-- Chapter Four: Today is the First Day of the Rest of Your Life --
                                
   Can't shake the Devil's hand and say you're only kidding.
                              -- "Your Racist Friend", 
                                     They Might Be Giants

               == Day One of Swarm Occupation ==

     "Come on, move it!" The large beetle behind the Rangers shoved Chip 
forward roughly. Stumbling a bit, Chip grunted, but managed to stay upright. He didn't 
bother to say anything in response -- doing so would only earn him another bruise. 
Monterey glared back at the beetle, but Chip discreetly shook his head. They were in no 
position to fight right now. Not when they were in Swarm's HQ, surround by an elite guard, 
not to mention the thousands more that could be called down on them.
     At the front of the line, Gadget was trying to decide if she was scared or
awed. It was certainly a mix of both. The feeling was similar, she guessed, to
standing out in the middle of an open field, watching a tornado approach. Knowing
that there's nowhere to run, but at the same time, being too awestruck by the sheer power
of the natural phenomenon to really want to run.
     All around her, squads of insects herded the seemingly unending series of
prisoners about. She spotted the occasional dog, cat, or similarly large animal, but
the vast majority were rodents. Mice, squirrels, chipmunks, rats, and so on.
     The three Rangers marched quietly in a straight line, wrists tightly bound
together. After the sudden attack last night, they had been brought back to Swarm's
HQ, and placed in a concentration camp, along with a number of other frightened
and injured rodents. They had had a sleepless night, hearing of the brutal "Pearl
Harbor"'s that Swarm had pulled off the night before. More camps were located within
the complex, too, as the Rangers remembered Zipper's descriptions of the grandiose
place. They didn't see Zipper about anywhere, and knowing that he would not
approve of this, they hoped he was still okay.
     Another not-so-gentle prod from their guards reminded them that they also
should be concerned for their current predicament.
     They were marched on through the complex maze of tunnels and corridors,
finally arriving in front of a nondescript door. Halting, one of the large
beetles knocked on the door, then slipped inside when it was partly opened. As 
they waited, they could hear the echoes of other rodents being forced about roughly. Chip
and Gadget also heard Monterey grind his teeth, which was something they hadn't 
expected from the large Aussie.
     The door opened once more, fully. The beetle that had gone in first motioned
for them to enter, while two large rhinoceros beetles stood guard at the doorway.
The Rangers were ushered in quickly, the door closing firmly behind them. Looking
about, they saw that they were in a fairly good-sized room. Maps and notes lined the
walls. A simple toy fan slowly circled overhead to keep the air from becoming stale,
shifting it in and out of some of the simple holes near the ceiling, dug into the 
walls to serve as ventilation shafts. A few simply-constructed file cabinets were 
about, as were some small but sturdy chairs. A large desk sat across from them, 
covered in papers and stubs of pencils. Behind it, Hitter was sitting hunched 
over, glancing at a relief map while making some notes. He did not look up.
     "Be with you in a minute," he informed them causally, as if they had stopped
by to watch the Superbowl game. His whole attitude of indifference was a bit
surprising, considering the vengeance that his followers had displayed thus far.
Especially during the fight last night. Monterey's wounds were still painful, even
after Gadget had managed to treat them so they wouldn't become infected.
     Gadget took the time to glance about. Chip was studying the room; she could
tell he was making mental notes to himself. Monterey was discreetly tugging at his
bonds, trying to see if he could slip free quickly. Their guards, however, knew how
to restrain prisoners, and had tied their ropes on securely. He wouldn't break free
unless he strained at them, and if he did, he would be beaten down the moment they
spotted it. Monterey had found that out the hard way once already.
     Gadget found it hard to believe that this was the nerve center of Swarm as she
continued to carefully look around. Very simple, very modest settings. No elegant
tables or meeting chairs. Nothing electronic or mechanical around, not counting the
single small light bulb overhead. The lack of color, lack of technology, lack of
diversity -- it all made her feel as if she was nothing more than a tool. Something 
to be used for one purpose, and then ignored. She did not like that feeling in the 
least.
     Finishing up his notes, Hitter pushed the notepad aside and looked up. "Well,
who's my captive audience here?" He smiled lightly, but didn't laugh at his own
joke, or force his underlings to, immediately garnering a measure of respect from the
Rangers. A grasshopper stepped by them to hand the termite leader a file.
     "Rescue Rangers, ah yes," he remarked as he refreshed his memory with the
compiled information. "Been looking forward to meeting you for a while, I must
confess. You've earned yourselves quite a reputation."
     "That's why you wanted to see us?" Chip asked cautiously.
     "Partly. It's always good to met one's opposition, especially when they're
under your control." He got up from his chair and walked around to the front of the
desk to face them. Standing, he came up to Chip's shoulder, making him one of the
larger termites from South America. "By now you've no doubt seen that Swarm has
taken into custody a fair amount of your fellow softskins. Well, I'd like to fully
enlighten you on the topic."
     He strode up to them, addressing them all sternly. "We have the vast majority
of you under our control. From the docks, to downtown, to the suburbs, to here, on
the outskirts of town. There is not a single territory we don't have under our grasp."
     "Oh come on," Chip retorted. "You couldn't fit all of the city's rodents in this
place. It's big, yeah, but it's not the TARDIS. You have only a finite space here, and 
it would be overflowing if you had everyone in here."
     "I said under control. We wouldn't want to handle all of you at once, my 
fur-covered friend." He stepped back to lean against the desk, arms crossed. "Most of
your kind are cowering in fear, as they should be. Those of you here will be working
at expanding it, so we can eventually hold at least three-fourths of the softskins
within our compound. Those that are smart will flee, never to return." He gave a
half-smile. "We rule this city now."
     "I'm bettin' a few blokes up top can challenge that claim, ya hard-backed
bully," Monterey snarled. Chip and Gadget exchanged worried glances. They knew
Monterey was hot-headed, but this was beyond anything he'd shown before.
     Hitter snarled back. "Like who? Your precious A.P.F.? They've been broken
and scattered to the four winds." Chip blinked. Was it an exaggeration?
     Hitter caught his look and chuckled softly. "No, I'm telling you the truth. Last
night, while the majority of my newfound supporters were at the rally, the massive
army I've built over the past year struck as one. The A.P.F. headquarters is now a
rubble heap, thanks to a few bombardier beetles in the elite squad."
     He stood straight again and began to pace in front of them, shifting his gaze 
to each as he spoke, as if each of them was a representative of the groups he spoke 
of. "The criminal element has been efficiently removed; Fat Cat's casino, and the other
major crimelords places of residence were hit hard and fast, before any could react.
Throughout the city, the places where softskins gather for fun and entertainment
were turned into dens of panic, and more than one were completely destroyed, just
in case you don't think we're serious about this. And when I say softskins, I mean
your larger ilk, too. Cat Alley was cleared out in mere minutes, while The Dog Yard
fell victim to a major sinkhole, courtesy of a few thousand ants." He stopped and
straightened once more as pride colored his tone. "They had worked on that project
for months, and when the signal was given, had collapsed it in less than ten minutes.
Now *that's* the power of a swarm."
     "Why you--" Almost within arm's grasp of him, Monterey growled and made
a sudden move for Hitter. Before anyone could react, however, Hitter closed the
distance (surprising the rugged mouse), and planted his small but impressively
powerful fist into Monterey's ample stomach. Monterey grunted and bent over,
allowing Hitter to grab his opponent by the moustache and roll backward, using his
legs to kick Monterey up and over the desk, crashing down on the other side.
     The guards roughly shoved Chip and Gadget to the floor, lest they get any
ideas of helping their fallen comrade. Hitter himself stood up, obviously angry, but
not fuming, as the two rhino beetles stepped around the desk and hoisted Monterey
back to his feet. He groaned, more from the embarrassment of losing his temper than
anything else. He wasn't overly impressed with Hitter's takedown, as Monterey was
still rather beat up from last night, and hadn't gotten any real rest since. Still,
Hitter didn't back down in the slightest; Monterey had to give him that.
     "All of you softskins think it's so easy to lord over us," Hitter resumed in a
more controlled voice, "just because you're bigger. Well, Aesop said it best:
'Biggest is not always best'."
     Monterey was hauled back around to stand next to Chip and Gadget, who
were pulled back to their feet.
     "You didn't bring us in here just to gloat," Chip said levelly, trying to keep
his eyes forward and not worry about receiving a blow to the head. "What do you
want?"
     "Yes," Hitter nodded, apparently back at ease. He snatched up the file on the
desk and glanced at it. "Mr. Justice, I presume? Chip Justice, of the Rescue
Rangers." He chuckled and tossed the file back on the desk. "Ironic last name for
your line of work, wouldn't you say?"
     "I like to think it was a sign of things to come," Chip replied, not entirely
happy that Hitter had done enough homework on them to dig up his last name. "I'm
not complaining."
     "Gadget Hackwrench," Hitter nodded politely to the female inventor.
"Pleasure to make your acquaintance. And it's too easy to place this mouse as
Monterey Jack Stilton. While I'm happy to welcome all of you to your new home, it
seems that one Rescue Ranger is missing from this reception. A Mr. Dale Williams,
to be precise." He looked at them sternly. "I want to know where he is, my friends."
     The rest blinked. They hadn't seen Dale since he was knocked backwards out
of the window at the beginning of the attack, but assumed he had been captured as
well.
     Chip debated on telling too much to Hitter, but decided to play it safe. "We
don't know."
     Hitter looked at them steadily, listening to his instincts. "Well," he said at
length," at least you're being honest. If you were lying, I'd have to extract the
information from you." He didn't seem to enjoy the thought. Chip added it to his
growing mental notepad on the termite. "Well, there's nothing more I need to know from
you three. Just don't try to cause any trouble, and you'll be fine. Rabble-rousers
are not tolerated in the least, my friends. Don't try to call my bluff on this one."
     He waved to the guards, who started to herd the Rangers out, but Gadget
quickly asked, "Where's Zipper? What have you done with him?"
     Hitter shook his head. "We haven't done anything to him, Miss Hackwrench.
We haven't even seen him since the rally last night. And we wouldn't dream of
harming any fly, let alone one as respected as Zipper."
     As they left, Gadget noticed that Monterey was still gritting his teeth for
some reason. Judging from past experiences, Gadget wasn't sure if it was out of 
loyalty and worry for his missing best friend, or because of Hitter. The latter 
puzzled her, though, but it was something to dwell on later. Too much was already 
on her mind already.
     After the door shut, Hitter turned to one of the remaining guards. "You may
show Zipper in now."

                         *     *     *

     The heavy iron gate slammed shut behind the three Rangers, causing them to
inwardly shudder. The camp was deep below the surface of the landfill, the only
light provided by some larger lighting fixtures near the top of voluminous cavern
the camp was located in. Dozens of various rodents and other small mammals were
about, all of whom wore expressions of mixed fear and depression.
     Their camp had about fifty others in it, holding males and females, parents
and children, and the healthy and weak. Swarm was an equal opportunity oppressor.
     "Come on," Chip said, breaking the silence between the three of them. "Let's
see if there's any way out of here."
     "Chip, I don't even think it's worth looking for," Gadget sighed. "Even if we
managed to escape from this camp, there are so many barriers to pass." She glanced
around as they walked back to the shoddy barracks.
     "First there's the wire fence," she continued, her analytical mind still
whirring despite the change of surroundings. "Then the sentries all around it. 
Guards and patrols are constantly around this cavern, too. And then, even if we 
do manage to get out of this cavern, we still don't know the way back to the surface,
and we'd have to pass by thousands of other Swarm members before we got there."
     "She's right, Chipper," Monterey growled, having reigned in his temper.
"This ain't the place to be attemptin' a breakout. The best time would be when
the blighters are movin' us from one spot to another."
     Chip thought for a bit, then nodded. "Yeah, good point Monty."
     "But even that has a problem," Gadget commented.
     "Hmm?"
     "Well, golly guys," she sighed heavily as she looked at the distraught faces of
the mice in the camp. "I mean, I know the importance of escaping from here and all,
but I just don't know if I could leave all of these innocent people here. What if
Hitter has them punished as a sign to the rest of the camps?"
     Monterey swallowed and looked down at the ground. Chip stopped for a
moment to scan over their fellow prisoners, and their slumped forms and forlorn
faces.
     He did not reply.

                         *     *     *

     I want to know what the ant hill you think you're doing, Zipper's searing look
read.
     "I'm making this city a far better place for all insects," Hitter replied. Grater
and Washboard, flanking him, nodded in agreement.
     At the cost of the rodents' lives? Zipper's knotted brows drilled home.
     Hitter sighed and leaned forward in his chair, clasping his hands together on
his desk. "That's a biased opinion, Zipper, and you know it. The rodents haven't
done anything to attempt to help us with our lives in the past, and it's time for
them to pay the piper now."
     "More to the point, my good fly," Washboard piped in, "we have no intention
of committing genocide. Certainly not when our captives would be much better put
to use serving us."
     Zipper was having a hard accepting that these insects, whom he had come to
be good friends with, were so deeply bigoted.
     "And you can't say that we're leading the rest of Swarm around," Hitter
continued. "You were at the rally. You saw how everyone was in full support of us
and our goals. Nobody spoke up to try and object. Not even you."
     I left! Zipper's posture snapped back. You think I wanted to hang around in
that place? I don't know how you did it, Hitter, but you managed to tap into the
darkest parts of the insects. None of them would have considered taking such an
offensive strike--
     "But they did," Hitter cut off Zipper abruptly. "They always wanted to; the
desire for revenge was always there. They merely needed someone to show them
the way to our higher place in animal society."
     Zipper wasn't too sure about that, but decided to hold his tongue for the
moment. Something wasn't adding up here.
     Fine, Zipper expressed with a nod, this is what most of the insects may want,
but you should know that I will never support this type of aggression. Very few of
those you have in captivity have ever done anything against any insect.
     "And even fewer have done anything to help us," Hitter retorted. "They sit by,
idly, enjoying the status quo, while we've been trampled over and neglected." He
stood up and walked around to face Zipper. "Look, Zipper, you're an intelligent fly,
and an idol to great many of those in Swarm. That's why I would at least like you to
hear me out before you sacrifice yourself for a hopeless cause."
     Zipper folded his arms with a frown, but listened.
     "You're entirely too noble for your own good, Zipper. Look back on your
life, and tell me what you see. Be honest, now. Did your fellow Rangers really treat
you as an equal, or more as a tool? Were you always part of the plan, or did they
generally keep you on only because you had wings?"
     Zipper winced as the arrow hit home. It wasn't until he and Nimnul had had their
heads switched that the others really thought of him as being able to handle just as
much responsibility as the next guy.
     "Ah, I can see there is some truth to my assessment," Hitter stated. Not
condescendingly, just in understanding. "So now we've established that even though
you are a role-model in our own community, the rodents that you consider your
trusted friends still seem to think you need to prove yourself constantly to them.
It's not necessarily their fault; they can't help that they were born as softskins."
     Hold it, Zipper held up his hand. Before you get too far into this, don't think
for a minute that I'm the only one who has had problems in the Rangers. Dale is a
chipmunk, and has gone through the same problems I have. Regardless of the
hurdles I've had to overcome, I did so just fine, and so can anyone else who wants
to.
     "It's not that easy," Washboard replied. "It took you a number of years, and
that was just with a small group of softskins. I highly doubt the rest of the 
softskins in the city would be nearly as receptive to you as they have, true?"
     "That," Grater added, "and the softskins usually have us on their menu, 
so they don't like to listen to their food before eatin' it." He frowned.
     "More to the point," Hitter stated levelly, "is that as a respected member of
Swarm, it'd be to your benefit to at least not directly oppose us."
     Zipper snapped a glare to Hitter. Was that supposed to be a threat?
     "No. It's a fact. You go around telling everyone that this is wrong and that we
shouldn't do anything to stop the softskins from continuing to treat us like dirt, 
and the only thing you'll accomplish is losing their respect and gaining their 
distrust."
     "I suspect you believe that they'll listen to you, but you're wrong, I'm
afraid," Washboard smoothly noted.
     Grater nodded. "They've tasted what it's like to be the ones callin' the shots,
and they aren't 'bout to give up on it so quickly."
     "And neither are we," Hitter finally proclaimed. "While we may not be as
vindictive as the rest of Swarm, as long as their aggressions are aimed at the
softskins, and not at each other, things are infinitely better off than ever before."
     Not for the captives, Zipper bitterly motioned.
     "Who cares?" Hitter shrugged. "It's the insects' natural ability to mass
together to protect our own. If the softskins aren't enlightened enough to do the same, 
it's their own fault."
     Their was a pause as Zipper chewed over the words. Regardless of their
methods, they had a point about the futility of him trying to swing popular opinion
the other way. Zipper knew all too well how a strong and charismatic leader, such
as Hitter, could move the masses as he saw fit. The worst part was that Hitter
honestly believed it was the "right" thing to do.
     Finally, Zipper sighed and acknowledged that he could understand where they
were coming from, and would not attempt to interfere, provided -- here he stressed
his words -- that they not only kept their captives in good health, but also worked
towards releasing them as soon as possible.
     "We'll see what can be done," was all he got for a response.
     And so will I, he returned with a nod of his head.
     He quickly exited, still unable to believe that not only had Swarm declared war 
on the rodents of the city, but also had defeated them so easily. Was Hitter really on 
to something?
     No. Zipper refused to believe that such violence was the way to bettering
anyone's life. As he made his way back to the surface, he smiled as he spotted
Stinger, the young guard that he had first met. The young male wasp was very eager
to say hello, as always, and seeing such pleasantness made Zipper wonder if maybe
Hitter was wrong about everyone wanting an eye for an eye with the attacks.
     Mind if I ask you something? Zipper motioned casually.
     "Not at all," Stinger grinned.
     How do you feel about the rodents in captivity?
     "The softskins?"
     Zipper's heart sank.
     "It's about time, really! They deserve everything that they've gotten, and
more. You know how many of my siblings died because of them and their so called
'natural order'?" Stinger's congeniality was gone with the passing breeze, replaced
by unbidden rage. "I hope they suffer a long time for what they did to us, and then
some."
     As if someone had flipped a switch, he was back to his usual, friendly self.
"How come?"
     No reason, Zipper managed with a forced smile. No reason at all.
     Despite his ability to fly, Zipper felt too heavy, and walked the rest of the
way.

               == Day Four of Swarm Occupation ==

     "Where's my mommy?"
     Gadget's head jerked up in surprise. That plaintive, frightened voice sounded
extremely familiar to her. She hoped she was mistaken. Getting up from her bunk,
she walked over through the open doorway into the next room, where another group
of mice were being herded in. Maybe from another attack, maybe just being shifted
about from camp to camp. Most were dejectedly walking over to the side doorway,
leading to the less-occupied area of the barracks, except for five figures. Four
were squirrels, one apparently the father of the other three, who were little 
girls. He was kneeling down, apparently trying to soothe a worried, young male 
mouse....
     "Henry!" Gadget cried, darting over to the little boy.
     Turning with surprise, Henry quickly raced up into Gadget's hug. "Aunt
Gadget!" he managed between sniffles. "What's 'appening?"
     Gadget didn't answer at first, just gently rocked him and cooed softly as she
held him close to her. She hoisted him up, wrapping her arms under him to support
the softly crying child as she walked over to the squirrel, who managed a smile as
he cradled the youngest of his apparent daughters.
     "This your boy?" he asked with a hopeful note in his voice.
     "N-no," Gadget replied, downcast. "His mother is an old friend of mine."
     The squirrel sighed heavily, glancing at the young girls all holding on tightly
to him. "I was afraid of that...."
     Gadget swallowed hard. "Why?"
     The squirrel looked at the children, but they were too frightened to hear
anything he said. "He was in my camp for the past few days. He was thrown in
there alone, without anyone else."
     "I'm not sure I--"
     "I've been watching every time they've added someone to the camp, and
every time it was a large group that had been captured. The only time that it wasn't,
besides Henry here, was when just two mice came in, and explained that they were the
only two who had survived the attack."
     The weight of the meaning hung heavily in Gadget's mind as she absent-mindedly 
stroked Henry's light brown hair. She was glad Monty and Chip were out
on the "chain gang" right now; they had met Janice and Henry several times, and
would have been as devastated as she felt right now.
     The squirrel continued, trying to keep from dwelling on the subject. "Luckily,
he gets along with my daughters fairly well, and they've managed to make their
short friendship a small distraction from the normal day-to-day events." He sighed
again as he gently ran his fingers through his youngest girl's head fur. "I was 
trying to reassure him that he'd be okay, but he really does miss his mother. I 
hope that seeing you will help bolster his spirits. Much easier for a family member 
to do it than a complete stranger."
     Gadget nodded, and a smiled a thanks to him for doing so thus far. "My
name's Gadget," she stated friendly.
     Shaking hands firmly, the squirrel nodded. "I'm Tim. And these young ladies
are Cindy, Ann, and Serena." He indicated the oldest first, then the next oldest, 
and finally the one in his arms." His face took on a brave smile. "They miss their
mother, as well, but at least I know she was out of town before this happened." The
smile faded. "I worry about what will happen when she tries to return, though, in a
few days."
     With one arm, Gadget reached out and placed a reassuring hand on his
shoulder. "I'm sure she's fine, and word must have spread about the uprising. She'll
be careful."
     "For their sake, I hope so." Tim wrapped one arm around the trembling forms
of Cindy and Ann, still clutching his legs in fear.

              == Day Seven of Swarm Occupation ==

     "It's certainly not up to my normal standards, but considering the current
conditions in the city, I'm not about to make any formal complaints," Fat Cat looked
about the shoddy room with a frown, but he had spoken the truth.
     "Glad you at least know the reality of the situation," Stripes flippantly
remarked, busy rummaging through the mess in the back. They were in of one of
Stripes' informants' hideouts, using it as a temporary headquarters. Neither Fat Cat
nor Stripes were in the best of moods at the moment. Their new partnership had
gotten a highly unexpected and unfortunate test, due to Swarm.
     Each knew that in this current state of chaos among the animals of the city,
either one of them could "tragically" fall victim to one of Swarm's many attacks.
This would leave the other in sole possession of the largest animal underground
empire, not to mention undisputed claim to the kingpin of crime. It was tempting to
help the other along to that "terrible" accident.
     But, they each also knew that a number of things prevented that.
     First, with Fat Cat's knowledge of the city added to Stripes' natural ability to
direct the underground traffic flow, they were much more likely to survive this
ordeal with something salvageable from their newborn Kingdom if they stuck
together.
     Second, while neither fully trusted the other, they did trust that together,
they could achieve a great deal more than alone. To Fat Cat, Stripes was actually a 
welcome relief to the usual string of uneducated and dimwitted slobs that he was 
forced to work with at times; the dog knew how to handle his business, planned things
out, and had an appreciation for eradicating those that sought to usurp his power. As for Stripes, 
he just knew he didn't have enough clout to beat Fat Cat, so as the saying
goes, "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em".
     Third, each had a modest entourage about them at all times, ranging from just
a few to over a dozen. Arranging that "accident" would have been more trouble than
it was worth.
     Finally, despite Fat Cat's intense hatred of dogs, and Stripes' well-known
loathing of anyone who acted "upper-class", both had given their word to refrain
from any infighting until the Kingdom was secure, which was probably a long way off now.
After it was settled, well...
     Suffice to say two devils had made a deal with each other.
     "Now," Stripes called Fat Cat's attention over to the rickety table in the
center of the room where he spread out a map of the city, "we are here," he tapped
the area by the mountains, "and from our combined reports, Swarm has all of this
under their control." He swept his hand over just about every part of the map.
     "Roughly eighty percent," Fat Cat nodded, somewhat taken aback now that
he saw just how big it was. It'd take him years to get as much, and that was
assuming that none of the larger criminal bosses made any attempt to stop him.
"How about our supply lines?"
     "Not good." Stripes began chewing on a beef stick. "Whoever runs Swarm
knows what they're doing. They've concentrated their posts here, here, and here," he
indicated on the map three separate areas on the outskirts of downtown. "That's
where humans have the least amount of interest, so it's prime moving ground for any
animal activity."
     "Apparently, Swarm realized that as well," Fat Cat stroked his chin. "We can
move some around those areas, but not nearly as much as before. Otherwise, it'll
attract too much human attention, bringing the police in on it."
     "While they probably wouldn't arrest animals, they would certainly
confiscate the goods being transported," Stripes agreed with a growl.
     Thinking, Fat Cat tapped his claws by the South Side. "This might be a spot
they missed."
     Puzzled, Stripes looked up. "How so? We don't own that area."
     "Exactly. Swarm has worked to break up the largest sections of our Kingdom
so we either have to bring goods in through a human-heavy locale, or through a
territory of a rival, such as here. The South Side opens up to the outside of the
city. If we can turn the right spigots, goods can flow unhindered from the outside
of the city, through the South Side, and right into our waiting arms."
     Stripes nodded. "Yeah, but how do we turn those spigots? If you mean
forcefully, I'm not sure we have the manpower to spare, and I doubt that they'll be
willing to believe we want a deal, which even *I* don't want with them."
     "Nor do I, my good partner," Fat Cat grinned toothily. "Fortunately, we
won't have to. Remember, this area is currently controlled by Bubbles. And who did
we send there to settle his fizz?"
     Stripes grinned as he recalled. "Point taken, Fat Cat. I already have
informants in that area -- we can notify her this evening."
     "Excellent," Fat Cat chuckled. If this was indeed a test, he knew they would
pass with flying colors.

                         *     *     *

     "Welcome, men," Hitter nodded to the assembled group before him.
Washboard, Grater, a wasp called Sand, and a rather large red ant known as
Brickhouse. These four friends comprised his most trusted advisors, and were the
most efficient to handle the needed tasks. Washboard; the P.R. and social duties.
Grater; the air squad. Sand; the elite squad and internal security. And Brickhouse;
the underground.
     "Now," Hitter said, "let's hear the latest on all the fronts."
     Washboard nodded and started off. "Everything is splendid on the insect side
of things. Zipper, naturally, doesn't agree with us, but hasn't made any attempts to
thwart our plans as of yet. I believe we fully convinced him of the foolishness of
such an endeavor."
     "Good," Hitter leaned back. "Still, make sure he's always under secret watch
while he's here. Sand, that's your department."
     Sand nodded crisply.
     "A few other hives haven't agreed to our methods, either," Washboard
continued. "No new ones, just the same old ones, like the Wells Colony."
     "Attempts to coerce Queenie over?" Hitter was hoping to enlist Queenie, as
she held the control of the largest hive that hadn't fully supported Swarm yet.
     "Unsuccessful. She remains neutral, but I don't think she wants to get
involved. From the looks of it, we are too aggressive in the pursuit of our goals
for her tastes."
     "And your advice?"
     "As long as she doesn't interfere, she's fine for now.  We really need all our
resources for our current projects, anyway."
     Hitter nodded and looked over at Grater.
     "The sky zone over each territory is secure," the massive bumblebee
affirmed. "The exception to that, is, naturally, the Docks. The sea gulls we drove
from the landfill have all retreated to that area, so it'd take a giant air attack
to clear them out completely."
     "Which we can't spare," Hitter nodded in understanding. "But are they
contained?"
     "Yeah, no sweat. We've made enough examples out of those that have tried
to fight back that the others are placid enough, now."
     Hitter turned his gaze to Sand, who started, "Within headquarters, everything
is running smoothly. Prisoners are all being kept in check with minimal need of
punishment. A few troublemakers have sprouted up here and there, starting fights, trying
to incite riots, but the others are too frightened to support them. With no one to back
them, the headstrong ones are captured easily enough." He chuckled. "Some of the
softskins even help capture them."
     Sighing, Hitter shook his head. "I'll never understand how softskins like that
have lived this long -- refusal to work together is just plain stuipid. Still, it's
what makes it easy to keep them in line. Send them to the Jars."
     "Will do. Do you want to make any of them public yet?"
     "No. Just telling the others they're being moved to a remote camp will suffice
for now. After Operation Infest, we can bring them all out at once, and let the 
shock value numb them from doing anything until our troops can return." He turned
in his chair. "That leaves you, Brickhouse."
     "All set. Tunnels to all the points you wanted were completed yesterday. We
can start the preparations for Operation Infest tonight, even."
     "Fantastic!" Hitter sat upright with a grin. "Well done, Brickhouse. Yes, by
all means, send in your first squads to begin the set-up. Disperse the rest of your
troops throughout our base here, to aid Sand's men in rooting out any signs of
unrest. I want this place in an iron-lock fist when Operation Infest is launched, so
we can concentrate out full attention on it." Settling back, he resumed his business
tone. "Speaking of which, let's go over the list again."
     "Well, Fat Cat and Stripes have holed up somewhere near the mountains, so
they're well out of our antennae," Grater stated. "They've been quiet, too, but
nothin's been reported from the blockades yet, so they still are without their supply
lines."
     "The Siamese Twins have jumped ship -- literally," Sand added. "Reports
from the Docks confirmed that they quickly moved themselves and as many of their
assets aboard as they could after we demolished their fighting fish rinks in
Chinatown. Ship was headed for the South Pacific, so I'm guessing they're off to
their smaller areas of influence until they can return. A few other minor crimelords
have entrenched themselves in their small claims -- one in the Sewers, one on
the South Side, and so on. But they're more concerned with avoiding losing
anything than gaining something else."
     "A.P.F. is still down, too," Brickhouse noted. "The boys in the underground
have ferreted them out of a number of hideaways, keeping them broken up and in
groups too small  to be any threat."
     "You already are aware of the Rangers," Washboard commented. "Three of
them are under custody, while Zipper seems to have reached an equilibrium of
wanting to do something and not wanting to endanger any of his fellow insects. I'm
estimating it'll be a while, still, before he figures himself out enough to take on
a course of action."
     Hitter looked levelly at Washboard. "And Dale?"
     "He's..." Washboard paused, "still missing in action."
     Hitter sighed. "I want to know his general whereabouts, at least. We don't
make our final move to Operation Infest until all possible obstructions are
accounted for."
     Sand looked frustrated. "Sir, he's a small chipmunk in a very big city. Even if
we had everybug in Swarm looking for him, I doubt we'd find him, assuming he's
still alive."
     "He's still alive," Hitter replied. "Your own report places his last seen
whereabouts somewhere in central downtown, when he managed to give your
troops the slip." Before Sand could object, Hitter pushed on. "I'm not blaming you
for his escape, Sand. The simple fact is that he *did* escape, and is still out 
there somewhere. If there's one thing I learned from the case files on the Rangers
is that they have all seemed to have a very odd habit of managing to pull each other's fat
out of the frier on more than one occasion."
     "Granted, but Sand does have a point." Washboard took a puff from his pipe
before continuing. "Dale is the only one on the list who remains unaccounted for.
And, having reviewed the files with you, Hitter, this is likely the best we can hope
for. Everything is ready. If we wait until Dale's location is reported, then it may
be too late. Already the humans have heard newscasts about the increasing number of
missing pets. We have a great many things under control, and to maximize the
potential of Operation Infest, we need to start everything up now."
     Hitter tapped the top of his paper-strewn desk thoughtfully. "Yes, you're both
right, I suppose. But I want a constant watch kept out for Dale's location. The
minute you hear anything, report it directly to me, even if it's just to tell me his
corpse was found. Understood?"
     The four insects nodded in unison.
     "Very well, then. Meeting is adjourned. Reconvene here in five hours with
your Operation Infest reports, and we'll start finalizing the details." After they
left, Hitter looked up at the dirt-packed ceiling.
     "It begins."
     
                         *     *     *

     A weak scratching at the door would have probably been missed by most
others, especially with the hustle and bustle of the janitorial staff working just
underneath the floor of the modest dwelling. But to the keen ears of Foxglove,
having recently awakened from her daily slumber, it was more than enough to catch
her interest.
     Now who could that be? She wondered as she glided down from her perch to
the small doorway. Not many people had reason to visit her, and those that did
were always welcome enough to enter without knocking -- it wasn't as if Foxglove
couldn't hear them, after all. Even so, the introverted female bat rarely had
visitors at her small living space just above a night custodial crew's wooden
supply locker. After her short alliance with Winifred, she had considered moving,
but in the end decided against it. This had been her home for several years, and 
as nice it was to occasionally stay over at the Ranger's HQ time to time, it was 
also nice to come back to a place she could truly call her own.
     She idly wondered if Dale might be calling, and immediately perked up at the
idea. She graciously opened the door, and was delighted to see it was indeed the
light of her life.
     Foxglove struck a pleasantly surprised pose as she winked hello.
     Dale struck the floor face first as he collapsed.
     "Dale!" Foxglove swiftly checked his prone form. He seemed to be okay. A
number of scrapes and bruises marked his fur, but she had seen worse from their
nightly visits to the playgrounds. He didn't seem to be severely wounded, but was
exhausted. "Dale, can you hear me?" she asked, testing if he was still conscious.
     "Huh," Dale managed with a gasp. "Yeah, I'm still here," he grunted as he
raised himself up to his hands and knees, then took a moment to catch his breath.
     "Foxy?" he asked, head down.
     "Yes darling?" she wrapped a wing around him to give him support.
     "Your floor needs waxing, I think," he slowly managed.
     Foxglove felt herself smile; Dale could always do that to her. Take away her
fears and worries and replace them with a smile and a wink. Carefully, she hoisted
his tired form up and over to a small couch. Laying him back on it, she quietly
padded off, soon returning with some blankets, medical supplies, and a very tender
look of concern.
     "Now," she said in her usual gentle, calming voice, "tell me what happened."
     "Uh..." Dale started, not really wanting to do anything that required being
coherent, but there was no telling when Swarm would try to strike this area of town.
She had to know as soon as possible. "Okay, well, you remember that Swarm group
that Zipper was hanging around with?"
     She nodded as she pulled the blankets up over him.
     "They attacked a week ago. Right outta the blue." He lightly smiled, opening
his eyes fully. "Just like in that one movie with all the killer bees...."
     "They attacked?" Foxglove blinked. She hadn't thought they were that type
of group, or else Zipper would never have gotten involved with them.
     "Yeah. Surprised us pretty good, too. I was lucky, though. When I went to
answer a knock at the door, they burst in, knocking me out of a window."
     "That's lucky?"
     "Yeah. Well, I mean, I've fallen through that tree before, so it wasn't
anything new to me. Besides, that put me right out of the fight. I managed to get
away from a bunch of bugs that were following me, and then made my way over
here. I would have been here sooner, but this Swarm group is all over the city. I've
had too many close encounters with the bugged kind to fill a lifetime."
     He winced slightly as Foxglove began to clean the numerous scrapes he had
sustained.  It didn't look like any had been infected, fortunately, but still, she wanted to be
sure. She was taking no chances with her love under her care.
     "That would account for the insects I've seen around. My echolocation has
been picking up a lot of large swarms flying about -- hardly the type I'd want to 
try to get some dinner from. The single moths and other insects have all disappeared,
and I was thinking about checking in with you guys to see if anything--" She stopped 
cold in fear. "Ohmigosh. The other Rangers! Dale, what happened to them? Do you know?"
     Dale sadly shook his head. "I stopped by the HQ shortly after the attack, but
no sign of anyone. And I had to move, 'cause they're patrolling that area now.
Probably hoping to catch me sneaking back in or something." He sighed. "Anyway,
thanks Foxy. It's at times like this I don't know what I'd do without you." He
smiled at her, a look of admiration behind his worn features.
     "Oh, it's okay cutie," Foxglove grinned in response. "If taking care of you is
my lot in life, then I'm the luckiest girl with wings."
     He chuckled, coughed slightly, then settled back. "I need to get some sleep,
Foxy. Then we need to start a search for the others."
     Nodding, Foxglove quickly got up and drew a shutter over the window, and
covered up the crack which let the light in. She silently glided back over to Dale's
side, landing soundlessly next to him to watch over him in his sleep.
     "Foxy?"
     "Yes, dearest?"
     "You're the best."
     In the darkness, somehow, he could hear her smile. "Thanks, cutie."

                         *     *     *

     "Zipper!" Chip nearly cried out, but caught himself in the nick of time,
bringing the word out in a rushed whisper.
     Monterey spun around from his work and gawked. It *was* Zipper!
     The small fly quickly made motions for them to keep it down, glancing over
his shoulder. He had managed to track down the location where Chip and Monterey
had been assigned to work -- the construction pit deep under the landfill. They were
digging out an area for the next concentration camp, as more and more prisoners
were captured every day. Chip and Monterey were digging down at the very
bottom of the pit, while others were working on expanding the sides. Calling upon
his natural ability to be unobtrusive, Zipper sneaked down to his friends unnoticed,
but if Chip and Monterey stopped working, it would attract one of the guards'
attention.
     Following the same train of logic, Chip and Monterey quickly resumed their
work, facing the alcove where Zipper was concealed.
     Guys! Zipper's worried expression conveyed, I've been looking all over this
place for you! I'm just glad they still trust me enough to let me visit the work locales.
I had no idea--
     But Monterey waved it off. "Don't worry, Zip. We know you'd never throw
in with this lot."
     Zipper smiled and nodded, relieved to see that his friends still had their
trademark trust. Are you all right? Where's Gadget and Dale?
     "We're okay, Zipper," Chip replied quietly, looking back at his work as a
guard flew by overhead. "Gadget's fine, too. She's back at the camp, taking care of
the kids. Dale managed to escape the fight, and we haven't seen him since."
     Kids? Zipper asked with a squeak.
     "Right, mate," Monterey grumbled in a low voice while he kept a lookout for
any others around them. "Seems that blighter of a bug, Hitter, has been tootin' good
at his round-up. Henry is in our camp, now."
     Zipper gulped. Janice? he quietly buzzed.
     "He was the only survivor from the attack, I hear," Chip regretfully answered.
Monterey's knuckles turned white on the handle of his shovel.
     No.... Zipper's eyes began to mist over at the thought of the exceptionally
sweet mouse mother, Janice. And poor Henry, now an orphan.
     "One of my friends, Tim, is there with his kids as well," Chip continued, not
wanting to dwell on Janice's death. "He's somewhere else in this Dante-like place,
working on building a new cave for the larvae and eggs of Swarm. Gadget's been
watching his girls, as well."
     Zipper sadly shook his head, then stopped. A new cave? his puzzled look
read.
     "Yeah," Monterey grunted as he dug another spadeful of dirt. "Why?"
     Hitter never said anything about that, Zipper's gestures answered. Only that
they were building more camps for you.
     Zipper's expression soured as he swallowed the bile in his mouth which
formed from the thought of it.
     "Ha!" Monterey grimaced. "We're the ones buildin' the bloody thing."
     "If Hitter wasn't fully honest with you about Swarm from the beginning,"
Chip mentioned with a smirk, "then it wouldn't surprise me to learn he's continuing
the practice."
     Zipper nodded sadly. I gotta get you guys out of here, he buzzed lightly.
     Chip's reply was simple and direct.
     "No."
     Monterey thought for a moment, then nodded in agreement. "He's right,
mate. This place is too heavily guarded to get out easy. All that would happen is 
that you would get caught, and that ain't what we want right now."
     "No telling what he'd do to you," Chip commented with dark reason.
     Zipper paled as another thought came to him. Has he... hurt anyone?
     Chip and Monterey glanced at each other. "No," Chip answered, "not that
we've heard of. Some rodents have been moved from our camp, but we've also had
new people come in to ours from other camps, so it's impossible to say. Nobody has
ever heard of anything like that, and none of the guards we've been around have
even used it as a threat, so I hope it stays that way."
     "'Course," Monterey added, "the ones we've seen moved have all been the
'rabble-rousers'. The ones that try to escape or attack the guards or somethin'
similar. I would've tried it meself, but I doubt I could take out all of 'em 
before I was stopped."
     Zipper sighed again and looked around. They were right, of course, but he
couldn't just sit by and do nothing, and explained that to them.
     "Zipper, you're in the best position of all of us," Chip replied, honestly
smiling as he continued to appear to be merely working. "You're not detained at all,
and are at least a good acquaintance with the leader of Swarm, and the others in
charge. You're in the perfect position to find out what exactly Hitter is up to."
     "I dunno, mate," Monterey frowned. "I mean, ol' Zip wasn't told about a lot,
it seems."
     "True," Chip nodded. "But I think a lot of the members of this group aren't
told the same thing."
     "Er, what?"
     "Hitter is probably not telling a lot of the insects here about what's really
going on," Chip rephrased. "He knew that you," he gave a discreet nod to Zipper,
"would not betray your friends, but he also respects you too much to have you
arrested for no reason. Respect doesn't necessarily mean you trust people with your
biggest secrets."
     So how am I supposed to find them out? Zipper asked honestly with a shrug.
     "See what rumors you can find with all the soldiers and guards around here.
From what you've told us before, I'm betting that it's only Hitter, and maybe his 
top advisors, that aren't willing to trust you one hundred percent yet. Everyone 
else still thinks you're the greatest."
     "Too right, pally," Monterey agreed. "But you be careful, mate," he
addressed Zipper. "I've known a few blokes who played the double-agent game,
and lost big time."
     Zipper nodded, then checked the guards' locations. Okay guys, he signaled, I
have to get out of here before I'm caught. I'll find out what I can and then let you
know.
     "Thanks Zipper," Chip responded. "We'll try to figure out a way to escape."
He stole a secret look at Monty, who nodded glumly. They both knew it was a lie.
They couldn't leave unless they tried to bring *everyone* along, and that would be
suicidal at the moment.
     Saluting his farewells, Zipper shot out of the alcove and off into the darkness,
unseen by the guards. After he left, Chip and Monterey worked in silence for a few 
minutes.
     "Whattya think?" Monterey finally asked.
     Chip took an equally long time working silently before he replied.
     "I think... that we need to find out where the camp is that the troublemakers
are being kept."
     "And?" Monterey prompted. He had been around a long time. Long enough
to know when it was important for someone to state the truth aloud. Chip,
although a rational chipmunk, still did not want to admit the possibility.
     Chip hesitated, then swallowed. "And see if they're even still alive."

     "Aunt Gadget?"
     She looked up from where she was sitting on her bunk, smiling in recognition
of the voice. Henry padded over to her from the doorway of the barracks room.
     "What is it, Henry?" she asked gently, hoisting him up into her lap.
     The preschooler wrapped his arms around her in a tiny hug, somewhat
surprising her in a pleasant way.
     "You okay?" she whispered, returning his hug.
     "Mmm-hmm." He sighed, then said, "I miss my mommy."
     Gadget closed her eyes and hugged him close. "I know you do."
     "You make a good mommy, too. I'm glad you're here."
     Smiling, Gadget lightly kissed him on the head. "Thanks, Henry. I'm glad I'm
here for you, too."
     "Aunt Gadget?"
     "Yes?"
     "When's mommy coming back?"
     Gadget stiffened slightly, then pressed the young boy even closer to her. She
remembered being around his age, asking her own father about her mother. That
was not very a pleasant time for her. She didn't let the pain drag her down, but
it's not something that she would want to put anyone through, especially the 
small, frail boy sitting on her lap.
     But how would lying to him help? All it would do is to build up his hopes,
only to be destroyed later, which was even worse.
     "I... I don't know," Gadget carefully answered, hugging Henry tightly. "I'm
sorry."
     "Do you think mommy is okay?"
     She shuddered, and was slow to reply. "I...."
     "I hope she is. I miss her lots, Aunt Gadget." He began to cry softly, burying
his face in her chest.
     It hurt her more than she would have thought. Henry's small sobs were
digging into a very secretive place in her heart, one she wasn't all that aware of.
As she stroked the back of his head tenderly, she couldn't bear the thought of this
young boy having his hope robbed from him by their oppressors. If this were her
son, would she really want him to feel even more despair than he already did?
     "Shhh...." Gadget cooed, rocking Henry back and back while one hand held
him close and the other lightly rubbed his back reassuringly. "It's okay. Your
mommy is just fine. She's... she's not in any pain right now, and she knows where
you are, and is here with you now, even though you can't see her."
     He turned his large black eyes up at her. "Promise she's okay?"
     "I promise."
     Henry nodded, fully trusting in her. Gadget managed to avoid a wince at the
sting lying to him had generated. But she was resolute. They would not steal this
child's innocence.
     "How come you know so much, Aunt Gadget?" he asked, settling against her
again, and closing his eyes as she stroked his hair back. "Are you a mommy, too?
Mommies know everything."
     Gadget's cheeks grew a tint of red, and smiled down at Henry. "No, Henry,
I'm not a mommy. I'm just an aunt right now." Still, she felt a faint glow at the
idea of being dubbed a "mommy". Glancing down at Henry, now asleep, she wondered if
she might be one sooner than one would think.
     Orphans need parents, too.

     "Gadget?" Chip, followed by Monterey, stepped through the doorway as
Gadget made a "shh"-ing noise and motioned to the sleeping form of Henry, all
snuggled up in her bunk. Quietly, she rose and lightly padded over to them both.
     "What is it guys?"
     Monterey quietly whispered, "We saw Zip."
     Gadget's wide eyes made up for the quiet tone they had to speak in.
"Really?"
     The large Aussie mouse nodded and related the encounter to her, finishing
with, "So Chip and I want to find out where they've shipped all the troublemakers.
If we can find them, maybe that large of a group can think of somethin' to bust us
outta here."
     "Do you really think that we can get everyone out of here?" Gadget asked
hopefully.
     "No," Chip dejectedly answered. "But some of us have to get out before too
long. We need to see what things are looking like on the outside, see who's out
there that can help."
     "You think Dale is okay?" Gadget queried, a bit worried.
     Chip's sorrowful expression wasn't too reassuring. "I don't know, Gadget. I
just don't know."
     "Eh, me pally'll be fine, luv," Monterey nodded assertively. In truth, even he
wasn't sure how Dale would hold up against the hordes of Swarm out there
searching for him, but both Chip and Gadget needed to know that someone held
faith in Dale's survival ability.
     "I just wish there was something else we could do," she glanced back at the
peaceful form of Henry, who was cuddled up in the covers. "I don't want to have to
lie to him again."
     "Whattaya mean, Gadget-luv?" Monterey seemed confused. Gadget and lying
did not go together.
     She turned back to the others, eyes downcast. "I... I told him that Janice was
okay. I didn't want to, but--" she broke off and unconsciously walked over to
Monterey and hugged him. "Oh Monty, I just couldn't tell him the truth! He's already
lost his father, and to be told that he was all alone now, well, I just can't burden
him with that. He's so hopeful -- I need to see that. Helps me to keep going myself."
She gulped and sniffed a little. "I remember what it was like being his age and 
knowing that one of your parents was never going to be there. How could I tell him
that both of them would never be around? It's just not fair." She sniffled a bit more
deeply this time. "Not fair."
     Monterey gently held her, soothing the tears that would not come -- Gadget
was too resolute to let them fall this time. I have to be strong, she thought, for
Henry's sake.
     They were quiet for a few minutes, letting Gadget sort through her emotions
until she felt stable enough to stand on her own again. Stepping back, she looked up
at her father figure for the past five years. "Thanks, Monty."
     "Anytime," Monterey smiled back at her.
     A sharp bugle call from outside broke their fleeting moment of peace.
     "Back to work," Chip grumbled.
     "Right, mate," Monterey nodded. He turned to Gadget. "Keep a stiff upper
lip, hon. Your dad would be proud of the way you're handling this." A strange
smile formed. "Better than me, eh?" He then turned and headed outside.
     "Golly," Gadget mentioned after he left. "I wonder what's bothering him?"
     Chip shook his head. "I'm not sure. But I've noticed it too. Ever since we got
here. I'm going to try and talk to him on the way back to the pits." Pause. "Uh,
you're doing okay, then? You feel better?"
     Gadget nodded. "Yeah. Monty has always been able to help lift me out of a
funk." She smiled. "Thanks for asking, Chip."
     He returned the smile. "My job, Gadget," he replied with a chuckle. There
was another awkward moment of silence, until Chip finally overcame his
nervousness to step forward and give Gadget a strong hug. One which was happily
returned.
     Another bugle call pulled Chip away a little.
     "Nuts," he muttered, then, to Gadget, "I'd better get going."
     "Okay," she said, giving him another gentle squeeze before disengaging.
"Uhm... see you soon."
     "Yeah," he said, taking a step towards the door. It was problematic, as he felt
lighter than normal after being in Gadget's warm arms. "I... I'll see you soon."
     Their eyes locked for a moment, exchanging the words that their mouths still
struggled to form. Another light smile goodbye, and Chip was out the door and off to
catch up to Monterey.
     Perhaps, if they had known that Chip would not return, they might
have finally admitted what they had both been thinking. Lacking that knowledge,
however, those emotions were left unsaid.

     Chip again cast his gaze about the pit they were in. It was huge, easily ten
feet long and already three feet deep, mostly slanted. About thirty other prisoners
were with them, and at least a hundred guards. The cavern had a few exits, but they
were all out in the open, making it highly suicidal to try and escape through them.
     "Looks like our best chance is to try and separate from the group during the
trek back," he remarked quietly to Monterey, who was digging across from him.
"But this place is like a maze. It'll be a task finding our way around, let alone to
those isolated camps. Hitter's up to something."
     "Of course he is, mate," Monterey answered. "The enslavement of all the
'softskins', remember?"
     But Chip shook his head. "No, Monty, I mean something else."
     "Hmm?"
     "We're rodents, Monty. Most of us aren't natural builders underground. The
insects that normally live here, like the ants for example, would be able to do this
job much more quickly and better than we could, especially considering the
conditions we're working under. I'm strongly suspecting that we're actually doing
all of the normal things that the worker insects normally take care of."
     "You mean building hives for 'em? Hatcheries?"
     "Right. Think about it. Hitter has mobilized all the insects into his own army,
basically. In order to free up as many of them as possible, he's having us doing
their work."
     "Yeah, but I don't see how this points to somethin' else croppin' up besides
what's already goin' down."
     Leaning on his shovel, Chip replied, "Regardless of what Hitter may think
about us, he loves his own kind. He would want the best for them, which would
mean letting the insects who know how to do the work build the things they need.
But he isn't, which means he's planning something else that requires all the muscle
he can muster up."
     Monterey didn't agree. "He doesn't give a flippin' coin over anyone else,
mate. He just cares about his own ego. This whole thing is just a power trip for him,
and everyone else be hanged," Monterey said with a sizable amount of venom in his voice.
     "No," Chip said carefully, measuring Monterey's reaction, "I don't think so.
He's managed to gain the trust of just about all of the insect population. He
almost even had Zipper in his fold, remember?"
     "Feh," Monterey was staring down at his shoveling, which was getting more
and more intense. "Hitter's nothin' more than a egotistical little runt, thinkin' he
can push anyone around who has the least bit of common sense and compassion."
     "You want to talk about it?"
     Monterey looked up from his digging at Chip with a bit of surprise. That line
had come out of nowhere, even though Chip was looking at him at the same manner
he would an absorbing mystery novel.  Shrugging, Monterey continued to dig.
"About what?"
     "The way you've been acting, Monty." Chip stole a glance around, making
sure that they were working far enough away from the rest of the prisoners so none
would overhear. The guards flew by overhead, but too far for any sounds in conversation to
reach them. "Come on, you've been acting even more irrational than usual."
     "Gee, thanks," Monterey grumbled.
     "I'm serious, Monty. The way you tried to attack Hitter last week? What
were you thinking?"
     "At least I was tryin'!" Monterey snapped back.
     Chip started at this, then dug his shovel in and rested against it. "Okay, out
with it."
     "Out with what?" Monterey was beginning to get irritated.
     "Monty, we've been friends for over five years now, right?"
     Monterey slowly nodded, suspicious of what Chip was leading up to.
     "So talk to me. You're hiding something here, and I think if we're going to
risk our lives to get out of this place, I need to know what the deal is with you
and this whole experience. We've been in situations almost as bad as this, and 
you've never reacted like this before."
     "Mate, we've *never* been in any situation like this before," Monterey sighed.
     "Then enlighten me as to why."
     Monterey paused in his digging, taking stock of their surroundings. "My
Uncle Liederkranz was one of my heroes as a kid," he started, almost seeming to be
ignoring Chip's request, but Chip sensed that was not the case.
     "He basically took me under his wing when I left home," Monterey
continued, an old, fond tone in his voice. One that sounded like it hadn't been
unpacked in quite a while. "He's the one who really first helped me out in
understandin' what globe-trottin' was all about. We palled around for a couple of
years, until we went our separate ways. The only place we never went was
Germany."
     Chip was quite for a moment. "Hitler?"
     Monterey nodded somberly. "Uncle Liederkranz was the last surviving
member from his family. It wasn't until that he married into our family that he had
any livin' relatives. All of his own were put to death, just because their religious
beliefs didn't match up with Hitler's."
     Chip felt himself shudder. "I didn't know that the animals followed in Hitler's
example."
     "Crikey, Chip, it's the way of the world, it seems. The majority of animals
livin' in any given city will have the same attitudes and beliefs as the humans there.
I've seen it in all the cities I've ever been in." He swallowed, then continued. 
"Anyway, my Uncle was in one of those camps, and saw his own kin killed off before 
him, while he was helpless to do anything about it. He was lucky -- the camp he was
in was raided by the Allies, setting him free the day before he was scheduled to be
executed. But it still haunted him for the rest of his life. I guess it rubbed off 
on me, as I never liked anything that could cause my Uncle pain."
     "Monty..." Chip reached out and laid a reassuring paw on his friend's arm.
"I... didn't know. I'm sorry."
     Monterey waved it aside. "No worries, mate. You couldn't have known. I
don't talk about it much."
     "I can understand."
     "No, you can't," Monterey said with a smirk. "And I pray that you never do."
     Chip nodded, catching Monterey's drift.
     "So you think Hitter actually cares about these bugs?" Monterey said after a
moment, moving the conversation along.
     "I think so. At least, in a Grand Inquisitor sense."
     "Grand Inquisitor?"
     "Oh, sorry. _The Grand Inquisitor_ was a short story written about Christ
returning to Earth during the Inquisition, and curing people and performing miracles
to help them. The Grand Inquisitor has him arrested" -- Monterey's eyes widened at
this -- "and thrown in jail. He visits Christ later, telling him that he's going to
have Christ burned at the stake the next day."
     Monterey was about to speak, but Chip held up his hand, continuing. "The
Grand Inquisitor explains why, saying that if Christ were allowed to live, he would
encourage free will in man, which would be a mistake. The Grand Inquisitor
believes whole-heartedly that man needs to be protected from himself. Free choice
would allow for some to be evil, or worship the wrong god, or harm others, and so
on. By taking away that free will, the Grand Inquisitor can keep mankind from
harming itself. He honestly believes that his method is the right way, and that it's
all done in mankind's best interests. Sort of a 'I love you so much I have to hurt 
you' deal."
     "Blimey...." Monterey managed to get out.
     "He lets Christ go at the end, if it makes you feel better," Chip offered. "You
should read it sometime."
     "I will, mate," Monterey answered, "as soon as we get out of this... pit of
despair." He felt himself chuckle. "Answer me these questions three...." he quietly
mumbled.
     "Yeah, that's the current priority," Chip agreed.
     They worked on, tossing various ideas back and forth. Monterey had been
in spots as bleak as this before in his travels, and Chip had a fairly good idea of
the patrols and a general layout of the place, and between the two of them, they 
were able to work out a feasible plan. It would be very risky, but they knew that
any attempt to escape would be.

     The group of rodents were slowly marched back from the pit towards the
concentration camp, the insect guards surrounding them, and hovering above as
well. They stopped at one of the many intersections, waiting as a large wooden
transport of provisions hauled by a number of ragged-looking otters passed by.
     In the middle of the group, Chip bent down to apparently massage his foot.
He leaned against the side of the wall as he did so. Monterey nonchalantly stepped
up close against him, obscuring the smaller Ranger from vision. The rest of the
rodents, looking bleakly ahead, could've cared less. The guards around and above
them weren't paying too much attention, just watching for any sudden attempts to
run or riot.
     The transport finally passed by, and the rodent herd was moved forward.
Monterey silently wished Chip the best of luck as he walked on, alone.
     Several minutes after they had left, part of the wall where Chip had leaned
against shifted and came off. It wasn't actually the wall at all, but Chip's 
battered jacket, turned inside-out. While working in the pit, Chip had caked the 
inside of it with dirt and mud. Then, while Monterey had provided cover, Chip had
quickly dug a small section of the wall out, wedged himself in, inverted his jacket
and covered himself up. He remained motionless as the troupe moved on, hoping that
both the dim lighting and the low level of interest of the guards would make up for any 
shortcomings in his make-shift camouflage.
     Apparently, it had worked, allowing Chip to slip through the net woven
around them by the insects. They never counted the prisoners, and Monterey would
tell Gadget and Tim what had happened, preventing them from raising any noise
over his disappearance.
     He knew, however, that he was far from his goal. He was still alone, with no
clue as to when he would be able to eat or sleep next, let alone which way to go to
find out where the troublemakers were being kept. Nevertheless, he had managed to
get started, and wasn't about to dwell on the hurdles until he reached them.
     "First things first," he reminded himself, and checked about the intersection.
It was clear for the moment, so he carefully headed off towards the east, where he
recalled Hitter's office as being. As he passed carefully along the dirt tunnel, 
he kept an eye out for any ventilation shafts near the ceiling. He had spotted 
them in Hitter's office, and was guessing that they had been incorporated throughout
the complex. Seeing has how they had served the Rangers faithfully in all their 
previous cases, he thought it best to stick with what works.
     Another few feet of cautious creeping, and Chip spotted one further
down the wall. It was up about ten inches, but looked big enough to slip into.
Quickly checking for any signs of anyone approaching, Chip cautiously scampered
up the side of the wall to the uncovered shaft. He crawled inside easy enough, but
had to chuckle at the thought that this is how the humans had to get around in
ventilation shafts -- not being able to walk down one was a new experience.
     He reached an intersection only a foot into the crawlspace, and tried to place
where he was in relation to Hitter's office. He turned east, trying to keep going in that
general direction. The next hour was spent carefully working his way through the
shafts, and having to backtrack a number of times when the shaft stopped at the
wrong room. While it was time-consuming, at least Chip was getting a better idea as
to the layout of Swarm's HQ.
     In addition, he had noticed an occasional hole in the ventilation system, each
leading straight down. The bottoms were obscured in the darkness, but pausing over
one of them, Chip thought he heard the sounds of rushing water echoing up.
Although it was impossible to judge how far down it was, Chip guessed that each of
the vertical shafts dropped out into part of the sewer system, probably to keep a
steady supply of air flowing, as he hadn't seen any shafts leading up to the surface.
     Finally, after a few minutes longer, he faintly heard some voices talking,
albeit muted. It was difficult to track the voices through the next few 
intersections, as the hard-packed earthen walls weren't as resonant as the metal 
vents he was used to, but he eventually managed to pull himself up to another 
opening at the end, and carefully peeked over the side.

     "The main power lines run along the northern side of the building," Sand
traced the route with his fingers across the open blueprints in front of him. "The
back-up generators are stored in the basement, and house their own separate power
lines. For those, we'll have to totally disable the systems themselves, to keep any
power from being sent out."
     "That's where my boys come in," Brickhouse nodded. "Or that's where we
start, I guess."
     Hitter nodded and glanced around the room. "Anyone else have anything to
add before we finalize the plan?"
     Grater, Washboard, and Brickhouse bounced the plans around in their heads,
trying to see how they looked from different angles. Zipper merely folded his arms
and sat back. Hitter gave him a reassuring smile, which, of course, didn't reassure
Zipper in the least.
     The rest of Hitter's advisors didn't seem to think Zipper should have been at
this meeting, but Hitter insisted that Zipper could be trusted, so they deferred to
his judgement. Although they didn't realize it, Hitter didn't trust Zipper any more
than the others did. Less, in fact. This was a major offensive, and the real driving
force behind Swarm in the first place. Zipper wouldn't stand for it in any 
circumstances.
     But, Hitter also was well aware that by allowing Zipper to be privy to this
meeting, and the information within, Zipper's sense of responsibility would not allow the
idealistic fly to attempt to stop Swarm. Zipper was glumly also aware of this.
     The fly knew that he could easily track down various rodent allies and leak
the information to them, but that would merely result in more bloodshed between the
two groups, which would not only further the gap of hate between rodents and
insects, but also put all those deaths on his own head. The only way to stop this
assault would be to have a counterattack of massive proportions act as a defense,
but the amount of casualties from the encounter would no doubt be tremendous. By
telling Zipper exactly what they were planning to do, Hitter had set up Zipper's
sense of responsibility as a barrier to keep him from using any of the information as
a way of stopping the attack. It was so ironic Zipper felt like laughing.
     More importantly, the attack on this building was strictly a tactical strike
set to inconvenience, not to harm. Cutting out all the power would turn off the 
lights, computers, and phone lines, but that's it. The very fact that Hitter was
actually upping his sights, however, was bothering Zipper enough that the detective
never really suspected that the aggressive termite wasn't being entirely truthful
with him about the true purpose behind the attack.
     "All right," Hitter stated, seeing no-one had anything to add. "Then let's
move on. Now then, Brickhouse, you already have your crew ready?"
     "Yep," Brickhouse nodded, "just give the word and we're ready to rock and
roll."
     "Good. So, to recap, Brickhouse, your troops act first. Enter the back-up
systems and rip them to shreds. Washboard, you'll be monitoring the power flow
from your position here," Hitter tapped a section of the blueprints, indicating the
basement. "The moment the back-ups are offline, give the word. Sand, your boys
cut the main power. With no back-ups, everything will go dead."
     Zipper thought he saw a flicker of something on the others' faces.
Anticipation?
     "Grater, you and your squads come in through the roof, travel through the
walls, and take care of your predesignated targets. During the confusion within, you
shouldn't have any trouble getting those fires set. The rooms are isolated, and
without the alarm systems working, it'll be too late when it's finally realized that
the building is on fire. By then, though, all the troops will have withdrawn and 
returned to base. Once the occupants realize that it was a large group of insects
that caused this, maybe they'll start taking us more seriously." Hitter sighed and
leaned back. "Report back to me when you return. I should be here, but I might be 
out, in case some trouble sprouts up. In any case, when you return, I'll give you 
the brief on the next offensive. We move out at 0300 hours."
     The others nodded, except for Zipper, who merely watched carefully.
Something was amiss about this, although he had no idea what.
     Grater grinned wickedly. "Those humans will never know what hit 'em."
     Hitter looked over at Zipper, alarmed. "What is it?" He had spotted the
sudden look of surprise on Zipper's face. If Zipper hadn't already known this attack
was directed at the humans, he would have thought that was the reason.
     Zipper blinked and glanced at Hitter. In the tick of a second, Zipper weighed
telling the truth versus lying. He sided with telling the truth this time -- even 
though he couldn't think of anything, there might be a way to stop this attack 
without endangering his fellow insects. But the only reason that chance existed was 
because Hitter still had enough faith that Zipper wouldn't betray Swarm. While Zipper
didn't care too much for the trust of a madman, he needed to keep it in this case.
     I think I spotted something up in the ventilation shaft, he pointed up to it.
     The others spun around as they heard a slight shuffling sound coming from
the shaft. As if something was quickly moving farther away from the opening.
     "Guards!"

     Chip swallowed hard as he heard the shout from behind him. He was adept at
scampering forward on all fours, but the space was a bit cramped for him to go 
full-throttle, and considering the insects could fly through after him with little difficulty,
his chances of outdistancing them didn't look good.
     If only he hadn't moved! Still, the news that Hitter was going after a human
building had spurred on the desire to see what those blueprints were that they were
looking over. The letters "S.C.H." were in the corner, but he couldn't remember
what they stood for, so he had leaned further out for a better look. He probably would have
never have been caught if Zipper wasn't there -- for the first time, Chip regretted
helping Zipper hone his observational skills. It could very well be the death of him
now.
     He heard an angry buzzing behind him, sounding off the dirt walls in a very
odd and unnerving pattern. The buzzing grew steadily into a roar as the
winged insects behind him began to rapidly catch up. Chip raced ahead as best he
could, forging ahead despite his stumbles and wobbles as he fought for balance and
control in the awkward confines. His worn and tattered fedora tumbled off behind
him as he pushed himself foward as fast as possible. But the insects were practically
on top of him, and there was no way--
     The ground in front of him suddenly disappeared, and he felt himself
free-falling through one of the vertical ventilation shafts. He breathed a sigh of
relief as he heard the buzzing grow more distant above. Maybe they flew right over
the hole, and missed him?
     The relief turned to worry as he remembered that the worst part of falling was
the sudden stop at the end. Even if it was water, he would have been falling long
enough to be severely injured upon hitting the water's surface. Spreading his arms
out, he dug his worn and dry fingers into the dirt wall, trying to slow his decent.
Pain lanced up each arm as his fingers were yanked back and ricocheted off of
imbedded rocks, but he stubbornly kept digging them in, putting out his feet to help.
     Slowly, the speed of his descent began to lessen, and soon he came to a
complete stop. The sounds of rushing water could be heard easily over his ragged
breath. He could also feel a cool breeze coming up from underneath him. The actual
sewer itself must be right below him. His fingers ached, and the sharp pain that
stabbed when he carefully flexed them told him he had sprained a few.
Nevertheless, he swallowed the burning ache and carefully inched his way down,
closer to the opening above the sewer.
     Sure enough, it was directly below him. His eyes finally adjusted enough for
him to get an idea of his surroundings, he gingerly manuevered downward. The
walls of the opening were made from stone, he noted. Swarm must have found a few
open chinks in the stone ceiling and dug straight up from there, then created the
vent system around the vertical shafts. The water level was a good twenty feet below
him, and moving fairly quickly. He could easily drop into it, but there was no telling
if the water would be emptying out down a pipe, leading to who knows where.
     His best bet would be to ease out onto the ceiling, then carefully and slowly
crawl across it, down the wall, and to any small ledges he could rest on. Slowly, he
lifted one foot away from the shaft wall, lowered himself down slightly, and reached
out to the ceiling, trying to find a foothold. He'd need to get a secure one to brace
his--
     A sudden shower of dirt rained down on him, as the roaring buzz that had
faded away suddenly returned and increased in volume at a rapid rate.
     They must have backtracked! Chip's mind raced, his eyes wide with surprise.
In the momentary shock, his brain lost track of his muscle control, and his 
battered fingers weakened enough to lose their grip, sending him tumbling below 
into the rushing waters of the sewer.
     Even before he had resurfaced, the swift current was carrying him swiftly
downstream. He sputtered as he flailed about, attempting to get a handle on his
situation. Glancing back at the opening, he saw a dense cloud of insects pour out,
and begin to spread out, moving downstream. They were determined to find him,
and if they did, Chip doubted he would live long thereafter.
     "Caught between a rock and hard place," he coughed to himself. Looking
back to where the water was carrying him, he saw that, indeed, a pipe was directly
ahead. He started to attempt to swim to the side, when he noticed the swarm
slipping ahead of him, up towards the center of the ceiling. Unsure of what they
were up to, Chip noticed that they were working efficiently in a square pattern,
apparently around the large stones making up part of the ceiling....
     The dawning of realization chilled him more than the water he was in.
     They knew where he was, and were working to loosen the large brick so it
would drop *right as the current carried him under it*. There was no way he could
survive that! Desperately, he struggled to swim out from the path the current was
running, but it was too strong, and he was too weak. As he neared the drop zone, he
saw the large, heavy rock lurch slightly. In a last minute gamble, he held his 
breath and dove underwater, hoping to get enough distance betwe--
     His thoughts were caught off as the brick dropped, slamming through the
water, and pummeling him downward towards the unyielding concrete floor of the
sewer. Fortunately for Chip, the impact knocked him unconscious, saving him from
the pain of being crushed.
     Above the water, the swarm cheered as the rock plunged home, and they saw
the sudden burst of air bubbles to the surface. It was a short-lived burst, and
then the surface of the water was still once more, flowing smoothly into the 
awaiting pipe. Chips' body, however, crushed under the weight, would not be moving 
for quite some time. The insects felt quite proud to report this back to their leaders.
     Especially to Zipper. After all, if he hadn't spotted the spy, they never would
have known he was there.

              == Day Eight of Swarm Occupation ==

     "Daddy, I'm tired," Cindy leaned up against her father, her black hair draping
over his knee. It had been another long day, and although he couldn't see the sky,
Tim knew the stars and moon were out tonight.
     "Yeah, I know Cindy. Don't worry, though. We can sleep here if you want,"
he answered, managing to sound relaxed, despite the horror they were living in.
     Cindy nodded and climbed up on his lap, joining her sisters, who were
already starting to drift off. He rubbed the back of Cindy while his other arm 
cradled Serena protectively to him. Ann was huddled up on his lap, hugging both
him and her baby sister. Ann looked up at him with her blue eyes, worry filling them.
     "Where's Uncle Chip?" she asked.
     He smiled. "Uncle Chip is off in another part of the camp, Ann. He'll be
fine." I hope he is, he added mentally. Monterey had informed both him and Gadget
of Chip's decision to risk finding those elusive camps for help. That was a while
ago, and he hadn't yet returned, not that they would have been expecting him to
come back this early. But all of them knew that for every hour Chip was gone, their
fear that he may have been captured, or worse, grew.
     But Chip was smart, strong, and quick. He'd be okay. Tim hoped that the
more he told himself that, the more it would become true.
     The trio of little girls hugged close to their father. Tim sighed deeply, then
turned his eyes toward the ceiling. "We're not in the best of places," he quietly
spoke to the ceiling. "But thank you for keeping my girls safe."
     Cindy, Ann, and Serena hugged their father tighter, as if responding to
something unheard.

                         *     *     *

     Washboard swallowed hard. "Are you certain?" he asked, his voice raspy.
This couldn't be happening!
     The doctor, a cricket, nodded sadly. "I'm afraid so, Washboard. The cracks
in her exoskeleton were too severe for us to patch up before the infection spread."
     Washboard ran a single, ragged hand over his long face. He managed to
regain his composure, aside from a slight shaking, to ask, "How long?"
     "It's hard to say," the doctor replied. "One week, at the longest." He gently
handed the shaken grasshopper a file folder. "Here's her file. I... I thought you
should be the one to hold on to it, seeing as how much she loved you."
     Washboard swallowed again, despite his bone-dry mouth. "Thank you,
doctor," he answered slowly, looking it over with a detached expression. "May I
see her? I know it's past visiting hours, but--"
     The cricket hand up a hand. "No need to ask, Washboard. You're more than
welcome to see her. Just don't wake her -- she's been getting weaker, and needs her
strength for when she's conscious."
     "Yes," Washboard nodded numbly, "yes, yes, of course."
     The doctor give him a reassuring pat on the arm, then moved on down the
dark hallway, allowing Washboard to handle the news in peace.
     Glancing around, Washboard was glad no-one was around to see him wipe
away a tear. He started glancing over the file as he made his way over to the
children's ward, silently cursing to himself all the way.

                         *     *     *

     "They killed Chip," Zipper actually said through a half-choked sob.
     Zinger tried to console her heart-broken brother, resting his head in her lap.
They were on the top of the landfill, looking out at the stars far above them. 
Zipper had broken down to her when they met, explaining that because of him, his
teammate and recent mentor had died.
     Shhhh... she soothed. How can you be sure it was really Chip? There's a lot
of chipmunks out there.
     Not with a battered fedora, Zipper gestured as he tried to rein in his emotions.
He must've knocked it off as he was trying to get away. Before he fell down the shaft.
They had brought it back as proof, Zipper explained as he rubbed a weary hand to his 
forehead.
     Zipper recalled the incident well. They had come back into the office,
carrying the hat, and explaining how they had dropped a brick on a chipmunk as it
floundered helplessly in the sewer water. Sand and the others seemed to think it
made a fitting grave. Zipper had immediately left, not caring if that had blown his
chances at learning anything more in the future. Chip had died because of him!
     As if reading her brother's mind, Zinger shook her head.
     You're not right, she buzzed softly, blaming yourself like that. If anything,
you've helped establish that you really are on their side. If you weren't, you would
never have reported that you saw something.
     But I did, Zipper argued, and if I had known it was Chip, I never would have
said anything.
     Zipper, his sister gently explained, whatever the reason behind it, it's over
and done with. You can't turn back the clock.
     Then what can I do?
     You can make sure that Chip's death was not in vain, and use the information
that you've learned to figure out a way to stop Hitter from shutting down that office
building.
     Zipper sniffled a bit, feeling his older sister's reassuring hands stroke his
forehead, just like when he cried when they were younger. He was very glad when
she had agreed to help him stop Hitter -- although she couldn't help much in the
ways of subterfuge, she was unparalleled in moral support.
     Sighing deeply, Zipper continued stargazing, wondering what one, small fly
like him could do.

                         *     *     *

     "I'm telling ya, this is the best thing that ever happened to us!" Bubbles
grinned from his position on the rooftop. Desiree glanced over at him with a
supportive smile, then turned back to her own view out over the city, her smile
vanishing.
     "This'll show that Fat Cat clown," Bubbles continued on, lost in his own
vision of the future, where he presided prominently at the top of the animal
underworld. "This Swarm bunch has actually done me a big favor. They've busted
up Fatty and his new sidekick mutt, not to mention leaving the rest of the big shots
around here scattered to the four winds. Hah! And you'll note," he remarked
smugly, "that they've never even tried to take me on. They're smart. They know I'll
clobber 'em if they get too close. Soon enough, though, they come to me to ask for
an alliance, and that'll be the break I've been waiting for."
     "But of course, dearest," Desiree called over her shoulder, her light, sultry
accent drifting clearly over the rooftop. "Zis is why you 'ave -- 'ow do you say,
solidified? -- your 'oldings 'ere in ze South Side?"
     "Darn tootin'," he nodded. "I knew you had the brains behind that beauty to
be part of my growing empire, Desiree." He nodded satisfactory at her. She was
further down the ledge from him, also staring out over the quiet city. She was, he
surmised, planning out what her share would be as part of his gang. She'd find out
soon enough, he chuckled to himself.
     Desiree, however, wasn't thinking about her current job in the slightest. She
wasn't thinking about her so-called work with Bubbles, or her true job with Fat Cat,
but instead of this hostile take-over of the city, going on unseen from the humans.
And she had to wonder how one group of rodents in particular were handling this.
And, out of them, how one mouse was holding up to this latest crisis.

                         *     *     *

     While waiting at the intersection again, Monterey wondered how Chip was
faring. It was evening, and time for him and his fellow rodents to go back to the
camp for a short night of rest before the whip was cracked once more in the
morning.
     Monterey noticed that a few of the mice in the group were murmuring to each
other, while trying to peer down the hall. Before he could try and see what they
were talking about, however, the intersection cleared, and their escort began to
usher them through. As they reached the middle, however, everyone turned at the
sound of a ruckus exploding just down the corridor from them. Only a few feet
away, a small group of squirrels, mice, and a couple of muskrats were apparently
trying to fight back -- probably out of frustration and anger. They had overturned
one of the supply wagons, and were wrestling with the current insects around them.
Despite being outnumbered, the rodents' raw passion more then made them a match
for their opponents. Monterey was guessing, by the suddenness, that the rebels had
been the slaves in the transport group, and had just now snapped. The entire
corridor was in chaos, and it was getting worse every second.
     As if by some hidden signal, the majority of the escort for Monterey's group
broke off and ran down to the fray, hoping to quickly subdue the attackers.
Monterey felt a sudden surge of rage within him, and glanced about the rodents
around him. None of them dared to attempt to escape or assist the others. The fear
had been drilled in too deeply for them. Monterey was about to berate them all
when he suddenly saw something which stole his breath away.
     "Bink?" he gasped, spotting the little female squirrel huddled off to the side,
away from everyone's attention. With a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure
no one was watching, Monterey stealthily made his way over to the side of the
tunnel.
     "Bink, what're you doin' here?" he quickly whispered.
     "Monty!" Bink hoarsely whispered back, then latched onto him, holding on
tight.
     "Where's your mum?" he asked, worried about the answer.
     "Back at the camp," she said, then almost exclaimed, "my sister's in there!"
She pointed to the battle just down the hallway.
     "Tammy?" Monterey sighed when Bink nodded timidly. Running a hand over
his head, he nodded and decided to take a chance. "Bink, now listen to me. You see
that group of mice over there?" He pointed to his group, and she nodded. "I want
you to sneak over there, and tell one of them that you need to go back with them,
okay?" Despite the group's lack of will to fight, they still meant to protect the
young, and would likely protect Bink somehow until they returned to camp.
     "Once you get to the camp," Monterey continued, "ask around for Gadget.
She'll take care of you. Tell her that I will be back later, okay? Tell her where
your mum is, too, so Gadget can try and get you back to her. You think you can do
that for me?"
     Bink nodded a little, and Monterey gave her another strong hug. "Okay, get
movin'. I gotta watch out for your sister."
     Carefully, Bink scampered over to the group, everyone still too engrossed in
the fight to really notice. Monterey watched from the niche he was now hiding in as
a mouse bent down to listen to her whisper. He nodded, straightened, and whispered
something to a few other mice. Monterey was glad to see them huddle in around Bink.
Being small, she was easy enough to hide, as some of the guards might get
suspicious if they saw her -- most labor crews didn't have children that young on them.
     Only a few seconds longer, and the bolstered number of the insects had
gained a decisive advantage. Glancing around, Monterey finally spotted Tammy,
who had already been subdued with the rest. The insects in charge discussed things
among themselves for a bit, while Monterey's own group was moved on, Bink
safely hidden within. Of course, this would be a problem for Monterey getting back
into the camp unseen, but he'd choke on that cheese when he got to it.
     After a few minutes, a small group of insects came down the hallway,
stopping not too far from Monterey. Out of the five, it was apparent four were
guards, and the central one, a wasp, was the head cheese here. The ant that had
subdued the troublemakers approached the leader quickly, while the rodents
remained pinned to the ground. Monterey had to smile a bit, as Tammy was still
struggling. He often thought that if he had ever had a daughter, that's the way she
would act.
     As the ant approached, Monterey hoped that his gamble would work. If he
was correct, the rodents would be taken to that secluded camp for the ruckus-makers,
and then he could try to trail them there. If things worked out, he might
even run into Chip along the way.
     "Report," the wasp stated crisply as the any stepped to him and saluted.
     "A small attempt to strike back," the ant replied. "That one," he pointed to
Tammy, "made the initial assault, and keep yelling at the others to join the fight.
She was pretty inspiring, because she actually got some action out of them -- this
is the first time they've ever lifted a finger against us."
     "The redhead, huh?" the wasp said evenly. "And so young... it's almost a
shame.
     "Shall I take them to the Jars, sir?"
     Jars? Monterey didn't have the slightest clue what that was supposed to
mean.
     "No," the wasp shook his head. "Take them to the pits. Work them until they
drop, then work them another three hours. Take as many men and 'motivational
tools' as you need. Except for the instigator. She goes to the Jars."
     "Not the others, though? They all attacked, sir."
     "True, but they can be beaten back into place. The girl, however, could
threaten our security here by spreading her initiative. For now, the Jars are
reserved for those who seek to fight us mentally as well as physically." He 
shrugged. "Perhaps Hitter will allow us to Jar everyone who raises a hand in 
opposition, but until then, I carry out his decrees as he gives them."
     The ant nodded in understanding and motioned for the guards to bring
Tammy forward.
     "Well my dear," the wasp said smoothly to the struggling form of Tammy,
her face contorted into a frown. "I hope you got those nasty aggressive emotions out
of your system."
     "Hah!" Tammy sneered defiantly.
     Monterey was liking Tammy more and more these days.
     "You're not gonna get away with this, bug!" she snapped at him, she
straining against the large beetles holding her back. "You can't get away with
treating me, and my parents, and my baby sister like this! We're people, too, you
know!"
     "You're annoying and an imbecile if you think you have helped your fellow
softskins any," the wasp harshly cut her off. "Oh yes, my dear, I'm afraid that 
those who followed your advice and lashed out will be punished severely, while
you," he grinned sadistically, "will be off to the secret little place that we
send all our dissidents."
     That grin sent shivers down both Monterey and Tammy's spines.
     "Take her to the Jars," the wasp ordered. "And don't bother being gentle
about it."
     Tammy was roughly hauled off down the hallway, while the wasp, his guards,
and the ant watched her go.
     "Still," the ant remarked, a touch of sadness in his voice, "she is rather
young. No more than eighteen, I would guess."
     "She was born a softskin, grew up a softskin, and will die a softskin," the
wasp commented coldly. "Nothing she does can change that. It was nature's
decision. And haven't the softskins been telling us that we all should follow the 
laws of nature? Those which state 'survival of the fittest'? I refuse to operate 
as they do, using it as a double-standard. No, they will see what it's like to 
live on the other end of the equation for quite some time now. Enough of our blood 
has been spilled. They have more than enough to spread around."
     Monterey could hardly believe his ears. This wasp wasn't just hateful; he was
homicidal. Even the ant seemed slightly taken aback by the venom in the wasp's
words, but still nodded crisply, saluted, and headed off to escort Tammy to the Jars.
The wasp watched them go for a minute, the motioned for his guards to follow him as 
he started off down in the opposite direction.
     Monterey waited for a moment, then stepped out into the now empty tunnel,
glancing both ways. After he was sure it was clear, he swiftly started after the
guards who had hauled Tammy away, staying to the shadows as much as possible.
     As he did, he wondered what the wasp meant by "the Jars"? It might be the
name of the camp where the revolutionists were kept, but from the way the wasp
spoke of them, they sounded more like a torture area of some kind, similar to how
the pits were a place of back-breaking labor. Whatever they were, he'd have to wait
until Tammy was taken there before he could attempt to rescue there, so the guards
would lead him right to it.
     It would be tricky, as he would have to stay out of sight, and dodge any
patrols that came along, but he wasn't too worried. He was a fairly good tracker, so
letting the guards get a several minutes ahead wasn't a big problem. And the patrols
really weren't trained that well -- most of them were still learning the ropes, 
so avoiding their notice would be easy enough. Crikey, he and Chip had already both 
escaped from their groups.
     Steeling himself against any upcoming surprises, he worked his way on down
the tunnel, hoping that each step would be another one closer to freedom.