coating
them with a thin layer of residue.
     They both struggled to their feet, coughing and hacking terribly.
Glancing over, they spotted Horus flying off with Osiris and Lady Vitae,
through the open doorway and up the stairs, out of sight. They both drew
a sharp breath as they spotted the condition of the Hub-Vee. It’s axle
was maligned and bent horribly, while a few of the actual tires had blown.
No movement could be seen around it, and they could only imagine what
their friends on the inside felt like.
     They turned to each other, and as all the best couples do, had the
same thought at the same time.
     “I’ll check on the guys--” Dale started.
     “While I check on Glyph--” Foxglove continued.
     “And as soon as I can--”
     “You’ll get the others over here to help Glyph out.”
     They nodded to each other and went their separate ways, Foxglove
diving back into the room while Dale sprinted down the long hallway to
where the rest of his teammates were at.
     He wasn’t sure how long it took to reach them, just that it *felt*
like it took too long. He shot up the side of the vehicle to the nearest
hatch. It was bent shut; he need a crowbar to get in. He quickly
scampered over to the other end, further up the stairs, only to find that
hatch was slammed firmly against the steel railing -- he’d need a
blowtorch to get through *that* one.
     He banged heavily on the hub. “Hey!” he tried to call through the
hub. “Anyone in there?”
     “Yes!” a muffled reply -- from Cyan -- replied. “So please don’t
bang on the hatch; our heads hurt enough as it is.”
     Dale allowed himself a quick chuckle of relief before breaking the
news to his friends. “Listen, I can’t get through either end, and there
was a major cave-in in the room. A whole wall came crashing in, and
nailed Glyph. We need to go help him out!”
     There was some discussion going on inside the Hub-Vee, and then
he heard Chip’s voice reply, “Okay, Dale, Gadget says she thinks she
knows of a way to get us out of here.”
     “Yeah?”
     “Yes,” Chip replied. If he was nervous about Gadget’s plan, he
didn’t show it. Dale had to give Chip credit for that. “Just do as she
says.”
     Dale swallowed -- no wonder why Chip was worried. *He* wasn’t
the one going to be at risk.
     “Dale?” Gadget’s voice asked.
     “Yeah?”
     “Okay, go to the side panel that I’m opening on the other hub.”
     Dale moved back to the hub which wasn’t rammed against the
railing, and watched as a side panel on it slowly slid open, then stopped
halfway. Dale gave it a good kick, snapping it fully open. He knew a few
mechanic’s tricks, himself.
     “Okay, now what?” he asked.
     “See the hoses inside?”
     “Yeah.”
     “Take the largest one, and follow it to the connector.”
     Dale peered into the panel, spotted the largest hose, about the size
of his arm, and ran his hand down it to the metal fastening attaching it to
the internal workings of the hub. “Got it!”
     “Okay -- feel around for the valve control.”
     “Is it a wind-up key?”
     “That’s it!”
     “Okay, got it.”
     “Twist it to the left until it won’t move anymore--”
     Her voice halted as someone -- Chip, it sounded like -- mentioned
something Dale couldn’t hear.
     “Golly,” he heard her reply. “You’re right. Dale?”
     “Yeah?”
     “Which way are you facing?”
     “Uh, the front?”
     “I mean, you’re looking towards the inside of the panel, right?”
     “Right.”
     “Okay, turn it left.”
     “Left?”
     “Right.”
     “Wait, the right?”
     “Wrong... wait a minute.”
     Some more discussion.
     “Dale?” It was Chip, now.
     “Yeah?”
     “Turn it counter-clockwise.”
     “Oh, okay.” He twisted the key all the way until it wouldn’t budge
any further. “Done.”
     “Okay,” Gadget called out. “Stand back.”
     “Okay.”
     Monterey’s voice piped up. “Gadget’s going to try something
that *should* work, she said.”
     Dale, grateful for Monterey’s warning, went into duck and cover
mood, leaping from the stairwell just before a blast of pressurized air
blew the hub off of the Hub-Vee and clattered it across the floor.
     The Rangers and Wiretappers slowly, and shakily, got out one by
one. Dale quickly shook Monterey’s hand.
     “Thanks,” he whispered.
     “No problem, bucko,” Monterey smiled in return.
     Everyone who had been inside was about as fried as the circuity of
the Hub-Vee, but able to move without assistance.
     After a few deep breaths, Chip looked over to Dale. “Thanks,
Dale.”
     Dale smiled and nodded.
     “Now,” Chip continued, “what was this about Glyph?”
     Dale’s face fell like the castle wall had.


     “Glyph?” Foxglove’s sole voice echoed frighteningly around the
storage room. After the sudden eruption of all those horrendous, crashing
sounds running rampage about her ears just moments ago, the sudden
stillness which followed was even more painful than the unchecked flood
of cacophonous noises.
     Carefully, she stepped around the newly-formed rubble pile in the
center of the room. Fallen timbers, broken posts, metal pipes, and
crushed plaster lay in a massive heap, under which she last saw Glyph
and Raset disappear. As the nervous bat cautiously approached the
mound of debris, her mind’s eye replayed what she had seen and heard
as the cave-in started, in order to better orientate herself. With a certain
queasiness forming in her stomach, she knew that Raset never had a
chance to move from the spot before the wall hit.
     Working her way around to where she had last seen Glyph,
Foxglove more listened than watched for any signs of movement; the dust
still hung heavy in the air, and the feeble lighting was inadequate for even
her eyes. She glanced up at the huge hole in the stage floor, most of it
now resting in peace in the lower level of the playhouse. Raset and Glyph
had been caught in the dead center of it, but Glyph might have been
knocked back from where she had last seen him.
     A labored breathing immediately arrested her attention, and she
sprinted towards its source. “Glyph?!” she called in a half-question,
half-statement.
     The giant armadillo didn’t reply right away, as he was too busy
having a coughing fit. As Foxglove neared her former kidnapper, she
involuntarily gasped at his predicament. Glyph had indeed been knocked
back from where he was first standing, and was flat on his back, staring
up into the gaping hole above him. A thin, lone, bittersweet light shone
down through the hole, casting him -- and Foxglove -- in an ethereal
glow.
     He was practically buried in plaster, mortar, and wood. Only his
head was free of the entrapping debris, as well as one wayward, massive,
clawed paw, lying palm up. The individual fingers twitched sporadically.
     “Oh Glyph....” Foxglove managed, her concern swelling up too fast
for her throat to handle. She swallowed hard. “Don’t... don’t move.
The Rangers will be here shortly -- they’ll be able to dig you out in no
time....” Her voice trailed off. She felt like she should have made some
sort of pithy comment about digging out a giant armadillo, but the idea
withered long before anything could be conjured up.
     She longed for Dale’s reassuring presence like never before.
     Glyph had yet to reply, and Foxglove’s worries multiplied at an
alarming rate. “Glyph? Glyph! Please! Answer me if you can hear me!”
     “No need... to shout...” he managed, just a trace of dry wit in his
tone. It was horridly weak, but it was there.
     “It’s okay Glyph,” Foxglove said, smiling, and trying to be brave.
“The Rangers will be here soon.” She walked over and reassuringly
grasped one of his gargantuan claws. It never even registered in her brain
that just a few mere days ago, she would never have even considered
being in the same room as one, at yet here she was, now, silently praying
that the creature which terrified her back in that lonely fish shack would
live to see the next morning.
     Glyph smirked slightly. “Even if... they do... get here... soon... what
can... they do? ... heh ... they have ... a forklift?”
     “With Gadget, anything’s possible,” Foxglove replied, trying not
to notice how much effort he had to make to keep talking. Foxglove
lightly pressed down on Glyph’s open palm as a sign of comfort; that
even in this dark hour, a friend was near. Glyph’s smirk widened
enough to become a smile.
     Although neither had noticed, Glyph’s claws had not twitched
once since Foxglove had gently laid her wings on them.
     “Foxglove?” Glyph rasped, his eyes shifting to the side, trying to
see his companion.
     “Yes?” she answered. She had absolutely no fear in her anymore,
as if someone had pulled the stopper and let it all drain away, to be
replaced by stalwart dedication.
     Although it obviously caused him great pain and discomfort, Glyph
shifted his head enough so he could look her in the eyes without her
having to move. Foxglove’s breath caught as she spotted dark liquid
slowly trickle from the corner of his mouth.
     Taking a few deep breaths to ward off the pain, Glyph said with the
utmost sincerity: “Foxglove... I am ... truly ... *truly* ... sorry ... for any
pain ... that I may ... have caused you ... or your friends.” He paused,
closed his eyes momentarily, swallowed his agony, and finished: “Please
... forgive me.”
     Foxglove didn’t notice the single tear which slowly slid down and
soaked into her cheekfur as she nodded, sniffling a little. “And please,
forgive me for what I said earlier, about you... and your species.”
     Again, Glyph managed a smile. With a tremendous force of will, he
ever-so-lightly grasped Foxglove’s wing in his clawed hand with a
heartfelt squeeze of reassurance. “Least I can do ... for such a lovely ...
young bat.”
     Foxglove wanted to say a million things, ranging from more
apologies to promises that he’d be okay, to even what his favorite movie
was. As if someone had kicked in a barred gate, thousands of questions
and an overwhelming desire to get to know this creature -- this armadillo,
Foxglove thought clearly without any lingering trace of hesitation -- to
know Glyph as more than just another placeholder in the food chain.
     As more than just another causality in the war on crime.
     Glyph’s hand went limp as his eyelids slid closed, and the last
breath of air escaped from his lungs in the form of a contented sigh.
     Several seconds passed with Foxglove unable to act, speak, or even
think. Her mind had been turned completely inside out in the past few
days, but nothing could have ever prepared her for this sudden feeling of
emtpiness that she was now all too keenly aware of. The vast majority of
her memories concerning Glyph were bad ones; ones of monsters, evil
creatures, and the Devil’s own. Precious few moments of clarity
glimmered in the swirling murkiness of doubt and prejudice; but they
were there, and Foxglove clung to them like a life preserver in a sea of
guilt.
     And Foxglove wept.
     She wept for every armadillo, every bat, every single creature on
face of the planet that had ever had to endure false accusations,
misrepresentations, or outright lies. She wept for any of the sentient
beings that died with too few people knowing the truth about them -- if
anyone knew at all. She wept for the world, and her tears threatened to
drown it in her mourning.
     But grief was never designed to last forever. The time for loss, after
all, only was the precursor to the time for renewal and restoration.
     Wiping her last remaining tears away, Foxglove tenderly removed
the charm which Zinger had passed on to her, on Thanksgiving. It could
have been a lifetime ago, for all Foxglove knew, but it was the purpose of
the charm which was important, not the longevity.
     “Here,” she said quietly to the still form of Glyph as she placed the
charm in his claws, looping it over them and knotting it securely in place.
     “This’ll keep the bad spirits away,” she whispered, giving one
more touch to Glyph’s claw before turning and flying silently out of the
area.
     In the returning stillness, Glyph’s body was no longer trapped.
     It was at rest.


Epilogue

I like a tombstone cause it
weathers well
And if it stands or if it crumbles
only time will tell

If you carve my name in marble 
you must cut it deep
There’ll be no dancing on the gravestone
you must let me sleep
And time is burning burning burning
It burns away
                              -- “Tombstone,” Suzanne Vega


     The following night was clear and still, something that could be
enjoyed by either staying at home, or going out. One of those nights that
different people can all enjoy in different ways.
     For Chip and Dale, it was sitting in the living room of their
Headquarters, just soaking in the aftermath of another adventure
survived. Gadget was busy in the workshop, as usual, working on the
resurrection of the Ranger Wing, while Monterey had turned in early for
the night, enjoying the chance to sit around the house and “recuperate” as
he put it. Which, as Dale knew full well, was Latin for “be a lazy bum.”
Zipper was out visiting with his big sister, filling her in on all the details
of their latest harrowing adventure.
     So, the two chipmunks had the living room to themselves, and were
enjoying a comfortable silence, as they just looked about the room, each
one thinking about something different, but still enjoying the same
feeling of closure. Sewer Al was still missing, but the Rangers knew full 
well that they'd never find him in the labyrinthine system of sewers under 
the city -- he'd be found when he decided it was time, and not a moment 
sooner.
     A point remained, however, that Chip felt he had to bring up with
his oldest and best friend.
     “Well,” Chip said at length, “we may have to be moving out of here
before too long.”
     To Chip’s surprise, and Dale’s credit, Dale nodded in
understanding. “Yeah, I was thinking about that, too.”
     “You were?” Chip asked, taken aback.
     “Well, sure,” Dale shrugged. “I mean, nothing like someone
walking in to set you up for a trap to let you know how vulnerable you
are, right?”
     Chip chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, that’s the problem. Raset knew
where we lived, but he’s not going to be a problem anymore. Lady Vitae
knows where we live, but she escaped. Along with Horus and Osiris.”
     “We haven’t been too good at catching crooks lately, have we,
Chipper?”
     “No... no we haven’t Dale.” He shrugged. “But hey, we were
busting our tails to save Osiris’ life, and we did. So we won, really.”
     Dale snorted. “We won the booby prize, you mean.”
     Chip grinned and slapped his friend on the back. “There’s that
spirit that’s made you a household name among optimists.”
     “Really?’
     Chip elicted to skip the answer.
     Dale thought for a moment. “You think we’re in danger? I mean,
Lady Vitae knows where we live, so that means Horus and Osiris do,
too.”
     “And that’s not counting anyone they tell,” Chip agreed. “But I
think we’re fine for now. Osiris is going to be too busy trying to get a
good pair of dentures, first, and afterwards... well, he’s not the
confrontational type.”
     Dale recalled Osiris display of self-preservation through wailing and
had to agree.
     “Still,” Chip went on. “I think we’re not long for this tree.
We’ve got a lot more enemies these days. And they have a lot more
dangerous vendettas, too.”
     “I’ll miss this place...” Dale remarked offhandedly, allowing the
two of them to lapse into their favorite memories of times in the tree.
From the birthday party for Dale that almost burned the tree down, to the
celebration they had after bringing down Hitter and Swarm, to the quieter
moments with their friends and loved ones.
     Dale summed it all up perfectly with his closing comment.
     “I saw some kick-tail parties here.”

*     *     *

     “So, what brings you here for this visit?” Dr. Speck asked Foxglove
with a smile as she entered his office.
     “Oh, a few things,” the bat replied. “Mainly, I wanted to ask you
something.”
     From the seriousness in her tone, Dr. Speck nodded studiously and
motioned for her to take a seat while he parked himself behind his desk.
     "Yes?" he asked.
     "What's in the wastebasket?" Foxglove asked, which wasn't quite the 
heavy question that he had been expecting. Then he blinked as he understood 
that she had been distracted by a recent discard of his, still visible in 
the wastebasket by the side of his desk.
     He reached down, and as if plucking a piece of dander from the ground, 
gingerly hoisted the picture up for Foxglove to see clearly.
     Foxglove's frown was instantaneous. "What are you doing with a picture 
of *her?*" she said with disgust, indicating the photograph of Lady Vitae.
     Tossing the picture back into the basket, Dr. Speck smirked. "That's 
exactly what I wondered when I got back to my office." He sighed. "Chip 
thinks that it was planted here after my... interrogation. To support Lady 
Vitae's future claim as my girlfriend."
     "But I thought you locked the office?"
     "I did. They just took my keys."
     "Oh," Foxglove said as she nodded slowly. "I guess that makes sense."
     "Now," Dr. Speck said, "what was your original question?"
     “Dr. Speck,” Foxglove started cautiously, “I was wondering... you
mentioned something about people in World War I escaping when they
should have died when I asked you about how you and Dominic got out
of the Castle. That really didn’t answer my question.”
     Dr. Speck let out a sigh and looked at her. “That’s because I
don’t know how to answer it, Foxglove.” he leaned forward and folded
his hands on the desk. “In the case I stated, about the World War I
soldiers escaping, one of the soldiers in the group told the nurse at the
hospital about how angels had descended from Heaven, and spread out
their wings to stop the incoming hail of German fire.”
     “...wow.”
     “Yes, that was the general response,” Dr. Speck nodded. “Some
have suggested that the German’s merely stopped firing in some bizarre
battle plan, or that it was a false story planted to whip up support for the
soldiers. But the story has persisted as one of the most widely-accepted
accounts of angels.”
     Foxglove recalled something. “Doesn’t Dominic say that he can
see angels?”
     Dr. Speck didn’t meet her gaze. “He’s delusional, as are the rest
of the animals from the Edge, but yes, he does say that.”
     “Dr. Speck...” Foxglove tentatively began. “Did an angel guide you
out?’ Her voice was very, very quiet.
     The mouse psychiatrist breathed deeply. “All I know, Foxglove, is
that Dominic was able to direct us through the back hallways as if he had
lived there his entire life. We never once had to turn back or ran into a
dead end. Fortunate for us, as otherwise we would surely have perished.”
     He waited a few seconds before speaking again.
     “And when he first saw me, he told me that Gadget’s angel had
sought him out for assistance. When you were trapped up in that metal
chandelier.”
     “But how could Dominic have...” she trailed off as the doctor held
up a hand.
     “I know. It seems unlikely that he would have been able to found
out your predicament on his own. And yet he did, only he says an angel
told him. But the capper to this whole delusion of his -- for lack of a
better term -- is when he described Gadget’s angel to me.
     “Tall, with a two-toned fur color. A pale belly and face with a body
of yellowish-orange fur. Wears a pilot’s jacket, aviator’s cap, and has a
mustache. Black nose, buck teeth, and wears a white scarf.”
     Foxglove blinked as she recalled a picture that Gadget kept on her
nightstand.
     “Sounds remarkably like Gadget’s father, doesn’t it?” He
chuckled, then cleared his throat. “But there are other explanations. He
may have spotted something through the windows of the mansion to find
out you all had been captured. Perhaps he was better acquainted with the
mansion than I suspected. And this Count Carl von Castle knew quite a
but about Gadget’s family history, so it’s possible Dominic picked up
some information from that.”
     “That reminds me,” Foxglove said, actually glad to change the
subject; it was making her a bit nervous as to the implications. “Did they
ever find out how this Count knew so much about Gadget?”
     “I’m afraid not,” he sighed. “It’s something I heard Chip say that
they were going to look into it though, and now that the Edge is
evacuated and we’re finding new homes for the former residents, it’s
not like they have to rush to search for clues. The investigation scene
isn’t going anywhere.”

*     *     *

     Deep within the Malek Research Center building, the last remains
of Castle Koo-Koo stood impassively in the now deserted Edge. Hollow
and just a mere shadow of its former self, the castle better represented its
former owner than ever before.
     The fire had gutted most of the building, and the water had knocked
the structure loose even more. One of the areas to fall prey to the
weakened state was the attic, taking with it the small photo Zipper had
momentarily glimsped. If he had more time, he would have soon been
able to pick out a much younger Monterey, Geegaw, and Janice in the
group.
     But it would only have been Monterey who would have realized that
Count Carl Von Castle was a dead ringer for an older version of his
former adventuring partner, Hatch.
     The picture had be taken long before the group drifted apart. Before
Hatch had been captured and placed in a laboratory for tests. Before he
escaped and formed the group called the Champions. Before his sanity
slowly began to erode, a side effect from the tests preformed on him. Before
he started thinking that Terica, whom he always had a crush on, was his
wife. Before he tracked Gadget down -- but she was off on the Rangers’
first adventure when he arrived, so after reading through the journals
Gadget had kept of her mother’s, he left with Terica’s homemade quilt
as a memento to fortify his own growing delirium.
     And before Hatch almost completely succumbed to his delusions,
forgetting everything about the actual past.
     Buired under a pile of ash, soot, and charred wood, however, the
photo was not about to tell anything for a long, long time.

*     *     *

     “What a weekend,” Doug said, cupping his hands over his head as
he stood in the basement of the Playhouse, alongside Ted and Maynard.
“First, Glyph disappears. Then, we stumble upon signs of animal
sentience. Then, someone leaves a note that he’s here, and that he died.”
He shook his head.
     The authorities had already moved Glyph’s’s body away; the
interesting part of the note that they had received asked that Glyph be
buried in the local animal cemetery, as someone apparently wanted to
know where to find his grave for visitation.
     Maynard lightly ran his thumb over a very small leather and bead
accessory, depicting a bat. It had been found on Glyph’s body, and
while at first glance it appeared to be part of a larger necklace, Maynard
also noted that it was the perfect size for a necklace already, if you
happened to be the size of a mouse.
     “You know that upstairs pulled our funding, right?’ Doug asked
the others, who nodded dully.
     “Not surprising,” Ted sighed. “They lost a lot of research dollars
this weekend, and probably figure there’s no sense in throwing good
money after bad. At least they’re paying to have Cyril shipped back to
her homeland, first.”
     Maynard just nodded and absent-mindedly stroked the charm. And,
almost subconsciously, knew that the charm needed to be buried with
Glyph.
     A few more officers came down from the hallway, carrying the
remains of what appeared to be some type of art project; it was a long,
bent piece of metal, with seven tires lined along it and a hubcap all
dinged up on one end. Two of the tires were blown, and they could see
inside the contraption were several small seats, and controls.
     And, as trokia of researchers suspected, a symbol had been painted
on the hubcab -- that of a slight oval: half red, half blue, with two white
R’s inside, separated by a lightning bolt.
     “What about what we found out?” Ted asked his colleagues as they
headed back upstairs. “We’re going to be assigned to something
different soon enough, but... well, I think there’s an animal society
living right under our noses. And that it has some type of... strike force.”
     Doug and Maynard exchanged knowing glances.
     “Well,” Doug said, “let’s say we agree with you. Now, do you
want to blow the lid off of this? We can, you know. Call a press
conference, notify the board, and spill the beans. We’d probably get
whatever job we wanted, enough funding to do the job right, and that’s
not to mention that our names will be enscribed in history books for
decades to come. So, you want to call the board first thing when we get
back?”
     Ted thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No. I don’t
know why, but... I just don’t feel that it’d be the right thing to do.”
     Doug smiled and clapped Ted on the shoulder. “You’re learning,
Ted. You’re learning.”
     As they walked outside and got in their respective cars, Maynard
waved to his friends. “I’ll be back at Center in a little while; have to
make an errand first.”
     “Where you going?” Ted asked.
     Maynard smiled. “I’m going to buy a radio for the lab.”

     In the busy activity still going on in the storage room of the
playhouse, nobody noticed as an apparent small chunk of rock, smeared
with sawdust, stirred, and then slithered off into the protection of the
masking shadows.


THE END


Author’s notes:
     The real catalyst for this tale came about from the now-famous “Bat
- Armadillo Connection” first put to paper by Roy Neal Grissom in his
first, elegant fanfic, “Home Is Where You Hang Upside-Down,” wherein
Foxglove comes to the enlightenment as to how Bats and Armadillos
represent the good and evil of the world.
     Roy Neal Grissom first thought of this concept, and has been
gracious enough to allow me to write about it in a different light. My
version is merely one person’s opinion, and I do not make any false
claims that this is the way it should be handled.