Swarm
                                
                               By
                                
                         Matt Plotecher
                                
Dedicated to Bill Justice, the man who planted a seed from which the Rangers
                          would grow.
                                
Special thanks go to fellow fanfic writers John Nowak, for reintroducing dry 
humor and intelligence into the Rangers' lives, and Roy Neal Grissom, for 
reminding us how to capture the magic of the characters.

Also a big heapin' helpin' of thanks for Chris Barat, who did a major clean-up
on this epic in terms of grammer.

                                
                         -- Prologue --
                                
                       This Indian summer
                     I signed my life away
                  There's a greedy fly in here
                         And I fly away
                                        -- "Greedy Fly", Bush

     "Take a deep breath of that fresh air, son."
     "Yeah... manure."
     The father chuckled at this, and nodded. "Yep. Bob just spread this entire
field not more than two days ago, right before we picked you up from college."
     The son, in his early twenties, smiled and squinted into the sun, just 
barely clear of the horizon it would set behind in a matter of minutes. It 
was actually warm out, for a change, and even the windy April day was more 
cool than cold. His parents had picked him up from his apartment yesterday, 
and already they had him out helping on the small chunk of acreage. The rural 
area where they lived was always comfortable to him, despite the lack of his 
friends and electronic equipment. He always enjoyed the open space, serenity,
and even the occasional raccoon or deer that might be seen.
     The smell of the nearby farms, however, he could do without.
     The father and son worked their way down along the edge of the property 
line of the house, the father leading his son over to one of the young saplings 
that was planted only three years ago.
     "Come on," he motioned for his son to help him remove the plastic tube from
a sapling's trunk. The tube was meant to prevent the deer from rubbing its horns 
against the trunk, for that would allow various insects to enter, which, in turn, 
would kill the tree. The plastic tubes covered the tree from the roots up to about 
three feet, and were wide enough that about an extra half-foot surrounded  the 
sapling. The two of them had already cleared over half of the trees of the plastic, 
but as they carefully removed the plastic from this one, there was a small surprise.
     "Whoa, watch it--" the father moved back quickly as two small mice
scampered from the tubing, off to the side.
     "Huh...." the son smiled, actually more impressed with seeing a field mouse
than he would have if he had seen a deer. Of course, if the deer had come from the
small plastic tube like the mouse, the son would most likely have been
impressed regardless.
     "Eh, look at this...." the father sighed, shaking the remains of the nest out of 
the tube, then frowned at the trunk of the young tree, its bark torn up in small
places. "Look at the damage they did to this one. Doesn't look too bad, but still."
     "Mmmm." The son was more interested in watching the mice, as the two of
them just sat over in the field, not more than ten feet away.
     The father looked back over, and started over for them, more out of curiosity
than anything else. Quickly, the mice scampered away, soon disappearing into the
grasses in the opposite direction. The son couldn't help but chuckle, thinking that
they were heading the wrong way, really -- towards the city, instead of further into
the surrounding countryside. The father, too, smiled. The mice were fine this far
from the house.
     "Good thing your Grandpa's not here; he would have killed them before they
took off."
     The son sighed and nodded, knowing how his grandfather, having been raised
on a farm, felt about most "pests" in the country. "Well, I'm kinda glad he's not,
then."
     The father nodded and looked back over at the nest, now strewn about on the
ground. "There aren't any more in there, are there?"
     "Hmm? Oh, no." The son sifted through the remains of the nest, double-checking. 
"No, you got 'em all."
     Nodding, the father turned back and headed back over to the remaining
saplings. Finding the unexpected homes of mice, birds, and the like was a common
occurrence to him. The son watched where the mice had run off to, then looked
back down at the nest. Having lived on his own for the past few years, he
wondered how long the mice had been living there, and if it had been a good home
for them. Since the tubes were put on the saplings last October, it couldn't have
been long. Considering it was spring, he wondered if they might have been about to
move on in search of another home anyway.
     A call from his father brought his mind back to present business, and he
quickly trotted over to the next sapling.

                         *     *     *

     Hidden in the tall grasses, Janice Oatworth risked a look back, and breathed a
sigh of relief. The humans were heading in the opposite direction. From the snippets
of conversation she had heard, it sounded like it was an accident that the nest was
discovered, and not another exterminator raid like she had feared. She had already
lost her husband to one of those, and was not about to lose her son.
     "Momma, are you okay?"
     Janice turned to her small five-year old boy and smiled. "I'm fine, Henry. Just
saying goodbye to the home."
     "Where are we going?" Henry actually sounded eager, as most preschoolers
are at the prospect of something new.
     Taking him protectively in her arms, she motioned with her head. "To the
city. Uncle Nigel said that we were welcome to come and stay with him for a
while."
     Henry nodded, and started to tear up. "I miss daddy." Uncle Nigel had made
the offer at Janice's husband's wake.
     "I know, honey." She hugged him close as she made her way further from the
abandoned and destroyed nest. "I do, too."
     She moved easily through the tall grass, paying no mind to the strong wind,
setting sun, or the occasional hornet on its way back to a hive.

               -- Chapter One: Party Crashers --

      *They*: get drunk and embarrass everyone around them.
                 *You*: are the life of the party
                                   -- _They and You_, MAD Magazine.

     Gazing up at the heavens, Chip smiled. Spring was beginning to stretch its
sleepy muscles, awaking from the hibernation induced by Old Man Winter. The air
was crisp to be sure, but not cold, and the stars far above him shone brightly in the 
cloudless sky, causing him to grin for some reason. It really was a beautiful evening 
out, and he might have been content to stay there and enjoy it, if not for the small 
fact that he was clinging to the side of a building over a hundred feet up from the 
city streets.
     He grunted as he moved up a little further, the progress slow and laborious.
Gadget's suction cup Wall-Crawlers fitted snugly over each of his paws, but he still
had to work to pull one off of the wall, so he could move it up. Not wanting to risk
having less than three cups on the wall at once, he had to move one suction cup at a
time. It was somewhat slow going, but most assuredly safer. His natural climbing
ability might have allowed him to freescale the building, but the bulky backpack,
belt, and chestpiece on him would have made that a risky proposition at best. The
only piece of equipment on him that wasn't restricting was the headset, which he
was delighted to find out was small enough for him to fit his cherished fedora over
it.
     "Chip, come in," Gadget's voice crackled quietly through the earpiece.
"What's your position?"
     Chip glanced down, trying not to imagine what he would look like after
falling that distance. "About a hundred feet up or so, Gadget." He turned his
attention back to his destination. "The roof is about ten more feet away." He
grunted as he continued to move. "No sign of any (pant) sentries yet, but it's (huff) 
hard to tell from my (gasp) vantage point."
     "Monty? Dale?" Gadget's voice prompted.
     "Things look clear in here," Dale's voice came through.
     "Too right, mate," Monterey's voice confirmed. "The normal squad of goons
wanderin' about, but nothin' fancy."
     Chip managed a grin, despite his exhausting role in this bust, over Gadget's
latest marvel that allowed them to converse -- the Ranger Relay Station.
     In the Communications Van (actually a modified old 486 desktop, but Gadget
had also added wheels, a fully functional steering mechanism, and a power supply,
so it was classifiable as a vehicle, in a very disturbing sense of the word) parked 
in the recesses of the alley far below, Gadget also managed a grin. Her labor for 
the past few months had come to fruition splendidly.
     The Ranger Relay Station was actually an old idea, merely boosted to her
usual paramount heights of inventiveness. A while back, she had rigged up a two-way 
microphone and receiver that allowed Chip to play a practical joke on Dale. It
had taken all of an hour for her to throw it together, and she never gave it a 
second thought afterwards. But more recently Dale had inadvertently gotten her 
thinking about it once more. Originally, he had wanted her to wire HQ with a P.A. 
system, even though it made even less sense than most of his ideas. The possibility 
of the Rangers to communicate freely in the field, however, grew from that seed 
implanted in her mind. She had watered the idea over the winter, tending and 
caring for it as she knocked around  ideas about what would be most useful to 
the Rangers. Finally, she cultivated what they all agreed would be best:
     It needed to be hands-free.
     No sweat. Some judicious use of paper clips and wire, and it could fit snugly
on or around the head. Since concealability was a nice feature to have, she
connected the microphone and earpiece to a small, adjustable wire frame which
could be fitted about the body as needed. Chip and Zipper, for example, had it
tucked securely around their respective heads, while Monterey and Dale, who
couldn't afford to have it exposed to plain sight, wore theirs wrapped around their
neck and upper torso. The earpiece ran via a wire into the ear, so nobody else in the 
area would hear anything. Well, Foxglove and her fellow bats might have, but no
bats were in the room, so Gadget wasn't concerned. The microphones were concentrated, 
so only the person speaking and anyone speaking nearby would be picked up.
     It needed to be long-range.
     This was the major challenge for Gadget, as the last one maxed out at about
500 feet. Not bad, considering, but she expected to be able to do much better than
that. After a bit of wiring, testing, recovering from temporary hearing loss, and 
re-testing, Gadget finally managed to slap a system together which gave crystal clarity 
over a one-mile radius. If the situation warranted it, she could boost the range, but at 
the cost of reception. Again though, for this particular case, it was perfect. All the 
Rangers were easily within one hundred feet of the Communications Van. All of the 
transmitters on the each Ranger's unit sent the signals back to the Van, where Gadget 
monitored everything as it came out. The Van was really the keystone to the entire system, 
acting as the central hub, so everyone could communicate with each other. It also 
provided the power necessary to keep the signals coming in and going out at a steady, 
strong level.
     It needed to be durable.
     Most of Gadget's inventions had bad habits of burning out or malfunctioning
at inopportune times. While such behavior was practically expected these days
(except from Gadget), it was getting rather irritating to constantly have one's life 
in dire peril due to something which the resident inventor classified as "Oops".
Fortunately, Gadget had the advantage of simplicity with the individual units -- each 
was small, and only needed enough wiring to enable it to transmit and receive
messages, as the Van was the workhorse. In addition to the actual system itself, the
Van, as the housing for it all, had to be durable enough to withstand any punishment
that it might receive, plus keep the circuitry within from being damaged, which
would knock the whole system dead. Remembering the success of her "Koo-Koo
Kola Raid", as it came to be known, she reinforced the casing to match the tensile
strength of her previous "Bubble-popper" tank, and eventually added
various devices to aid in suspension and maneuverability.
     And it needed to be portable.
     This is what led her to devise the entire "Communications Van" rig. Granted,
it was also largely influenced by the rerun of "The A-Team" she caught, but she'd
never willingly admit to it. Whatever the case, the Van was by far the best method.
The simple radio she set up for that joke was too bulky to easily carry it around, and 
even then, only Monterey could handle it. Rather than build some elaborate set-up in HQ 
where she would have to be in order to run it, she opted for a transport designed 
expressly for this purpose. As it turned out, it worked even better than first suspected. 
True, the rather large size made it difficult to move as discreetly as their other 
vehicles, but pursuit and evasion was not the main purpose of this vehicle. More 
importantly, she needed the size to handle the complex electronic systems, and once 
completed, noted that there was still enough space to haul around an extra twenty 
rodents or so.
     Stealing a glance around, she was even more impressed with the practicality
of that last thought, as there were twenty various members of Rodentia standing around. 
True, they were only there in case of emergency, even though they couldn't do much against
the overwhelming numbers inside. The special ordnances that Gadget had whipped up,
on the other hand....
     "See if either Monterey or Dale can get over to the buffet line," one of them
said, standing over Gadget's shoulder. "That area should have the most traffic." The
voice's owner, a gruff, large squirrel named McDugell, was the officer in charge of
the rodents accompanying him, part of the Animal Police Force. The former warden
had gone back to the active part of the police force, and was the one who had
contacted the Rangers about this mission.
     Gadget nodded. "Okay, Monty? Dale?" she spoke into the large microphone
in front of her.
     "Yeah, luv?" Monterey's voice asked over the hum of background
conversation.
     "Can either you or Dale get over to the buffet table?"
     "Uhm...you'd better go, Monty," Dale's voice came through.
     Monterey chuckled. "No problem, bucko."
     Outside on the wall, Chip grimaced at the tentativeness in Dale's voice. Not
that he thought Dale would blow his cover, but his best friend had a surprisingly
consistent record for getting into trouble. Trouble which was seldom stated until the 
rest of the Rangers were drawn in as well.
     "Any (huff) trouble, Dale?" he breathed, inching his way up.
     Inside the actual room, Monterey had another laugh as he walked over to the
buffet table. "No mate. Dale's just somethin' of a ladies man tonight."
     Dale grumbled a bit as he heard that through his earpiece, but didn't show it
outwardly. True, a number of ladies were all around him, chatting away a storm, but
both Monterey and Dale knew that it was due to the padding of his disguise.
     He took it as a compliment, actually, as he had been the one to construct both
his and Monterey's outfits. Seeing as how the felon they were looking for would
most certainly recognize them, the Rangers decided it best to go undercover.
Especially considering that any number of people at the gathering might, by chance,
recognize the Rangers. And rather than wear a dress again (people were starting to
wonder about that), Dale took the initiative to come up with something new.
     As it stood now, with the help of some elevated shoes, couch form around the
upper torso, and baseball cap, Dale looked like some type of baseball jock.
Monterey, on the other hand, had donned a larger suit, with an expanded girdle,
making him appear even more robust than normal. He had also dyed his mustache
brown, to match his fake beard, and left his flight cap off. True, on close inspection, 
it was easier to penetrate Monterey's disguise than Dale's, but neither of the undercover 
Rangers planned on being that close to their quarry in the first place. In fact, out of 
the five hundred or so gathered in the room, only Monterey and Dale were likely to be 
free and clear of any criminal record.
     Leaving Dale to fend for himself about questions pertaining to his batting
average, pitching average, and dating average, Monterey nonchalantly made his way
over to the large buffet table, taking a moment to check around again for signs of
their target.
     Still nothing. But as the room was an actual human-sized ballroom, Monterey
figured they'd have to wade through the ocean of outlaws a bit at first. It was
somewhat strange to see a room humans dubbed "enormous", completely lit up and
decorated, but only occupied by animals. Cats, dogs, mice, squirrels, lizards,
gophers, raccoons...virtually every animal in the city was represented here, although 
mice were the most abundant. The buffet table was set at a proper height for easy access by 
the larger animals, but small ramps had been built alongside for the smaller-sized 
crooks.
     "Things look a mite quiet over here," Monterey discreetly said, walking up
the ramp. "No sign of the blighters yet."
     "Keep your eyes peeled, Monty," Gadget's voice responded.
     "Yeah, we know that (grunt) they're in there somewhere (huff)."
     "Too right, mates." Monterey grabbed a slice of cheese, taking a bite. "Zip,
you spot anything?"
     The buzzing that replied confirmed all was clear outside. Zipper was
currently running recon around the building, watching for anything which might
indicate their target's arrival. A few quiet squeaks posed an interesting question to 
Monterey and Dale, the only ones who could look around to tell.
     "No, mate," Monterey replied. "Odd I didn't spot it beforehand."
     "Yeah," Dale agreed, having repelled his flock of admirers by telling them he
wasn't getting paid anything to play. He just liked the game. Apparently, they felt
only fools played for "sport".
     Inside the Van, McDugell glanced down at Gadget. "What'd he say?"
     "He asked if any other insects were inside," she explained, not taking her
eyes from her work.
     "Why?"
     She shrugged. "I don't know." She paused, then spoke into the microphone.
"How come, Zip?"
     On the other side of the building, Zipper landed for a moment to formulate a
better answer.
     "Because," Gadget translated for McDugell back in the Van, "any event that
attracts this large of a crowd, should also attract the lower denizens of the animal
underworld."
     "Maybe they're there, just (puff) not in sight?" Chip suggested.
     "Maybe," Dale answered. "I'll take a look over here -- uh-oh."
     Everyone froze.
     "Dale?" Gadget carefully asked.
     "I just spotted somebody that will put a diaper on the evening."
     A slight pause followed. Finally, Chip asked, "You mean 'damper'?"
     "Oh. Yeah. That thing."
     Inside, Monterey causally looked around to where Dale was last headed,
hoping his elevation on the ramp would allow him to locate who it was.
     "Oh blimey," he groaned, catching sight of a large, muscular mouse and tall
lizard framing a short, coarse, rat. "Rat Capone."
     "Uh oh," Dale commented.
     "Whattaya mean,  uh-oh', again?" Monterey asked.
     "Well, I didn't see him. I was talking about having just spotted... uh...
someone else." Dale's voice suddenly began to waver.
     Zipper flitted over to the building, resuming his patrol. He couldn't help but
notice that by the inflection in Dale's voice, that he deliberately stopped himself
from saying the villain's name, whoever it was. Since Dale had never been one for tact
before, Zipper thought it wise not to pursue the subject.
     Gadget didn't. "Who, Dale? Who is it?"
     "Well..." Dale's voice started. "Everyone promise not to get upset?"
     "What?" was the general response.
     "What I said. Everyone promise they won't get upset."
     The others could only take a moment to be perplexed, but then they all
affirmed that they would not get upset.
     "Bubbles is--" he was cut off as everyone groaned over the radio.
     Inside the Van, McDugell asked Gadget, "Is that the guy from the Cola
Cult?"
     "The same," Gadget grumbled.
     "I *told* you guys you'd get upset," Dale reprimanded them. "Just be glad he's
by himself. I don't see his goons with him."
     "But he never goes (huff) anywhere without those soda (puff) pop ninjas of
his," Chip's voice pondered. "I (wheeze) wonder where they are?"
     "Hard to say, mate," Monterey replied, moving on down the ramp, to where
he could better track Rat Capone. "Zipper, you haven't spied 'em anywhere outside,
have you?"
     Zipped buzzed that he hadn't, and the others frowned.
     "Well, just keep your eyes open," Gadget told them. "Chip, how's it
coming?"
     "Just a little bit (puff) further."
     "Hey guys," Dale's voice held a trace of anticipation. "Target number two
spotted."
     "Where?" Monterey asked, looking around.
     "On the left side. He's walking over to that podium."
     Monterey turned around, and sure enough, spotted their old nemesis Fat Cat
confidently walking to the small podium, raised on a elevated platform. He paused
every now and then to nod to various members of the crowd, even exchange a brief
word or two with them. His feline grin was more than slightly unnerving to the
Rangers present.
     "Any sign of our main suspect?" Gadget asked.
     "Nope," Dale replied, "but it's hard to tell from here. I'm gonna move down
to the front, off to the side."
     "Good idea, mate. I'll mosey on over to the other side." The two undercover
Rangers carefully began to thread their way through the large crowd as Fat Cat
stepped up behind the podium. He waited a moment to soak in the large wave of
applause that followed, even though approximately seventy-two percent of the
gathered crowd were on his payroll, and were merely clapping out of a desire to
keep their income (as well as their bodies) intact. The kingpin of the animal
underworld, however, didn't let that spoil the stroking of his ego.
     "My fellow associates of illegal enterprises," he said in very smooth, loud
voice after the noise settled down. "I welcome you all to partake in one of those rare 
moments in history this fine evening. The same sort of moment that occurred when George
Washington threw a half-dollar across the Potomac River. The same sort that
occurred when Hitler first assumed control of the Nationalist Party in Germany. The
same sort that took place when the Romans perfected the Macedonian Phalanx. In short, my
brethren, the start of a great empire."
     "What?" McDugell muttered. "This piece of lard had better not be alluding to
what I think he is." Although Fat Cat was a fair distance from both Monterey and
Dale, his commanding tone carried easily to their microphones and into the ears of
the other Rangers.
     Reaching the top of the building, Chip carefully peeked over. The coast was
clear. "Zipper," he said as he pulled himself up onto the roof, "meet me on the roof. 
I think we need to find a way in quickly." He wasn't sure, but like McDugell, he had a 
strong suspicion as to what Fat Cat was leading up to. Zipper acknowledged,
shooting upwards towards the roof.
     Dale continued his approach, meandering his way through the crowd, still
listening to Fat Cat continue his proclamation.
     "...I won't bore you with the details of my audacious rise to power,"--a
collective hidden sigh of relief ran through the crowd--"but instead would enjoy this
opportunity to demonstrate that it is through my current criminal endeavors that I have 
secured my position at the height of the animal underworld's crime-chain."
     Also wondering what their oldest adversary was up to (besides building his
ego, again), Dale looked up at the podium, and those behind it, with curiosity as he
continued through the mob. Suddenly, his eyes widened as he spotted someone in
the back, and realized that--
     "Hey!"
     Dale grunted as he bounced off the figure in front of him. "Oh, ah, whoops."
     "You should be, punk," a rather familiar voice replied. "I don't have much
love in my heart for chipmunks as it is."
     Dale tried not to sweat as he nodded in mute apology to Rat Capone. Dale
had been so busy listening to Fat Cat, that he never saw he was heading in the same
direction that Monterey had spotted Rat Capone. Glancing about, he noted that
Monterey was nowhere nearby.
     Which was bad, considering Sugar Ray Lizard and Arnold Mousenegger both
were. In fact, they were flanking Rat Capone, and blocking out any hopes of quietly
slipping by.
     "Well?" Sugar Ray demanded. "Ain't ya gonna apologize?"
     "Yeah," Arnold nodded. "And say you're sorry while you're at it."
     "Hey..." Rat said slowly, leaning closer to Dale and squinting. "Where have I
seen youse before?"
     Dale had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.
     Monterey, meanwhile, having known where Rat and his thugs were, had
steered clear of the area quite easily, and was safely on the other side of the room. 
He, too, glanced up at the podium and the assembled group behind it, while Fat Cat 
rambled on:
     "...As many of you know, the Siamese Twins and I have been more than
hospitable to each other, to the mutual benefit and prosperity of both of our empires. 
It has always been through unity and comradeship, rather than division and
animosity, that grand empires have risen. And so, dear friends, fellows-in-arms, and
followers, would it not make sense to continue this sense of benevolence to those
who are worthy of it? Those who have the respect of all within their domain?"
     Finally, Monterey managed to move forward a bit, and could see the one
canine standing behind Fat Cat. The large mouse's blood ran cold. With the way Fat
Cat was talking, he, too, suddenly realized what Dale had, and what McDugell and
Chip first suspected. He was about to confirm it to the others--
     "Hey!"
     Monterey grunted as he bounced off the figure in front of him. "Oh, ah,
whoops."
     "Watch it, pal," an all-too-familiar gruff voice replied. "I ain't the forgivin' 
type."
     The mouse from down under had a sudden urge to return there, as he tried not
to give any indication to Bubbles who he truly was. "Er, right mate. Sorry."
     "Mate?" Bubbles echoed, then squinted and leaned in closer to Monterey.
"Say...where have I seen you before?"
     Monterey had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.
     On the roof, Chip took a moment to catch his breath. The climbing had been
more strenuous than he had first thought. He stowed the suction cups off to the side, 
and pulled out a coil of long, sturdy string. As he waited for Zipper, he attached a 
small grappling hook to one end, while the other end was firmly anchored to his belt. 
He shifted his chestpiece about, mainly to get some air between it and his chest, and 
then proceeded to remove his backpack, taking out the varied and
complex pieces.
     "Oh, Zipper," Chip looked up at his teammate's approach. "Okay, I'm going
to get this thing together, and you see if you can find a quick way into the
ballroom." Zipper saluted, and sped off while Chip began to assemble the various
small, odd-looking pieces into one, large, bizarre-looking contraption.
     Zipper returned as Chip fitted the industrial strength rubber band into place,
and tightly wound it around the clockwork firing mechanism. As he cranked it to
maximum tautness, Zipper deftly inserted the restraining pin into place, keeping the
rubberband secure. They stepped back for a moment to marvel at Gadget's
handiwork.
     And, naturally, to hope that it worked as planned, rather than accidentally
catapulting them into the roof by mistake.
     But their worry quota was currently full as it was. This entire mission was
more than risky, indeed, bordering on suicide.  The two Rangers started
towards the small hole that Zipper had found, leading directly into the ceiling of 
the ballroom below.
     "Hey!"
     Chip and Zipper both halted, and blinked. The word had come over their
earphones, and they listened with apprehension as they recognized the voice of Rat
Capone speaking to Dale. Before anyone could say anything, however, Monterey
bumped into Bubbles, starting the whole process over again on his end.
     Chip and Zipper had a bad feeling in the pits of their stomachs.
     "Oh boy," Chip mumbled, then spoke quickly into his microphone as he ran
to the hole. "Okay guys, try to get out of there as quick as you can. Say you have to 
go to the bathroom, to your dentists, to the moon, whatever it takes! Just get away 
and try to reconvene in the center of the room."
     "I have to go to my dentist's bathroom on the moon," Dale excused himself,
quickly squirming his way backwards.
     "I gotta moon my bathroom for dentists," Monterey offered as he backed off.
     In the Van, Gadget winced. "Golly, I don't think that's what Chip had in
mind."
     McDugell frowned. "Maybe Rat and Bubbles will be too stunned by the
absurdity of it to recognize them," he offered.
     "Hey!" Rat's voice suddenly yelled. "Now I remember; you're that cross-dressing 
chipmunk from the Rescue Rangers!"
     Gadget swallowed. Still the chance existed that Dale would remain cool, and
possibly still get out of this mess.
     "Oh yeah?" Dale shot back, puncturing Gadget's hope. "You fell for it pretty
easily, Rat Capone!"
     "Don't worry guys," Gadget assured the gathering crowd of officers around
the speakers. "Monty hasn't been uncovered yet."
     "Now I remember," Bubbles' voice suddenly rang out over the receiver in the
Van, "you're that Monotonous Jack twerp from the Rescue Rangers!"
     "It's Monterey!" Monterey huffed back, joining Dale in the ranks of Those
Who Have Just Blown It.
     "No problem guys," Gadget called out again. "At least Chip and Zipper are
on their way to help."
     "Uh, guys?" Chip's voice nervously said. "We found out where Bubbles'
gang was..."
     He and Zipper then proceeded to give a number of sharp yelps as a series of
ominous thuds and cracks came over the radio. Gadget hoped it was wood that was
breaking in the background.
     "Well... uh... don't worry, guys!" she called out defiantly. "At least--mrrpgh!"
     It's unclear what she was about to say because McDugell suddenly clamped
his paw over her mouth. "Miss Gadget," he quietly informed her, "you may speak,
so long as you do not state any reasons why we don't have to worry. Deal?"
     Gadget nodded sheepishly, and the sergeant of the animal police force
removed his paw. She waited until he had relaxed and turned to his men before
muttering, "I was just going to say that at least nobody had found out we're parked
here."
     "Men," McDugell ordered, "or rodents -- whatever -- we need to get the
Rangers out of there. You four," he motioned to four of his nearest officers, "come
with me. The rest of you head for the main floor, and proceed with our basic rescue
plan. Let's go."
     He opened the back door, then quickly slammed it shut again, and ran back
over to Gadget. "Just please tell me you didn't say anything about us not being
found after I removed my hand," he grumbled.
     "Aw, shoot," Gadget winced.
     The Van rocked slightly as it was hit from the back, causing everyone within
to stumble a bit.
     "Get us out of here, Gadget!" McDugell growled. "Before we're
surrounded!"
     Gadget sprinted from the communications equipment to the driver's seat,
glancing out the installed windshield at the rows upon rows of rodents, lizards, and
various other vertebrates encircling the Van. "Golly! Where'd they all come from?"
she asked as the engine roared to life. As much a roar as a car battery will allow, 
at least.
     "All the major crimelords of the animal underworld within the surrounding
two states are here. They had to bring a squad of flunkies and bodyguards. Too bad
for us most of them weren't allowed to the gathering." McDugell grunted as he
strapped himself in the passenger seat. "What I can't understand is how they figured
out who we were."
     "Oh, well," Gadget shrugged as she slammed the Van into gear, and roughly
lurched free from the enclosure being formed. "My guess is that the Ranger symbol I
painted on top of the Van, as well as on both sides, might have something to do with
it."
     McDugell just looked at her somberly for a moment. "That might have
something to do with it, yes."
     Gadget shrugged again, bringing the Van out into the street. "It's just
something we do with all our main vehicles. Maybe it's some Freudian thing."
     "God, I hope not."
     For the most part, the casings for 486's are not built for aerodynamic
efficiency. Gadget struggled with the controls as the Van screeched out from the
alley, its added wheels and suspension system (if you exaggerated and called it that) 
worked laboriously to maneuver the oversized paperweight through traffic. The only 
benefit that the casing provided was that going into a roll on a turn was near-impossible. 
Mainly because going into a turn by itself was near-impossible.
     Gadget listened for a moment to the cries in the back as she swerved in and
out of traffic, towards the building where the gathering was located. Note to self, she
thought, remember to install some seats.
     "Try not to break anything important back there!" she called out to the flailing 
members of the squad.
     "Yeah," McDugell added, "like your spines!"
     The Van continued its ungraceful but effective drive, Gadget successfully
getting the occupants a safe distance away from the mob in the alley.
     "Well, now what?" McDugell grumbled. "We've alerted that mob of our
existence, so we can't sneak back to the alley, and the guys are currently in some
serious trouble in that ballroom on the top floor."
     "Hmm." Gadget thought to herself as she eased the Van off to the side of the
road, and began to circle back around. The traffic on the street paid little heed to the 
486 case that was weaving through traffic, as everyone in the city was used to the 
numerous odd things that were constantly seen on the road, such as skates, skateboards, 
dustbusters, and R.C. vehicles. Naturally, it was all blamed on the children, with the 
adults complaining that they were always leaving their toys around. This, in turn, gave 
the accused children many mental scars that would require several months of therapy and 
a few talk show appearances to clear up.
     "Let's see if we can swing around to the other side of the building," Gadget
said as she drove them around the building in question. "There's a chance we can
hide in one of the trash piles on the corner."
     McDugell grimly nodded. "It's a dirty job...." he mumbled as he unhooked
his safety belt,  stood up, and walked back to the receiver, to check on how the
others were doing in their own crisis.
     Monterey had realized right after he opened his mouth that he had effectively
blown his cover. Bubbles was grinding his teeth as he leaned over Monterey,
causing the Australian mouse to be reminded how annoying it was to have someone
taller than him as an opponent.
     "Well, now, maybe this really is my lucky day," Bubbles growled. "Ten to
one you're not here by yourself, are you?"
     Monterey keep his mouth shut and looked back defiantly at Bubbles.
Monterey was aware that all Bubbles had to do was give an alerting shout, and the
Rangers would have to start accepting applications for his replacement. Fortunately
for him, however, the crowd around him was too enthralled by Fat Cat's speech to
be listening to the rumblings of two mice, albeit large ones. That granted them a bit 
of space. Add this to Bubbles' apparent lack of wisdom in failing to raise the alarm, and
Monterey's luck--
     The realization hit him like a pound of overripe Limburger. Bubbles may be
rough and more likely to grind your skull into powder than plan something, but he
wasn't stupid. True, he wasn't about to win any spots on the local chapter of the
Animal Academic Decathlon team, but even Bubbles would have been quick to
expose Monterey as a Ranger in front of this gathering.
     Unless Bubbles wasn't supposed to be here, himself.
     As Monterey recalled, Bubbles and Fat Cat had parted on very bad terms.
Tucking that away as a future trump card, Monterey grinned.
     "Don't look so happy," Bubbles remarked, still not calling attention to them.
"You're outnumbered here, about five hundred to one."
     "Maybe, mate. But why don't we find out? Just hop up there to Fat Cat and
let him know about me. Go on, and we'll see which of the two of us they let walk
outta here."
     Regarding him coolly, Bubbles declined. "With or without the crowd here,
I'm not here  alone, tubbo. I have my own back-up."
     "Likewise, mate. Now, why don't you just exercise that noodle in your head,
and be quiet so we can hear just what Fat Cat is up to?" Monterey held back a laugh
as Bubbles fumed for a moment. He *hadn't* been invited, and it was grating to the
large mouse's ego. But Monterey guessed Bubbles would risk it to call attention to
themselves if Monterey annoyed him enough, so the mouse from the outback
remained quiet as the mouse from the soda rack weighed his options. Without a
word, Bubbles moved off into the crowd, and Monterey let out a sigh of relief.
     Back at the Van, McDugell chipped in his own private vote of relief, then
concentrated on Dale's predicament. Unfortunately, it wasn't quite as easy for him.
     "Boy, Fat Cat's gonna love me fer this one," Capone stated as he roughly
grabbed Dale, practically pulling him free from the disguise. "Say goodbye to your
life and hello to the crowd, future kibble--"
     All the while, Fat Cat had gone on about great empires, and the joys of
unified rulership, and so on. And, just as Capone was about to make a public
announcement that a Rescue Ranger had been captured, Fat Cat announced
something at which the whole crowd cheered honestly and enthusiastically, causing
Capone's revelation to be lost in the surrounding din.
     Never one to enjoy being held hostage, Dale suddenly squirmed out of
Capone's grasp, throwing the remains of the disguise into his face as he pulled free. 
Arnold and Sugar Ray were both right there, but Dale was just a hair's breath
quicker, and dove back into the throng of criminals before the two bodyguards could
snag him.
     To avoid two lawbreakers by hiding in five hundred other lawbreakers is not
a particularly safe endeavor. This is compounded if any of the five hundred happen
to recognize the one trying to hide, and is even worse if those that do notice bear ill 
will towards the chipmunk in question. Fortunately for Dale, the crowd seemed too 
engrossed in Fat Cat's revelation. Dale wondered what it was, but decided
now was not the time to ask someone. He doubted anyone else was wearing a
brightly colored Hawaiian shirt, limiting his natural camouflage ability.
     He might have taken some heart if he knew that his best friend and teammate,
Chip, had also missed the announcement. While Dale was busy escaping from a
potentially bad encounter, however, Chip and Zipper were both merely fighting for
their lives. Bubbles' gang of ninjas had been lying in wait for their boss in the
ceiling when Chip and Zipper quite literally dropped in. The initial skirmish was
brief, as Chip boldly blocked a number of attacks with his head, and was soon
having trouble remembering his name, let alone where he was. Zipper, on the other
hand, gave the ninjas fits, as his nimbleness and flight allowed him to easily taunt
and lead them around without any of them being able to land a single punch on him.
     Zipper's tactics paid off, drawing attention away from the downed chipmunk,
and affording the leader of the Rangers a chance to regain his senses in just a few
moments. Chip then repaid Zipper the favor, by managing to drop a number of the
ninjas from behind, and bringing the ninjas' concern back to him. Zipper took
advantage of his break to rest, having been worn out from the chase.
     Now the two Rangers engaged the ninjas in a giant game of hide-and-go-seek,
with Chip and Zipper keeping in touch as to their whereabouts via their radios. Granted, 
it was difficult at times, due to the additional voices of Dale and Monterey spilling 
over, but the two Rangers in the ceiling remained a jump ahead of their adversaries. 
The only problem with their current plan was that of time. Both Chip and Zipper were
tiring quickly, and being outnumbered wasn't a great help, either.
     But fate smiled on them, and the chase was ended abruptly as Chip turned a
corner and ran headlong into a squad of the ninjas. Everyone collapsed from the
force of impact, and Chip's chestpiece slowed him down in the race to be the first to 
reach a standing position. Before he realized it, Chip was hoisted free from the floor 
and hurled down through the rafters, coming to a painful halt about two feet down, 
knocking the wind clear out of him. The multitude of light, deft footsteps making 
their way down around him alerted the still-conscious part of his brain that he was 
being surrounded.
     Rolling over to get a better idea of his surroundings, Chip saw (through a
field of colored dots) that he was on a broad rafter, nicely isolated in the ceiling
structure. The only two beams that connected were both a good three feet away, and
he didn't need to be fully conscious to know that was where the ninjas were climbing
down towards him. Not really seeing any other choice, he half-crawled, half-scampered 
over to the edge of the rafter, and peered down. Through the subdued lighting, he 
guessed that he was about another five feet or so from the actual paneling of the 
ceiling.
     Coughing a bit, he turned back to see the first of the ninjas reach the rafter
and dart to him. Hoping that he could successfully handle the exertion, Chip slipped
over the edge, carefully, yet quickly, climbing down the side of the rafter. The
chestpiece made things awkward at best, but he didn't have time to worry about it.
His breath beginning to return, he skillfully flipped himself up under the rafter,
precariously holding to the finger and toe-holds on the wooden underside. The
ninjas, lacking natural ability or skill at climbing, couldn't directly pursue,
allowing Chip a few moments to recover from the fall.
     As soon as Chip had been thrown, Zipper had moved over to help, but was
blocked by the efforts of a few of the ninjas remaining behind. It only took him a
few moments to circumvent them, and by that time, Chip had already taken refuge
from the rest of the gang. He gave a few squeaks over his headset, to which Chip
replied with his current location. A swift beat of wings, and Zipper was soon
hovering alongside the chipmunk.
     "Okay, I think I have a plan," he said, attempting to sound authoritative
through his groaning.
     Now would be a good time, Zipper nodded.
     "This personal winch and recoil unit," Chip nodded to the chestpiece, "can
lower me down to the ceiling below. The ninjas won't be able to get down nearly as
fast, so we can escape while they try to make their way down. You go check for a
discreet way out while I get it hooked up, and I'll met you down there. Oh and
Zipper..." Chip added as Zipper started off. "Also, please make sure that this time, our
route is unoccupied."
     Zipper couldn't help a grin as he nodded and took off. He reached the topside
of the ceiling easily, glancing back to notice that the ninjas were currently 
waiting on the top of the rafter. They assumed Chip would have to come back up soon, 
and they planned to be ready when he did. Smiling, Zipper shot off down along the
floor, noticing a promising crack on the far wall. Upon reaching it, he discreetly
slipped inside, crawling so as not to make any unnecessary noise with his wings.
The crack opened up into the actual wall, giving plenty of space for maneuvering,
and ensuring a straight path to street level. Nodding, he--
     What was that?
     A flicker of movement caught his attention, followed by a light buzzing.
Squirting, he spotted a hornet not too far off, flying off in the opposite direction.
     This was odd. This was the first insect Zipper had seen all night. It was
possible that the hornet was just an average worker, heading back to the hive. But
just being in this area, at this time, cast doubt on that possibility. The wasp had
apparently not noticed Zipper, for the hive member made no attempt to mask his
departure.
     Zipper doubted that the hornet was here by chance. His own flight would be
drowned out by the hornet's wings, making the option of attempting a shadow
operation too tempting to pass up on. But before he took off, he radioed in a quick
message, then began his trailing of the hornet, moving on down the wall.
     "Okay, Zipper, just be careful," Chip grunted as he carefully set the piston
mounted on the chest to fire. The metal apparatus would dig into the rafter, giving
Chip a secure base to slide down the steel wire attached to the back of the piston.
Zipper buzzed again, to which Chip responded, "Yeah, I'll make my way over there
when I reach the ceiling. Thanks." With that, he fired the piston, and learned
firsthand Newton's third law of physics.
     The piston buried itself into the rafter, and the wire began to uncoil from the
winch within the chestpiece. But whether he was still dazed from the fall or just
ignorant to the dangers of Gadget's inventions, he never thought to figure out just
how much force would be involved in the firing mechanism. Naturally, it was more
than enough to launch him off the rafter towards the ceiling below.
     Gravity was grateful for the assist from the kinetic force, and together, they
easily shot Chip through the suspended ceiling consisting of lightweight plastic and
foam core, into the huge ballroom below, steel wire still trailing out above him.
Even so, the excited buzzing from the crowd prevented the sound of the crash from
registering with anyone at first. It wasn't until Fat Cat himself, grinning out over 
the assorted crimelords, glanced up from behind the podium and asked to his nearby
henchman, "What is that?"
     "Uh...." Mole stared off in the wrong direction for several moments before
Fat Cat realized that in order to obtain an informative answer, he would have to seek 
counsel elsewhere.
     "Stripes," he said to the gruff dog of mixed breeds, "can you make out what
that thing is that's falling from the ceiling?"
     Stripes stepped up next to Fat Cat, creating another wave of applause from
the crowd. He nodded to them absently, squinting to make out the slowly
descending object. "Not offhand," he finally grumbled. "A party-crasher, I would
guess."
     Fat Cat had reached into his coat and pulled out a small set of opera glasses,
his natural curiosity getting the better of him.
     Seeing as how he had paused in his speech to look at something, the rest of
the crowd turned to see what the interest was. This included the hastily retreating
forms of Dale and Monterey.
     "Uh-oh," they mumbled in unison.
     Chip, meanwhile, was rapidly closing in on the hardwood floor when he
finally regained enough coherence to wrestle with the controls of his chestpiece. He
struggled a bit, a tad upset that half of them seemed to be on the fritz already. 
But considering the amount of rattling that it had received, Chip was lucky that it 
was still functional in the first place. More so, he was blessed in that "brakes" 
still worked.
     A loud squeal rang through the ballroom as the internal winch strained against
the wire, bringing him to a safe halt about six inches from the floor -- in addition 
to bringing all attention fully on him.
     "Uh..." he started, not liking the silence which had replaced the squeal. "Just
checking the lights."
     "Then you won't mind," Fat Cat's voice coldly echoed throughout the
gathering, "if we light you up." The kingpin of the animal underworld lowered his
opera glasses with a frown, recognizing one of his adversaries all too easily.
     The crowd surged towards Chip, heeding the unvoiced command of Fat Cat
to seize the uninvited guest. A blur of red beat them to it, however, as Dale sprang
up and grabbed onto Chip, his momentum carrying them away from the onrushing
crowd.
     "Dale!" Chip cried.
     "Don't worry, Chip, we're out of harm's way, now!" Dale grinned as he
looked back at the mob and the two chipmunks' pendular motion reached its apex.
     "But we're swinging back towards them!" Chip growled, struggling to free
his arms. For when Dale had jumped up to Chip and grabbed on, he had
inadvertently pinned Chip's arms to the side, preventing his best friend from being
able to reach the controls of the chestpiece.
     "Oh yeah..." Dale mumbled, as their momentum started to swing them back down.
     "Let go of me!"
     "Are you nuts?!"
     "I can't reach the controls for this thing, Dale!"
     "Oh, is that all?"
     Before Chip could so much as screech a protest, Dale had already taken to
the job of pressing buttons and twisting the dials on the chestpiece. Given Dale's
track record with operating complex devices with little or no training, it was good
fortune that neither chipmunk had eaten anything recently.
     The chestpiece proved that it was indeed built by Gadget, as it emitted
various gases, steam, noises, and the occasional loose part. As the duo swung
towards the awaiting paw of a rather large and burly cat, the winch suddenly came to
life, yanking the chipmunks up sharply. They rocketed towards the ceiling, the
winch spinning fast enough to put a hummingbird to shame.
     Monterey watched the two shoot off from the riotous crowd surrounding him.
     "At least the mates still know how to make an exit," he remarked to himself,
then started working his way towards the door.
     "Everyone, please calm down," Fat Cat's voice commanded evenly. "Our
security force will handle the momentary intrusion. We have more important matters to
deal with."
     The crowd quieted down, Fat Cat's natural air of authority quelling their
slight anxiety over the intrusion. Monterey took a moment to pause in the doorway,
casting a glance back. Fat Cat hated the Rangers with a passion people could only
dream of. If he was actually unconcerned about their unwelcome attendance here,
then things were much worse than he had first suspected. Catching sight of Stripes, he
grimly nodded; this was the start of a hard, uphill climb for the Rangers.
     A small group of rats moving past him and towards the stairs leading to the
roof brought his attention back to the present. Discreetly, he slipped off to the 
side, stealthily following the rats from a safe distance. They made their way up 
the stairs easily, and through a small hole at the base of the door, coming out 
onto the roof. Monterey waited until he heard them move off in search of Chip and 
Dale, then slipped though.
     The night was rather enjoyable, with a touch of that invigorating ambience
that spring seems to manufacture in vast abundance, then distribute through the cool
winds. He took stock of his surroundings; quiet on all the fronts. Wait, not quite. 
Off to his left, he heard some scuffling. Moving cautiously over towards the direction 
of the noise, he spotted the last few rats slipping down into a small hole in the roof,
leading down into the ceiling.
     As Monterey made his way through the shadows to the hole, he heard the
sounds of a fight. Even better, the sounds of a *large* fight. Wasting no time in
joining in, Monterey sprinted to the hole and dove through.
     To claim that the situation below was a mass of utter confusion would be a
fair assessment. For the security team had dropped in on the ninjas rather
unexpectedly, surprising all parties involved. Naturally, they exchanged greetings 
in the traditional action-sequence manner of attempting to do grievous bodily harm to one
another. Chip and Dale, still suspended from the wire just under the rafter, couldn't
see the ensuing brawl, but felt that they were probably better off that way.
Monterey, on the other hand, was in Seventh Heaven. All he had to do was strike
out and he was guaranteed to hit an enemy. The slight fact that he was outnumbered
about fifty to one didn't bother him in the least. Especially since the guards and
ninjas were just as intent on beating up each other as they were about attempting the 
same on the rugged Aussie.
     "Waltzin' Matildas!" he exclaimed happily. "Now *this* is my idea of a party!"
     Underneath the rafter, Dale turned to Chip. "Sounds like Monty's here."
     "Yeah. Let go of me."
     "No."
     "Dale, as durable as Monty is, even he can't last that long against all of those 
opponents. We need to get up there to him, so we all can get to the escape launch on 
the roof."
     Dale was still uncomfortable with crawling back up into the rumble above
them. "Can't we just wait for a bit? Monty'll do fine on his own, and the others will 
get tired soon."
     "What if more are on the way?" Chip pointed out. "Then Monty's trapped
with way more than he can handle, and we're all stuck. No way we'll be able to
sneak past the mob down below now that Fat Cat knows we're here. We have to
use the launch to get out of this mess."
     "Oh, fine," Dale grumbled, then paused. "Where's Zipper?"
     "He went to try and find a way down to the ballroom without being seen, but
it's kind of pointless now," Chip remarked with a grunt. "He spotted something and
went to investigate it. Look Dale, my arms are falling asleep -- let go and climb up
the rafter!"
     "Okay okay okay," Dale quickly responded as he eased his way onto the
underside of the rafter, shimming over to the side, and carefully up to the top.
     The current battle was actually an impressive sight, as it was spread out all
over. A small group here, a few combatants there, and of course, Monterey just
tearing around all over the place.
     "Okay," Chip mentioned, having followed Dale up to the top of the rafter.
"Let's get over to the hole out of here. Fortunately all the fighters are preoccupied
right now." Chip ducked as a body went flying over his head, as if to emphasize his point.
     "Yeah, but that includes Monty," Dale pointed out as the two chipmunks
scampered on to the top of the wooden support beam, dodged a rat flying under
someone else's power, and then shot down to the next crossbeam angling up.
     "How do we get Monty's attention?" Dale asked, ducking to miss a ninja
tumbling over him. "Without alerting the rest of the fighters, I mean."
     Chip grinned as he climbed up to the exit. "I've got it covered."
     In the mix of the slugfest, Monterey was having the time of his life. He
merrily made his way along, knocking heads together and tossing foes aside as if
dancing to "The Masochism Tango". But amidst the sweat and wood, a new scent
found its way to Monterey. The lingering tendrils of the aroma teasingly caressed
his olfactory nerves before plunging its insurmountable power into his brain, sapping him 
of his will.
     His current opponents, two of the guards, looked at each other warily. This
guy seemed pretty off-beat to start with, but now with his eyes swirling rings of
green and yellow, his moustache tweaked out, and his expression something akin to
a mindless zombie, he was really disturbing them. And just when they thought he
couldn't get any more disquieting, his lips parted to utter a single, cryptic word:
     "Ch--ee-ee--ee--ee--se!"
     At long last, their luck took a turn for the better, as Monterey darted off 
in the opposite direction, sparing them the horror of facing down a Monterey Jack
in full Cheese Attack mode. Knocking aside anything in his way -- ninjas, guards,
support beams -- he stormed his way through the mass up to the roof, dashing for 
the piece of cheese that Chip deftly tossed to the onrushing mouse.
     As Monterey inhaled the object of his obsession, Dale grinned and prodded
Chip.
     "Told ya it'd be under a minute," he gloated.
     Chip grumbled to himself, handing Dale an I.O.U. for ten acorns.
     "Mmm, Swiss," Monterey said thoughtfully, licking his fingers. "Tastes like
an '82. Not a bad year, actually." He sighed contently and looked at his friends.
"Mates, this has been one heck of a rip-snorter of a party! One o' the best I've been
to."
     "The perfect topper will be for us to go ahead and get out of here in one
piece," Chip added. "So let's get moving. We'll take Gadget's escape launch to the
prearranged location, and then the Van will pick us up."
     Monterey's enthusiasm damped a bit. "Crikey, I forgot about that. Gadget's
tested this one though, right?"
     Chip smiled a little too sweetly at Monterey.
     "Shoulda figured," the large mouse sighed, then walked over to the launch
device. It wasn't anything especially fancy, merely a odd-looking device constructed
in a manner similar to their catapults on top of the police station. Only this one was 
portable, Chip having constructed it not more than fifteen minutes ago after 
carrying the separate pieces in his backpack. Monterey tried not to think about 
it as he looked at the somewhat rickety framework he was willingly walking into. 
The three Rangers clustered together in the small basket which would be used as 
the cup of the catapult. Chip checked the trajectory again, Dale checked for any 
signs of pursuit, and Monterey checked for his good luck charms.
     "Everyone all set?"
     "Yep," Dale nodded briskly.
     "No," Monterey confirmed, "but go ahead anyway."
     "Gadget?" Chip asked into his headset. Things had been quiet, and he was
wondering if the signal was breaking up.
     A moment later, Gadget's voice came over the system, "I read you, Chip.
You and the others get out okay?"
     "More or less," he replied. "We'll tell you all about it after you pick us up.
We're launching now."
     "Roger that, Chip." A pause. "Thank you for flying Hackwrench Airways."
Chip grinned, able to hear her smile when she said that.
     "Okay, guys, here we go!" He hit the release trigger, shooting them up over
the edge of the roof. Later, each would claim that their scream was actually one of
joy.
     Back in the Van, McDugell had a disturbing thought.
     "Gadget," he asked carefully, "did you, by chance, tell them that we've
moved from the original alley?"
     Silence.
     "Oops."
     "And did you," he continued, starting to get that sinking feeling again, "tell
them *why* it was that we had to move?"
     "Double oops...." Gadget looked rather ill herself, then sprang from the
communications station back up the driver's seat. "We're going back for them!"
     McDugell nodded; they had to. Chip, Dale, and Monterey were about to leap
from the proverbial frying pan into the proverbial fire. He turned and addressed his
officers. "Well guys, looks like we'll be using our original rescue plan after all, 
only this time it'll be in the alley."
     Gadget revved the Van up, and shot it back out into traffic, grateful that the
city had responsible drivers who swerved away from strange objects rolling in the
streets. McDugell and the others in the back of the Van laid flat on the floor, 
having no desire to bounce around again as Gadget weaved around on the way back 
to the alley.
     The alley where, even as they started towards it, three inconspicuous forms
dropped suddenly into the garbage pail behind which the Van had been parked
earlier that evening. Their fall was cushioned by the large amount of down and fluff
they dumped into it just that morning.
     "Whoo-hoo!" Dale yelled as he popped up to the lip of the can, blowing a
feather from his nose. "Let's do it again!"
     "Let's not and say we didn't, mate," Monterey grumbled, regretting having
eaten the cheese before taking that ride.
     Chip took a moment to orient himself in the fluff, popping up next to Dale.
"This has been a great night for my free-fall record," he sighed, a bit woozy from
his earlier beating from the ninjas.
     "Not to worry, Chipper m'lad," Monterey patted his friend on the back,
causing another grimace from Chip. "Everythin' is smooth sailin' from this point.
We can just enjoy the fact that we're in the clear."
     "And alive," Dale added.
     "And alive," Monterey acknowledged.
     "And surrounded."
     "And surrounded." Monterey paused a moment, realizing that the voice he
repeated wasn't either of the chipmunks.
     Leaning over the edge of the trash can a bit more, Monterey saw a sea of
henchman and flunkies filling the alleyway.
     "Crikey," he mumbled in awe. "Talk about standin' room only."
     Chip and Dale had both hoisted themselves up to the same vantage point as
Monterey, gazing out over the crowd around them.
     "This does not look good," Dale understated.
     The crowd of henchmen seemed to be enjoying the Rangers' anxiety, as they
were taking their time moving up to the edge of the trash can. It was already
completely surrounded, and the nearest additional trash can was over ten feet away.
Nowhere for them to run.
     "Hey," Monterey suddenly looked around. "What happened to Zipper?"
     "He went to check something," Chip quietly answered. "He'll be fine. Now
can we worry more about us at the moment?"
     "Well look, Chipper," Dale said, trying to build up their confidence, "they
have to climb up to us, right? So we can each cover a section of the garbage can and
knock 'em off as they come up!"
     "Too right, mate," Monterey grinned, rolling up his sleeves. "It'll be jus' 
like King o' the Hill. Only it's King o' the Garbage Can."
     Chip was about to reply when the whole trash can lurched slightly.
     "What?" Dale yelped.
     Looking somewhat ill, Chip replied, "I think the trash is about to be
emptiiiiiiiiiied!"
     The last word escaped from his month as a scream, the trash can heaving over
on its side from a group effort by the crowd in the rear. Falling to the cement floor 
with a loud clank, the Rangers spilled out with the refuse in a tousled heap.
     "So much for *that* plan," Dale commented darkly.
     The crowd was beginning to close in, when a loud noise and bright lights flashed
through the alley. Unable to see, Monterey, Chip, and Dale dug further back into
the mound of trash for safety while the huge gathering scattered about in mass
confusion. From their safe, if smelly, vantage point, the Rangers could see
something parting the crowd quickly, which was the source of the noise and light.
     Finally, the last henchman who had been blocking the path of the thing
scampered to the sides, and the trio of Rangers grinned as the RRS Van came
barreling in. The grin evaporated when they realized that the Van was heading
directly for them, and not slowing down. Another bout of skittering to sides, as 
they managed to extract themselves from the garbage moments before the Van tore
through it, then skidded to a stop.
     Slowly getting up, Dale saw the back half of the Van slide open, and
members of the Animal Police Force pour out, wearing those weird things Gadget
had constructed, looking like something the Ghostbusters would wear. One member
of the force each darted to a Ranger, helping them to their feet and towards the Van
as the rest formed a semi-circle around the opening of the Van, McDugell in the
center.
     "Okay boys, fire!" the squirrel ordered.
     If chaos was prominent beforehand, then pandemonium was king now. The
muzzles of weapons Gadget had created spewed out a brown ooze of some kind,
spraying over anyone unfortunate enough to be within range. Seeing the operators
of such devices dressed in some type of protective bodysuit did nothing to calm the
nerves of those hit.
     As Dale was quickly ushered into the Van with Chip and Monterey, though,
his nose caught a whiff of a very familiar scent.
     But then the police had ceased firing, and withdrew quickly and efficiently
into the Van, the door sliding shut and locking after the last one was in. Gadget
shoved the Van into gear, rocketing out of the alley and down the sidewalk. Not that
there was any danger of imminent pursuit; those back in the alley where still to
concerned that they had been hit with some sort of toxic chemical or similar
disfiguring substance. That is, until they calmed down enough to place that
surprisingly pleasant scent from the brown ooze.
     "Chocolate syrup?" Dale asked incredulously as he closed the door to the
driver's section behind him. "Gadget, you've made some strange things before, but
these take the cake! Or the ice cream, in this case."
     "Golly, thanks Dale," Gadget blushed slightly as she drove. Monterey wasn't
sure if Dale had meant it as a compliment, but wasn't about to voice that thought.
     In the back, a few of the officers tended to the wounds Chip had received
during the ninja encounter, which were more severe than he had first suspected.
Still, he wasn't about to complain. The loud "horn" Gadget had installed, along with
the floodlights in the front, had been meant for simple traffic safety, but when used
while the Van was charging in from the street, they also served to work the
sidekicks in the alley up into a panic. In that state, none of them were really 
ready to think clearly when the chocolate syrup hit the fan. It was meant strictly 
as something to buy them enough time to get out of a huge crowd by inducing a 
slight hysteria as to what the goop was.
     He couldn't help a grin. Gadget's inventions actually had done exactly what
they were supposed to.
     "Hey buddy, you okay?" one of the officers asked, worried that the grin was
a sign that the pain was finally overtaking reality. "Hey Herman," he called to the
rat behind him.
     Herman looked up from cleaning the syrup off his nozzle. "Yeah?"
     "Grab some of the gauzes in the first aid kit, will you?"
     "Sure thing." Herman started to put the ordinance down, but McDugell
tapped him sternly on the shoulder.
     "Do I always have to remind you to turn the safety on before setting down a
firearm? Or syruparm -- whatever." He glanced around and the rest of the officers.
"All of you guys. Come on, we aren't going to need these things again tonight."
     Nineteen heads nodded. Nineteen fingers switched on the safeties for the first
time. Nineteen valves suddenly backed up, causing nineteen explosions of chocolate
syrup inside the back of the Van.
     "Oops," Gadget grimaced as the syrup oozed under the door to the cab.
     "Now this," Dale grinned as he ran a finger through the syrup and slurped it
off, "is the kind of clean-up I like!"

                         *     *     *

     The hornet had led Zipper all the way down to street level within the wall,
then into the basement levels, and finally out an opening and into the sewers. The
spirited fly easily kept up, but after several minutes of flying through the sewer, 
he began to doubt his first inclination -- maybe the hornet really had been at
Fat Cat's by chance.
     More importantly, Zipper was concerned about the others in the undercover
operation. Having turned off his personal unit to avoid unwanted or sudden noises,
he had no clue as to what was happening back in the ballroom.
     The hornet arced upwards for the first time since entering the sewer, and
disappeared into a crack. Zipper waited a moment in case the hornet was resting,
then carefully flew through after his suspect.
     He found himself inside a basement power room of some sort, with large
metal pipes humming, and the only light coming from some lighted gauges on scattered 
furnaces and other machinery. The low hum of the room drowned out any
sound that the hornet might have been making, and the lack of viable light prevented
any real hopes of spotting it, either. Still, Zipper had come this far, and he began a 
scan of the room, checking the walls, ceiling, and machinery nooks.
     To no avail. Too many places led further in. The hornet could have slipped
into any single one of the scores of entrances Zipper discovered. Sighing, he sat down
to rest on the nearest pipe.
     I know there are enough criminals in the insect crowd to warrant them being
there, Zipper wondered. So why weren't any there? That hornet had to be a scout
or something, probably reporting back to his boss. But why send a scout instead of
going oneself? What was it that prevented the insect crimelords from going tonight?
     He sat there for a few minutes, grasping at something in his mind that he
knew was there, just not showing itself. Finally, he remembered the others,
and decided that his work here was done for now. Making a mental note of where
he was, he was about to take off, when something finally dawned on him.
     The hum he heard. He assumed it was coming from the machinery around
him.
     So why wasn't the pipe he was sitting on moving?
     He had just realized it. Moving machinery creates sound. But it also,
naturally, creates a slight vibration that his delicate sense of touch should pick 
up easily.
     Maybe it's just this pipe, he thought quickly. Darting over to the next unit, he 
rested a hand on it.
     Silent.
     He tried the next. And the next. And the next.
     All of them as still as a grave marker. None were turned on.
     But the hum persisted. The hum that he slowly came to grips with. Was it
getting louder?
     Zipper glanced about, fear starting to crowd in his thoughts. His instinct took
over, and he turned and shot for the crack, half-expecting to be killed before making it.
     But he did make it to the crack. And he did make it through, all the way back
to the Ranger Tree.
     The hum, however, continued in his mind for a long, long time.