-- Chapter Three: A Date with History --
                                
                     Do you wanna get out?
                     Do you wanna give in?
Do you wanna be contained, do you wanna be restrained, do you wanna be enforced
                   by the laws that are made?
                   Do you wanna be deprived?
                    Do you wanna be advised?
Do you wanna be controlled, wanna be patrolled, do you wanna be designed to
                         accept all the
                             time?
                                        -- "Ready or Not", ManBREAK

                ~ One Month Before Rally Night ~

     The next couple of weeks passed rather routinely for the Rangers. Routinely,
that is, as in they had their hands full with the latest surge of crimes in the animal
community. Various smaller gangs were trying to recruit more members, by
friendliness or by force, to avoid being wiped out by the new empire of Fat Cat and
Stripes, which had been dubbed by the underworld as the Kingpin Kingdom. In
addition, naturally, Fat Cat was slowly, but steadily, stretching his own area muscles
by acquiring more territory for his empire, through the sheer reputation of the 
newborn Kingdom. While they couldn't be sure, the Rangers were fairly certain
Stripes was doing the same within his own sphere of influence.
     McDugell and the Animal Police Force (A.P.F.) worked closely with the
Rangers several times over the course of the two weeks. The Ranger Relay Station
was used mostly in cases where they had to coordinate the movements of
dozens of officers. In addition to trying to control the new Kingdom, other top
players in the animal underworld were shifting things about, in attempts to acquire
the best position in the confusion. The Siamese Twins were digging in their claws all
the way up and down the waterfront, while Rat Capone was attempting to secure a larger
portion of the sewer and abandoned subway tunnels as his own playgrounds. Still,
while the action kept the Rangers busy, it didn't keep them away from other pursuits.
     Dale still had his movie nights, typically with Foxglove. She stopped by every
now and then, usually once every two weeks. Although she had an open invite all
the time, she still hated the thought of inconveniencing the Rangers in their work,
especially doing this busy period, and was quite content to snuggle on the couch with
Dale "off-hours" during his movies. More importantly, even when the others had the 
time, they left the couple alone during this time. Well, technically. On more 
than one occasion, they had almost been caught eavesdropping by the doorway. So far,
luck had prevented them from being caught listening to a blossoming romance. So far.
     In addition to watching his teammate settle into a relationship, Monterey still
had his experiments in the kitchen concerning the flexibility of cheese as an entree,
and was routinely left alone by the rest of the team. Not that it mattered to Monterey
-- he was getting to the point where he was finally ready to write up his own cookbook,
"The Joy of Cheese". It was a working title, anyway.
     The constant use of the Van kept Gadget in the newly formed garage quite a bit,
but she still spent the majority of her time in her workshop. She was back to 
Beta-testing the Syrup-Slingers, having replaced the blown valves during the sting
operation. She wasn't quite sure what had caused the back-up, and was positive they
would work superbly if only the rest of the Rangers weren't so insistent on safety
guards. Falling back into her normal rhythm of inventing, she wasn't as aware as to
what Chip was up to as she had been the past few months. Otherwise, she would have
certainly wondered about the number of nights that he was coming home late,
usually without even an explanation.
     For his own part, Chip was actually careful about keeping his secret jaunts
private. It wasn't anything to be ashamed of, really -- he was just sitting in with
Skip's band, trying to remember how to play. He still practiced on the piano in the
living room, but only when he was sure that the rest of the team was out of earshot.
He had explained that Skip had dropped it off, thinking the Rangers could make a
good home for it. He didn't, however, mention the main reason why Skip had
dropped it off. Chip had already decided not to make a fool of himself by playing in
front of anyone just yet. He'd just wait until he got a better hold of it, first. 
Maybe it was this new dedication to relearning how to play that prevented him from
remembering to ask Zipper about that call to war he had heard in the basement. But
that was weeks ago, and Zipper hadn't mentioned anything about it since, so maybe
it wasn't that important.
      Zipper was over at Swarm quite often these days. Whether chatting
conversationally with Hitter and the rest, or making his frequent visits to the Swarm
hospital, the small fly keep himself busy. The one thing that continued to surprise
him more than the seemingly never-ending flow of respect shown to him, was the
honesty with which it was presented. By now, Zipper was adept at seeing
through most attempts at false fronts, but everyone seemed to be genuinely honored
to have him around. A nice feeling, to be sure. And a definite change of pace from
his normally low-key role in the Rangers.
     He was currently spending more time with the organizers of Swarm, as the
Rangers could use every bit of information that Swarm's extensive network had to
contribute on the ongoing shifts in the animal underworld. Since he was already
there every day, Zipper acted as a go-between for Swarm and the Rangers. Chip
would have liked to have had some actual physical help, but as Zipper reminded
him, Swarm had their own agenda to worry about first -- namely, keeping the insects
from tearing each other apart. And, Zipper went on, they were doing a darn good
job of it. Hundreds, or even thousands of insects were starting to feel much better
about their lives. Zipper had explained to the others what it feels like, to be at 
the bottom of the food chain, having to worry about Hive Wars, the danger of rodents
(present company excluded) and other animals breaking into their homes or outright
eating them, and the constant threat from human exterminators. It wasn't an easy
life, but Swarm was giving them all some hope for a change, and not by teaching
them to blame it on another hive. Chip wasn't quite satisfied with that, but his own
practicing with the piano was currently more important to him to spare any needless
worry about it.
     It was during the start of the new month that Zipper was at the landfill, 
discussing the latest progress of Swarm with Grater and Hitter in the huge cafeteria,
when Washboard stepped through the doorway, brandishing a Cheshire Cat grin.
     "Zipper," he stated, his broad smile indicating a surprise was in store, "I
think I have something here that you'd very much like to meet. Or rather, I should 
say 'someone'. Someone who has just joined our group."
     Zipper quirked an eyebrow in response, and smiled the smile that people
wear who are expecting something good to happen.
     Washboard turned back to the doorway, and called out, "Oh, mystery guest,
would you step through, please?"
     And through the doorway stepped....
     Zipper blinked.
     He blinked again.
     And then, for variety, he blinked some more.
     "Zinger?" Now it was everyone else's turn to blink. Zipper rarely, if ever,
went through the effort to actually speak, preferring to stick with pantomime and
gestures. Some things, however, could not be conveyed except through his voice.
     Meeting one of his sisters, whom he hadn't seen in several years, certainly
ranked as one of them.
     The small female fly smiled back, her look saying, Hello there, little brother.
     Zipper bolted from his chair and performed a flying tackle that would have
been the envy of any NFL linebacker, except that it was actually a show of
affection. The two flies hugged their greetings,  conversing in a series of buzzes 
and squeaks proceeding so quickly that the rest of the group around them hadn't 
the foggiest idea what they were talking about.
     "I think we should step out for a moment," Washboard quietly told the others
with a chuckle.
     Nodding, Grater and Hitter followed Washboard outside, leaving Zipper and
Zinger to their reunion in peace.
     Where-what-how-- Zipper kept trying to ask, but was too excited to actually
do so.
     Take it easy, bro, Zinger's warm expression read. You haven't changed a bit,
her look chided him. You're still acting too fast for your brain to catch up.
     Okay, Zipper nodded with a grin, then tell me when you showed up, and
where you've been, and what's being going on with the family, and--
     One at a time! Zinger laughed.
     She sighed contently and hugged her brother again for a moment. Come on,
she motioned, let's go outside so we don't get surrounded when the next meal takes
place in here.
     The siblings made their way outside, finding a nice, secluded spot where they
could converse in private. Zipper answered questions first, explaining to his
long-lost sister about his time with Monterey, and then joining the Rangers, and the
number of adventures they'd had since then. Zinger seemed stunned that Zipper
had survived such trying experiences as being a fifty-foot tall fly and having his body
switched with a human's. Zipper, true to form, just blushed and brushed it off as part
of the job.
     For her own part, Zinger didn't have nearly as exciting stories to tell. She had stayed
with the family for a while after Zipper had left to seek his fortune in the world, 
until they all moved to a smaller town where they could hopefully live out the 
remainder of their time as a hive in peace. It was just a few months ago that the 
rest of their surviving brothers and sisters had left to pursue lives of their own. 
Although she wasn't sure, Zinger also figured that the older generation of the hive 
left after all the children had flown off. Probably to one of the sleepy retirement 
villages out in the woods.
     Zinger had just reached the city, and was planning to head further on down
the coast, but the news of Swarm had caught her attention. She thought it might be
her calling, and after talking to Washboard about it, she was sure of it.
Near the end of their meeting, Washboard commented with a chuckle how much she
looked like Zipper. She was surprised to hear his name, but not as surprised as
Washboard was when she replied that she hoped there was a family resemblance,
seeing as how he was her brother. He was delighted, and quickly informed her that
Zipper was already part of Swarm. She was ecstatic to hear that her little brother
was nearby, and so Washboard was quick to escort her over to the cafeteria.
     Their conversation continued on into the night, ranging from past exploits, to
failed relationships, to their favorite food. They had a number of memories to share, 
and now was the perfect time to start.

                         *     *     *

               ~ Three Weeks Before Rally Night ~

     "The South Side is giving us problems," Stripes grumbled as he leaned over
Fat Cat's desk, both of them studying a map. "My informants tell me it's some
mouse called 'Bubbles'." He chuckled slightly at the name.
     Fat Cat rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know of the mouse in question. While his
name isn't the most dramatic one could devise, he is rather adept at being a thorn 
in the paw. Did your contacts say why he was managing to hold that area against us?"
     Stripes nodded, standing up. "They guessed that it's from that soda pop ninja
clan of his. They like to fashion themselves after the true ninja clans, and that's
including loyalty to their liege and lord." He reached into his coarse vest and pulled 
out a stick of beef jerky. "We can break their defense, naturally, but I'd rather not 
waste our footmen on him. We'll need them for the larger assaults on the docks." He 
frowned as he chomped down on one end of the beef stick, making it seem as if he was 
smoking a cigar. The fact that it grew shorter and shorter as he pulled it in, however,
spoiled that illusion.
     Using his most feline smile (the one that tended to signal someone's doom),
Fat Cat chuckled heartily. "Not to fear, my canine comrade. I foresaw the need for
using some more subtle and underhanded operatives in this particular venture."
     Glancing over at Fat Cat's four flunkies in the back of the office, Stripes
frowned. He hoped that those four, the ones currently being entertained by watching
the paint dry, weren't the subtle operatives that Fat Cat meant. Wart was inept,
Snout only slightly less so, while Mole and Meps were just barely evolved to the
point where their brains were able to grapple with self-awareness. Stripes never did
comprehend why exactly Fat Cat seemed to favor them so much over his other
operatives, but seeing as how they'd been with Fat Cat this long, he assumed that
the criminal feline had a good reason. Maybe he promised their mothers on their
deathbeds or something.
     Catching Stripes' frown, Fat Cat waved the worries aside. "No, not them.
They're useful most of the time, particularly when I need to hit something, but I
have someone else that I've recently hired who can deal with this situation."
     "Anyone I know?"
     "You might have heard of her, yes." A light knocking at the door caused Fat
Cat to straighten up with a chuckle. "Speak of the succubus...." He strode over by
Stripes in front of the desk, motioning to his henchman to get the door.
     As the large door was opened, Stripes watched as a incredibly attractive
mouse (even by canine standards) came gliding in. She was tall, wearing a snug-fitting
turtleneck sweater and tight, matching skirt, leaving little to the imagination. A
stylish beret rested comfortably on her head, the locks of her short brown hair
slipping out from underneath and stopping neatly at her neckline. She nodded to Fat
Cat as she came to halt a few feet away from them, crossing her arms with a
measure of confidence and self-assurance.
     "Ah, bonjour monsieur Fat Cat," she stated briskly, her sultry French accent
gliding lightly through each word. "'ow nice to see you again."
     "Stripes," Fat Cat turned to his partner, "It is my humble pleasure to
introduce you to Miss Desiree D'Allure."

                         *     *     *

                ~ Two Weeks Before Rally Night ~

     "Hold it ! Hold it! Hold it!" Skip signaled to the rest of the group to stop
playing. He cast a slightly bemused chuckle at Chip, who was shrinking out of sight
behind the upright piano. "Makes a nice duck blind, doesn't it?"
     "Hey!" Chip's defensive voice called back. "I *said* I was out of practice,
remember?"
     "Yeah, and I should've listened." Skip sighed and smiled, then turned to the
rest of the small band. "Okay guys, take a breather. Might as well use this as a
break." As the others nodded and headed off, Skip walked over to the other side of
the piano, where Chip was studying the music sheets before him with a frown.
     "Don't worry about it, Chip," Skip reassured his friend with a grin. "It's just
like husking an acorn -- you never forget."
     "Well, I feel like I've cut my teeth enough times, at least," Chip grumbled,
then shrugged and stood up. "At least I'm getting back to where I can sight-read.
Now if I can just increase my tempo so when I play the 'Maple Leaf Rag', it won't
sound like a lost waltz from 'Sleeping Beauty'."
     Skip nodded with a chuckle, settling into a chair across from Chip. They were
in a small nightclub, currently closed. The stage was their practice area, and Chip
often wondered what it would be like to play in front of an audience again. The last
time he had done that was at a recital back in elementary school, and he assumed
that the audience here wouldn't have quite the same demeanor as one full of PTA
members.
     The side door to the backstage opened up, and the two chipmunks thought
that the group was coming back in already for some reason, but instead, two young,
preschool squirrels hesitantly stepped through, followed by their father, who was
holding a baby in his arms.
     "Well I'll be...." the adult squirrel started, a grin forming as he spotted Chip.
     "Timmy?" Chip asked with a start.
     "Actually, it's 'Tim' these days," Tim corrected him. "I'm too old for
nicknames like that now."
     "Catherine would disagree," Skip winked.
     "Oh. Yeah, good point," Tim agreed. "Anyway, it's good to finally see you
again, Chip. Skip told me you might be by today."
     "Yeah, I'm here a few times a week," Chip affirmed, shaking Tim's free
hand. "So you finally married Catherine, then?" He grinned as he remembered
Timmy and Catherine "sort of" liking each other back in grade school.
     "She has strange powers over me...." he replied in a somewhat distorted
voice, mocking a brainwashed person. "Oh, and let me introduce my little bundles
of joy, here. This is Cindy," he nodded towards the oldest girl, "Ann," he nodded to
the shorter one next to Cindy, "and this little rascal is Serena," he proudly lifted up
the baby squirrel in his arms. Serena had light brown hair, matching her fur, 
and brown eyes which seemed to actually blend into the pupils of her eyes. She glanced
at Chip with the curious gaze that all babies have, reaching out for his black nose.
     "Uh-oh, I think she's found something of interest...." he chided, then lightly
tickled her on her ear, causing her to turn her obviously short attention span back to
her father. Chip took the moment to tip his hat to Cindy and Ann, respectively.
     "How do you do?" he asked politely.
     Cindy just looked at him, her brown eyes apparently stuck on "stare" mode.
Her black hair was loosely tied in a pony tail, surprisingly long for a child her 
age. Ann, on the other hand, had very light brown hair and blue eyes, and was hiding
slightly behind her bigger sister. They both didn't seem to acknowledge his hello
aside from their wondering gazes at this new creature before them.
     "How old are they?" Chip asked, addressing Tim.
     "Cindy's five, Ann's four, and Serena here is about six months old by now."
     "Really?" Chip was doing some quick arithmetic in his head.
     Seeming to read the detective's mind, Tim laughed. "Don't worry, Chip --
Catherine and I married right out of high school. Not that it was a big surprise to
anyone by then."
     "Okay, I was just wondering," Chip admitted with a sheepish grin.
     "No sweat. I hear the same question being thought of by a lot of people. How
about you? You married?"
     "Hmm? No, not yet, at any rate."
     "Ah, so you have a lady in mind, eh?"
     "Er...."
     "Well," Skip cheerfully interjected, saving his best friend from having to
answer, "let's grab a seat before the guys get back. I think we have some chips and
nuts for the girls in the back."
     "Come on, girls," Tim smiled warmly at his daughters, who continued to
quietly watch Skip and Chip with wondering eyes. They all moved over to one of
the empty tables.
     "So," Skip asked as he rustled up some refreshments, "where's Catherine?"
     "Out of state," Tim replied. "On a trip to visit her folks back East. She'll
be back in a week or so."
     As Skip and Tim continued to chat, Chip glanced over at the girls once more.
Cindy was glancing around, Ann was watching Cindy, and Serena seemed to be
attempting to climb out of her father's grasp. They seemed sweet enough, and he
wondered if maybe he was more amenable to babysitting these days, if Tim asked for
some odd reason. His last experience with Bink and Tammy had been less than stellar....
     "So what have you been up to, Chip?" Tim asked with a smile. "It's been
over a decade since I've seen you, remember? You actually become productive in
life?"
     Grinning, Chip nonchalantly adjusted his fedora. "I like to think so."

                         *     *     *

                ~ One Week Before Rally Night ~

     Gadget looked over from the couch as someone knocked on the door a few times.
     "Just a minute!" She hopped up and over to the door, answering it with her
usual sunshiny demeanor. Upon seeing who was on the other side, it was upgraded
to a supernova. "Janice!" she cried out, hugging the mouse so strongly she didn't
notice the little boy next to her old friend.
     "Good to see you, too, Gadget," Janice laughed, somewhat weakly, as
Gadget's arms were making it hard to breathe. Finally, the female inventor broke off
and clasped her hands in front of her, grinning like a schoolgirl in love. "Golly and
a half, Janice! I haven't seen you for nearly forever!"
     "It's only been about five or six years, darling," Janice reassured her. "I've
been out in the country."
     "Gee, no wonder you never dropped by at the aircraft," Gadget grinned, then
said in mock-hurt tones, "I was beginning to think that you didn't like me...."
     Janice laughed. "On the contrary, I was beginning to think that *you* didn't like
*me*. When I did stop by a few weeks ago, nobody was home. It took some tracking to 
find out where you went."
     "Yeah, I've been living here for a while, now," Gadget answered, glad she
had taken down those salesman traps after her father had shown a bit of uncertainty
over them.
     "Where's your Dad at, hon?"
     Janice watched as Gadget's smiled faded, and knew the answer. "I'm sorry,
Gadget." The older mouse took Gadget's hand as a mother would console a
daughter. "Geegaw was a gift unto this world."
     "It's okay," Gadget gave a small, but honest, smile. "I got to say goodbye to
him, which was really important to me. That, and he's remembered with a smile, not
a tear anymore." She took a deep breath, then looked at Janice with interest.
"Where's Elmo?"
     Now it was Gadget's turn to watch Janice's face fall. "He's with your father,
I'm afraid."
     "Oh, Janice--"
     "No, don't worry about it, hon," Janice reassured her. "You couldn't have
known. A lot has happened since I last saw you."
     "Yeah, oh, where are my manners?" Gadget blinked, suddenly realizing that
Janice was still standing outside. "Please, come in! Oh!" Gadget blinked again, for
the first time seeing the small boy half-hiding behind Janice. She grinned 
sheepishly. I really need to work on my social graces.... she mentally noted.
     "And who is this handsome young man?" Gadget queried with a smile.
     Henry's hesitation in speaking was easily melted by Gadget's warm aura.
"I'm Henry." He smiled at her. "You're pretty."
     Janice grinned at Gadget's blush. "Nice to see you haven't changed, hon."
     "Well, golly, Janice...." Gadget trailed off, not really able to refute the
observation. "Um, well, have a seat!"
     The two ladies and little boy stepped into the living room, settling down
comfortably in the conversation pit.
     "Anyway," Janice said, "I'm back in town for a little while, staying over at
my brother-in-law's place. He's in this fairly large rodent complex near the center 
of the city. Lots of neighbors, and lots of other children for Henry here to play with." 
She smiled fondly at her son, who was beginning to slowly walk out of the conversation 
pit, fully set on "explore" mode.
     "Are you moving back for good, or are you just staying here for a little
while?"
     "I don't know. I'll have to wait and see. My brother-in-law, Nigel, offered his
place for as long as I need, so I have time to see if there's anything in the city.
Henry sees to be content, which is the most important aspect right now."
     "Well, this seems to be the month for long-lost reunions," Gadget observed.
     "Hmm?"
     "Well, just a couple of weeks ago, my friend--"
     "Henry! Get away from there!"
     Henry, who was about to inspect the electrical connections by the television,
jumped back, surprised his mother knew what he was up to despite her attention
being elsewhere. He nodded and wandered off. He'd check it out when mom wasn't
around.
     "Sorry, Gadget."
     "Oh, no problem. Anyway, Zipper, my friend, ran across his long-lost sister
just a couple of weeks ago! It was a real big event for him."
     "Really?"
     "Golly, yes! He was so excited. You should see him and Zinger. He brought
her by for a night, so everyone could met her. She was one of the nicest flies 
I ever met. But then most of the flies I've met have been pretty nice."
     "Can't say as I've known many," Janice said. "Where did he met her?"
     "At Swarm's HQ, basically. You heard of that group?"
     "Oh, yes, actually. Nigel told me they've been very busy working to keep
insects from warring with each other. Best of luck to them -- it's just in an insect's 
nature to fight."
     "Really?" Gadget seemed surprised. "What do you mean?"
     "Well," Janice admitted, "maybe I've been around the farm too much, but out
there, in the wilderness, they take their territories very seriously. Hive Wars are
frequent and devastating for both sides, usually. But maybe because in the city, 
they have to watch out for the rodent and human populations, not to mention the cats, 
dogs, and other small animals that make their home here, they've learned to be less
aggressive against each other."
     "Gee, I never thought about that before. The only insect I've known well has
been Zipper, and he's been with Monty for a long time now."
     "Monty?" Janice blinked. "You mean Monterey Jack?"
     "Oh, golly, yes! I forgot to tell you -- he's living here, too. With Zipper. 
And Chip and Dale. You don't know them, but they're really sweet. Do you think you
could stick around for a little while? I know that the others would love to meet 
you. Especially Monty -- he hasn't had a chance to talk with anyone from Dad's circle 
of friends for a long time. Nearly as long as me. Even longer, since I'm talking with 
you now, and he's out somewhere else--"
     "Gadget," Janice gently interjected with a laugh, "I'd be happy to stay for
dinner."
     Gadget grinned and nodded.
     Henry glanced over from the large police badge on the wall he was
investigating. He headed back over to the two women in the pit, crawling up onto his
mother's lap.
     "Are you tired, dear?" She asked him softly.
     His little head shook. "Nuh-uh."
     "Oh yes you are," she quietly disagreed. "You take your nap, and then we'll
have some dinner, okay?"
     "Mmm. Okay."
     "Here," Gadget said, standing up. "He can sleep in my room. It's over this
way."
     After Janice had put Henry to bed, she turned to Gadget. "He should be fine
for a few hours."
     "Great. The boys should be home by then." She glanced at the closed door to
her room. "He seems to be taking it well. Losing his father, I mean."
     Janice nodded. "He gets lonely at times for him. So do I. But we have each
other, still, and I think he realizes that." She smiled lightly. "Ironic, I guess, 
that we both lend each other the strength to deal with it."
     "I know," Gadget quietly replied. "Dad and I had the same connection, but I
never knew my mother." She sighed. "I'm not sure which of the two scenarios is
better; never knowing who one of your parents was, or just having vague memories from
an early childhood."
     "Neither do I, Gadget," Janice agreed. "Neither do I."

                         *     *     *

                        ~ Rally Night ~

     Zipper glanced around in awe, unable to comprehend the sight. Zinger, too,
was practically dumbfounded by the scene around them. The large football stadium,
deserted by the college students this late at night, was buzzing -- literally -- with swarms
of insects. Down on the field, they could see that the seats, bleachers, scoreboard,
band area -- everywhere -- were covered with various members of their brethren.
Wasps, ants, bees, flies, grasshoppers, mantises, beetles, cockroaches, termites,
hornets... the list went on and on.
     Wow, Zinger was able to manage with a squeak.
     Zipper nodded, still trying to come to grips with it. At least a million insects
had to be in attendance here tonight. He was glad he was wearing a fairly long 
trenchcoat with the collar up. Given his recent fame, he might have been mobbed to death
by the crowd.
     In the center of the field, a table had been set up, with a small, insect-sized
podium placed on it. A few small fiber-optic cameras had been set up in front of the
poduim, and the image was being transmitted to the video screen on the scoreboard,
enabling everyone in the stadium to witness the events on the table.
     Zinger tugged on Zipper's arm, and motioned if he was okay. He seemed
somewhat nervous.
     Zipper nodded, gesturing that he hadn't been in such a large company of
insects in his entire life. That, and the last time he remembered there being this 
large of an insect gathering was back in the basement when he had followed that 
hornet. It gave him the creeps.
     Smiling, Zinger's look conveyed that he really should relax. He had, after all,
been with Swarm for quite some time now.
     She was right, of course, but Zipper couldn't quite place his finger on the uncertainty 
he felt.
     Before they could continue the discussion, however, Washboard stepped out to
the podium, amid a hearty round of applause. He smiled, organized his notes, and
waited patiently for the noise to settle down. After a moment or two of silence, he
began.
     "Friends, brethren, insects -- lend me your ears. First, on behalf of all the
organizers of Swarm, I'd like to give you all a warm welcome tonight, as well as a
heartfelt expression of gratitude at this spectacular turnout. Second, I'd like for 
you all to take a good look around you. Here, within this stadium, we have all shapes
and sizes of our brethren gathered without warring, fighting, or blood-spilling. This
is a testament to all what we can accomplish as a unified whole, rather than the split
factions of Insecta that have plagued us for so long."
     Washboard was forced to pause as a thundering cheer arose from the
gathered crowd, Zipper and Zinger applauding with them, looking about them 
with a sense of wonder. To think that so many of their kind had been brought together
in peace, and in such a short amount of time.  It was a tribute to all the hard work that
Washboard, Grater, and Hitter had put into Swarm.
     "Now as you all know," Washboard continued, "we have called you here
tonight, because we want your approval for Swarm to be not only heard, but seen
and felt as a true symbol of the power that we all hold within ourselves. To explain
in detail, please give a warm welcome to Swarm's founder and organizer, Hitter."
     The noise from the crowd was astounding as all those with hands clapped and
those with wings beat them furiously to form a truly honorable greeting for the
seemingly humble and straightforward termite from South America.
     "Thank you, all, thank you," Hitter managed as the crowd quieted. Zipper
was still impressed at the fact that Hitter had learned English so well that his 
accent did nothing to detract from his speech. Indeed, it seemed to add a 
distinguished tone to his voice; an air of wisdom, authority, and intelligence. 
Zipper, and the rest of the crowd, couldn't help but grin as they gazed upon the 
termite with deep respect.
     "My brothers and sisters," he sighed happily, the screen on the scoreboard
easily showing his grinning face, "I cannot begin to describe to you the feeling of
pride and reverence it gives me to witness this gathering. As you all know, for over
the past year, we have been working day and night to bring all factions of the insect
community to terms of peace, if not friendship. Where Hive Wars once ruled, peace and
prosperity now reign. The insect community in this city has reached heights I never 
dreamed possible. And I cannot take credit for this alone. With others as dedicated 
to the cause as I, those such as Washboard," -- a strong cheer rose -- "Grater," -- 
another cheer -- "Brickhouse" -- Zipper hadn't heard of him, although the audience 
obviously had -- "Sand" -- another one Zipper was unaware of. He wondered if these 
two were part of some branch of Swarm that he hadn't known of -- "and the famous 
Zipper," here the audience again deafened out any other sounds, and even Hitter 
had to stop and grin and the show of support for the often overlooked fly. Zipper 
was glad that he hadn't made any attempt to let himself be known, as he was blushing 
furiously from the praise. Zinger smiled proudly at him.
     That's my little bro, her smile stated.
     "Now then," Hitter said, resuming his speech, "I have called you here to
receive your blessing." The crowd listened intently, their interest piqued. "You all
know already of our complete success in joining all the major hives together. I fear
that a few stragglers still choose to fight amongst themselves, but they are very few, 
and will hopefully soon convert to our way of thinking.
     "Many of you already know what it is that I'm speaking of, but for those who
are new, allow me to tell you of our plan for the betterment of all lives of
insects." Zipper wondered if he counted as a newbie, still. He had been with the
group for a couple of months by now, but Grater and Washboard had been on board
since day one, practically. He shrugged and listened with the rest.
     "I have been asked before why I choose the name of 'swarm', rather than
'hive', as both represent a coalition of insects. The answer is simple; 'hive' implies 
a passive gathering. Those who would just sit there and wait for larger creatures -- 
softskins, furs -- to come and attempt to wipe them out. That mentality cost 
the lives of thousands of my fellow termites, on that fateful night many years ago," 
Hitter said in saddened, low tones as he bowed his head in remembrance. The crowd was 
respectfully silent, although some anger rumbled underneath at the thought of so many
lives wasted.
     Quietly, he shook his head. "I'm not going to let that happen again, my
friends. I fought against unsurmountable odds before, and I lost everything. My
family, my home, and my hope for the future." He paused delicately, while the
crowd soaked in the full extent of his words. "But no longer. I have moved on. I 
like to think that maybe, just maybe, I was meant to go through that hellish decent. 
And do you know why?" He waited, as if actually expected an answer.
     Oddly enough, though, maybe he really did. For every insect in attendance
felt the urge to answer him, to help him, and then the sobering feeling of defeat as
none of them knew what to say. Zipper, along with the rest, lowered his head in
somewhat shame at his inability to provide an answer.
     Then, Hitter smiled. It was a warm, knowing smile, like the one a tutor would give
a prize student who is just one step away from solving an equation. "You all felt a
bit ashamed, didn't you?" A surprised rumbling of agreement went through the
crowd. "Of course you did! It was the same thing I felt when I wondered why I was
left alive at the end of the ordeal. Fate must have had some reason for it, but what?
That was the cause for your sudden feeling of shame. But why did you all feel that 
way at the same time? That, my friends, was due to our very nature. Each of us is 
instinctively in tune with the other in ways that softskins can never dream of! 
Think about it.
     "Why are Hive Wars so deadly? Not because we are any more vicious than
any other species, but because we instinctively know how we're going to react. We
have some sort of link, whether you call it karma, instinct, or just sense. We all
somehow know about each other, making us the deadliest enemies to ourselves.
After all, when was the last time you heard of a Hive War that was a rout? Haven't
they all been down to the wire? Haven't they all ended in Pyrrhic victories?"
     Zipper blinked as he realized that Hitter was right. All the Hive Wars he had
ever heard of had been so close that it was hard to say who were the winners, and who
were the losers.
     "Thus, my friends, I decided that I could not call the group 'hive' because of
that. Not because of our natural link to one other, but because of its lack of
initiative. 'Swarm', on the other hand, implies a distinct show of aggression. One
that will prove that we are not to be regulated as the scum at the bottom of the food 
chain anymore!"
     Another thunderous chorus of applause burst forth, and this time, Hitter didn't
wait for it to completely subside before pushing on. "This what I have come to ask
for your approval: I want your approval to stop from being forced to give up our
homes and livelihoods!"
     The cheer, which hadn't died down yet, began to rise.
     "I want your approval to give our children a safer world to live in!"
     The cheer rose to a roar.
     "I want your approval for us to take control of our lives!" Hitter implored, 
the speakers straining to be heard over the din of the crowd. "I want your approval 
to prove that we are no longer any softskin's whipping-boy!"
     The roar reached its climax, causing a few outsiders near the stadium to look
around in confusion for the source of the buzz they heard.

                         *     *     *

     Tom's ears perked up. The large, black and gray striped-cat looked up from
his position atop one of the many garbage cans in Cat Alley. "Hey," his gruff voice
called out. "Didja hear sumptin'?
     A dull gray tabby called Gravel lifted his massive head for a moment. "Nah,
just your imagination." He settled back down into his nap.
     "Naw," Tom replied, stealthily moving down from the trash can. "I's knows
I's heard sumptin'. Over this away's," he motioned with his large head to the side 
of the alley, where a dozen or so trash cans stood amid a pile of crates and debris.
     Gravel just shrugged, but others started to listen attentively. "Yeah," one of
them, a slim, brown female quietly said. "Tom's right. I heard something, too, over
there. Sounds kinda weird. Can't place it."
     Snorting in annoyance, Gravel hoisted himself up to his feet. "Fine, Debbie,
but I still say it's your imagination. You old-timers are always too jumpy. Scared
that something is lurking in the dark, waiting to come out and grab you, like during
the Days of Imprisonment you're always yapping about."
     "Watch your mouth," Debbie hissed. "You weren't here for that nightmare.
Mechanical bulldogs coming out of nowhere, kidnaping every cat they could find."
     "I know about it, though," Gravel returned. "You speak of it enough times,
always in hushed whispers, like you're afraid it'll come back."
     "The Days of Imprisonment aren't anything I'd ever wish upon a fellow
feline," she answered smoothly. Then, in a snide tone, "Not even you, Gravel."
     He glared at her. "Must really irk you that *rodents* were your saviors, eh?"
     Debbie visibly stiffed, but maintained her composure. "Not our finest hour,
no," she finally agreed. "I won't deny it. But I'd rather live with that shame than be
dead."
     Gravel merely smiled mockingly at her, but didn't pursue the issue. They had both
caught up with Tom, who was listening at each trash can. Finally, he perked up.
     "This one," he nodded.
     "Now do you hear it?" Debbie quietly said to Gravel in a smug expression.
     "Yeah," Gravel grunted in admitting the "old-timers" were right. "Some sort
of dull humming, or something." He copied Debbie's smugness as he asked, "Think
it's a mechanical bulldog?"
     "I's be thinkin' youse be missin' an eye if youse keeps up with yer mouth,
Gravel," Tom warned in a low growl. Gravel snorted again, but remained quiet.
Tom turned his attention back to the trash can before them, while more and more of
the denizens of the dreaded Cat Alley gathered around in silence.
     The three felines gracefully climbed to the top of the surrounding debris and
boxes, around the lid of the suspect trash can. Tom gingerly reached over and
carefully removed the top.
     "I don't see anything, but it's too dark...." Gravel grumbled, peering into the
darkened can.
     "Just wait a moment for your eyes to adjust," Debbie advised. "The sound's
definitely louder, so we know it's from here."
     The cats behind them all glanced around, fully hearing the sound, too. A dull
hum, of some kind.
     "Sumptin's movin' in there," Tom muttered, his pupils dilating quicker than
the others. "Looks like the whole--" Tom stopped in mid-sentence and gaped at
what he saw as his eyes finally fully adapted to the darkness within. A moment later, 
Debbie and Gravel also gasped in shock as their eyes reached the same point.
     The moment after that, the can exploded with a mass of winged insects.
Wasps, bumblebees, hornets -- too many for the startled cats to comprehend so
suddenly. Tom careened back, tumbling into the debris pile, while Gravel stumbled
back off of the box to the alley floor. Debbie managed to leap down safely, but
never got a chance to give any kind of warning, as swarms began sprouting from all
over the alleyway's shadows.
     The winged insects dove in immediately on the cats, using their surprise to its
fullest as they proceeded to sting and bite the softskins into a panicked frenzy. A
few tried to fight back, but for every bug they managed to snag, a score were there to 
take its place. The ground insects did their own part to add to the chaos by
destroying the bottoms of the stacks of debris lining the walls, causing the flimsy
towers to collapse down into the throng of cats. The insects near the falling stacks
were too small to be greatly affected, but the cats' large size merely presented them 
as better, and more easily damaged, targets.
     No more than a minute could have elapsed, but every cat that hadn't already
escaped was harmed to various degrees. Gravel found himself being towed off by
both Tom and Debbie, his front right leg broken by a falling stack of crates. Debbie
and Tom also weren't in the best of shape, full of stings and bite marks, but were
not about to leave any cat to the buzzing fury that raged in their now-evacuated
domain.
     For the first time since the fabled Days of Imprisonment, Cat Alley was a
devoid of any feline life.

                         *     *     *

     "No more!" Hitter called out over the speakers, the screen showing a stern
visage, one which would brook no dissent.
     "No more!" The crowd answered.
     "How much more will we take of the slaughter of our helpless eggs?" he
asked in a surprisingly commanding voice.
     "No more!"
     "How much more of the air of superiority will we endure from those who
seek to oppress us?"
     "No more!"
     "How much more will we allow ourselves to believe that it is nature's way
that we lay down our lives without a fight?"
     "No more!"
     Hitter gripped the small microphone in front of him, fiercely snarling into it,
"How much more will we be satisfied with being blatantly ignored?"
     "NO MORE!"

                         *     *     *

     "Hey boss," Meps magically irritating voice whined, "I got those maps ya
wanted."
     "Ah, excellent," Fat Cat deftly swiped the rolled up papers from his
henchman and spread them out on the table. Stripes was off to the side, watching
the action in the casino below. In the proceeding months, Fat Cat had taken a clue
from the human mobsters with regards to installing closed circuit cameras
throughout the casino and entranceway. The monitors that Stripes was now
watching with a detached interest showed every part of the casino clearly.
     "Hmm," Fat Cat stroked his chin as he looked over the maps of the docks.
"How long before your men get here?"
     "Another week. Two, at the most," Stripes replied, popping another piece of
beef jerky in his month. "They have to finish tying up some loose ends back in my
city before they can head over."
     Fat Cat nodded and continued over the plans. Stripes' lieutenants would take
over for him here, while he went back to his own turf to see to a few matters. Fat
Cat himself would eventually need to stop by as well, but they both knew that they
needed to tackle the docks before any of that happened. Desiree had already
infiltrated Bubbles' gang with her usual grace, so they were in position to steal the
area right out from under the foolish mouse. In a few days, he--
     Fat Cat straightened up suddenly. "What's that?"
     "What's what?" Stripes glanced at him.
     "That noise."
     Stripes listened, but not having Fat Cat's sharp hearing, didn't notice anything.
Not that it mattered, though, as the video monitors showed the source of the noise
clearly.
     "Oh my God...." was all he could manage as he watched every door and
window downstairs burst inwards, hordes of insects swarming inside. The crowd
inside was stunned at first, then broke into panic, screaming and flailing wildly as
the tidal wave of insects washed over them.
     "What in the blazes is going on?!" Fat Cat demanded to no-one in particular,
also staring at the monitors with awe. His four henchman, Meps, Snout, Wart, and
Mole, all looked at each other confusedly.
     "I don't know, but if you have a secret escape route out of this place," Stripes 
turned to his business partner, "I suggest we use it!"
     "Quickly!" Fat Cat ordered all in his presence. "Out!" He pointed to the eyes
of the cat statue where his office was held, which led outside to the city.
     It wasn't mush of a secret escape route, but Stripes wasn't about to turn it
down as everyone dove through, leaving the terrified patrons within the casino to
fend for themselves.
     Not that there was much for said patrons to do; the cloud of insects -- easily
over a thousand -- beat them into submission within a matter of minutes, leaving one
of the greatest criminal resorts nothing but a shattered husk.

                         *     *     *

     "That's right, brethren!" Hitter shouted to the great approval of the crowd,
who had been whipped into a frenzy. "Now is the time for *us*! It is the softskins 
who will bow to our whims! We shall be the masters in this city from here on out! We
have been told time and again that we are the lowest form of life, that we should just 
except the position we are in, that this is nature's way. But I say that nature's way is 
for the most cunning, the most intelligent, the most powerful to rule over the lesser 
beings! Together, our whole is greater than the sum of our parts! Let us see if any of 
the so-called superior softskins can resist our might!"
     Somewhere in the crowd, a single fly began to drift out of the rush of Insecta
instincts surrounding him....

                         *     *     *

     "But Momma, I'm not tired," Henry protested, then darted off after some of
the other children.
     Janice smiled after him, then looked back to some of her neighbors and Nigel.
"Well, we probably should be going."
     "Oh please, Janice," Nigel pleaded. "Stay a while longer. We're having this
welcoming party for you, after all."
     Janice grinned at her brother-in-law. They both knew that he was a party-goer, and 
would have a party to celebrate National Be-Nice-To-An-Amoeba Week. Not that she minded 
in this case. Looking around the large rodent-sized ballroom in which they were gathered,
Janice had gotten a chance to meet all the tenants in this complex, which amounted to a 
surprisingly large number. The parents milled about, chatting gracefully, while the children ran all
over, playing tag or some other game that their parents never seemed to be interested in.
     "Thank you again, but really, I think we should...." Janice trailed off as she
looked up at the roof. Did it just move?
     "Janice?" Nigel caught the concerned expression on her face, and also looked
up. Thus, they were the only two in the entire room to have any advance warning
before the roof collapsed in on the crowd, having been eaten through by the termites
above.

                         *     *     *

     As if he were suddenly breaking through the surface of a body of water to breath again
after almost drowning, Zipper gasped as he looked around, and the full weight of
Hitter's words sank in.
     "They never learned to help themselves," he was continuing to yell to the
enraptured and buzzing crowd, "so they shall not receive any help. Not from their
own kind, or ours!"
     The cheering at this basic declaration of war chilled Zipper's soul to the core, 
especially seeing his own sister caught up in it. Heck, *he* had been caught up in it 
until a moment ago!
     "None shall be shown mercy, for they do not deserve it. None shall be
spared, because they all are to blame for our woes. None shall be rescued--"
     Hitter went on, but Zipper heard none of it. The word "rescue" rang in his
mind like an alarm, drowning out anything else Hitter might have been saying.
     Oh no.... Zipper blinked in realization.
     He pivoted and shot off, unnoticed by the mesmerized swarm.

                         *     *     *

     "What's on television tonight, guys?" Chip asked as he plopped down on the
couch.
     "Let's see," Dale thumbed through the listings. "We can choose between
'The Incredibly Weird Things That Stopped Breathing And Became Whacked-Out
Mummies', or 'Mentos: The Mints of Fate'. Personally, I hear that 'Mentos' is the
best for bad movies." Dale grinned.
     "Swell." Chip didn't seem to share Dale's enthusiasm.
     "Ah, let's let the lady of the house decide for a change, then," Monterey
suggested.
     "Golly, uh, well, I really don't know. Isn't 'White Zone Antarctica' on?"
     "Isn't that the one where they throw the old guy down into the newt mine?"
Dale queried.
     "Oh, you've seen it?" Gadget asked.
     "Yeah, but we can watch it again. It's a classic."
     "Somehow, mate, your definition of 'classic' always leaves a mite to be desired."
     "Is someone at the door?" Chip looked over at it. "I thought I heard
something out there, anyway."
     "I'll check," Dale hopped up and darted over to the door, placing his hand on
the handle. The door then exploded from the onrushing swarm so forcefully that it
knocked him clear across the room and out through the window on the other side,
making his involvement in the ensuing battle mercifully short.

                         *     *     *

     The lights were on, but Zipper didn't feel reassured as he sped towards the
peaceful, large oak tree in the park. He didn't spot any signs of outward disturbance
at first, but as he closed in he saw the shattered front door and broken windows. 
Swallowing hard, he swept through the doorway, and tried not to cry at the sight before 
him.
     It looked like a full-scale tornado had raged through. The couch was torn, the
television screen cracked, the table split in half. The walls were full of scratch marks.
The police badge that they all cherished so much was torn off the wall and lying on the 
floor, half-covered in debris. Torn bits of cloth were everywhere.
     And blood.
     Zipper tried not to look at it for fear of who it might have come from or how
it got there.
     He didn't bother to call out for anyone in the back rooms. The dead silence of
the HQ told him he wouldn't be answered.
     Alone, he knelt down in the center of the shambles, put his face in his hands,
and wondered what kind of nightmare was happening here.