>Chapter Eight : Chip's Inferno TOM: What about our inferno? >Chip came to in a waiting room. The only other occupant was Dale, >wearing a sheet. Chip looked down in surprise and saw he was wearing a >sheet a well. CROW: Oh, God, they've joined the... JOEL: No, Crow. Even Nowak wouldn't do that. TOM: You promise? [Pause] JOEL: No, I can't... I just can't.... [JOEL buries his face in his hands and starts to emit heartrending sobs.] >"Dale?" Chip asked. > >"Hi, Chip." There was a certain lack of animation in Dale's voice. CROW: Look, Joel, we'll let you take this one. It will make you feel better. [JOEL continues to sob.] TOM: Darn cheap Korean animation studios! CROW: Tom! TOM: Time waits for no bot. >Chip >felt horror. JOEL: The... fanfic isn't over? CROW: Good to have you back. JOEL: Thanks, buddy. >"Monterey, Gadget, Zipper. CROW: Who? TOM: The fly. CROW: There's a fly in this?! JOEL: Well, not really. No. >Didn't they... make it?" he asked, >frightened. CROW: Monterey, Gadget, *and* Zipper?! JOEL: He's imaginative, I grant you that.... >"None of us did." Dale shrugged tiredly. CROW: I just realized they're dead and the story still isn't over. ALL: AAAAAGGGH! >"Zipper's relatives are laying >eggs on us even as we speak." TOM: Oh, great. When I think of the Rescue Rangers from now on, I'll remember that line. Thank you *so* much, Nowak. >"Then this is ... Heaven?" Chip looked around, appalled. He had expected >it to look less like the waiting room in a bus station. CROW: Even eternal bliss is depressing in the hands of-- >"You Wish," intoned a deep and commanding voice from all around them. > >Visions of his life before he found the bomber jacket passed through his >head. Chip gulped. "I didn't think we'd go to aitch ee double hockey >sticks for pestering Donald --" CROW: [CHIP] But after spending some time in the Nowakverse, I've got to admit Hell looks pretty good to me now. >"Not Quite," intoned the voice. "We All Have Sins To Make Retribution >For. TOM: Joel, does that mean Nowak will be punished for writing this? JOEL: I think so. TOM: Good. >This Is The Place Where One Earns Redemption, That One May Rest >Eternally, Confident That One's Sins Are Forgiven." TOM: It Is For Your Own Good. Trust Me On This. >"Well, uh... I feel pretty good about myself," Chip said nervously. CROW: Like we didn't know that already. >"Me too!" yelped Dale. "I think I've made retribution already!" JOEL: [DALE] I've been in this fanfic, and I was in _Shadow Warrior,_ and I was sort of in _Rangers of NIMH_.... >"Yep, my soul's at peace --" CROW: [CHIP] And it was all Dale's fault anyway! Punish _him!_ Punish _him!_ >"Nice Try." A door opened. "This Way." JOEL: You know, I can't decide if this is a Higher Being speaking, or someone is just having fun with the P.A. System. TOM: Attention. This Is God. The Earth Will Be Closing In Five Minutes. > >They walked a bridge over a vast cauldron of bubbling cheese, CROW: So, in this afterlife, retribution is achieved by exercising constructed spans? > a fondue >stretching to the horizons. In the distance, a figure breached out of >the fondue to gain a moment's relief from the agony -- and to scream... TOM: [FIGURE] I forgot the breadsticks! > >"Monty," Chip gasped. TOM: So they're dead and they're in purgatory? CROW: The Rescue Rangers are *dead* and they're in *purgatory*? JOEL: It can't get any worse. It just can't... >The end of the bridge behind them detached and dropped into the sizzling >cheese. Without a word, they turned and ran, hoping the far end of the >bridge was still secure. Faster they raced, not daring to look behind >them, hearts pounding and lungs bursting. There was a door dimly visible >in the distance. They redoubled their efforts, made a desperate leap -- >and made it. TOM: Cliché Cliffhanger # 116. Collect Them All! >"Is this where we're spending eternity?" asked Dale. > >"One Of You Will Make Retribution Here." TOM: I just know Nowak's going to throw in a mask with two rats in it. JOEL: He might hear you... TOM: Sorry. >Chip and Dale looked at one another, eyes brimming with tears. > >"I guess this is it, old buddy," said Chip. CROW: [CHIP] I love you, Dale. TOM: [DALE] I love you, Chip.... >"Since this may be the last time we see each other, I won't mention how >you led us to our deaths and all," Dale said, voice cracking. > >"Uh, thanks, buddy." TOM: I liked our lines better. >The room had a water cooler and an office cubicle. In the cubicle was a >chipmunk sized chair and Pentium computer. CROW: Which, oddly enough, was human-sized. > Chip lifted the thick desk >calendar, with a badly drawn but scathingly insightful cartoon. The >first page said "Monday: 20th Century." The second said "Monday: 21st >Century." The last panel of each cartoon was crossed out, the punch >lines unreadable. JOEL: Uh, then how could Chip tell it was "scathingly insightful"? TOM: Joel! Have you forgotten the Nowak Principle? "Don't bring in the details unless they're pointless to the story." > He flicked to "Monday: 25th Century" before he got the >point. CROW: I get it. Nowak works in an office. JOEL: Oh. I feel his pain, now. TOM: Yeah. No wonder he has to inflict torment on cartoon characters. >Chip felt a force pulling him away, drifting back from Dale and the >cubicle. Dale's clothes changed to black jacket, tie, and a white shirt: >a dressing style which had been out of favor in the computer industry >since the early 1980s but which still had horrific power for one who >preferred Hawaiian shirts. TOM: [DALE] I'm... in "Gattaca"?! ALL: AAAAAGH! >"Dale," intoned The Voice. "For The Sins You Have Committed In Life, Of >Sloth And Gluttony, You Are Sentenced To Find All The Bugs In This GUI >Operating System, And Thus Find Redemption." CROW: Anyone want to bet what Nowak's job is? JOEL: No. >"There must be a mistake," Dale quavered. "I don't know anything about >computers." > >"You'd Best Start Studying Then." JOEL: On the job technical training. You gotta love it. >"No," gasped Dale. Then, a howl: "NOOOOOooooo!" > >A steel door slammed between them. TOM: "Them"? CROW: All those letter "o"s. >Chip tried to keep from quaking with fear as another room formed around >them. Wood, arched ceilings, stained glass - a church. His sheet >transformed into an elegant tuxedo. A sense of bliss came over him, and >he turned, wondering what the catch was. With Monterey a piece of stale >bread in a celestial party dish and Dale forced to work Quality >Assurance, what would his own fate be? TOM: [CHIP] I'm back in Nowak's fanfic. I'm not in Hell after all. Hey- wait a minute.... >Gadget solidified, in a white wedding dress with a long train, bouquet >clutched in her hands, tears trickling down her delicate and beautiful >features. Chip felt his heart go out to her. ALL: EEEEEWW! > He knew somehow, they would >be together forever, that this was their eternal union. He had to say >something to express his love. CROW: [CHIP] Did you know chipmunks are... gifted? >"Hominahominahomina..." > >That wasn't it. CROW: Did that line work with any of your girlfriends, Joel? JOEL: Well... one. > >"Gadget Hackwrench," intoned The Voice. "For The Sins You Have Committed >In Life..." TOM: I heard that one about Bill Gates. >Gadget flashed Chip a single, hate-filled glance before bursting into >tears. CROW: Oh, I get it! John Nowak is really Julie Bihn! >Chapter Nine : Goldberg's Revenge > >Chip awoke screaming. JOEL: Oh, look - they're *not* dead! ALL: AAAAAAUGH! >He found himself tied up, sitting on a shelf, a long distance above a >tile floor. CROW: He found it... strangely pleasurable. [JOEL coughs.] > A cord led from his bonds upwards, between two metal plates >set at right angles to one another. It was obviously some sort of >fiendish deathtrap. CROW: Or the start of a romantic evening. JOEL: Strike two. CROW: Darn. >He sighed in relief. "Only a dream..." he murmured, ecstatic. > >There was a Gray Mouse on the floor, some distance away. She looked at >him, and blinked her pink eyes. "That must have been some dream," she >said. CROW: Isn't it great that Chip spontaneously uses the same nickname Jürgen came up with so we'd know who he was talking about? JOEL: Even though she's a *white* mouse? >Dale was tied a short distance from him. He was sitting on the trap bar >of a mousetrap. "Chip's all right!" he exclaimed. CROW: [DALE] At least, for Chip! TOM: And aside from being in deadly peril, but oh well. >"That's what Zipper told ya," Monty yelled in a voice muffled by the >coffee grinder he was standing in. JOEL: And a preposition is not something one should end a sentence with. TOM: That is the sort of nonsense up with which I will not put. JOEL: Good one. High five? TOM: My arms don't work. >"How could Zipper tell?" Chip asked groggily. He now saw Zipper above >him on a window sill, taped firmly to a coil of wire. > >"It's a Fly thing," Monty explained. "Best not to think on it." JOEL: I'm trying not to. I'm trying not to.... >"Who's Pink Eyes?" Chip asked. TOM: A very unwise thing to call someone who holds a gun to your head. >"Gadget's twin sister," Dale explained briefly. "Widget, Chip. Chip, >Widget." > >Waboom. ALL: MONTY! [Wave hands and choke.] >That was the sound effect of Chip's mind coming to grips with the fact >Gadget not only had a sister, but Gadget's sister wanted to kill them >all. CROW: Didn't the same thing happen in _Sisters_? > Apart from his hat leaping off his head, performing a back flip, >and landing once more, Chip was able to maintain composure admirably. TOM: And Chip actually behaves like a cartoon character! JOEL: Savor the moment. There won't be another. >"I hate friends' family reunions. You don't know anyone, and -" > >Dale shrugged non-commitally. "I've been to worse; I've been to better." JOEL: Which sums up the reaction to this fanfic. >Chip looked around. Where was Gadget? CROW: She was resuming her career in Vegas. >"Let me explain what's going on here," JOEL: [WIDGET] Angst-ridden revenge focusing on Gadget. TOM: [CHIP] Oh, so we're in a fanfic. >Widget began. "We're in the Grand >Hall of the old immigration center on Trellis Island. Your little >princess is locked in a cage in the next room. Now I'm going to get >technical, so please try to stay with me. CROW: NOOOOOOO! [CROW is comforted by JOEL.] >"First, El Tubbo next to you gets launched by the mousetrap. His weight >pulls you up between those two metal plates. You close an electrical >circuit and lose all interest in subsequent events. Resistance is >useless." A smile flickered over her face. Chip shuddered. TOM: With a pun like that, so would I. >"Nevertheless, I will continue the scenario, to satisfy your >intellectual curiosity and that of your briefly mourning comrades. JOEL: I had a shop teacher like her. TOM: And you *miss* Earth?! >"The electrical circuit powers a bug zapper." Here she pointed at >Zipper. "As he turns into a charcoal briquette and crumbles, CROW: The rest of the Rangers cheer! > the weight >tied to him drops, and throws the switch on the coffee grinder." She >pointed to Monterey. "It's set to 'Extra Fine.' Or do you prefer >percolators?" JOEL: [dubiously] Is this going too far? TOM: Well, Fat Cat did attempt to grind all the Rangers and two children into cat food... I say we let it slide. >"Who are you calling 'El Tubbo?'" Dale suddenly barked. CROW: Abruptly remembering his personality.... >Widget covered her eyes for a moment. "Maybe I should let you live. But >I'm not that cruel. As the electrical current makes an ash out of >Fearless Leader, the nylon string holding you two together will melt. >Butterball drops onto this electrically heated skillet --" she flicked a >slice of bacon onto the electric range and smiled as it crisped "-- try >not to stick to the pan!" JOEL: So she carries mouse-sized strips of bacon around with her so she can prove surfaces are hot? TOM: This surprises you? JOEL: I guess not. CROW: Maybe she just hates being caught at a breakfast buffet that only serves Spam. TOM: "Make $10,000 With Your Internet Account." >Chip tried to remain impassive. Gadget is locked in a cage. She can pick >the lock with her tail and -- TOM: Escape to an Angst-free fanfic! JOEL: They exist? TOM: Don't shatter my illusion, Joel. > >Widget frowned. "I'm surprised Gadget's taking this long. We can't start >the party without her." CROW: [WIDGET] Nobody else wants to jump out of the cake, after all. > >Chip spoke slowly. "What ... what do you mean?" JOEL: Chip is confused because usually when people are targets of a hideous and grisly revenge, it's done by someone they've met before! TOM: The central conflict of this story really isn't very good, is it Joel? >"Oh, I forgot to mention. You see, Gadget will be breaking free, and >when she opens the door into here, she'll trigger the mousetrap." Widget >paused. "You see, with her mechanical genius (almost equal to mine) TOM: Can people talk in parentheses? JOEL: Only mammals, Tom (some sort of evolution deal). >she'll instantly realize what she's thrown into action. She might be >able to stop it before all of you die. Or not. > >"I think anything I could do to her afterwards would be anticlimactic, >don't you?" TOM: [CHIP] Here's my idea for a hideous revenge. You let us go, and live our lives in Nowak's universe. CROW: [WIDGET] Too cruel. >"Actually, I had a question for you," Chip asked. > >"It's traditional. Go ahead." TOM: [CHIP] Your left arm looks a little stiff - maybe I can massage it and make it feel better. >"The Ranger Plane was shot down by a weapon that burst the balloon >without hurting us." > >"Special anti-balloon shrapnel," Widget confirmed. JOEL: A standard warhead for all U-boats, to be sure. > >"Why not use something that would kill us all?" CROW: [WIDGET] Evil nemesis union rules. >Widget sighed happily. She was so glad someone had asked. "Because >revenge is a dish best served with living ingredients." > >"How long did it take you to write that line?" Chip asked, puzzled. JOEL: [CHIP] If it was more than fifteen seconds, you were wasting your time. >"Anyway," Widget said, ignoring Chip with an annoyed expression, "Jürgen >and I are off to celebrate. See you in the funny papers." TOM: No, they canceled the comic years ago. >"Obituary," Jürgen corrected. > >"Like I said." JOEL: Oh, she'll make a fine hospital worker, all right. CROW: [WIDGET] Hmm? Five patients died today? Oh, that's a riot! > >Chip fixed Jürgen with a scowl. "How can you devote your talents, >courage and skill to implementing the will of an evil maniac?" TOM: [CHIP] Whoever you are. CROW: It's a good thing everyone in this fanfic wears name tags, which also include work experience and personal history. > >"It's not the first time," Jürgen and Monty said simultaneously, and >looked at one another strangely. CROW: Chip 'n' Dale show us the light hearted side of denazification. >"Besides," Widget explained. "I'm not evil. I'm a Byronic hero." CROW: The Six-Million Dollar Mouse? JOEL: Not "bionic", Crow. TOM: I wouldn't be so sure, Joel. She's already got the cyborg look going. > >"Chip," Dale asked, "What's 'Byronic'?" TOM: Wait, let me field this one... "of, like, or characteristic of Byron or his writings; romantic, passionate, cynical, ironic, etc." Thank you *so very* much, Webster's New World. >"It means a hero who acts like a villain," Chip explained. > >Dale blinked. > >=== TOM: Hmm. Text-based plywood. > >Gadget was on all fours, the tip of her tail probing gently within the >lock mechanism. She shifted her hips slightly, closed her eyes in >concentration, and lightly licked her lips. CROW: Should we be watching this? >=== > >"Should we be watching this?" JOEL: You looked ahead. CROW: Did not! I swear! > asked Mr. Fenton, staring at the monitor >in the bridge of Albacore. The various displays aboard the submarine >were originally Human sized- Heads Up Displays, designed to fit in >glasses or goggles. They were just about rodent sized. CROW: Oh, spare us not a single instant of your technical background! >"We're supposed to in case they need assistance," Mr. Calvert explained, >eyes glued to the monitor. But Mr. Fenton wasn't leaving anyway. They >had been at sea for a long time. TOM: Gee, Joel, what do they mean by that? JOEL: Uhm.... >"Watching what?" asked the helmsman, looking up from his post. > >=== > >Gadget froze. This was a ticklish bit. She pushed her weight backwards, >held her breath, and felt the next catch give. She released her breath >in an explosive sigh. > >=== > >"Hey, you're recording this, right?" asked the diving officer. "You are >recording this?" TOM: Don't all subs come equipped with rodent-sized VCRs? > >"Sure," agreed Mr. Calvert. "But the tape's logged." > >"No problem," said one of the planesmen. "I've got some Bakhshi Mighty >Mouse we can tape over to make a dupe." CROW: Making a dupe over a dope? > >"Stop shoving," snapped Mr. Fenton. CROW: Can you figure out what these rodents are talking about, Tom? TOM: Nope, not me. You, Joel? JOEL: Uhm.... >=== > >Gadget strained, exertion clearly visible on her face. A soft trembling >overcame her. A sharp click sounded as the last catch was thrown. Gadget >froze for a moment, and collapsed, a satisfied smile on her face. > >=== > >Cheers and applause sounded in the bridge of the Albacore. Mr. Calvert >turned, infuriated. "Isn't anyone but me at their post?" he yelled. The >bridge crew scattered to their positions. CROW: Well, that was a strange interlude. TOM: What confuses me is how the crew reacted. Howsabout some mammilian insight there, Joel? JOEL: Uhm.... CROW: You do have the "uhms" rather bad.... [CROW and TOM start to titter.] JOEL: You guys.... >=== > >Gadget stood, on wobbly legs. She pushed the cage door open. It had been >a little Yale lock, not the usual diary lock; much more difficult to >open. She forced herself to think. JOEL: Not in this universe. It makes it hurt more. > I'm off to a little party, Widget had >said. We'll be having a grand old time. > >Gadget pulled herself out of the cage, trying to remain focused on her >task. TOM: And Gadget's *so* good at that. CROW: Apparently, as she seemed to forget that no guards means some sort of monitoring system instead, just like it was in the brig. >But minutiae kept crowding in. CROW: What's "minutiae", Joel? JOEL: A small ground squirrel. Right, Tom? TOM: From New Jersey, if I'm not mistaken. CROW: Eww... time for a bath, Gadget. > The immigration center at Trellis >Island. Half the animals in America have ancestors who came through >here. Over 20 million came through... CROW: Wait, 20 million little squirrels just walked through? JOEL: Looks like it. >"The Grand Hall!" she snapped her fingers, and scurried off. CROW: Guys, I don't believe minutiae are squirrels. JOEL: Sure they are. TOM: Uh-huh. _Rodentia Crowsadoofus._ CROW: Hey.... [JOEL and TOM titter.] >=== > >She moved as quietly as a ninja mouse, listening intently for movement - >- but she couldn't hear anything through the heavy doors. She opened it >the smallest crack she could manage. The setting sun flashed into her >eyes. CROW: Embarrassing her and making her blush in the most endearing way. >And she felt a tripwire give. > >Computerlike, her eyes scanned the room. CROW: In other words, they took 45 seconds to warm up, by which time her comrades were landfill-filler. > Sizzling bacon on hot plate. JOEL: That bacon really should be burning by now. TOM: Better flip it over. JOEL: And maybe some eggs.... >Coffee grinder. On/off switch. Bug zapper. Metal plates, probably >electrically charged. Pulley. Counterweight system. Mousetrap. Mousetrap >set to go off when... CROW: [GADGET] Oopsie.... >Dale was catapulted into the air. Gadget screamed. TOM: [GADGET] Our shirts! They clash! >And she started running across the floor. Far from cover. Unmindful of >every mouse instinct. Break string on coffee grinder switch. Move hot >plate. That would save Monty and Dale. Oh, Chip, Zipper, I'm sorry... CROW: [GADGET] Well, Chip, anyway. JOEL: But realizing they would be free of the Nowakverse comforted her. >Dale's weight jerked Chip into the air. CROW: I guess the shelf Chip was on was built beneath the floor to allow that. > >And nothing else happened. TOM: Ever again. The end. >Chip and Dale stared at one another, puzzled. The pulleys above them >squeaked, but they both moved up and down, oscillating... CROW: So _9 1/2 Chipmunks_ was right about them? JOEL: No, he said "oscillating" - wait, you've read _9 1/2 Chipmunks_? CROW: Well, uh... I've got an automated web search engine to find background data for riff material. JOEL: Oh. Okay. >"Hey, Chip," Dale finally said. "I don't weigh any more than you do." >"I guess not," Gadget said, helping Monty out of the coffee grinder. >"Monty, could you push the hot plate from under Dale?" > >"Gladly, luv," Monty smiled. [TOM makes sizzling noise] CROW: [MONTY] AAAAGH! >Gadget climbed the wall, holding a knife between her teeth -- and jumped >onto Dale's shoulders. CROW: [GADGET] I never mentioned I'm a carnivorous Grasshopper Mouse (Onychomys leucogaster)... hmm, I'll start with chuck. >"GADGET!" Chip screamed, seeing the plates rush nearer. > >Gadget cut the string below her grip, dropping Dale to the floor. >"Sorry," she laughed. "Should have warned you." She held on to the >string, letting Chip's weight pull her upwards and slowing his descent. >She released as she was about to hit the pulley, and heard Chip land >with a soft plop. CROW: Gadget doesn't seem to mind much when her chipmunk friends plummet long distances. TOM: I'm telling you, Nowak is really Julie Bihn. >But her attention was on freeing Zipper from the bug >zapper on the window sill. CROW: Kind of like pulling a fly off flypaper. JOEL: Ewww.... >The others climbed up to the sill. They came together with wide smiles. TOM: [Stentorian voice] Ladies and Gentlemen, we have... AFFECTION! [ALL cheer and throw confetti.] >Chip was the first to talk, hissing through his teeth, trying to conceal >his speech from observers. "She's still here." CROW: [CHIP] So take your hand out of my... >Monterey perked and Gadget slowly nodded. "Yes, I'd do the same. I mean, >if I had a psychotic need for retribution, which I don't think I do-" JOEL: Nowak, she better not. You're warned. >She surveyed the area. "She'd pick somewhere with a good view. Maybe >over where I came in --" > >"But I really wanted to watch Gadget's reaction, and the best place to >do that is back here by the windows." > >"Yes, that's right," Dale said thoughtfully. "You'd be back here right >behind us--" TOM: That's it, guys. CROW: What, an actual cliffhanger? [6 ... 5 ... 4 ... 3 ... 2 ... 1 ... SoL] [TOM and JOEL lounge about on the bridge of the SoL while loud sounds of construction come from off camera. JOEL drinks from a mug.] TOM: So, Joel, what is it about deathtraps? JOEL: I'm glad you asked me, little buddy. The deathtrap is an artistic device stretching back to the days of pulp fiction - TOM: I knew that. I was just wondering, well, why do villains use them? I mean - [Construction sounds stop. CROW rushes in from the left. He holds two big, uninsulated, electrical cables. He wears a tool belt.] CROW: Joel, could you please hold onto these? JOEL: Yeah, sure. [He takes the cables from CROW and holds them in one hand.] CROW: Thanks! [CROW turns to look at the camera, rolls his eyes upwards, and vanishes. Construction sounds resume.] JOEL: Well, I think that a good deathtrap can be an extension of an evil character's personality. For example, today's fanfic. Widget is obsessed with machinery, and her deathtraps express this. TOM: Yeah, but - [CROW appears from the right.] CROW: Joel, could you hold one cable in each hand so the current will flow right? JOEL: Sure. [He puts down his mug and holds one cable in each hand.] [Through TOM's line, JOEL tries to sip from his mug. It's hard.] TOM: But simplicity and elegance is the hallmark of good engineering. Despite Widget's flaws, she is a good engineer, and should realize that sending the Rangers down a trash disposal is a simple, elegant solution. The KISS principle. JOEL: Hold that thought. Crow, how long do I have to hold these like this? It's really kind of inconvenient. [Construction sounds stop. CROW yells from offstage.] CROW: Not much lonnnnnng - ger. [Construction sounds resume.] JOEL: [To TOM] But Widget doesn't really want to hurt the Rangers, she wants to hurt Gadget. So fooling Gadget into - [Construction sounds stop. CROW yells from offstage.] CROW: Tom, could you move a bit to the right? TOM: You mean, right here on the "X"? CROW: Yeah! [TOM moves to the right. Construction sounds resume.] TOM: I think I understand. But more generally, might the convoluted and delicate mechanism of the deathtrap serve as an analogy for the evil machinations of the villain? JOEL: Very insightful. [Construction sounds stop. A weight labeled "16 TONS" drops from the ceiling and misses TOM by several feet. JOEL puts both cables in one hand to pick up his coffee. They spark and go POOF, but JOEL does not seem otherwise inconvenienced. Commerical sign flashes.] JOEL: And of course, the best thing about deathtraps is that since they never work, there's no danger if an impressionable tot tries to do it at home. TOM: Mmm-hmm!