-- Chapter Two: Brethren, Family, and Other Pests --

         "Family is more important than dumb morality."
                                             --Olive Oyl, _Popeye_

     "Last night was a far cry from a perfect operation," McDugell casually
mentioned from the entrance of Ranger HQ.
     Chip turned to glare at him from his position on the couch. A number of
bandages adorned the chipmunk's form, half from the ninja beating, the other half
from the depressurized explosions of the Syrup-Slingers, as they had come to be known.
McDugell, for his part, wore a strip of gauze over his left arm, in addition to a frown
on his face. None of those in the back of the Van had escaped the blast unscathed.
     "Just remember," Chip sighed as he went back to his Sheerluck Jones novel,
"you asked *us*. You knew what you were getting into."
     "This was the first major case since I came back from being warden," the
squirrel shrugged. "I didn't want to blow it."
     "You didn't. The Syrup-Slingers blew it. All nineteen of them."
     "That was a lot of chocolate."
     "Dale didn't seem to mind."
     The squirrel chuckled lightly. "I have to admit, Gadget provided us
with the most unique injuries in the entire force. We won the pool this month, you
know."
     Chip glanced up curiously. "You guys have bets on who gets the strangest
injury while in the line of duty?"
     McDugell shrugged again. "Keeps the mood in the station light." He stepped down
to the other side of the couch, settling down.
     "So what brings you over here, McDugell?" Chip asked, setting his book
down. "You didn't come over to critique our performance last night."
     "Actually, I did, in a way." He smiled. "Thanks."
     A moment of silence passed. "Excuse me?"
     "I wanted to thank you guys," McDugell repeated. "Yeah, we had that
chocolate eruption in the Van, but like you said, it wasn't that much of a surprise. 
It happened after we were out of danger, and we had already gotten the information
we were after. Nobody was seriously hurt--" a cough from Chip "--except you,
granted, but it went better than I expected." He sighed again. "We knew something
was up at the station, but our informants, the few we have, hadn't heard anything. If 
we had been late learning about this merger..." He shook his head. "We would have had
a lot of ground to make up."
     Chip nodded with a sigh. "Seems pretty strange that Fat Cat and Stripes
joined their criminal empires, all right, but they did. Stripes has the largest 
territory, besides Fat Cat, in the nearest five states. With the two of them on 
the same side, well, things could get bad."
     "There's always the chance that they'll split soon, but I'm not betting on it.
Anyway, thanks again. Where are the others, by the way?" McDugell said, glancing 
around the quiet living room.
     "After we cleaned up the Van, Gadget was worried that the inner workings of
the Relay Station were damaged, so she's giving it a full system check. Monty's
helping her out with the heavy work. Dale ate so much of the chocolate last night he
got sick, so he's still in bed. And Zipper left early this morning. Not sure why." 
He shrugged.
     McDugell nodded. "Well, pass my thanks on to them for me, if you can. I have to get
back to the station." He got up and walked over to the doorway, then paused. "Oh,
and Chip," he added, getting the chipmunk to set his book down again, "take it easy
for the next few days. What with the merger and all, I have a hunch we'll be
needing all our strength within a few weeks."
     "Thanks for the reminder," Chip remarked sarcastically, but smiling
nonetheless.
     McDugell gave a curt wave and walked out.
     Picking up his book again, Chip proceeded to zone out for the rest of the day...
that is, until the piano came crashing through the front door.

                         *     *     *

     "You mean you haven't heard, Zipper?" Queenie looked honestly surprised.
     I guess I've been too busy working with the Rangers to keep in touch with all
the insect gossip, he shrugged in response.
     It was true; Zipper had been more concerned with sharpening his investigative
skills than devoting time to staying up to date with the "buzz" of the insect culture.
The only insects he really talked to these days were his contacts, and even then, only
about specific information.
     Queenie nodded. "I understand. We all have responsibilities that come first. I
have my hive, after all. The only reason I heard about them was because they came
to me. Just last week." She paused as she waved to some passing workers. Sitting
elegantly upon her throne, smiling honestly at them, she seemed a much more
personable queen than most would expect. Not the least bit heavy-handed or
vindictive.
     Zipper politely waited for her to finish, then prompted her with a look asking for
her to explain the visit.
     "Oh, well," she started, making sure her sleeves were back in their proper,
"royal" place from the waving, "Only four of them came, as some type of ambassador
group. They stopped by, waited patiently for an audience, and conducted themselves
with the utmost dignity and respect. Very nice gentlemen, really."
     Zipper waited for Queenie to continue, but she seemed to be lost in thought.
     Queenie? he lightly asked with the arch of his brow.
     She glanced at him, then smiled. "Sorry Zipper, I was just thinking about it
again. I haven't given it any thought since they left -- what with the pressures of
managing my hive and all, I'm sure you know -- anyway, they were looking to see if
I wanted to officially join their cause. I am a highly noted and respected figure in
our society, of which you undoubtedly are aware."
     Zipper smiled and nodded. I'm very aware of your charm, he nodded smugly.
     A warm smile formed on her lovely face, then she continued. "I told them I
just didn't have the time to put into it, as I hardly have any real time to myself or 
any activities outside of the hive."
     A slight frown from Zipper. He knew that all too well.
     "They left, but told me that I would be more than welcome to join later.
Really very friendly insects. A grasshopper, a wasp, and a few flies, I believe."
     Did they say where?
     "The underside of the New Horizon Landfill, out near the edge of the city."
     Thanks, Queenie, Zipper smiled. Anything else you can think of?
     "Hmmm. Only one thing. They called their little group 'Swarm'."
     'Swarm'? his look echoed.
     "They're strongly community-oriented, I hear. Some of my workers have talked
with others in the field about it. I guess it's supposed to be a club of
some kind. They take all insects in, and even try to iron out problems between
different groups. They said we shouldn't be fighting each other, and some other nice
things like that, I guess. My workers said the others involved were very enthusiastic 
about it. Helped to pick up their spirits when they felt down."
     Okay, Zipped waved, I'll go check it out. Thanks Queenie!
     To his surprise, she leaned over and gave him a strong hug. "My pleasure,
Zipper."
     Zipper took a moment to reorient himself after the show of affection, and then
took off, unable to wipe the stupid grin from his face.

                         *     *     *

     "What?!"
     Skip regarded his oldest friend with a surprised glance. "Uh, I said I thought
you'd like to start up again. Get back into the 'swing' of things, so to speak."
     "Skip, spare me the corny jokes right now, okay?" Chip sighed as he looked
back at the front door. Or more accurately, the remains of it. Splinters littered the 
domino steps into the living room, while the hinges -- with hunks of wood still 
attached -- creaked slightly in the draft.
     "Like I said, Chip, don't worry about the door," Skip said brightly. "I'll get it 
taken care of, no sweat."
     "Ah, don't worry about it. Gadget will probably have a replacement one up
within a few minutes once she spots it." Chip took a moment to consider the
wisdom of starting to carry spare front doors, then turned back to Skip, his
chipmunk friend from grade school. "Okay, I'm still not seeing what you're talking
about."
     Skip rolled his eyes as if it should have been obvious. "Remember the last
time we talked?"
     Chip nodded. Ever since a case brought Chip back to his old neighborhood,
he and Skip had kept in touch frequently. The most recent meeting was a short lunch they
had had at The Rat's Den, where Skip worked nights as a DJ. "Yeah...we had talked about ]
our old days in the school band."
     "Right," Skip grinned. "So when word reached me that one of the local
playhouses was moving, and leaving this behind, I convinced the stage manager of the
place to let me buy it off of them. It's still working good. I was warned that it
probably could use a quick tuning, but other than that, it's ready to roll."
     "It did, Skip. Right through the front door," Chip pointed out, glad that
everyone else was too busy to have noticed it. Dale could sleep through a 21-cannon
salute, and Gadget and Monterey were busy working on the Van down below.
Zipper was still out, which brought something to Chip's mind. Chip looked out the front 
doorway, then back to Skip. "How did you get this thing up here, again?"
     "Hmm? Oh, a delivery service. Albatross Air, I think. I told them to drop it
off on the runway, but forgot to tell them to land first."
     Rubbing his temples lightly, Chip politely asked, "As thoughtful as this was,
Skip, the question remains, why?"
     "Well..." Skip nonchalantly ran his fingers over the top of the sturdy, upright
piano. "I figured you'd like the chance to play again, and then, maybe, sit in with
us--"
     "Hold it. Stop the clock. Time out. Hit park. Skip, I haven't played for over
ten years, now, practically."
     "Then there's no better time to start!"
     "Skip, I don't have time--"
     "Chip, I'm not asking you to start up a band or anything. It's just, well..."
Skip paused as he arranged his thoughts. "First, it'd just be nice to be able to play a 
few numbers with you, like we used to do in band. I still play the trumpet, you know, 
and a few other horns, too."
     Chip felt himself smile. "I figured."
     "And so many kids these days have no clue about real music. They're all
caught up in that alternative/rap/hip-hop/heavy metal/funk. Not that it's all bad, but 
they need an occasional reminder of the timeless beauty of big band and swing and dance 
music. Stuff that was made by people and instruments, not just sampled and
looped endlessly."
     "When you wax poetic, it's time to worry, Skip."
     "I like my music. Sue me." Skip chuckled. "Tell you what, at least practice a
few times. Okay? I mean, every now and then Jethro and Tim stop by. Tim has kids
now, you know? And I know they'd love to see you again."
     Chip blinked. "Timmy -- I mean -- Tim has kids? Whoa. Time does fly."
     "Yeah, and it shouldn't fly anymore before the four of us reunite."
     Chip smiled. "You're a smooth talker, Skip. Very verbose."
     "Part of the DJ territory. Like I said, just give it a try."
     "Fair enough. But it'll be a while, if at all."
     "Fine by me." Skip checked the wall watches. "Okay, I better go. I'll stop by
again some time soon. Take care, buddy!" He waved and jogged out the doorway,
and Chip waved back. After Skip was gone, Chip looked at the piano again.
Checking around, he casually made his way to the keys, lifting the cover back. Gently,
he placed his paws on the ivory music makers, and started to play--
     Stopping immediately when the first few chords hit his ears, making him
wince. He hoped that it was due more to the piano being out of tune than to him being out
of practice. Grateful that nobody had been around to hear him, he replaced the cover and
wheeled the instrument over to the side of the room.
     "Maybe later," he promised himself. "After Gadget's tuned it."

                         *     *     *

     The New Horizon Landfill was nestled in a small valley just outside of the city
limits, but still within view of the skyline. Zipper took a minute to glance about 
the quiet countryside before flitting down to the ground. Something was different 
about this particular landfill. Being a fly, he had been to his share of them, but 
something was missing from this one, although he couldn't place his finger on it.
     But he didn't dwell on it. He wanted to find out if this was where he could learn 
about this "Swarm" group. He was fairly certain after having had earlier conversations 
with other insects that this was the same group that had scared him half to death in that 
basement.  At least he hadn't been in any danger, which was a relief. Normally an insect 
hive will only mass like that when it's about to go to battle with another hive. The results of 
which are never pretty.
     These guys, however, seemed to be the opposite, as they had been attempting
to settle disputes between insects peacefully and diplomatically. The only thing
more interesting than this was that they had been succeeding. Apparently, the
massing that he overheard was just a group meeting after a successful bit of
diplomacy.
     Flitting down to the base of the landfill, Zipper found it interesting that he
hadn't heard of this group before, until he remembered that he and the Rangers were
always on the move to remote and bizarre locations; Switzerland, New Zealand,
Hong Kong... even New Jersey.
     "Hello?" a voice called out from his left.
     Zipper pulled to a stop and hovered as he looked over, spotting a wasp
heading towards him.
     Hello, Zipper said with a wave. I was just looking around for the Swarm
group.
     "Oh, wait," the approaching wasp grinned in recognition. "You're Zipper,
aren't you?"
     Zipper nodded, a bit surprised to be known.
     "Wow, is this a pleasure to meet you! My name's Stinger," he shook hands
vigorously with Zipper. "Yeah, this is our little hole in the ground, so to speak." 
He chuckled at his pun.
     Zipper just smiled politely.
     "Were you interested in joining?" Stinger looked rather hopeful. In fact, if
Zipper didn't know any better, he would have sworn he saw a trace of hero-worship in
Stinger's eyes.
     Yes, Zipper nodded, I was interested in learning more about you guys. I just
found out about you recently, and it sounds like you're doing a lot of good.
     "Aw, we do our best," Stinger grinned. "Anyway, come on, I'll take you to
meet Washboard. He's the guy who'll explain it all to you." He smiled sheepishly.
"I would myself, but I'm still a newbie. Just joined up a few weeks ago." He
motioned for Zipper to follow him, then darted down through a fairly large hole in
the ground.
     They flew through a few tunnels, soon emerging into a large, underground
area. Everything was dug out of the dirt, reminding Zipper of some mole work he
had seen when Fat Cat attempted to use the moles to collapse all the buildings in the 
city. Not surprisingly, hundreds of insects were present, doing various chores, like 
any hive. What was surprising, however, was that they were all of different types. 
Ants, flies, wasps, hornets, termites, beetles... the list went on and on.
     Zipper couldn't remember the last time he had seen such camaraderie in the insect
community. Normally ants stuck with ants, bees with bees, and so on. Here,
however, everyone seemed to be getting along just fine. Thinking about it, Zipper
knew it wasn't that unlikely, but he had never seen any of his own kind really try it
before. A smile formed as he flew alongside Stinger, a smile of pride in his fellow insects 
and their ability to work together.
     Stinger led them through the large cavern, then down along one of the
tunnels off to the side. Zipper noted tunnels of varying sizes throughout the area,
most of them large. This one, for example, was big enough to roll a bowling ball
through.
     After a few more turns, Stinger finally landed in front of a small door, Zipper
landing right next to him. Stinger knocked politely, calling out, "Hey Washboard?
You in?"
     "Yes," a rather smooth and engaging voice replied. "Please, come
in."
     Stinger opened the door, ushering Zipper in. A fairly large grasshopper was
sitting behind a simple desk, apparently going over a few files. He looked up at his
guests, smiled, and removed his glasses. "Ah, please, come in and relax. It's Zipper, 
is it not?"
     Zipper blinked, and wondered if someone had announced his visit.
     Yes, he nodded. I hope I'm not interrupting anything.
     "Not at all, not at all," Washboard replied with a friendly wave of dismissal.
"I've always time to chat with my fellow insects. Especially those of your stature."
     Zipper just nodded, a bit confused.
     "Thank you," Washboard nodded to Stinger. "You'd better get back to the
front, in case any more of our brethren are looking to join."
     Stinger nodded with a smile, then respectfully saluted Zipper. "It's been a
pleasure to finally meet you," he grinned. He quietly left, closing the door behind
him.
     "Well, please, make yourself comfortable," Washboard stood up, motioning
Zipper to a chair across from him, then grabbed what looked like a simple snack
tray. "Care for some fruit or vegetables?"
     Zipper declined with a shake of his head, settling himself down on the chair.
It was built for larger insects, but was comfortable enough.
     "So what brings you out here, my friend?"
     I just heard about this group from a friend, Zipper explained through various
gestures, and wanted to see for myself what it was like.
     "Excellent. We had planned on contacting you soon enough, so this saves us
a trip."
     Contacting me? Zipper's quizzical expression read.
     "Most assuredly. Everyone here knows about you, Zipper. What self-respecting 
insect hasn't heard, one way or another, of your work with the Rangers? After all, 
you are, in a way, one of the people that influenced Hitter to start this up -- to 
help out all insects."
     Waitwaitwait, Zipper held out his hands. *I* was an influence?
     Washboard sat down and leaned back. "Indeed. I must ask, though, how it is
that you haven't heard of us until now? We've been quite active for the last few
months in the insect circles."
     That's probably why, Zipper noted. My work with the Rangers takes me all
over the country, and the world, and most of it deals with mammals. We deal with
humans, for example, on a regular basis.
     Nodding with respect, Washboard took out a small, wooden pipe, and began
packing some dried leaves within it. "Same with us, although we're trying to work
out the problems of the insects first. Hitter, you see, originally came from South
America -- part of the huge termite mounds down there. Various hives were
constantly at war, much like the Hive Wars we have ourselves. The last one he was
part of was horrid. He and his hive triumphed over the opposing hive, but the battle
had so badly decimated both forces that they were grossly understaffed to
adequately defend the newly conquered mound, or their existing one." Washboard
sighed deeply, obviously not comfortable with the rest of the story. "One night,
disaster struck. A small group of giant anteaters broke into the old mound, while
a number of armadillos tore through the new one. Within that one night, both
mounds were utterly destroyed. Hitter was the only survivor from both hives."
     Zipper understood Washboard's uneasiness. Nobody liked talking about the
death of a hive -- the innocent workers, the queen, and particularly the helpless
eggs.
     "But," Washboard continued, "perhaps it was meant to be. For then Hitter,
having nothing left to tie him to his homeland, journeyed north, eventually settling here. 
During his travels, he had a lot of time to think about how they could have fended off both
attacks that night, if only the two hives hadn't beaten each other senseless
previously. So, by the time he arrived here, he started spreading his beliefs that all 
insects are really brothers, and that the mindless violence against our own kind must stop. 
It's senseless, pointless, and immoral."
     Zipper nodded. I'd have to agree. I lost a lot of my brothers and sisters
to other insects while growing up.
     Washboard nodded solemnly. "You aren't the only one to see the wisdom of
this. Hitter believes that we need to stick together, to defend each other from attacks 
from larger forces, such as anteaters and armadillos. In defense against such larger 
threats, we need to be at each other's sides, not at each other's throats. A number of 
insects, myself included, decided to join with Hitter, and his campaign. What started out 
as a small, traveling group has quickly turned into this large operation you see today. 
We took the name 'Swarm', as it represents all insects massing together for a common goal,
and the realization that we have the power within ourselves to achieve it."
     So, Zipper sat back a little, what sorts of things do you do to promote this?
     "Well, naturally, the first and most important thing is to settle as many
disputes between any and all insects as quickly and peacefully as possible." Taking
a long puff from his pipe, he sighed. "I wish it was that easy. So many of our kind
are locked into the thought that this is the way it is, that it should be this way, 
and that we are just the scum at the bottom of the food chain."
     Bummer, Zipper frowned.
     "But we stick it out. In addition to continuously working to cultivate our
ideals among others, we take care of our own. We have a large hatchery and nursery
here, for all the eggs, larvae, and other young that we find abandoned. We have
medical programs for those that have lost legs, arms, eyes, and so on. And we have
some army ants, among others, that help to defend insect hives from encroaching
predators." Another deep sigh. "I wish I could say it was only against the larger
creatures that we have to protect ourselves, but as I said, a number of our own kind refuse
to even try to settle things peacefully, and we must resort to physical means of
defense."
     So, Zipper's look asked, you still take part in Hive Wars?
     "Regrettably, yes. The only condolence I can offer is that we never attempt to
kill -- merely contain. And once it's over, with the chiefs of both sides agreeing on
settlements, we release any prisoners we have, and offer to treat everyone who was 
injured in the fighting."
     Zipper nodded, knowing that it was the best they could do under the
circumstances.
     "As I mentioned," Washboard leaned forward with a smile, "we were hoping
to get in touch with you soon, but seeing as how you're here already, it makes
things much simpler. We would like, of course, for you to consider joining
our cause. And at the very least to thank you for your excellent example."
     Zipper actually blushed a bit. Me? he pointed to himself awkwardly.
     "Zipper, for the past few years you have proved that insects *can* make a
difference in the state of living affairs. You have served with the Rangers loyally
and enthusiastically. No matter what the odds, or size of the adversaries, you have
continued to push forward, proving that it's not the size of the body that matters, 
but the size of the heart."
     Too embarrassed to really reply, Zipper just gave a sheepish shrug. He finally
managed to motion that he was just doing his job.
     "And very well, at that. Would you like a small tour of our facilities here? I
know the youngsters in the nursery would love to met you."
     Washboard, Zipper sighed happily, I'd be delighted.

     "Heya Washboard!" The small female bee waved to the grasshopper as he
and Zipper entered the large nursery.
     "Well, good morning, Ruth," he returned warmly, stepping over to her bed
and scooping her up into a caring hug. "How's my little busy bee doing this fine
day?"
     "Okay, I guess." She smiled and hugged Washboard back, then blinked as
she glanced over at Zipper. He gave a friendly wave and smiled.
     "Hey, wow!" She burst into a grin. "Isn't that Zipper?! *The* Zipper?!"
     Washboard chuckled and nodded, turning around so they both were facing
the famous fly. "Indeed it is, Ruth. He stopped by for a visit today, and I was just
showing him around our humble hive, here."
     "Hey, cool!" Ruth practically bounced in Washboard's arms, her eyes shining
with hero-worship. As she shifted about, Zipper noticed why she was in the
children's ward of the large hospital; her wings were torn and mangled, and even
though it was hard to tell from his angle, Zipper thought he noticed that her carapace 
was also cracked in the back.
     He didn't have any time to contemplate this information, however, as more
and more children from the ward started to gather around him and Washboard, all of
them asking hundreds of questions.
     "How long have you been in the Rangers?'
     "What was the biggest crook you took down?"
     "Is it true you faced off against a bull before?"
     "What was the garbage strike of '88 like?"
     Whoa, whoa, whoa! Zipper signaled with a laugh, holding up his hands in a
surrendering pose. I'll answer all the questions you want, he promised, so long as
Washboard says it's okay.
     Washboard was suddenly deluged with verbal pleas, the most hopeful ones coming
from the small girl he was holding. He chuckled. "An evening with Zipper? Yes, by
all means, ask away, children, but--" he quickly started, cutting them off from
another barrage of inquires, "--only if you all behave and treat Zipper with the
respect he deserves. No shouting, no yelling, and only one question for each of you
to start with. Once everyone has had a chance to ask something, we can go back for
seconds, so to speak."
     As Washboard continued to explain how things would be handled to the
attentive group, Zipper settled down on a nearby chair, correctly deducing that he'd
have to answer a lot of questions before he was allowed to go. He chuckled at the
thought that a spotlamp was all that was missing to complete the interrogation
session.
     The children were exceedingly polite throughout the afternoon. He had a
strong suspicion that if he asked for someone to grab an apple core for him, there'd
be a race among the young ones to be the one to fulfill the request. Not used to the star-like 
quality they treated him with, he had to admit, it did feel rather nice. He could 
understand why Dale had been so infatuated with the persona of Rubber Bando,
now.
     It took several hours, but eventually he managed to get all the questions
answered that he could. A few remained that he couldn't answer, whether because it
wasn't for him to say ("Is that Gadget interested in dating bugs?"), or because he
just didn't know ("Why don't we have a Santa Claus for Hanukkah?"). Finally, it
was time for most of the kids to take a nap, by order of the nurses on duty.
     Washboard, Zipper noted, took a personal interest in the well-being of Ruth.
The large, wizened grasshopper tucked the tiny girl bee in and kissed her lightly on
the forehead. Ruth gave a tiny hug in return, then snuggled in for her nap.
     If I may ask, Zipper asked with a look on their way out, what happened to Ruth?
     "She was caught in a cruel practical joke devised by some squirrels."
Washboard looked grim. "They chewed through the stem at the top of the beehive,
dropping it through the branches of the tree until it finally hit the ground. Ruth's wings 
were crippled, and her exoskeleton was cracked severely."
     But.... Zipper knew what usually happened in cases like that.
     "Yes," Washboard sighed and nodded gravely. "If it gets infected before the
medics can fully patch it up, she will die. Still, at least she survived. I can't say 
the same for the majority of her brothers and sisters."
     Zipper was silent the rest of the way back.
     "I don't mind telling you, Zipper; I'm surprised we've lasted this long. Jokes
like that, human exterminators, other large animals preying on us, or just forcing us 
from our homes," he shook his head dejectedly. "The worst part is that we accept it 
all so rapidly. I can't remember anyone ever thinking of pushing back for a change. 
Everyone assumes it's part of some natural order."
     Really? Zipper took interest in this, as he had always considered it something
that he just had to live with, as well.
     "To an extent, yes," Washboard took a cultured puff from his pipe. "You can
reasonably argue that the insects are at the bottom of the food chain, and should be
treated as such. But the rule of the jungle is determined by those who are the most
intelligent, the most cunning, not  necessarily the biggest and strongest. Our whole
is greater than the sum of our parts, my good fly."
     Zipper thought about this. But, he tapped his finger to his chin thoughtfully,
can we really say that it's that easy to shrug off our old role for a new one?
     "We already have, actually." Washboard chuckled. "Who do you think
scared off the sea gulls that normally occupy the air above landfills like this?"
     Blinking, Zipper realized *that* was what he had felt was different upon first
approaching the landfill. No seagulls in sight.
     "It was easy and simple," Washboard continued. "Just a few well-placed
strikes with our volunteers to scare them off, and they know better than to come
back here. Better yet, they also spread the word. We still occasionally get a few
young status-seekers, determined to drive us off and win large amounts of glory
from the flock. But they quickly see the folly of their ways."
     So nobody got hurt? Zipper mused.
     "Not severely, no. Just some stingers here and there to get them moving. If
you'd like I can introduce you to Grater. He ran the operation."
     Zipper nodded. I'd like to hear how he managed to beat such overwhelming
odds.
     Washboard laughed as he led Zipper down the tunnels. "Well, it's their fault
for underestimating us. Being constantly regarded as not threatening works to our
advantage, as Hitter showed us. Surely you've been ignored or overlooked in the
past?"
     Yes, Zipper nodded somberly, yes I have.

                         *     *     *

     "Oh, Monty! Watch out for the--"
     Gadget's words were drowned by a loud crash of metal on wood, and a
muffled grunt from Monterey.
     "...bin of spare parts," Gadget finished meekly, then darted over to help her
long-time friend dig his way out from under the scrap pile. They were in the storage
room at the base of the tree, where they stored devices and supplies too big to get
up to Gadget's workshop. She had modified it to a makeshift garage recently,
though, to allow her to work unabatedly on the Van.
     "No offense, luv," Monterey sighed as he finally surfaced, "but that wasn't
the best spot to put that thing."
     "Golly, I know Monty," Gadget took his hand and pulled, assisting his
emergence. "But I hadn't counted on you backing up like that when the Van started
sparking."
     "Gadget-luv, most vehicles spark 'cause they're 'bout to explode or
somethin'."
     "Oh, yeah. Good point." Gadget shrugged. "Well, anyway, don't worry about
it. I was just running a diagnostic on the defense system."
     "Defense system?"
     "Yeah, after last night, I figured it'd be a good idea to have some sort of
protection in case the Van got into major trouble." She turned and smiled proudly at
her invention, as a mother would at her honor roll daughter. "Now, in case we need
it, I can run an electric current through the outer hull."
     "When did you put this in?" Monterey couldn't remember her having that
much time last night.
     "After we got back. It just took me a little while, really. Just had to do some
rewiring."
     Monterey let out an inaudible whistle, impressed. She hadn't lost that magic
touch of inventing, regardless of the subsequent safety rate. "Well, looks like it
works fairly well. I feel sorry for the blighter that becomes the next shrimp on the
barby."
     "Oh, it's variable," Gadget noted. "We can control how much the trespassers
are shocked from inside the Van."
     "Are you Cap'n Nemo, now?"
     "I thought he was still at SeaLand."
     "Never mind, luv."
     Gadget did, and walked back to the Van, next to a Matchbox car that had its
body replaced with a flat piece of wood. Lying supine on it, Gadget snatched a
wrench and rolled underneath the Van to do some underbody work. "Did Dale get
up, yet?" she called out after a moment.
     "Not that I know of," Monterey answered, putting the spare parts back inside
the bin he had backed into. "But I doubt it. He ate too much during the clean-up.
Not that it's surprisin', really."
     Gadget giggled slightly, then replied, "Okay, I was just wondering. He forgot
to give me back his headset, and I want to do a check-up on it before the Van rolls
back into action."
     "Crikey, how soon are you plannin' on using this again?"
     "Golly, I don't know, Monty." She paused as she rolled out from underneath
the Van, exchanged her wrench for a hammer, and rolled back. "But if Stripes
McFang and Fat Cat are together, than I don't want to worry about making any
more adjustments on the fly than normal."
     Than normal. Monterey sighed as he mentally repeated that phrase to himself.
Then he blinked, remembering something. Or rather, someone.
     "Say, Gadget," he asked, "do you know where Zipper went to this mornin'?"
     "Gee, I can't say as I do, Monty," her voice replied. "I guess he went to go
check up on his hunch last night."
     "His hunch?"
     "Yeah, you know. The one he told us about? About how no insects were
present at the ceremony?"
     "Oh yeah...." Monterey dimly remembered Zipper mentioning that over the
Relay Station network, but so much happened afterwards that he had completely
forgotten about it. "Well, I hope he's okay. He was pretty quiet this mornin'."
     "How could you tell?"
     "Well, more quiet than normal, luv."
     "Oh. Well, not to worry, Monty. I'm sure he'll check in soon enough. Oh,
and can you pick up that wire over by the front of the Van?"
     Questioningly, Monterey walked over and carefully picked it up. "Okay...."
     "Feel anything?"
     "No."
     "Good. That means it's the other wire that's live."
     Monterey dropped the wire like it was a hot poker, and decided to worry
about his own welfare for the next few hours, rather than Zipper's.

                         *     *     *

     "Eh, it was easy enough," Grater chuckled with a shrug. The huge bumblebee
was much larger than any Zipper had ever seen, towering over him by at least
two inches. "They were just sailin' around, lazy-like, when we swooped up at 'em."
     How'd you manage to communicate so well? Zipper inquired as he took
another sip from his thimble.
     "Crickets at ground level. Made a series of sounds we were trained to hear,"
Grater finished off his drink (for the sixth time), and poured himself another refill 
of raspberry-flavored seltzer. Washboard was also enjoying a thimbleful of the beverage, 
as the three insects relaxed at a table in Swarm's voluminous cafeteria, currently empty 
except for them.
     "We had about five squads," Grater continued, "and we worked in a
formation, each covering a particular area of the sky. Diamond shaped, with four on
each point, and one squad in the middle. The center squad pushed the seagulls out to
the edges, where the point squads would deal with 'em. I guess we had about, oh, a
hundred per squad."
     Wow, Zipper blinked, it's been a while since I've heard of that large of a
swarm. You're talking about five hundred total up there.
     Grater nodded. "Dang straight. We meant business. It's hard to have a place
that's welcome to all insects when the sea gulls kept on tryin' to eat those comin'
in." He looked annoyed at this, not angry, which impressed Zipper.
     "We tried to talk to them several times," Washboard added, "but they
wouldn't listen."
     "Not surprisin'," Grater grumbled. "All of those softskins tend to get all high
and mighty with anything that has an exoskeleton. I hear," he addressed Zipper,
"that you managed to hook on with a crew that thinks otherwise. My hat's off to ya,
bud." He raised his thimble in a salute.
     Zipper laughed his thanks and took a drink himself. He liked Grater, but it
was hard not to. The huge bumblebee just seemed to have a natural charisma to
him. He wasn't like the smooth, cultured Washboard; indeed, like Monterey, he was very
rough around the edges. But it was this roughness that lent him a degree of respect.
Zipper could tell from the way Grater behaved that the bumblebee never bothered to
try and impress or bully someone. He was more interested, like Washboard, in using
his experience to help out, rather than hurt. It was also why Hitter had chosen Grater 
for the seagull job, Washboard had explained. Hitter knew that Grater wouldn't attempt to do 
anything to the seagulls other than drive them off. He wasn't looking to settle any 
imaginary score.
     "In any case," Grater continued in his causal, neighborly tone. "They leave us
alone now, aside from those hotheads I mentioned. It's pretty peaceful here. We
actually have time now, which is a blessin'. Every day we get another group of ants
or bees or wasps or whatever, lookin' for a new home, lookin' for someone to lean
on, or just lookin' for some hope." He laughed a bit. "We're sorta doin' the same,
as we can use as many pairs of hands we can find. Not enough centipedes are
applyin'," he added with a wink.
     Zipper, in spite of himself, laughed.
     "We've contacted most of the hives and insects in the city," Washboard
added. "While not all of them can actively join due to prior commitments, such as
Queenie and her hive," he nodded respectfully to Zipper, "most have told us that if
we needed some help in their area, to let them know, and they'd do what they
could."
     "More importantly," Grater joined in, "we now have a full network
throughout the city, and a little beyond, even. If someone needs to get word to us,
it'll be here before nightfall of the same day."
     That reminds me, Zipper set his thimble down as he explained. What
prompted me to start to find out about you guys was something I heard last night, in
one of the basements not too far from the Happy Tom Cat Food factory. I was
passing through and heard a monumental buzzing. Felt it, actually. Now, the last
time I heard such a sound was many years ago, when I was still with my brothers
and sisters in a town dump. It was another swarm of flies that were moving in....
     Zipper trailed off a bit as he slowly remembered what had happened.
Apparently, the grave nods from Grater and Washboard showed they understood.
All insects knew how deadly Hive Wars were. That buzz that Zipper had been
reminded of was a call of impending war. A war that was not meant to take any
prisoners.
     "Zipper," Washboard gently asked, "if I may be so bold, what happened?
You don't have to continue if it upsets you--" He was cut off be a shake of Zipper's
head.
     No, it's alright, Zipper's motion signaled. It was a long time ago, it seems,
anyway. It was just that it was my first exposure to it, and like most pupae, it was in 
my own home. My hive lived out in the middle of the country, around Kansas, I think. 
Small town. Small enough that another hive decided they wanted the dump for their own, 
and attacked. We managed to drive them off, but I wouldn't call it a win, exactly. 
Half of my hive died, including most of my brothers and sisters.
     Grater said nothing, while Washboard quietly puffed on his pipe.
     In any case, Zipper went on, I spent a few more years there with the
remainder of my family, until I finally left to see the world. I ran across Monty --
he's my closest friend -- and stuck it out with him for a few years more, until we
both hitched up with the Rangers. Well, I'm not sure that's quite the best way to put 
it. I mean, we all, the five of us, formed that group. It wasn't like there was an 
initiation fee, or a hazing period, or anything like that. It's more like... well, 
like it was just meant to be.
     Washboard grinned as he slapped Zipper gently on the back. "Zipper, you are
a gift to us."
     "No kiddin'," Grater nodded with a laugh. "You've been accepted into the
softskins' world as an equal, without losin' your roots, or forgettin' who you really
are. Despite what others might say, Zip, we all envy you. In a good way, of course."
     "Come on," Washboard stood up, pausing to refill his pipe. "Let's go see if
we can find Hitter. The two of you will get along smashingly well, I'd wager."
     "Yeah, Hitter'll be delighted to meet ya, bud," Grater assured Zipper. "He's
one of your biggest fans, y'know."
     Fans... Zipper chuckled. Times sure have changed from when I first started as
a Ranger.

     "Zipper? *The Zipper*?" The brown termite seemed stunned by the fact that
Zipper was indeed standing right in front of him. For his own part, Zipper seemed
stunned by the honest awe that was coming from the leader of this organization.
Hitter was actually, at first glance, unassuming. He was a bit larger than most
termites, and obviously a warrior, as his large, sharp mandibles clearly showed. Still
the larger bugs, such as Washboard and Grater, dwarfed Hitter in size. One would assume 
that this modest-looking termite was a follower, not a leader.
     "He just stopped by today," Washboard explained. "I've given him the grand
tour of this place, so far, and introduced him to a few of the members as we ran
across them. The only ones I definitely wanted him to meet today were Grater and
yourself."
     "I'm glad you did," Hitter replied with a smile. "This is an honor and a treat,
Zipper. You've been an inspiration to us for quite a while now."
     That's what everyone keeps telling me, Zipper's modest smile responded. I
guess I should be flattered, but I'm too impressed by your accomplishments here to
believe that I was really that important to your cause. You directed all the work
yourself, after all.
     But Hitter waved it aside. "Without an idea to follow, the brain has nothing to
think about. You supplied the idea that we can end our torment through peace and
unity. I was merely trying to spread the thought."
     You did a fairly good job, Zipper nodded, as you seem to have a few
thousand different insects here living peacefully, when normally they would be at
each other's throats.
     "Or at least those that have throats," Washboard noted with a chuckle.
     "Trust me, Zipper, you've given us more than you think." Hitter motioned for
them all to be seated. They were in his office, which was strewn with various
papers, newspaper clippings, chalkboards, and various other planning devices.
Zipper spotted several copies of recent treaties, memos from some of the bugs in the
"field" about conditions, and lists of various insects in the infirmary needing medical
support, in one form or another.
     "So are you going to offically join?" Hitter asked with obvious hopefulness. "I
understand that your work with the Rangers must keep you very busy, but still, just
having you with us in spirit, officially, would be wonderful."
     Well... Zipper stroked his chin in thought. I suppose I could, as long as it
doesn't require me to give up time with Rangers.
     "Nonsense," Hitter replied. "We don't ask for you to read our mission
statement, or sign a contract or anything."
     "Heck, we don't even have an official member list," Grater added jovially.
     Sure, then, count me in, Zipper smiled. I'd rather not have any big ceremony
over it, you understand.
     After having been around "fans" all day, Zipper just automatically assumed
that they would want to make a big production out of his joining. He was, of course,
correct.
     "Very well," Hitter seemed a trifle disappointed, but nodded briskly. "I guess
you don't want to be treated any different than the rest of us, here."
     "Not a problem, Zipper, but we would like it if you stopped by the hospital
when you can," Washboard said as he puffed away in a distinguished manner. "It
really meant a lot to the children this afternoon, and I'm certain that everyone
would be as delighted as we were to see you."
     "Just don't be surprised if yer asked to sign a few autographs," Grater
winked.
     Thanks for the warning, Zipper laughed. Maybe I should just have a few
made out ahead of time, so I'm not out of practice.
     "It would be a wise idea," Washboard replied in a tone that suggested it
really would be a wise idea.
     "In any case, welcome aboard, Zipper." Hitter sat forward in his chair and
leaned over the large desk to shake his idol's hand strongly. "Just stop on by
tomorrow, and we'll get you started, probably making rounds in the hospital."
     Grater tried to keep from laughing. "Hope you like emptyin' bedpans...."
     "Grater!" Hitter tried to sound stern, but the grin he wore spoiled his tone.
     Hey, Zipper gestured, don't worry about it. I've done all the dirty work you
can think of. Someone's got to, you can bet.
     He stood up to leave, and the others also stood in respect.
     "I'll see you out," Washboard offered as he opened the door.
     "I hope to chat with you more, Zipper," Hitter stated, shaking Zipper's hand
again. "I'd love to hear of some of your adventures, as well as your opinion of the
way we're running things here, or any improvements you can think of."
     "We're startin' up a bowlin' league, too," Grater added. "Lemme know if
you're interested."
     "Grater's the current king of the kingpins," Washboard joked. "He's the bug
to beat on the lanes."
     "He owns the nectar frame, to be sure," Hitter added with a smirk.
     Grater shrugged innocently. "I keep tellin' you guys to practice more. Not my
fault you're more interested in books."
     Washboard led Zipper out the door and closed it behind them. Hitter and
Grater both beamed, still on that strange high after meeting someone considered
pivotal to insects everywhere.
     "There goes a great bug," Grater commented.
     "Indeed," Hitter nodded. "I hope he comes to that rally. I truly do."

                         *     *     *

     That night, the four Rangers were gathered around the piano, regarding it as 
they would some rare, archaeological device.
     "You think you can tune it, Gadget?" Chip asked, trying to sound
nonchalant.
     "Golly, I don't know, Chip." Gadget had the top up and was inspecting the
quality of the sounding board and strings. "I'm not a musician, really, but I can try.
It's just a matter of applying resonant frequencies and sound wave reverberation to 
the problem."
     "I'm startin' to get worried about Zipper," Monterey remarked, glancing out
the window at the setting sun. "He's been gone for the entire day, mates, and hasn't
checked in at all."
     "Hmm, that is sorta weird," Dale nodded. "The last time he did something
like this was during the garbage strike of '88, right?"
     "Too right, bucko," Monterey nodded.
     "Well, gee, I'm sure he'll be back soon," Gadget stated as she crawled back
out from the piano. "Like I told Monty, he's likely out checking up on a hunch, and
isn't the type to quit until he gets what he's looking for." Her voice turned slightly 
playful. "I *wonder* where he had that drilled into him...."
     Chip shrugged with a sheepish grin. "Part of being a detective."
     "In any case," she continued with a smile, "Zipper is probably on his way
back right now."
     Someone mention me? a buzzing from the doorway asked casually.
     "Oh, there you are, mate!" Monterey grinned. "I was startin' to get a mite
worried."
     "Yeah," Dale agreed. "The last time you came home this late you had
Nimnul's body."
     Ugh, Zipper frowned, don't remind me.
     "So what was up today?" Chip asked. "Gadget thinks you were out scouting
around to check on a hunch you had. Find anything?"
     Most assuredly, Zipper confirmed with a smile. Have a seat and I'll tell you
all about it.
     They gathered in the conversation pit, where Zipper related the day's events
to them: Swarm's operation, the huge complex under the landfill, the hospital, the
meeting with Washboard, Grater, and Hitter, and his "official" signing on with the
group. The only part that Zipper downplayed was everyone's apparent honest
adoration of him. Zipper could see through a false front in a heartbeat, and those
people at Swarm were not faking it in the slightest.
     When he finished, the Rangers had to agree; it sounded like a very devoted
group.
     "You think they'll be willing to help us out, Zip?" Chip asked, always glad to
hear of another do-gooder group in the city.
     Most definitely, Zipper assured him. But I'd guess they'd only really be
enthused about it if it dealt with insects -- it's their main concern, after all.
     "Good point, mate," Monterey nodded. "Still, it helps to know what blokes in
the area are willin' to join in a scrape-up, if need be."
     "Yeah, and I betcha they'll be willing to help up with just finding out
information," Dale added. "Sounds like they do that already."
     "Well, thanks for the report, Zipper," Chip mentioned as he stood up. "Now,
we might as well grab some dinner and hit the sack early. Since Fat Cat and Stripes
have joined up, I'm guessing we'll start needing all the energy we can muster."
     "No problem, Chip," Gadget smiled. "The Van has been cleaned up, shaped
up, and even improved!"
     "Improved?" Chip cast a discreet glance at Monterey, who just rolled his
eyes in a "I'll tell you later" mode.
     Shrugging, the group headed off into the kitchen for a late dinner.
     Later that night, when the rest of the Rangers were in bed, Chip snuck
back out to the piano in the living room, sitting back down on the bench, and just
dry-playing some simple tunes across the lid which covered the keys. He knew he
was probably hitting a score of wrong notes, but as long as he didn't hear them (and
better yet, the others didn't), he didn't care. After about an half-hour, he sighed in
contentment, and headed back off to bed.
     It was then that he remembered something, as most people do: when they
aren't even thinking about it. Zipper had relayed the discussion with Grater and
Washboard, and mentioned in passing that he had brought up that call for war he
had heard in the basement.
     But Grater and Washboard never did answer that....
     Filing it away as something to ask Zipper in the future, Chip slipped back into
bed and fell asleep.