Disclaimer:
Chip and Dale’s Rescue Rangers are the property of Disney and are used without
permission for the sole purpose of entertainment for no financial gain of any kind.
McDugell & the A.P.F. are the property of Matt Plotecher and are used with permission.
Voltron and everything associated was created by Toei Animation and Bandai.
Anything else in this story is considered my intellectual property, unless anyone can point
out something I missed.
I especially lay claim to the humorous pop-culture references in the story.
I would personally rate this story at PG-13 for the implied violence, language, and mild
suggestiveness.
Dedication:
This story is dedicated to H.G. Wells, possibly the first person to create a story about a
walking machine as an obstacle to overcome. As a basic concept, a machine is a truly
terrifying enemy to face. A person can be reasoned with. An animal can be bribed with
food. Even an unnatural monster has a motive that can be studied to one’s advantage.
However, a machine cares for nothing, wants nothing. It merely acts upon its instructions
without any regard for any form of decency. It reminds us what not to become.
Many thanks and credit goes to Internet User v0009111 for the “Black Rat” idea.
Background and setup:
The question of racial relations and the proper conduct therein is always a touchy subject.
Too often we fear what we don’t understand. It takes a huge effort to walk in someone
else’s footsteps and put ourselves through the situations others have experienced.
Understanding that different people have different circumstances that form their sense of
selves can go a long way in learning tolerance for ourselves and each other.
A priori:
This story follows after my third story entitled ‘Stormfront’. The events start 2 months
after the previous story ended.
Foxglove is a full-fledged Rescue Ranger and has finished her training. She lives at
Ranger Headquarters with her own room next to Gadget’s.
Tammy is a full-fledged Rescue Ranger and has finished her training. She lives at
Ranger Headquarters, sharing Gadget’s bedroom.
Rangertron
by Charles W. Johnson II
cwjohnson11@comcast.net
The late afternoon sun cast its orange-colored rays over the docks of the city.
Shadows began to lengthen and bend upwards to begin their daily scaling of buildings. A
pigeon zoomed down from the sky, heading for one of those shadow-draped buildings.
Folding its wings close to its body, the bird turned sharply to dash into the alleyway. A
larger bird would have smashed into the sharp corners of the buildings, as their larger size
required much more energy to turn. Many surviving families of birds never run out of
stories to tell their hatchlings about a family member who never came home because they
were showing off. They would always finish the story by saying, “It was a lousy way to
die.”
However, this pigeon was no amateur. He had done this dozens of times in his
training for his current profession. The gold necklace clenched in his beak was proof of
his profession. He was a thief, and clearly from his habits before this robbery he worked
for a boss. Some of the Rangers were tasked today to find out that boss if they could, if
not then capture the bird.
Earlier, the trap had failed when the bird wisely decided not to risk double-ornothing with a second necklace in a hunter’s cage. Now the Rangerwing zipped through
the streets like an F-18 jet fighter seeking a rogue Mig-29 in aerial combat. Now, Gadget
fancied herself an above-average pilot, but this bird was really testing her patience. Not
only would he escape on her watch, but he thought that these simple tricks would elude
her!
She pulled the throttle back a quarter of the way and slammed the right rudder
pedal. She angled the control stick right and pulled back hard. The Rangerwing
mimicked the pigeon’s flight path perfectly. As the aircraft emerged into the alley, she
slammed the throttle all the way forward. Her two companions had opposite reactions to
this action.
As the plane’s engines pushed themselves to the limit, the exchange of
momentum generated by the propellers made the plane lurch forward. Chip, in the copilot seat, grimaced as the tried to keep his lunch in his stomach by sheer willpower
alone. He was not having fun. Tammy, on the other hand, was having fun. From the
backseat, she whooped, “Go get ’em, Gadget! Get close enough and I’ll plunger him!”
The mouse inventor leveled out the wing, readying her attack run. The alley was
long, and terminated in the wall of a warehouse. A single window was held open by a
stick wedged in the frame. The window on the second story was boarded shut. In her
mind, Gadget saw the range to her target tick down in both meters and feet. The pigeon
was slightly faster and more maneuverable than the Rangerwing, but he was also tired
from evading the relentless machine for half an hour. The blonde pilot continuously recalculated distances in her mind, excited at the pleasing rate of closing range. She called
out, “Ready the plunger gun, Tammy! He’ll have to slow down at the window!”
The squirrel unbuckled her seat belt, and then jumped up out of her seat. She
leaped onto the back of the plane. She gripped the turret control of the attached plunger
gun firmly, swinging it to aim at the fleeing felon.
The pigeon risked a look backwards, slowing himself unconsciously. Seeing the
Rangers’ flying machine closing in on him, he nearly panicked. Gotta get away, but
how? Where do I go? He searched around, seeing the vertical wall and the open
window. Desperation fueling his flight, he formulated a suicidal plan. He may break a
wing, but to him that was better than coming back to his boss empty-winged. He altered
his trajectory to closely graze the window frame.
Gadget, sensing victory, cried out, “Fire the net!” Tammy squeezed the trigger to
the plunger gun, launching the missile. The plunger had a rope tied to it, as well as a
sturdy rope net. The net expanded as it flew out towards its prey.
The bird reached the window frame, thrusting out its right wing hard. The wing
collided with the stick holding up the window. Both the wing’s bones and the stick broke
cleanly in half. The window snapped shut and the bird tumbled out of control to the
floor.
The flying net, cheated out of its quarry, bounced harmlessly against the glass.
Gadget screamed, “WHOA!!!” She then flipped a switch and yanked the control stick
backwards as hard as she could. The electric motors of the Rangerwing pivoted upwards
to cease its forward thrust and being its ‘hover’ mode. The nose of the plane tilted
upward and slowed its forward momentum to halt just inches from the glass.
Gadget asked out loud rhetorically, “What just happened?” Chip, sensing the end
to the cause of his struggle against spontaneous regurgitation, just mumbled, “Proof of
mind over matter.” The inventor’s face screwed up in extreme concentration as she tried
to connect the phrase to the current situation. Chip rubbed his complaining tummy and
said weakly, “Stay here and prevent his escape. The others will surround the exits.”
Glad for instructions she could carry out, Gadget chirped, “Roger wilfurry, Chip.”
She adjusted the Rangerwing’s controls to hover exactly in its current place, and then set
the autopilot. Tammy reeled in the plunger line and re-set the weapon.
Inside, the bird flapped its useless wing as it rolled around on the ground,
screaming in pain. “AAAAAARRGGHH!!!!! DAMN IT ALL! OOOOOWWWW!!!”
He mentally rebuked himself over and over, Stupid, stupid, stupid! You knew you’d
break your fool wing that way! Now how are you going to get out? The broken animal
tried to crawl and squirm over to the closed human-sized door, only to get his foot stuck
in a cracked floorboard.
After a minute, Zipper flew up to the Rangerwing, squeaking for instructions.
Tammy summarized, “Tell the others to surround the exits to the building, and then call
the A.P.F. Tell them to bring the ambulance!” The brave fly, tired from flying all day,
saluted, then sped off.
A few minutes later, Chip had fully recovered. He was talking to Tammy about
proper bone-setting techniques, when Gadget’s ears perked up. From below, she heard a
commotion. She looked over the edge of the Rangerwing to see a dozen animals below
starting a fistfight.
She tugged on Chip’s jacket and pointed below her. Chip and Tammy looked
over to see six dock rats with red sashes tied around their waists. These animals were
trying to punch and kick in a martial art style at a group of three squirrels and three
hamsters.
Chip said, “Gadget, land us between them and on the side close to the wall.
Tammy, threaten them with the plunger gun.” As the females moved to obey, Chip
pulled out his trusty bullwhip and coiled it for action.
The dock rats had the upper hand as they had trained for hand-to-hand combat.
The others were merely scrambling to survive, their talents being more geared towards
stealth and thievery.
Suddenly, then sound of propellers from above grabbed all of the grounded
animals’ attention. Eyelids opened wide at the arrival of the famous Rangerwing, landing
right next to their fight. A squirrel swung the plunder gun around, aiming at both groups.
The net tied to the plunger gun was visible and seemed to cause more mental distress than
anything else present. No one wanted to be captured by the Rangers. That meant a oneway trip to the A.P.F. holding cells.
As Chip placed one foot on the back of his seat to look dramatic, the assembled
gangs fled. The detective blinked, and then moaned, “Oh, man! I didn’t even get to state
my entrance demand.” Smirking, Gadget patted his paw supportively. She thought to
herself, At least he isn’t saying something silly like, ‘I am the rhinestone on the jumpsuit
of justice!’ That would just be…hey, what’s that?
The blonde pilot jumped out of the aircraft and ran over to the base of the
warehouse’s wall. She examined some damage to the wall, which was made of brick.
Her fingers traced three parallel gouges in the brick, a full three inches deep in the
middle.
Chip’s voice called over from the aircraft, “Hey, Gadget! What did you find?”
When Gadget didn’t immediately respond, he walked over to join her. Seeing the strange
damage, he pulled out his magnifying glass and examined the gouges closely. He
mentioned, “It looks like some kind of tool for digging or grinding. Looks like someone
tried out cutting the brick three times.”
Gadget objected, “Only once, Chip. See the marks? They’re all exactly the same
width apart all the way through. Hand-held tools cutting three times would waver a bit.
Only a machine could cut this precisely. I’d say there were three cutting tools mounted
together like this. It looks like a scratch mark from a paw.”
The detective stated, “I don’t think so, Gadget. If it were a paw, or even a
machine that resembled a paw, it would have different lengths of claws from left to right.
All of these scratches are the same length and the same depth. What kind of industrial
tool does that?”
The blonde pilot shook her head in confusion, “None that I know of, Chip.
Unless someone had a portable circular saw table with adjustable legs and the saw blade
mounted on an articulated crane. No one makes that. I’m stumped. Maybe those gangs
know about it?”
As the sound of a rodent-sized siren came closer, Chip replaced his magnifying
glass in his jacket and stated, “Maybe. But for now let’s move the Rangerwing. Tammy
will want to assist the paramedics in bandaging and transporting the suspect. I also want
to be present during questioning. Ten-to-one this bird works for Fat Cat, but I don’t
know why. Normally, Fat Cat employs four-legged animals to do his work. Besides, the
sun’s setting. Curfew will end soon. We better get going before this place gets swamped
with the locals.”
Later, after the sun had disappeared from the sky, Chip entered the office of
Sergeant McDugell. The gray squirrel was already seated at his desk, flipping through
the pages of a file. Chip sat in the empty chair opposite his friend and took off his hat.
He tossed it casually onto the desk and leaned back.
The landing of the hat upon the stack of papers caused them to shift a bit,
disrupting their perfectly stacked harmony. McDugell looked up at Chip with a mild
frown reserved only for friends. Chip laced his fingers behind the back of his head and
smiled widely. It was becoming a favorite game between the two of them. Each week,
one would take his turn to do everything he could short of violence to annoy the other
into complaining. This week Chip figured he had McDugell beat. The perfect symmetry
of his papers was a source of pride to the A.P.F. officer.
The gray squirrel breathed through his nose for a few seconds before he calmed
down. He grabbed the hat and tossed it back at the arrogant chipmunk. He opened the
conversation with, “Chip, that was some fine work you did cornering that pigeon. He’s
in custody now, awaiting interrogation. It turns out it was only a simple fracture to his
wing, but the bruising was severe. He’ll be ready to sing like a canary in no time.”
McDugell’s expected result did not happen. To his disappointment, Chip did not
grimace at the pun. Instead, the chipmunk was perfectly at ease. Chip asked, leaning
forward, “Did he mention whom he was working for?” The squirrel replied, “Not yet.
We’re going to let him stew for a bit before talking to him.”
The leather-clad detective then asked amiably, “Then what do you need me for?
Got something else to investigate? Another fugitive to capture? Something to do with
the docks, perhaps?”
The A.P.F. grimaced, wondering if it’s the hat that makes the chipmunk
telepathic. “Yes, the docks. You’ve seen one minor scuffle tonight. There have been
dozens of those skirmishes all up and down the waterfront. It can only mean one thing,
gang war.”
Chip frowned and sat up straight. His mind played out several scenarios quickly,
coming up with only a few answers. “That means someone is testing the Siamese Twins’
strength for an all-out war. Who would be foolish enough to challenge them openly?”
The gray squirrel turned another few pages in his notes and summarized, “You’re
familiar with the curfew across the city, right?” Hearing Chip’s grunt of
acknowledgement, he continued, “Of course you have. You’ve helped us round up
stragglers on the streets during the day. Well, it all started because of the rats. Only a
week after those rats set up their little organization, the first fights started. Both sides
have even taken to recruiting new animals to boost their numbers. I think this ‘Black
Rat’ group started the curfew just so they could rent their fighters to both sides for double
the profit.”
This line of logic just didn’t seem to fit in Chip’s mind. He asked, quizzically,
“Why should they do that? They know that they’d only wind up fighting their own
members, maybe even killing them. I don’t think the fighters would appreciate getting
killed so the leaders could rake in the riches.”
McDugell snorted, clearly not caring, “That’s how their species has been doing it
since Creation. Numbers don’t lie, Chip. Their species clearly has the highest rate of
criminal turning in population as well as easiest group converted by bribe. Personally,
I’d like to run this group out of my town for the safety of everyone. The humans even
stated that it’s exclusively the rats they’re after.”
Chip’s frown deepened, but not because of the statistics McDugell quoted. His
mind could not jump onto the officer’s bandwagon. Chip picked up several pages of
papers from the file on the desk and casually flipped through them. McDugell’s gaze
instantly locked onto the pages. He was clearly anxious about their order, but he
struggled mightily to contain his expression.
The fedora-wearing chipmunk asked, “Do you even have a single shred of
evidence that their members have committed any crimes?” Upon seeing his friend’s
shaking head, Chip finished his answer to the unspoken question. He picked a few stray
papers from his paw and replaced them in the wrong order, glancing at them the whole
time.
“Sorry, McDugell. ‘Innocent until proven guilty’ isn’t just the law. It’s the
proper way to live. Now, I’m not going to begrudge you for your gut feelings. They may
actually turn out to be right. But if you don’t have anything that shows the slightest bit of
guilt that says a single ‘Black Rat’ actually broke the law, then we have to assume they’re
innocent. If we focus on them just because you don’t like them, then you’re creating the
kind of society that our grandparents fought against in the Great War.”
He then tossed the papers carelessly through the air to scatter all over the desk.
McDugell, his patience finally broken, reflexively grabbed at the papers feebly, as if
trying to fit them in order in mid-air. He barked out, “DAMMITALL, Chip! You just
don’t treat a nice report like that! What if this were needed for a trial…”
The A.P.F. Sergeant suddenly stopped and smiled a sheepish grin. He humbly
stated, “I lost this time, huh?” Chip replaced his beloved fedora on his head and stood
up. He mentioned, “Yeah, this time. I’ll expect you to do better next time. You clearly
showed your obsession with neatness every time I touched a page. Tell you what. I’ll
tell the Rangers to keep an ear out for rumors and maybe follow them up. In the
meantime, we’ve got our own lead into the gang fights. If it pans out, I’ll let you know.”
As Chip left the office, the gray squirrel called out, “Mark my words, Chip.
Those rats are trouble. Did you know that they’re training their own militia? With real
weapons?” The leather-clad chipmunk replied nonchalantly, “Isn’t that what you did
with the A.P.F.?” The officer had nothing to say in response to that.
The leader of the Rescue Rangers opened the door to his headquarters, glad to be
home after a long day. Foxglove and Dale were watching the primetime movie, ‘Zillator
vs. Glopasu’, on the local T.V. channel. The sounds of reptilian roaring mixed with a
bubbly-slurpy sound as the two giant monsters fought for control of the world. The
kindly bat’s ears swiveled toward the front door, alerting her of the height, weight,
sonogram image, identity, and clothing of the entrant.
She waved lazily over her shoulder and greeted distractedly, “Hi, Chip.” Chip
closed the front door and made his way towards the kitchen. He said, “Hi, Foxy. Did
anybody drop by while I was at the station?” The bat mumbled, her eyes on the brilliant
beam of blue-white energy that seemed to emanate from the giant lizard’s mouth, “Nuhuh. No one.”
Dale, eyes still focused on the T.V., muttered impatiently, “Quiet, this is the good
part!” Chip rolled his eyes and walked into the kitchen. Zipper, Tammy, and Gadget
were finishing off the remains of dinner, which was walnut and celery stuffing, cucumber
sandwiches, and lemon-flavored water. Chip could tell immediately that it was the girls’
turn to cook tonight. There was no cheese on the menu.
The blonde inventor’s face brightened as she chirped, “Oh, hi Chip! What did
McDugell say? Let me fix you a plate.” She scooped some of the few leftovers onto a
plate and poured the rest of the water. She set the meal down in front of her favorite
chipmunk.
Chip took his hat off and set it on the table. He said, “Thanks, Gadget. Nothing
important. Tomorrow they’ll interrogate the pigeon. He hasn’t squawked yet, but he
will.” Gadget nodded, and then left the room. She called over her shoulder to the others,
“I’ll be in my workshop with those electronics.”
As the blonde mouse closed the door, Chip stared on in wonderment of Gadget’s
sophisticated mental faculties…and her girlish charms. Zipper clucked to himself,
clearly amused. He buzzed and pantomimed to Tammy, who hid her laugh behind her
mouth.
The squirrel said to Chip, “Yeah, you better eat that food before it evolves and
decides to eat you back!” The detective’s attention was snapped back as he asked, “Huh,
what?”
The other two Rangers laughed out loud at this. Frustrated, Chip saved his
remaining dignity by shoveling the food in his mouth. Zipper buzzed a question toward
Chip. When the chipmunk didn’t answer, Tammy pressed, “You really should, Chip.
Gadget really likes you. I can tell.”
His resolve crumbling slowly under this new camaraderie, the leather-clad
chipmunk asked, “You really think so? How can you tell?” The squirrel replied
nonchalantly, “She talks in her sleep. You should hear some of the things she says
around 1 A.M.” Tammy arched her eyebrows comically, punctuating the statement.
Chip’s mind immediately filled in the vacuum with some of the most ‘interesting’
things it could imagine. He blushed under his fur and finished his food in record time.
Tammy and Zipper just barely smothered some more laughter as they watched their
friend put his dishes in the sink.
When Chip turned to leave the room without further comment, the others became
concerned and worried. Chip normally liked to control his emotions in front of others,
but at home he usually loosened up a bit. Tammy asked, “Chip? We were just teasing
you, you know?”
The leader of the Rescue Rangers replied, “Yeah, I know. I just gotta… do…
something.” His subdued tone did nothing to alleviate Tammy’s concern. Zipper
squeaked a suggestion, which the squirrel agreed with. “Yes, you should tell her how
you feel. She should know, Chip.”
Chip felt the kitchen, heading towards his room. He thought no one could hear
him as he whispered under his breath, “She doesn’t care. Every hint I give she ignores.
No one’s that oblivious. She’s just trying to be nice while saying ’no’.”
He was wrong about one thing. Someone did hear, and that someone was
watching Zillator boil Glopasu until the soup-monster turned into a steam monster, blown
away on the wind of the approaching hurricane. Foxglove looked on after Chip left,
feeling sorry for the young ’munk.
Gently disengaging from Dale’s circling arm, she walked along the hallway until
she came to Gadget’s workshop. A few knocks evoked the response of, “Come in!”
Foxglove opened the door, careful to see if any rogue showers of sparks were filling the
air. Seeing none, she entered and shut the door.
Gadget looked up from her workbench and replaced her homemade soldering iron
into its rack. She turned to her visitor and pushed up her goggles. She greeted, “Hi,
Foxy! What’s up?”
The soft-hearted bat turned over several approaches in her mind, trying to find a
line of conversation that wouldn’t crush her friend’s feelings while motivating her friend
to fix her other friend’s already crushed feelings. Finally, she decided on the direct
approach. “You like Chip, don’t you?”
The mouse in overalls instantly blushed three shades of red so deep that it was
visible through her fur. She mumbled, “Foxglove! Be quiet or the others will hear. If
that happens, I’ll never hear the end of teasing!”
The bat, wise in the ways of love, reassured her friend in the gentlest way
possible, “Oh don’t worry, we already know. We tell jokes about it when you’re not in
the room.” The mouse groaned while the bat chuckled. Foxglove stated, “Don’t worry,
it’s all tasteful. But seriously, you and Chip should get together. He’s crazy about you.”
Uncharacteristically, the inventor’s face drained of all things positive. She slunk
back to sit in her seat. Laying her head in her open paws, she said flatly, “I know that,
Foxy. He’s dropped no end of hints and even asked me out. It’s… it’s just complicated,
all right? If I pretend to be oblivious, he’ll stop.”
The kindly bat’s brain locked up completely. She blinked and thought, She likes
him. He likes her. She turns him down just so they won’t get together. I don’t
understand. Maybe Dale can explain it to me.
She asked gently, “Why don’t you…?” Gadget interrupted, a look of fear and
loneliness splashed across her face, “Why don’t I accept? Because it’ll just fail like all
the others did. I’ve had boyfriends before, Foxglove. They’re all the same, controlling.
They want me to dress up and wear make-up and not talk to their friends about science.”
The soft-hearted one rubbed her wingtips together in worry. She still didn’t
understand. How could she think that about Chip? He wouldn’t do that. Would he?
The blonde inventor gestured all around her, asking, “Look around here. Look at
the piles of stuff. The way I put things together. The way I wired this circuit board.
What does all this tell you?”
Foxglove obediently looked at all the things Gadget pointed out. She said,
“You’re a genius. You seem to throw things together almost randomly, but you make it
work. There is an order. It’s just that some people might not see it right away.”
The blonde mouse nodded, agreeing, “Exactly. That’s who I am. Gadget. I take
random junk and make working devices out of them, any way I can. I don’t have any
single sense of order. Each project follows its own rules. Do you think someone as neat,
orderly, and precise as Chip would ever tolerate this mess? No, he’d want to organize it
his way, not my way. He might be nice at first, but he’d ask for things. Things I don’t
want to give. I’d wind up dumping him and we’d still be expected to work together on
missions and rescues while we hate each other. What I have with Chip is good enough.”
The bat, disappointed by this declaration of defeat, retorted, “But it’s not good
enough to make you happy when you need someone. You just have your piles of junk,
waiting for you to turn them into some kind of thing that exists. I don’t think you’re
building inventions. I think you’re searching for the perfect companion. Remember
what happened when that ancient Greek sculptor finally made the perfect companion.
She left, seeing him as inferior. He died alone.”
Both females knew what they had done. They both laid all their cards down and
counted the score. They both knew neither had to be a loser, but the result was all the
same. The score could never change as long as the same cards were held. But the luck of
the draw could make the score worse than it already was. Was either of them really ready
to risk that already low score for an even lower one?
The next morning found all the Rangers in the kitchen, enjoying a brisk breakfast
of wheat pancakes and orange juice. They were all curious as to what McDugell had to
say. “C’mon, Chippah me lad! Spill the info, not the juice! What did McDugell want us
ta do fer ‘em?” Monty stuffed another whole pancake down his wide open mouth,
chewing heartily.
Dale added, licking the maple syrup from his face, “Yeah, who do we gotta
capture now? Another thief? An intelligent airplane? A mutated sock bent on causing
demonic foot odor?”
Chip stopped his friend before he added a truly weird situation. “No, Dale.
Nothing that nice. McDugell asked us to spy on the Black Rat society. He’s convinced
that they’re behind the cause of the curfew and fueling the trouble at the docks.”
Gadget, sensing the hesitancy in Chip’s voice, asked, “Is that what you think?
That the Black Rats caused all this trouble?” Tammy interjected, “That’s ridiculous!
How can a single group of rodents cause such a huge change in human society?”
The assembled Rangers just looked at Tammy with a peevish glare. Tammy,
realizing her faux pas, blushed momentarily, and then went back to eating. Zipper
buzzed and squeaked for further clarification.
The leader of the Rangers voiced, “I’m not really sure. Perhaps we could keep an
ear out for any rumors or tough talk about the Black Rats, but until we have any evidence
that points to their guilt, we must consider them innocent by default. I say we investigate
the trouble at the docks directly and work backwards to find out who’s challenging the
Twins and how. Maybe it has something to do with that grind mark on the warehouse
wall.”
The blonde inventor smiled slightly and finished drinking her juice. She thought,
I’m glad for that. It’s just not right to go around pointing fingers without reason. I
wonder what could have made that mark. I can’t conceive of any known machine that
could do it, therefore it stands to reason it’s a unique device created specifically for this
purpose. So, if we can figure out what they were trying to accomplish, maybe we can
figure out what they want and who sent…
A hurried knocking on the front door interrupted her thoughts. She jumped out of
her chair and raced into the living room. She opened the door only to dodge out of the
way as a black-furred rat fell inside the doorframe, exhausted.
Gadget instantly yelled, “Tammy!” The squirrel ran out into the living room.
Upon seeing the fallen rat, she immediately ran towards the bedrooms. She yelled out,
“Put him on the couch!”
Monterey Jack poked his head out of the kitchen door and asked, “What’s all tha
bloomin’ noise about?” Gadget pointed to the shared couch and asked, “Can you put him
there gently? We don’t know if he’s hurt.” The rugged Aussie rushed over and lifted the
rat carefully. He said, “You can depend on me!”, as he carried the guest over to the
couch. He set the rat on the couch as Gadget provided a pillow and blanket.
Tammy ran into the living room, carrying her personal satchel of medical tools.
As Gadget closed the front door, Tammy checked the body of the rat for injuries,
mumbling as she proceeded. The others filed out of the kitchen to surround the couch,
curious as to their visitor’s origin.
“Let’s see… multiple bruises… small laceration under the elbow… sprained
ankle… exhaustion. Strong heartbeat, that’s good. Dale, water!” The red-nosed
chipmunk obeyed immediately, disappearing into the kitchen and then reappearing two
seconds later with a large thimble full of water. He slowly fed it to the unconscious rat
while Tammy applied some salve to the bruises.
Several minutes later, as Tammy was finishing wrapping the rat’s sprained ankle
in gauze, the patient woke. He gasped, seeing as he was surrounded. Chip held up his
paws in a non-threatening manner and quickly said, “Whoa! Whoa! Calm down! We
won’t hurt you. We’re the Rescue Rangers.”
The rat seemed confused for a moment, and then sighed in relief. He said, “Oh,
thank goodness! I thought I was captured by the A.P.F.” Dale’s eyes boggled at this
statement. He asked, incredulous, “The A.P.F.? Are you a criminal?” The rat seemed
genuinely outraged and afraid. He blurted out, “No! The A.P.F. are the criminals!
They’re trying to wipe us out! What did we ever do to them?”
The Rangers seemed skeptical of this. Wasn’t the A.P.F. the ‘good guys’? Was
this rat lying? Or maybe was McDugell finally crossing the line? Chip offered
diplomatically, “Let’s hear him out. Maybe he can fill in a few details that McDugell’s
missing.”
The others seemed to accept this idea. They dragged chairs from around
headquarters to sit around their visitor and listen. The rat started to explain, visibly trying
to contain his emotion. “First of all, I came here to ask for your help. The A.P.F. has it
wrong. We’re not responsible for the curfew, the humans are. We’re not supplying
mercenaries to gang bosses for anyone. We’re just tired of being on the bottom of
everything, so we decided to form our own little society. A town within a town. We got
ourselves an abandoned building and built up a place just for us. They’re just jealous that
we’ve got no crime amongst ourselves, and they still got loads!”
Chip smiled in a friendly manner and leaned back in his seat. He steepled his
fingers and asked, “Please, start at the beginning. Whatever you do, don’t leave out any
details. Let us sift through it all.” The black-furred visitor, clearly calmed by the
detective’s manner, started to explain the past few weeks from his memory. “Okay, I’ll
tell you everything I know. My name’s Blacktooth, and I’m a member of the ‘Black Rat
Society’ you’ve heard about.”
8 weeks ago…
Blacktooth and his friend Killem snuck behind the refrigerator. They climbed up
the cords and located the disguised hatch leading to the interior. The two rats snuck in
and opened the plastic wrapping on the plate of leftover dinner. Smells of roasted
chicken, mashed potatoes, and steamed carrots filled the chilly air of the refrigerator.
Both rats stuck their heads under the plastic, greedily gobbling up as much as they could
reach.
Killem brought his head up with a satisfying GULP and sighed, “Boy, this is the
life!” Blacktooth picked the space between his front two teeth with his foreclaw. He
agreed, “Nothin’ like home cookin’ from the Mayor’s quaint, little abode! Ha, ha!”
Suddenly, the door opened. A slender, delicate hand reached in, groping around
for something. A sleepy, feminine voice muttered, “Just a little snack, and then right to
bed.” The hand touched the tail of Killem. The hand squeezed and tugged, causing the
sensitive appendage to send shockwaves of pain to the unfortunate rat’s brain.
On pure reflex, the rat reached over with his teeth and chomped down on the
finger of the Mayor’s young daughter. The girl shrieked, pulling back her hand.
Blacktooth ran over to the door’s opening to try and reach for his friend. The human girl
was yelping and jumping around the kitchen, trying to throw the rat from her finger. She
kept shrieking, “Ew, a rat! A rat bit me! Help me, I’ve got rabies!”
7 weeks ago…
The Mayor stood before the assembled Town Council in City Hall. The large
auditorium was packed with citizens who were eager to hear the Mayor’s re-election
campaign speech.
The elected official had already been speaking for several minutes about truth
and justice, like every other candidate. He decided it’s time to wrap up his speech with
his surprise hook for this election.
“Finally, as your still-elected Mayor, I’m here to deliver on a campaign promise I
made years ago. Now that we have the budget for it, I’m going to help clean up this town
of its vermin. I’ve heard for a long time about your complaints concerning the rampant
rodent invasion of our fair city. Even my own daughter was attacked in our own home!
A rat, foaming at the mouth, nearly killed my own daughter in the dead of night! This
outrage cannot be allowed to continue. I’m going to suspend the Highway Bypass
Project to allocate funds to hire all of the best exterminators in the state to catch and kill
every last rodent in this city before year’s end!”
City Hall rocked with the thunder of human applause. It looked good for the
Mayor’s re-election campaign this term. Only moments after the applause started,
streams of rats fled City Hall, never to return.
2 days afterwards…
Rats by the dozens were scrambling through the sewers, trying in vain to outrun
the noxious, gray gas that was sweeping down the sewers. As the gas cloud rounded a
corner into view, the rats panicked. Husbands pushed aside wives. Mothers cast aside
their children. Friends tripped up each other to gain a farther place in the mob.
Stragglers were swept up in the cloud, breathing in the vapor. None of the surviving
runners had the least bit of guilty conscience right now, as the screams and wet,
gurgling, choking sound emanating from the depths of the cloud spurred their feral
instincts on.
One rat looked over his shoulder, seeing the cloud gaining on the group. Looking
around frantically for an escape, he spied a sewer grate. His feral instinct screamed to
him, SURVIVE! He took a mad dash and leapt to the grate. His heightened adrenaline
allowed him to find a paw-hold in the stonework. He scrambled to the top and climbed
onto the street.
Suddenly, the screams of a hundred rats echoed from all along the sewer opening
in the street for three blocks as the gas cloud finally caught up to its quarry. Blacktooth’s
mind reeled from the sound and he ran. He didn’t pick a direction. He just ran and ran
until he couldn’t hear the screams anymore.
2 days afterwards…
The T.V. set in the store window obeyed its function to the letter. It stayed on the
same channel all day, every day, every year. The people it showed either got older or got
replaced from year to year. Once again, it showed a familiar human male reporting
local news.
“This is Stan Blather reporting the progress of the ‘De-vermin-ification’ plan that
Mayor initiated as part of his re-election campaign. As this chart shows, sixty-five
percent of the city has already been gassed, scrubbed, and cleansed of vermin. This is a
reminder to citizens from third street to sixth street that this is your week for fumigation.
Residents are advised to leave their houses for the week to avoid being sickened by the
fumes. Anyone feeling ill should report to St. Octavia’s Hospital for medical attention.”
The camera panned to the side, showing a large group of teenagers and middleaged people wearing buckskin and rainbow shirts. The group was marching around in
circles in the middle of one of the streets, chanting some obscure phrase in Latin. A pair
of women held up a homemade banner that read, ‘We Love Rats’.
The news reporter continued, “As you can see, the protests continue. These
citizens argue that rats and other rodents hold a vital part of the city’s own ecosystem.
As part of their demands, the protestors have asked for cessation of all extermination as
well as a full repeal of taxes on tie-dye clothing. So far, seven protestors have been
caught red-handed trying to sell contraband from the back of their cars while the others
protested in the streets. More on the fate of those arrested after some commercial
messages. This is Stan Blather reminding everyone that ‘Crime does not pay’. Back to
you, Jan.”
6 weeks ago…
Blacktooth wanders the alleyway containing the animals’ outdoor marketplace,
well away from the eyes of humans. The lookouts kept a close eye on the open street,
ready to warn the populace if humans intend to enter the alley.
He looked from left to right, hoping that some merchant would be willing to give
him a job. He hated to beg for handouts, but some days were just worse than others.
Today looked like he might have to brave crossing the human street after dark to get to
the dumpster next to the human fast food place called Burger Prince. Their leftover food
was nasty, even to a rat. Their grease was old and congealed even as you ate it, but at
least it was food.
As he mentally worked over his sales pitch as a part-time assistant, he heard the
shrill whistle of the lookouts. HUMANS WERE COMING! The entire marketplace
erupted in a panicked frenzy. The merchants grabbed all of their boxes of merchandise,
food, jewels, coins, watches, scraps, tools, and anything else you could name.
Blacktooth ran for a hole in the wall of a nearby building he knew was covered
up. As he started to uncover the escape route, he heard a pair of rabbits squealing in
fear. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw the humans from Animal Control fishing
the rabbits from their nets and throwing them into cages. Unintelligible to the ears of
humans, the rabbits cried out, pointing straight at Blacktooth, “It’s their fault! They led
the humans here! Get them! Give them to the humans!”
Suddenly, dozens of paws tried to grab the black-furred rat roughly. Blacktooth’s
mind reeled with the stories that his parents told him about what Animal Control did to
rats they capture. Adrenaline flooded his bloodstream, giving him the speed of ten rats.
He wrestled free of the grabbing paws and wiggled through the small escape hole.
Closing it behind him, he wedged it off and ran through the building towards the
basement, looking for a floor drain to squirm down to safety.
5 weeks ago…
Blacktooth sat amongst a few dozen other rats in the basement of an abandoned
office warehouse. The mood amongst the rats was angry, but not towards each other.
They were angry at their situation. One spoke up, “I’m tired of being blamed for all the
humans’ problems. I never did nothin’ to them!”
A second one, munching on old, rotten crackers he found in a trash can, replied,
“That don’t matter to humans. They wanna exterminate everything on Earth that ain’t
human!” A smaller rat, with ash-gray fur and a high-pitched voice whined, “They killed
my ma an’ pa! What am I gonna do now?”
A larger female rat crossed her arms across her chest and thought out loud, “If
only there was a place us rats could go to and be safe. We could hide from the humans
and raise our families.”
Blacktooth agreed, “Yeah, and we could be separate from the other animals, too.
If they feel threatened by us, then they don’t have to be near us when it hits the fan. That
way they’d see we’re not to blame.”
Several of the rats agreed. “Yeah, that’s a great idea!” “Where do we gotta
go?” “How are we gonna live when we get there?” “What about food?” Several good
questions were asked, and very few were answered.
The small, ash-gray rat asked, “Well, why not here? There’s plenty of space, and
it’s even got a good roof against the rain.” The large female rat retorted, “Well, what if
the humans want this building back? They just gas us all together, and that would end
this paradise real quick.”
Blacktooth’s brain had an explosion of thought. He planned out loud, “Not if we
sabotage it real good. The humans care more about money than us. So, if we mess up
the wiring on every floor and use water to rust all of the doors open, then they’ll think it’s
too expensive to buy. We’ll just need a sewer entrance to get in and out.”
The idea was accepted readily, and several rats went ahead to start work without
hearing any other ideas. More rats started to come up with ideas. “What about all the
stuff we can make ourselves? Do we steal it?” “Nah, we’re trying to show everybody
how trustworthy we are.” “How about leaving this basement open for trading? We can
set up our own marketplace there and then it’s ‘rats only’ above that.” “Hey, that’s
great! We can invite rats from all over town to set up homes here!” “We can even have
families and playgrounds and hire our own as guards everywhere.” “Let’s get to work!”
3 days afterwards…
Blacktooth dusted his fur off, and then went back to work. He listened at the base
of the rubble pile for movement or shouting. Hearing none, he called out, “Anybody in
there?!” Hearing a faint moaning sound, he called over his shoulder, “Hey, I’ve got one
here!!!”
He set into digging with a vengeance, throwing scraps and parts here and there.
Soon, a broken and bleeding arm appeared. The rat it was attached to moaned in pain
again. A pair of rats with white armbands brought a piece of tarp stapled between two
sticks over to the pile. They spread it out on the ground and assisted with the digging.
Soon, a female rat, who was clearly pregnant, was uncovered and carefully set in
the makeshift stretcher. The rats with white armbands carefully lifted the stretcher and
carried her over to the sewer access that led back to their home building.
4 weeks ago…
Several rats screamed in anger as they kicked the broken fragments of their
marketplace around. Others cried, overwhelmed with sadness, while others just sat and
did nothing, not even blink.
Blacktooth was one of the angry ones, although he spent more time looking under
rubble, fearful of who he might find. A big male rat next to him, named Chester, snarled,
“What good is place if any ol’ stray dog can break in and eat all our food?!?!”
Blacktooth patted his friend on the shoulder and went back to looking under rubble.
Another rat, a female named Split-tail, came over looking for an argument. She
spat on the ground, and challenged, “I didn’t see you fightin’ very much! Where were
you?!” Chester yelled back, “I was one of the first stepped on! Back off, woman, or I’ll
really rip your tail in half!”
Both rats settled into an aggressive stance, eager to shed some blood after the
disastrous attack. Blacktooth threw himself in front of them, crying out, “Stop this! If we
fight each other, we’ll die! We need to come together if we want the children to survive!”
Both combatants calmed down somewhat at hearing Blacktooth.
Split-tail argued, “We can handle rodent-sized threats, just nothing the size of a
dog. Who can fight another dog except a dog?” Chester came up with an epiphany. He
mentioned, “Or a cat.”
The female, clearly unimpressed with the logic she heard, said sarcastically, “Oh
yeah, that’s good. Let’s a hire an alley cat to fight off dogs and let him eat us in return.
As soon as he takes a single hit, he scrams.”
Chester insisted, “Not a regular cat. A robot cat. I saw it myself just the other
day. Remember that human boy who got a robot cat as a pet a couple of years ago?”
Blacktooth added, “You mean that kid that got killed in a car accident a few months
ago?”
Split-tail nodded, saying, “Yah, I remember him. It was some human-interest
story all over the news. Boo hoo. Now don’t get me wrong, I didn’t wish for the kid’s
death, but what’s that got to do with us?”
Chester explained, “A robot cat doesn’t eat anything. It just recharges with
electricity. I saw it wandering around the alley, looking for the kid. Poor, dumb thing
doesn’t understand he’s dead. If we take him in and reprogram him, he’ll work for us.
No animal could stand against him. The smallest mouse all the way up to the toughest
dog would be shredded by its claws. No teeth could hurt his metal body. It would be like
some human trying to punch out Andro-Cop.”
The others brightened at this idea. They spread out, trying to search the alleys.
In short order, they found Tam, the robot cat, and convinced him to come with the Black
Rat warehouse.
3 days afterwards…
Blacktooth and Split-tail gently escorted a young male rat with oversized
eyeglasses into the Black Rat headquarters. “Gee, Mr. Blacktooth, are you sure it’s
safe? I mean, he’s a cat!” Blacktooth patted the lad on the headfur, reassuring him,
“He works for us, remember? That’s why we want you to re-program him. You can do
anything you want.”
Split-tail added, “Anything as long as he doesn’t hurt any rats. We’re even going
to give him better stuff for his body, but we’d kinda like you to help us with that, too.”
The young rat nodded his head in acceptance. His imagination was racing in overdrive,
trying to think of what a robot cat would look like.
The trio arrived at a large door. The older rats opened it ceremoniously,
revealing the shattered marketplace, recently transformed into a garage. Tom lay upon
the ground in a few pieces. His limbs and head were removed from his body. The body’s
casing was set off to the side so the delicate, damaged electronics inside were exposed.
Norman, the young rat with eyeglasses, gasped out loud. It was the most
wondrous sight ever beheld by his beady, little, back eyes. Quickly, he leapt over to the
piles of robot parts. He began talking a mile-per-minute as he began evaluating the
damage and listing needed items for repair.
“Let’s see what we got here. Wow! There’s a 42-D flexor rod with universal
joint in the forelegs! That will make paw swipes more accurate. The motherboard is
scorched and cracked, probably from short-circuiting and several falls. The ocular
implants are intact, but if we can get some IR sensors from Gribbish Electronics and
include those motion sensors from the humans’ hardware store House Depot, we can
significantly upgrade his visual capability. I’ll bet if we clean and flush the servos and
use higher grade lubricating oil, the motors could handle an extra layer of plate metal all
over his body as armor. We can even add another servo with universal joint to the base
of the tail to make it prehensile. We’ll need to raid Transistor Shack for computer
boards…”
The adult rats smiled with pride. The little guy was really enjoying
himself. Now, if they could only get him to talk slowly and use small words, they could
write up lists for the scavengers to use in their searches.
3 weeks ago…
Blacktooth and Chester put the finishing touches of the official Black Rat logo to
Tom’s chest and back. The logo was a kind of Art Deco image of a rat with a black body,
white teeth, and red eyes. The rat logo seemed to be standing with its claws out, but in a
defensive fighting pose. It perfectly explained the purpose of the society.
Norman hugged his adoptive mother, Split-tail, closely as asked, “Did I do a good
job, mom?” The large female hugged her adoptive son warmly and cooed, “You did a
fantastic job, son. Now all of us will be safe. Tell me again about his eyes.”
The young rat straightened his posture and began lecturing. Split-tail’s eyes
sparkled as she felt bursting with pride. She thought, He’s so adorable when he’s
explaining something scientific.
Norman said, “He’s got three different sets of eyes. He can see like a T.V.
camera, as well as heat and electromagnetic waves. His brain takes in all three input
signals and processes them into a single, multi-overlayed three-dimensional image. He
can see so well, Andro-Cop seems blind by comparison. I’m programmed his secondary
memory module to recognize over one thousand different species. He’ll move in to assist
any rat in need, but leave other animals alone. He’ll also use his razor claws to defend
himself and any rat he can see, but not initiate attack protocols against other animals
that leave him and us alone.”
Blacktooth and Chester came over, finished with the logo. Blacktooth said,
“Well, that’s that. Once the paint dries, we’ll take it for those field tests you wanted,
Norman.”
2 weeks ago…
The guards allowed a newcomer in into the marketplace-turned-makeshiftgarage. He was escorted by Blacktooth, so he was okay, not to mention a rat as well.
The newcomer had a sloppy, crushed hat and wore a stained sweater. The hat hung so
low, you couldn’t see his eyes.
Blacktooth took the newcomer around, giving him the pitch for membership.
“Yes, Snout, this is our own little city with in the big city. Here, only rats live. In the
basement here, we have our open market that anyone can come in and do business, but
only rats are allowed in the upper levels. It’s our own safe haven from the rest of the
world. We even rescue rats from being exterminated and give them jobs here.”
Snout looked around appraisingly, as only a criminal learns to from hard life. He
took inventory in his mind as not to be overheard. Nuttin’ here but broken-down junk.
Not a single thing worth stealin’. These jokers ain’t worth tha time. Suddenly, Snout saw
the re-assembled robot cat sweeping its gaze over the entire assembled marketplace. On
instinct, he froze in place as to not draw attention to himself.
Blacktooth saw the natural reaction from his guest as patted him on the shoulder.
“Ah, you see our security system. Meet Tom 2.0, the most advanced robot cat in the
world. Don’t worry, it never attacks rats.”
Snout, interested by this piece of information, asked, “Never? How’s that?” His
guide responded proudly, “He’s programmed to only help rats and defend them from any
aggression. He’ll leave others alone if they leave him alone.”
The shifty rat in the sweater grinned to himself, thinking, Fat Cat will go nuts
over this if he can get his claws on that overgrown appliance again! Now, if I can only
get a hold of the geek who programmed it.
He bluffed, “Yer jokin’! No one could fix that hunk of junk up dat sweet! Who
did all that fancy-schmancy programmin’?” Blacktooth just smiled and whistled. A
young male rat darted out from behind Tom. The young rat had a wrench in his paw and
squeaked, “Yeah?”
Blacktooth gestured over the lad and proudly introduced, “Norman, this is Snout.
He’s thinkin’ about joinin’ up. Snout, this is Norman. Don’t be fooled by his age. He’s
a real whiz at computers and he practically re-built Tom 2.0 by himself.”
The young rat blushed hotly under his fur and mumbled his thanks. Snout formed
a plan in his head, saying, “I’m not sure. It seems so very good, but I got a sweet deal.”
Blacktooth frowned, asking, “You call working for a cat a sweet deal? Cats eat rats, you
know.”
The goon in the crushed hat mentioned smoothly, “You don’t know the boss like I
do. He’s real finicky. He won’t eat anybody who spares himself from labor. Besides, he
thinks I’m too dirty to eat…which I am. Can I think about it and come back another
time?”
Maybe Snout will come around after I let him think about it, thought Blacktooth.
He smiled magnanimously and boasted, “You take all the time you need, friend. Just
remember that we won’t bop you on the head if you mess up, unlike certain felines I could
name.”
1 week ago…
The black-furred rat blinked his eyes open slowly. Pain spread through his skull
like a spider-web from Hades. He tried to look around himself. Memories slowly came
to him from the broken depths of his mind.
An explosion from inside the upper levels of the warehouse caused all guards to
leave their posts and run upstairs to help. He wanted to help also, but he wanted to tell
Snout, who had come back that night after the marketplace closed down, to come along.
Instead, Snout volunteered to watch the front doors and make sure no one snuck in. As
Blacktooth agreed and turned to run, Snout had clobbered him in the head with a metal
pole.
The traitor rat opened the doors to admit a lizard, a cat, and a mole. From the
alleyway, a familiar, snooty feline voice sounded, “Hurry, you dolts! The bomb won’t
keep them away for long. Grab the kid and the robot and run!”
Blacktooth watched helplessly as Snout carried off Norman and one of his
makeshift computer keyboards. The others carried the deactivated robot cat together out
of the doors. The injured rat cried out, “Why? Snout, you’re one of us!” The criminal
rat sneered over his shoulder, “It’s every rat for himself! Don’t blame me, it’s Nature’s
fault!” Blacktooth passed out after that, despair in his soul.
1 day ago…
Chester ran up to Blacktooth, frantic and out of breath. He grabbed his friend by
the shoulders and shook him. “It’s Tom 2.0! He’s done something horrible, and they’ll
blame us for it!”
Blacktooth gently slapped his friend, shocking him out of his panic. Firmly
gripping his shoulders, Blacktooth demanded, “What are you talking about?”
Shaking, Chester explained, “Last night, the Animal Shelter was attacked.
Security cameras showed a robot cat with our logo on it smash through the wall. It
slashed the guard dogs and broke open all the cages. All those animals were Fat Cat’s
goons captured by the pound! Fat Cat’s building an army, and the humans are blaming
rats for it! The logos led them to arrest the human protestors and hire even more
exterminators!”
Both rats trembled at the implication. This could spell disaster from two fronts:
the humans and the A.P.F. Chester added, “Also, call me crazy, but the robot was just as
big as the guard dogs. Those were Dobermans, Blacktooth! Tom 2.0’s huge now! What
are we gonna do?! Word on the street is that the A.P.F.’s gonna raid this place!”
Blacktooth stood up and took command. “QUIET!!! We’ve got to be prepared to
defend ourselves! Bar the doors and glue them shut. Evacuate all the children and some
females to the level above us. Bring up every healthy male and the big females and arm
them with whatever you can find. I’ll need three volunteers, preferably swift, to come
with me to find help. We need to split up and go different paths to find the Rescue
Rangers! They’ll help us. They help everybody!”
1 hour ago…
“Halt, in the name of the Law!”, cried an A.P.F. officer. He pounced on a fleeing
rat, successfully tackling him. His partner came up beside him and started tying the
captured rat’s limbs together. The partner whooped, “That makes three! Only that last
one to go!”
Heartbroken once more, Blacktooth ran headlong towards the side street that
passed in front of the movie theater. He knew the A.P.F. saw him run, but they were busy
tying up his friend. Gotta find a way out! Gotta get to the park! He decided to run up to
the alley next to the theater and stand next to the corner.
After a moment, three A.P.F. officers ran into the street, yelling, “There he is!”
Blacktooth ran around the corner, and then scrambled to the top of a closed garbage
can. He curled up into a ball and stayed quiet. He heard three sets of paws run past him
and down the alley. They split up at the end and search other alleys.
Trying to be silent, he leaped down to the ground. Unfortunately, his right
hindpaw landed on a loose pebble. His ankle twisted and pain shot up his spine. Biting
his lip to avoid crying out in pain, he limped quickly back into the street in front of the
movie theater.
As best as he could, he tried to walk off the slight sprain while heading towards
the park. He was tired, hungry, thirsty, and bruised from the few minor scuffles with the
few lucky officers who tried to lay paws upon him. After several minutes, he emerged
into the park. At the sight of the tall oak tree that was his destination, he whimpered at
the thought of how painful it would be to climb with his injuries.
Brought back to the present, the rat finished by saying, “The last thing I
remembered was thinking about how thirsty I was and knocking on your door.” During
the rat’s long story, Chip had gotten up and wandered over to the window. He stared at
the grounds outside thoughtfully, not making a sound.
There was a generous chorus of facial expressions from the others, ranging from
disbelief to shock to sympathy. However, they all stayed silent as they knew Chip was
thinking deeply.
Suddenly, Chip broke the oppressive silence by asking sharply, “Did the A.P.F.
follow you here?” Momentarily speechless, the rat mentioned, “I don’t know. I know
they’re looking for me, but I lost them in front of the movie theater. I don’t think they
saw me head towards the park, but it’s only a matter of time before they search here, you
know?”
The detective fingered the brim of his hat carefully, as if drawing a conclusion.
He spoke gently, “Mr. Blacktooth, your story is most interesting. It’s got many good
points that support it, but there’s a lot that could be misinterpreted. You say you want to
hire the Rangers? We accept. However, when we accept a case that means we will not
stop until we find the truth, guilty or innocent. Is that what you would like?”
He turned sharply to face the rat with a stern, yet not unkind, gaze. When he saw
the rat swallow a nervous gulp, then mumble, “Uh-huh. Yes?”, he made up his mind. He
said urgently, “Good. Tammy, take Mr. Blacktooth into Dale’s and my bedroom for rest.
Everyone, he is now our client. Until McDugell writes up a warrant for him specifically,
we don’t hand him over. In the meantime, we need to split up and form a plan of attack
for this investigation.” The Rangers eagerly leapt to their feet and began scrambling.
Tammy led Blacktooth to the stated bedroom and gave him a sedative to help him sleep
and heal. Chairs were dragged into the kitchen, maps were fetched, and the table was
cleared for a conference.
Once everybody was assembled around the table, the maps were arranged to
roughly show the layout of the city. Monty opened the discussion with, “All right,
Chippah. First of all tell us what yer thinkin’. Do you believe Blacktooth?” Dale added
eagerly, “Yeah, do you want me to give him the third degree?” The Hawaiian-clad
chipmunk tilted an imaginary hat and pointed to Zipper, demanding, “Where were you on
the night of the twenty-seventh?!”
Caught off-guard, Zipper buzzed a negative answer, to which Dale replied, a little
too quickly, “A likely story! You were at the roadside bar stuffing your face with apple
cores again, weren’t you?” Chip sauntered over towards Dale and raised his fist over his
best friend’s head. BONK! The sound of Dale’s backside hitting the floor was
punctuated only by the blessed silence that followed.
As Dale recovered, Chip answered Monty’s questions. “First of all, I see only
two possible explanations. One, Blacktooth is telling the truth and Fat Cat has been using
Tom to free his thugs to build up his strength. That way he’ll be capable of attacking and
taking the docks for his own. If he does, then his criminal empire will double in strength.
Two, Blacktooth is lying. This means the Black Rats are behind the civil war in the
docks and plan to profit from both sides of bloodshed.”
Gadget queried, “How could they do that? How can someone profit by someone
else’s war?” Monty answered sullenly, “By renting out thugs to the highest bidder, then
renting out the second wave of thugs to the other side. If the two sets of thugs ever fight
each other, one side agrees to just flee and say they were beaten back. That way, both
sides bring home a full paycheck.”
Tammy spat upon the floor, showing contempt, “I hate people like that. If I ever
catch them doing it in the act…” Zipper flew over to hover in front of Tammy’s face.
He squeaked and pantomimed a series of soothing phrases. At length, Tammy calmed
down, and then nodded, “You’re right Zipper. We haven’t proven anything yet.”
Chip pointed to a few places on the map and began giving out assignments.
“Monty, you and Tammy go to the docks and get some information on the Twins. I want
to know if they’re preparing for war, or just defending themselves. See how seriously
they’re taking this threat. Also, let me know if you see any other sets of cutting marks
like we found.” The Aussie and the red-haired squirrel grunted in acknowledgment.
“Dale, you and Foxglove go to your usual contacts and see if you hear any rumors
about either the Black Rats or Fat Cat. One of them has to have a lot of boasting going
on.” The kindly bat and the red-nosed chipmunk nodded eagerly. Their assignment took
them to the parks and comic book shops. One wouldn’t think that those places had a lot
of information until one realized just how many animals routinely passed through there
on their own business.
“Gadget, you and Zipper go right to the Black Rats. Tell them Blacktooth sent
you and ask about Tom. Ask them about what modifications he’s got and how to turn
him off. If they’re as desperate for our help as Blacktooth says, they’ll tell you
something. Also, try and find out if there actually is bomb damage on the upper level.”
The speedy fly in question flew over to perch on Gadget’s shoulder. They were ready for
their assignment.
The leader of the Rescue Rangers tugged on his fedora and declared, “I’ll go to
the station and comb the A.P.F.’s files. No doubt McDugell will try to hire us. I’ll have
to come up with some excuse, but it’s for the best. I want to try to correlate crime reports
from the docks with Fat Cat’s gang and the timetable Blacktooth gave us. If there’s a
match, then that will give us our next lead.”
The group split up, every team filing out of headquarters to head for their jobs.
Chip wrote a note, then silently pinned it to the inside surface of his bedroom door. He
meant for Blacktooth to read it if he should wake up before the others got back. It said,
“If you want us to think you innocent, then don’t leave headquarters for anything. Help
yourself to anything in the fridge, but don’t answer the front door. –Chip”
The fedora-wearing chipmunk walked into McDugell’s office with several files
under his arm. Without preamble, he set the files on the gruff gray squirrel’s desk and
greeted, “Word on the street is you raided the Black Rats last night.”
McDugell, normally a grumpy squirrel, was not as pleasant this morning as Chip
would usually see him. He practically spat back at his friend, “What of it? It’s not like
you volunteered to help us. Did you come here to start an argument?”
Chip turned a file around so McDugell could see and replied smoothly, “Not at
all. I’m here to help investigate the possible civil war at the docks. That’s the angle
we’re on. I think I know what caused that damage to the warehouse wall. Remember
Tom, the robot cat? His mechanical paws and claws would leave marks exactly like that
if he were trying to claw someone the size of a rodent. Whoever is pressuring the Twins
has Tom as a weapon to gain the advantage.”
The gray squirrel blew away a pile of dust on the file he was seeing, including
photos of the robot cat in question. He dismissed the idea, saying, “That’s old news,
Chip. We learned as much from the Black Rats. They admit to upgrading the blasted
thing, but they say it was stolen by Fat Cat. A likely story.”
Chip pressed, “What if it’s true?” The gruff officer frowned, “It’s too clean,
Chip. ‘We built a powerful weapon to upset the balance of power in the city’s crime
lords and, oopsie, we lost it?’ That’s not good enough for me. Besides, how would Fat
Cat even know about such an item?”
The leather-clad chipmunk tugged the brim of his hat, as if presenting a trump
card, hinting, “Fat Cat does have a rat in his employ. If Snout was offered a place in the
Black Rat society, he’d have seen Tom. If he was greedy enough to get in good with his
boos, he could ‘rat out’ the Black rats and lead Fat Cat to the building. He’s desperate
enough try anything to wipe out the Twins.”
McDugell pondered this line of logic for a while before answering. “All right.
Maybe, possibly, IF Snout didn’t decide to double-cross the wrong group. How could
you prove it?”
The leader of the Rescue Rangers opened the files he brought and pushed them
towards McDugell and stated, “Let’s try plotting the growth of dockside disturbances and
vandalisms for the last three months. If there’s an unexplained jump in the side against
the Twins, then it can only be explained by that side using Tom to its advantage. Then all
we need to do is stakeout the usual suspects until we find the evidence. This time you
call out the points and I’ll push the pins.”
Chip walked up to the map of the city and grabbed the many colors of push-pins
used to mark locations on the map. McDugell pondered another possible explanation for
this turn of investigation away from where he wanted it to go. Hoping to catch Chip offguard, he mentioned, “You know Chip, last night the raid on the Black Rats didn’t pan
out so well. A group tried to escape our dragnet. We caught three of them, but the fourth
escaped. Adult male, black fur, goes by the name of Blacktooth. He was headed your
way. You haven’t seen him have you?”
The chipmunk turned to his friend automatically, and then frantically scrambled
to come up with an innocent-sounding excuse. He retorted, a little sharply, “McDugell,
we do NOT hide criminals in Ranger Headquarters. Now do you want to read off those
locations or should I do it?” The squirrel deciphered what Chip was really saying, but
kept the information to himself. He began the long-arduous process of reading off data
points for the map, making sure to categorize them by type of offense and reading them
in chronological order.
Dale thanked the pair of bluebirds for their time, and then walked away slowly.
He went around the corner and climbed up the sapling to where his girlfriend hung,
concentrating on the bluebirds in question. He hung upside-down from his ankles next to
his beloved bat. He also knew to wait a few minutes for foxglove to finish her part, so he
just mentally reviewed the story to the Adventures of the Orange Flashlight Issue #54.
That was one of his favorites.
Foxglove suddenly turned around and planted a big kiss directly on his lips.
Startled, Dale cried out, “Wahhhh-hhaaaa!”, and then lost his footing. He fell to the
ground and landed roughly. When he regained his ability to figure out where he was, he
saw Foxglove standing over him, barely restraining herself from laughing.
The chipmunk stood up, dusted his shirt off, then grumbled, “Foxy, you gotta stop
doin’ that. What if I land on something other than my head? I could get hurt.” The bat
blushed and said coyly, “I’d help tend the wound, dearest.”
It was Dale’s turn to blush. He was feeling warmer than the average temperature
of the surrounding air, so he tried to divert the topic. “So, what did ya hear, Foxy?” The
kind-hearted bat enthusiastically, reported, “Oh, lotsa stuff, Dale! After they denied
knowing anything to you, they gossiped a lot about chipmunks and their bluebird
husbands. Did you know that…”
The red-nosed one waved his paws dismissively, interrupting Foxgloves breach of
decency, “Whoa, stop there! I mean did you learn anything about the Black Rats or Fat
Cat?”
The winged one, mentally rebuked herself for her verbal slip, and then edited her
speech for mature audiences only. “Oh, yes…that. Well, those two bluebirds decided to
pull their hatchlings from any rodent playgrounds in their area. Seems they know about
the A.P.F. raid on the Black Rats and want their hatchlings to not get involved. Also,
several birds moved out of their nests from the area of Fat Cat’s casino. There’s been a
lot of activity from there and Fat Cat has actually ordered his guards to take pot shots at
passing bird to prevent them from flying too close.”
Dale processed this information as only Dale could. He deduced, “Well, if any of
Fat Cat’s thugs were aliens, I’d say they’re in the final stages of buildin’ a spaceship to
conquer the Earth. Since Chip told me he was sure that Fat Cat doesn’t hire aliens, then
I’d say that Fat Cat’s up to something, we just don’t know what. We better tell the
others. C’mon, let’s try the comic book store one more time and then the skate park.
After that, we’ll go back to headquarters and report in.”
Foxglove followed her chipmunk from a short distance, enjoying the way his
shoulders dipped up and down as he walked purposefully down the sidewalk. He’s so
smart and determined. Any nasty aliens had better watch out for my ’munk! She started
to echolocate for nearby trees that would serve as a convenient listening post for her
sonar hearing. It was the smartest investigative tactic that Dale had ever come up with.
It didn’t hurt that he read it in Kablammo Man Issue #122, either.
At the docks, Monty and Tammy were getting information their own way, by
heading towards the nearest cheese-sauce bar and challenging the locals to friendly
drinking contests.
Monty was guzzling everyone under the table, even buying a few drinks for the
losers as a show of good faith. Tammy was intentionally putting forth a good effort, only
to fault at the end. This ensures that she endears herself to her informant while not
embarrassing them. Several dock workers patted her on the back and wished her better
luck next time.
Monty, pretending to have a full gut, gets up from his seat and starts walking
towards the front door with bravado. A burly dock rat grabs Monty by the sleeve and
whispers, “Mate, if I were you, I’d walk a little more softly. This isn’t the time to go
swaggering, if you know what I mean.”
The rugged Aussie played dumb, plastering an innocent expression on his face
and asking, “Why not? There some killer on tha loose?” The dock rat blurted, “You
mean you don’t know about all the troubles here?” Monty shrugged his shoulders and
answered, “I jus’ got inta port today, mate.”
The bartender, a gerbil from the Orient, saunters over and explains, “You’re not
doing anything wrong, friend. It’s just that some gangs have been causing trouble around
here. They swagger and cause a ruckus like you were about to. Then, the um…’local
authorities’ come in to silence them. They are very swift and brutal. We just wouldn’t
want you to get hurt.”
Tammy walks over, deliberately putting a slight wobble in her step. She threw an
arm around Monty and asked, “Hurt? Why, you couldn’t hurt us if you dropped a safe on
our heads. What’s so special about these gangs that we ain’t got?”
The gerbil shook his head, despairing about the younger generation. He explained
carefully, “You had better stick to your friend closely, red-hair. All I’m saying is that
you might be mistaken for an outside gang. As for what they have that you do not, it is a
huge robot guardian. It can even make claw marks in stone.”
The two undercover Rangers were surprised, but put on their practiced faces of
disbelief. Monty asked, “What does it look loike, this ‘guardian’? A huge attack dog or
something? I can’t believe that a bunch of cats are afraid of anything else.”
The dock rat said, “I seen it! It’s a giant panther, as big as this bar and twice as
long. It has fire for eyes and eats rodents alive!” The gerbil swatted the dock rat upside
the head and amended, “Descriptions vary, but some say they have seen a formless shape.
Some describe a fearsome dragon. Others say it looks like some kind of military tank
with four legs. I dare say you will know it when you see it.”
The rugged Aussie shook the bartender’s paw, and then escorted Tammy outside.
After walking a couple of blocks, they took the wobble out of their step and made a beeline back to headquarters. The squirrel asked, “Do you think it’s really Tom? I mean he
was pretty obviously cat-shaped before.”
Monty tugged on his flight cap, the same way he always did when he was unsure
of himself. He answered, “I dunno, luv. Sounds loike him, but let’s not jump ta
conclusions.” After a few more steps, he added, “I ‘ope not. Last time I remember
punching somethin’ made o’ metal, me fist hurt for almost a week afterwards.”
Gadget and Zipper made their way up to the front door that led to the marketplace
of the Black Rat Society’s building. The double-doors were clearly shut and barred from
the inside. However, the existence of the eye slot in the door encouraged her. She
knocked on the doors, hoping a sentry would be on duty.
The metal slot slid aside and a pair of hostile eyes beheld her. A gravelly voice
barked out, “Whaddayawant?” Taken aback by this lack of manners, Gadget took a
moment to compose herself. She said, “Hi! I’m Gadget of the Rescue Rangers.”
The gravelly voice interrupted her self-introduction, “I don’t care! If yer with the
A.P.F., you can get lost, missy!” The eye slot closed forcefully, signaling the end of the
voice’s interest in her.
Gadget decided to go for broke and yelled, “Blacktooth sent me!” The eye slot
opened again, this time the eyes looked hopeful. The voice asked, “Blacktooth? Is he
okay? Did you turn him over to the A.P.F.?”
The blonde inventor shook her head and answered, “Nope. He’s just fine. Let me
in and I’ll tell you where he is.” After a moment’s hesitation, the eye slot closed again.
Then the doors opened, admitting Gadget and Zipper inside. After she walked in, Gadget
found herself surrounded by a pair of large rat guards, armed with sharpened metal
spears.
The doors clanged shut. The sound reminded her of a coffin swinging shut. The
rat on the left spoke in the gravelly voice again, “Where is he?” Gadget addressed the
rat, saying, “He’s in Ranger Headquarters. He came to us this morning and hired us to
find out where Tom 2.0 went to. If we can prove to the A.P.F. that Fat Cat stole him,
then they’ll leave you alone. Not to mention that will also stopp a civil war that will
probably kill hundreds of rats along the docks for nothing.”
The rats relaxed, and became much more civil. The gravelly-voiced rat asked in a
friendly manner, “What can we do to help? I’m afraid there’s not much muscle-power
we can offer you right now.”
Gadget smiled and replied, “Golly, I don’t need that. Thanks for offering
anyway. What I really would like is to speak to someone who can describe Tom’s
operating system and upgrades so we can find a way to track and deactivate him. Could
you take me to them, please?”
The rat guards were only too happy to lead her around and introduce her to
people. As the group walked, Gadget slipped her right paw behind her back and formed a
paw signal to Zipper, who was waiting for this cue. Silently, the brave fly fell behind the
group, and then flew up to the wall. Crawling along the ceiling on all appendages, he
slipped completely unnoticed.
Zipper crawled over to the open, carless elevator. This was used by all rats to
climb up and slide down their way to the various floors of the building. He nestled into a
deep shadow to keep himself from being seen while rats passed back and forth. After a
minute, the rat traffic ceased. Zipper quickly flew into the shaft, quickly locating the
opening into the next floor up. He zipped through the opening and flew up to the ceiling.
Clinging to the ceiling, he looked for traces of bomb damage.
He didn’t have to look far. Even from the entranceway to this floor, he could see
the evidence. The hardwood floor was cracked by a tremendous force. The walls were
broken and scorched. There were also pools of dried blood were and there, marking odd
shapes were rats had died instantly. The entire floor reeked with the stench of burning
and death. Zipper was satisfied. A real bomb did go off here, and it did kill rats.
He waited a few more minutes, and then repeated his stealthy movements in
reverse. He flew back down towards the gate area, but out of sight of the recentlyreturned guards. He flew casually towards the direction Gadget went.
He caught up with her under a dirty tarp that covered a collection of broken
computer parts and spare mechanical parts. “Golly and a half! Here’s a spare
Westenheimer capacitor with a one hundred microfarad capacitance!” Upon hearing
Gadget squeal of glee, he entered the tarp to see a short, white-furred rat give the mention
item to her. The short rat bashfully said, “We don’t need it anymore, so you take it.
Even if we get Tom 2.0 back, this part is obsolete for his new design anyway.”
Gadget shook the tech rat’s paw eagerly, promising him an equal part in return
sometime in the future. Zipper hovered up into view and gave Gadget the Morse Code
buzz that spelled, ‘All done’.
The blonde inventor nodded discreetly and said, “Isn’t this capacitor great, Zip? I
can out fit the Rangerwing with an instant energy boost that will increase engine output
by six hundred percent for a full sixty seconds!”
The speedy insect suddenly felt badly for any of the Rangers who happened to be
in said aircraft when Gadget decided she needed a passenger in every seat to ‘test’ the
new capability.
Gadget then asked the tech, “Anything else about Tom 2.0 that you could tell
me?” The short rat thought carefully and listed the items he mentioned so far, “Let’s see.
Armor plating, razor claws, thermal vision, MRI scanning, upgraded memory module,
enhanced optical recognition software… Nope, I think that’s it. Personally, I’d look for
huge magnetic disturbances in response to an electric sensor mounted onto a vehicle.
Either that, or just follow the trail of destruction.”
The blonde inventor just listened with interest, already coming up with a dozen
ideas to track Tom. She was too polite to interrupt, however, she was not too polite to
shoot down someone else’s theories. “I thought of that, but the strength of the electric
field would probably short out any electronic devices within ten feet of the vehicle. That
would give us away to humans. Also, any metal garbage cans or television sets within
thirty feet of the device would register as Tom. Well, thanks for the help, bye!”
The tech rat growled under his breath. Why didn’t he think of that? He sure felt
inadequate compared to the girl he was working up the courage to ask on a date as well as
that kid Norman who used to run the tech shop here. The short rat decided to salve his
wounded pride by returning to his residence and starting a tournament of ‘Sorcery the
Gathering’, a complex card game that his fellow rats invented to pass the time.
A couple of hours after lunch, the Rangers met up back at Headquarters to share
information and have lunch. Chip was glad to see Blacktooth sitting in the living room,
watching T.V. He was even more pleased when Blacktooth showed him the note Chip
wrote and gave a thumb’s-up. The detective asked casually, “Did anyone stop by?” The
rat replied, “Nope, not even the A.P.F. That alone lets me relax, let me tell you.”
While their guest relaxed in the living room, the Rangers took this opportunity to
set up another working lunch in the kitchen. It was Chip and Dale’s turn to make the
food, so they split the job.
Chip insisted that Dale give some food and drink to Blacktooth to keep him busy
while the others could talk under the volume of the T.V. Dale saluted smartly and said
crisply, “Leave it to me, Captain. You’ll never live to regret it.”
Chip immediately set to cooking a light lunch with a fury, trying to keep himself
from imagining what Dale could whip up for snacks. Turns out he had nothing to worry
about. Dale had delivered bologna and lettuce sandwiches for Blacktooth, as well as
some leftover mashed potatoes and grape juice. It was Chip who was starving for ideas.
He settled on a shredded walnut salad with cheese and tomato topping for everyone.
The group alternatively munched on salad while reporting what they found.
Monty stated, “Me an’ Tammy found out that a bloomin’ monster’s attackin’ tha docks.
Sounds like Tom, only he looks loike a cross between a Sherman Tank and a dragon.”
Gadget replied, “That’s exactly how I imagine Tom would look like after his
upgrades. The armor plating is functional, not stylish. It probably doesn’t even match
any streamlined model at all.”
Foxglove offered, “All of the animals are scared. They’re convinced that
something big is going to happen, and it involves both the Black Rats and Fat Cat. Also,
the A.P.F. isn’t very nice about this whole thing. They keep trying to smash in the doors
of the building they raided.” She picked at her salad, and then slid it over to Dale.
Zipper began a long series of squeaks, gestures, and pantomimes. The others
listened closely, and then blanched. They pushed away their salads for the time being
and fought to control their stomachs. Zipper was clueless for only a few seconds. Then
he slapped himself in the forehead and apologized.
Chip said, “That’s all right, Zipper. I guess that level of detail is natural for you.
I just wish the rest of us had such strong stomachs. Well, I guess that seals it. The Black
Rat Society may be desperate, but they would never bomb themselves just to cover up
their own crimes. That means Tom has been stolen by Fat Cat in a daring raid, and then
used him to free his thugs. Once freed, those animals went back to him and joined up.
He now outnumbers the Twins’ thugs at the docks, plus he has Tom. He’s ready to start
an all-out war. He’s just testing their defenses to see how they’ll react.”
Dale stuffed a lettuce leaf past his buck teeth and asked while munching, “So,
when can he attack? Today maybe?” The detective tugged the brim of his hat and turned
his vision inward. Timetables and geometric figures danced in his mind until they
formed an answer.
He responded, “No, Dale. It’s too soon. The crime patterns that McDugell and I
found also corroborate the timing that Blacktooth gave us. If the attacks tapered off
today like we’re seeing, then he’ll need a couple of days to iron out the details. Given Fat
Cat’s methods, I’d say he’ll strike either tomorrow night or the day after. That means we
need to find Tom tonight, while Fat Cat’s busy elsewhere.”
Tammy asked, “Do we raid the casino tonight? How do we know there won’t be
too many innocents there?” Gadget argued, “He won’t keep Tom at the casino. The only
place big enough for him is in Fat Cat’s office or the gambling hall. Tom won’t be useful
in the office and the customers would be scared away if he were in the hall. Tom needs
his own dedicated garage with working electricity.”
Monty concluded, “Than we gotta find out where the tubby tabby’s stashin’ Tom.
Any place we know of that fits tha bill?” Foxglove answered, “No, the only places big
enough like a garage were seized by the A.P.F. months ago. We’ve got to start over.”
The group sighed in frustration. Either they waste time searching for something
that they only kinda knew what it looked like in a big place like the whole city, or they
try to draw out Fat Cat, which has its own dangers.
The leather-clad chipmunk tugged on his hat and made a plan. “If anyone else
has a better idea, I’m game. However, the only alternative I can see is to take both planes
and a few binoculars to stake out Fat Cat’s casino. Whenever anyone suspicious leaves,
we follow them and hope they lead us to Tom. We go in two panes and have Zipper and
Foxglove work independently. That way we can follow four groups at once. If we find
Tom, then we meet back up at the stakeout place for the others. We go into the garage
tonight after dark.”
Chip looked around the table, silently polling everyone’s faces. The Rangers
looked unsettled and not happy with the chaotic plan. However, not one had a truly
better idea. Dale had a smirk on his face that suggested he was thinking about trying to
use mental powers to convince Fat Cat’s goons to tell him where Tom was. Either that,
or he was wondering what urkburgles tasted like again. Everyone put the remains of their
salads in the fridge and began preparing for the mission.
Several hours later, and a dozen false alarms, the Rangers were beginning to feel
anxious. In the Rangerwing, Tammy munched the last bit of her cheese sandwich and
mentioned, “Gee, Chipper. What if we can’t find Tom’s garage tonight? Will we have
failed?”
Chip, in the co-pilot’s seat, turned around sharply, reprimanding the squirrel,
“Never say that, Tammy! Whenever you indulge in your despair, others follow! If we
fail, then we fail. We’ll deal with it, but not until then. Not one of us can afford to be
distracted by doubt. Just focus on our goal and make that the only thing in your mind.”
Chip’s tirade was interrupted by Gadget patting him on the paw. The simple,
supportive gesture was enough to snap Chip out of taking his own frustration out on
Tammy. The chipmunk tugged on his fedora, pulling it over his eyes and apologized,
“Sorry, Tammy. I guess I’m just dreading this mission, too. If we can’t find Tom
tonight, then we’ll try something else. Maybe you can come up with some plan for that,
just in case.”
The young squirrel decided that would be a better way to spend her energy and
tackled the problem with all her concentration. Hmmm, if we can’t find the garage, then
it won’t work trying to search the whole city. If only we could detect Tom, but Gadget
says the metal door of a garage would foul up any device she could build in a jiff. Well,
if we could keep Tom busy elsewhere, the A.P.F. would have a chance to restore order.
But, how can you distract him if he only thinks about what Fat Cat tells him to think
about? Answer? You distract Fat Cat, and with something really attractive to him.
Tammy’s thoughts were coalescing into a bright idea, but they were jarred back
into reality by Monty’s bellowing voice coming from the Rangerplane. “Head’s up,
mates! Ol’ Fatty himself has left tha buildin’!”
The assembled Rangers looked down from the top of the human textile factory
across the street from the cat food cannery. Sure enough, Fat Cat was being carried on
his portable throne by Wart, Snout, Mole, and Mepps. In his claws, Fat Cat held a small
rat boy with large eyeglasses.
Chip pulled his binoculars from his jacket pocket and used them to look closely at
the young rat. Seeing the boy’s expression of defeat and sadness, he called to the others,
“It’s Norman! Fat Cat MUST be taking him to Tom for maintenance! Everyone follow
at a distance and don’t be seen. This may be our only chance.
All four of the fliers took off and spread out into a semi-circular formation. Fat
Cat’s procession trekked several city blocks deep within his own territory. He finally
came to the lot of a self-service storage business. Pulling a key from a cord around his
neck, Fat Cat unlocked the door to his own storage shed. The entourage walked in,
closing the door behind themselves.
Gadget signaled the Rangerplane with paw signals, instructing Monty to land on
the shed behind their target. Monty signaled back his acknowledgement and the
squadron landed as quietly as possible.
The Rangers disembarked and gathered together. Chip asked, “Foxglove, what’s
it look like inside of there?” The kind-hearted bat drooped her ears in shame and replied,
“Sorry, Chip. The metal structure is playing havoc with my echolocation. All I can say
is that they’re all in there and there’s no other exits. Oh, and it’s full of stuff.” In her
mind, the bat reprimanded herself, I should have been smart enough to scan the interior
when I saw the door open. A quick hug from her favorite red-nosed chipmunk cured her
blues.
Chip tugged his fedora hard, trying to shield his frustration from the sight of the
others. Gotta come up with a plan! The others are counting on me! He said, “Well, at
least we know that. That big door is the only way in or out. If Norman’s programming
and fixing Tom now, then Fat Cat must have his plan in place. If we wait for him to
leave with Norman, then Tom will be operational. We can’t take that chance. I say we
rush in, grab Norman, and haul tail back home.”
The Rangers racked their brains, but couldn’t come up with anything better that
didn’t include blowing up the shed, giant can openers, or time travel. That last one was
Dale’s idea. He was very disappointed when Gadget firmly told him that she did not
have a spare vial of plutonium fuel ‘just in case’.
The collection of valiant crime fighters took up their positions and hooked up
their equipment. Zipper and Foxglove flew in circles close to the ground in front of the
shed door, ready to fly in quickly. Dale flew the Rangerplane close to the shed door and
lowered the grappling hook on its line down to the ground. Gadget flew the Rangerwing
next to the Rangerplane and lowered her own grappling claw. On the ground, in front of
the shed door, Monty grabbed both hooks and secured them to the door. Tammy stood
next to him, ready to race inwards.
Once everybody gave the ready signal, Chip ordered, “Now!” Both planes began
retracting their lines while using all their lift to stay stationary. Monty added his strength
to the two winches and the door rose upwards several inches. Tammy raced in while
Zipper and Foxglove flew in.
Inside the storage shed, many hundred of electronic components lay scattered
around. At a makeshift rodent-sized table sat Norman, futilely working on some
damaged pieces that none of the Rangers could identify. Over him stood Fat Cat, his
patience clearly waning. Wart, Snout, Mepps, and Mole sat against the far wall, panting
heavily. Clearly, the tubby tabby did not believe in diets.
Domineering the entire room was what could only be called a mechanized
nightmare. Perhaps it once was call ‘Tom’ by a little boy, but now it only barely
resembled for former pet. Pieces of plate steel were haphazardly welded to its frame,
forming an irregular second skin. His simple slaws were replaced with inches-long
razors. His simple eyes were now glowing with a blood-red malevolence. His ears
swiveled independently of his neck movement, tracking every last possible sound.
Finally was the detail that threatened to lock up the brains of anyone who knew him from
before. Tom 2.0 was a big as a full-grown Rottweiler!
The Rangers decided that speed and surprise was their only weapon, and dashed
for Norman. Fat Cat, not noticing the Rangers yet, yelled at the young rat, “What’s
taking so long?!?! I thought you were a genius and thus worth keeping alive!” Norman
miserably replied, his voice threatening to break with sobs, “I told you, Mr. Cat. I don’t
have the parts I need. Some of this stuff has been fried beyond repair! I can‘t fix it.” Fat
Cat extended his claws, ready to tear the rodent’s head off, or claws his own eyes out,
which ever would give him his results!
Tom’s ears locked onto Tammy’s pawsteps and he intoned, his deep, electronic
voice sounding like a demon’s computer, “Intruders detected.” Distracted, Fat Cat turned
his head, only to have his sensitive nose collide with Zipper’s fist. “OUCH!!! You
miserable fools, get them!”
Foxglove broke off from her approach to Norman and flew around the goon’s
heads, distracting them. She yelled, “Tammy, grab Norman!” The exhausted goons tried
to grab Foxglove, only to wind up bumping into each others repeatedly. Zipper sped by
Fat Cat’s eye, causing him to scream in abject fear of ocular infection. As the cat backed
off, Zipper sped over to confront Tom 2.0. The metal monster arched his back like he
was going to pounce. The brave fly spun in circles, spirals, and even squares to try to
confuse the machine’s computer.
Tammy ran up and grabbed Norman. She picked him up and carried him away
from his table of parts from a familiar-looking device. She ran as fast as she could,
calling, “Fall back!” Foxglove snarled her fangs to scare the goons, and then flew out of
the shed. Zipper, confident that he had fouled the robot’s computer brain, turned around
to fly back out of the shed.
This was the chance Tom was waiting for. He swiped the air with his claws,
predicting where Zipper would fly to next. Zipper only barely heard the mechanical
WHIRR of Tom before dodging. Tom’s razor claws nearly cut Zipper’s body in half.
Instead, they scratched the back of his carapace. The speedy fly twisted, weaved, and
ducked as he sped through the air as fast as he could.
Tammy scrambled out of the shed, with Foxglove and Zipper right behind her.
Foxglove had seen what had happened between Tom and Zipper. She yelled, “Close the
door!!!” Both Gadget and Dale released the winch controls while Monty took advantage
of the door’s momentum to pull hard and slam the shed door shut.
Chip cried out, “Lower the panes! Pick up passengers!” Dale and Gadget
commanded their vehicles to land with the engines running. Monty ran over to jump in
the co-pilot seat of the Rangerplane. Tammy threw Norman into the backseat of the
Rangerwing, before jumping in next to him.
CRUNCH!!! Three long, sharp razors pierced the metal door of the shed, only to
stop half an inch from Gadget’s nose. Time froze as everyone saw just how close the
blonde inventor had come to death. Gadget could have sworn that her life flashed before
her eyes, but she was too busy estimating how many molecules thick the razor edge was
to get as sharp as it was. Her quickly calculated number equated to ‘Too sharp for
comfort’ in English.
SCRRREEEEEE!!! The claws turned over and began carving a doorway out of
the closed metal door. The Rangers could see the lower part of Tom’s powerful jaw
through the opening. They only had a few seconds before confronting the hulking war
machine directly!
Chip screamed, partly in fear, partly to be heard over the screech of torn metal,
“RETREAT!!! Head back home!” The pilots pulled back and sideways on their control
sticks while slamming the rudder pedals. The planes seemed to turn around and pull
away from the storage shed too slowly to suit the frazzled nerves of organic beings.
BANG! Tom’s head punched through the weakened metal door. He proclaimed,
“Enemy units targeted. Terminate enemy units.” He began to push his way through the
weakened metal door like an unstoppable juggernaut.
The planes had turned around, and the pilots yanked their controls back to neutral
position. They slammed their throttles forward and gently pulled the control sticks
backwards. The planes obediently pulled their noses gently upwards and gained speed.
CRUNCH!! The door completely gave way and fell inwards, crushing several
delicate pieces of electronics. The robot cat uses his sensors to locate the captive. His
brain locked onto the Rangerwing, and issued orders to down the plane, somewhat intact.
Tom leapt forward, extending his razor claws outwards towards the exposed wings of the
Rangerwing.
SWISH!!! His claws missed the unprotected framework of the wings by mere
millimeters. He landed with a resounding CLANK! His computer brain re-calculated his
expected height and length jumping tables and learned from the experience. Clearly, all
the weight of his armor altered the effect his servos could accomplish. Next time, he
would not make the same mistake.
Both planes landed back at Ranger Headquarters, none the worse for the wear,
although Gadget would have to repair some of the stress on the winch motors in the near
future. Norman was crying his eyes out over the events of the past few days. Dale has
tried to cheer him up with funny stories and silly faces on the ride home, but that just
made the young rat cry harder. Norman screamed, “I wanna go home!!!”
Chip tried to reason with him, “You can’t go home, not just yet. Fat Cat knows
where you live, and he’ll just try to grab you again. You’ve got to stay here where it’s
safe.” Nevertheless, the rat just cried even harder.
The front door opened, and a black-furred head peeked out. A voice from the
doorway registered in the young rat’s mind. “Norman, is that you?” The computer whiz
looked up at one of the sights he so desperately wanted to see ever since the bomb went
off. “Blacktooth!!!” Norman raced over to launch himself into his large friend’s arms.
Blacktooth hugged his little friend back, feeling protective.
After leaving the rats alone for several minutes, everyone convened in the living
room for a conference. Tammy spent a few moments examining Norman for injuries and
signs of abuse. Finding none, she asked, “What did Fat Cat do to you after he took you?”
Norman sniffled, and then said, “He just yelled a lot. He threatened to eat me
alive if I didn’t program Tom 2.0 the way he wanted. He also threatened to eat all my
friends if it didn’t work perfectly. He never hit me.”
Chip grunted, and then mentioned, “He’s too smart to hit you. If he did, you
might be too injured to obey. Although, I wouldn’t put the eating threat past him.”
Monty then balled up his fists and punched the air. He boasted, “Well, he ain’t gonna
touch you now that yer in tha care of tha Rescue Rangers! No one can force their way in
here!”
Gadget put her paws on Norman’s shoulders and looked him directly in the eyes.
She carefully asked, “Norman, we need you to tell us the truth. How much of Fat Cat’s
changes did you put into Tom?”
Fearful, Norman hiccupped, and then said, “All of them.” The Rangers
collectively moaned in grief. Their job just got ten times harder. The young rat
explained, “Tom 2.0 will only obey Fat Cat, and only if he’s in the room. Tom’s
memorized all of Fat Cat’s data, including heat signature and EM body-scan. There’s no
way to fool him. Oh, and he’s got a good model of all of you, too.”
The others felt the tugs of despair at the back of their minds. Confused, Gadget
asked, “Then what were you working on when we found you?” The young rat said
miserably, “He wanted me to fix some gun he stole. He stole it from the police the day
after he took me.”
Zipper panicked, finally recognizing the cast-off parts Norman was working on
back in the shed. He buzzed and pantomimed a question. Norman answered, hiccupping,
“Yes, he did. He used the gun to make Tom 2.0 grow big. But there was a problem. I’m
not sure why, but the gun shorted itself out and fried its critical components. He wanted
me to fix it so he could make other things and animals bigger, but I just couldn’t. You
can’t replicate the phase induction qualities of natural crystals with cheap, second-hand
electronics from Transistor Shack. Even the most top-of-the-line stuff would only kinda
work.”
Zipper explained to the others, and Chip snapped his fingers in anger. “Nuts!
This means Fat Cat’s plan is ready! He’ll probably wait until dark when the humans go
home from their jobs and launch an all-out slaughter on the docks. We can’t even fix the
Gigantico Gun ourselves to shrink Tom. Well, I’m out of ideas.”
Tammy gasped. Her hero? Out of ideas? “Chipper, you can’t be out of ideas!
What’ll we do?” Foxglove timidly asked, “Should we ask Winnifred to cast a spell on
the robot in exchange for a reduced sentence?” Monty suggested, “Maybe we should
squirt cheese spread into his joints to gum up his movement. Some of that stuff is really
sticky.”
Dale stepped forward, stopping all conversation. He took off Chip’s hat and put it
on his own head. Everyone glanced at Chip and backed up a step. That was almost akin
to blasphemy! Almost. The red-nosed one mildly scoffed at Chip, “Heh, don’t tell me
you can’t figure your way out of this one, Sureluck? How do you beat a huge, walking
tank?”
Getting steamed, Chip growled and ticked off ideas on his fingers, “Well, you
can’t tangle it in a net. It’ll slice its way out. You can’t trick it with Fat Cat’s voice. It
knows if it’s Fat Cat or not. Speaking of which, Fat Cat won’t listen to reason or be
bribed. We can’t even blind it or mislead it. If we trip it, it’ll get back up. Even if we
push it off a cliff, it’ll just get up and come back at us. Fat Cat’s gang outnumber us,
outgun us, and out-resource us. So, how do you fight a giant robot, nuts-for-brains?”
Dale, not upset in the slightest by Chip’s tirade, smiled gently and explained very
carefully, “With another giant robot.” The simple obviousness of the suggestion struck
Chip as both funny and stupid at the same time. Of course you would send a giant robot
after a giant robot. However, there was one flaw in the plan.
His paws shook with stress as he stated, “I’d love too, Dale. However, we seem
to be lacking one giant robot not brainwashed by our enemies! Even if we had one, how
long would it take to program it from scratch to not only recognize our enemies on sight,
but to avoid hurting innocent bystanders. We’d have to put a real brain in it!”
Gadget’s mind-bashingly high I.Q. went into overdrive. Her mind filled with
schematics, equations, and lists of tools. She snapped her fingers loudly, and asked,
“What about five brains?”
Everyone, except Dale, looked to Gadget as if she were crazy, or the next mad
scientist to try to rule the world. Dale’s smile widened as Gadget was following the trail
he laid for her. She offered, “If I can get some help, I can build our own robot to match
Tom 2.0, and we’ll pilot it, instead of relying on a robotic brain.”
The leather-clad chipmunk tried in vain to imagine the splendor of his favorite
mouse’s plan, but his orderly mind couldn’t make the giant leaps of faith. However, he
did understand that Gadget said whatever she would build could match Tom. He decided
to just let go and trust his instincts. His instincts said Gadget was an inventive genius and
he should let her work.
Chip’s face melted into a smarmy grin, and he turned to face Dale. He bowed
low, reciting an obscure quote, “Master, I know I haven’t always been a patient student.”
Dale chuckled, and then placed Chip’s hat back on his head. He recited a more common
expression, “That’s good. You’ve taken your first step into a larger world.”
The fedora-clad chipmunk tugged on his hat confidently, and then looked Gadget
directly in the eyes. With a simple, humble smile, he asked, “We’ll do it your way,
Gadget. What do you want us to do?”
The genius inventor’s heart beat faster and a slight blush formed on her cheeks.
He trusts me. He really trusts me. I’ll make you proud of me, Chip. She said, “We’ll
need lots of parts for this, but I think we can get most of them right away. Everyone
except Chip and Zipper, you’ll come with me up to Nimnul’s old hilltop observatory and
find a way to hijack five of his robot dogs. We’ll take the Rangerwing and the
Rangerskate. Chip and Zipper, I need each of you to do something critical for this to
work.”
Zipper buzzed inquisitively, eager for an assignment. Chip also asked, “Sure,
what can we do?” Gadget’s gaze never left Chip’s, and the others were noticing this.
Instead of ruining the moment, they just basked in the adorableness of it all. She
explained, “Chip, I need you to convince McDugell to confiscate a very large shipping
crate for us to lay a trap for Tom to fall into. Zipper, once we have it, I need you to
spread the word that a secret arms shipment for the Siamese Twins will pass by Fat Cat’s
territory from outside the city. Fat Cat won’t be able to resist stealing the crate for his
army. We’ll use that opportunity to surprise Tom 2.0 with our own giant robot.”
With the sun setting, Chip was not surprised to see McDugell still sitting at his
desk, trying to co-ordinate the A.P.F.’s efforts to contain multiple threats. He walked
into the office and sat in the seat opposite the gruff squirrel. Zipper flew in and landed on
the desk, squeaking a greeting. McDugell’s previous bad mood was lifted. This means
his face melted from a frown to a neutral expression. He reached over to shake the fly’s
paw and greeted, “Hello, Zipper. It’s not often I get a visit from you here at the office.
What can I do for you?”
Zipper squeaked and pantomimed several things at the gray squirrel. McDugell
followed every sight and sound, his face ranging from neutral to incredulous to outrage.
He yelled, “WHAT?!?! Chip, you had NO right to harbor a fugitive from me! I ought to
lock all of you Rangers up and disband that little organization of yours! Now, you go and
force Fat Cat’s paw, which makes him act sooner than expected. I can’t believe that you
would blunder like this with possibly a third of the city’s animal population at stake.
What makes you think I’ll do anything for you?”
Chip leaned forward, matching the police officer’s intense gaze with one of his
own. He explained very carefully, “I told you there were no criminals in headquarters,
and I meant it! Blacktooth committed no crimes and hired us to prove him innocent.
That’s within the law. I’m only here to prevent YOU from causing the worst mistake in
your career that will not only cause one war, but two! How do you think the city’s rat
population will take you assaulting a legal organization when we’ve found hard evidence
that they’re innocent?! You think they’ll just let you put down the Black Rats and not
revolt?!?!”
Soon, half the station’s officers currently in the building gathered around the open
office door to hear the clash of the law enforcement giants. McDugell scoffed, “What
evidence do you have? Fat cat’s signed confession?”
The leader of the Rescue Rangers growled, “Close enough. We found the boy
that Fat Cat kidnapped. The kid’s a computer whiz. He’s the one who programmed the
robot cat that was wandering the alleys. Fat Cat threatened to eat the boy alive, not to
mention his friends, if he didn’t turn Tom into a war machine. How do you think that
Animal Shelter’s wall caved in so easily? That’s no glitch on the tape. Fat Cat stole
Professor Nimnul’s Gigantico Gun from the human police to enlarge Tom. Fat Cat’s
going to carve up the docks to eliminate the Siamese Twins, and you’re wasting your
time stepping on rats that’ve done nothing bad to anyone!”
The silence that filled the office was thick as concrete. Chip held his ground.
Zipper stayed silent, adding his stern gaze towards the gray squirrel. McDugell turned
over the stories in his mind, ruthlessly trying to find a fault or contradiction. He couldn’t,
but there were a couple of points missing.
He asked, “What proof do you have that what you say is the truth? Instead of the
way I think things played out?” Chip mentioned, “We have the little boy’s testimony.
He was missing after the bomb went off, and witnesses even described Snout kidnapping
him.”
The gruff officer added, “What about that bomb damage? It could have been
planted by the rats to keep themselves looking like victims. We haven’t been able to
push our way inside to inspect the upper floor.” The fedora-clad chipmunk retorted,
“Both Gadget and Zipper can testify as experts on bomb damage. Gadget can prove by
science that it was not a fake or paint on the walls, but a real explosion. As for ‘looking’
like victims, Zipper can testify first-hand about the remains of many dead rats that were
caught in the blast.”
The officer looked to Zipper, who began describing in graphic detail about the
smell of burning and the crusty pools of blood. He even described in detail about the tiny
scraps of flesh that was pounded into the walls from the force of the detonation. Several
officers left to vomit their dinners as far away as they could from the cold-blooded
explanation that the fly was offering. The gray squirrel, however, was made of sterner
stuff and patiently listened, taking in every detail. He asked, “Zipper, would you be
willing to testify to this in a court of law? Upon your honor?” The noble fly nodded and
squeaked an affirmative.
Finally, McDugell used his last tactic. “So far, you’ve got it all wrapped up
except the tie-in to Fat Cat. How do we know he stole that contraption, much less used
it?” Chip replied in a steady voice, “Send an officer to the storage shed where the gun’s
pieces were left. You should find fur samples that match Fat Cat perfectly. You should
get there before the human police do.” He then added the address and number of the
storage shed that Fat Cat had secured for himself.
McDugell called for a pair of detectives, who took down the location of the shed
and left quickly. McDugell then sat back in his chair and boasted, “Now it’s just a matter
of time. We’ll see who’s the better detective and who’s the emotional fool. If you’ve got
anything to admit to me, now’s the time to do it, Chip. If we don’t find the Gigantico
Gun or those fur samples, then you’re harboring a fugitive from justice. You’ll probably
spend some time alongside of him in prison. Got anything to say, old friend?”
Zipper didn’t think an insect like him could sweat, but he was doing it now. He
hadn’t counted on the human police investigating the disturbance at the storage business.
If they investigated, they would take the Gigantico Gun parts and wipe away all the fur
traces. If that happened, all of the Rangers could be in very serious trouble. Even if
McDugell decides not to press charges, their reputations in the eyes of the A.P.F. would
be ruined forever. He looked to his leader for support.
Chip sat back in his chair and put his feet up on McDugell’s desk. He laced his
fingers behind his head and asked in a cocky, cavalier manner, “I’m thirsty. Got any
coffee for Zipper and me?”
The next day, close to sunset, a cargo container bearing the markings of the
Crossed Cardinals Shipping Company was being transported by flat trailer through the
junkyard. A radio-controlled version of a human heavy truck was pulling the container
with obvious difficulty. Even the two extra batteries strapped to the back end of the
flatbed were straining in trying to help pull the flat trailer through the uneven terrain of
the junkyard.
The going was quiet. All of the curious rats and dogs that lived in the junkyard
had been visited by representatives of the most honorable Siamese Cats. A large
payment of electronics and food was given to assure that no one would interfere in any
way. Junkyard animals are by nature mercurial, but a large enough payment can secure
the loyalty of even the greediest animal.
This container was not going by normal shipping routes. Normally, it would find
its way floating through the sewers or driving through the alleyways. However, those
ways lead through Fat Cat’s territory, and the greedy feline always demanded to know
what cargoes are being transported as well as taxing the shipment. This particular
shipment was headed for the docks and under no circumstances must Fat Cat get a hold
of this shipment. Rumor has it this crate contained much-needed weapons that the Twins
needed to even the power struggle with the corpulent criminal.
The two hamsters driving the truck signaled to the two weasels riding on the
flatbed. This was the sign to check in. The weasels signaled back that all was well. This
didn’t reassure the hamsters, though.
Suddenly, a pair of Dobermans, male and female, jumped in front of the truck
from one of the piles of junk. The driver yelled, “Whoa!!! Look out!” He turned the
wheel hard while pulling on the throttle in reverse. The truck and trailer swerved to the
right, stopping just before crashing into a large, unstable pile of smashed cars.
The weasels yelled at the intruding dogs in broken English, “This is not for you!
Out of way!” The dogs laughed heartily, and then advanced upon the trailer. The female
dog taunted, “You’ve crossed over into Fat Cat’s territory. You know what that means.
Open up and let’s see what in that trailer.”
The weasels adopted a martial arts fighting stance. The hamsters crawled out of
the driver’s cabin and took up the same stance. The driver yelled, “We outnumber you
and we have been trained to fight large animals. Be smart and flee.”
The male dog pretended to be scared and said, “Oooh, I’m scared. A couple of
dust rags have threatened us. Should we call for backup?” He looked over to the female
in mock supplication. The female grinned nastily and said, “Oh yes, I think so. We’ll
definitely need help taking care of lunch. Tom…um, advance!”
Even though they were expecting it, the hamsters and weasels shook with fear.
Clanking slowly and deliberately, Tom 2.0 marched up to the trailer and surveyed the
situation. His sensors were limited as the piles of metal around him blocked magnetic
waves and thermal signatures. However, his threat matrix showed all green, ‘no danger’.
The massive robot intoned in its cold, unfeeling tone, “Surrender, or be
destroyed.” The hamsters and weasels backed up involuntarily. The dogs taunted,
“You’d better do as he says, or it’ll be bad news for you!”
The weasels began opening the complicated lock on the back of the container.
One of the weasels also pulled a convenient cord several times. Unbeknownst to the
aggressors, the cord activated a bright, blinking light inside the crate.
In darkness, Chip complained again, “I can’t believe that I agreed to do this!”
Dale chuckled and taunted his best friend, “Yup, I was there. Now be quiet or you’ll give
us away.” The fedora-wearing detective could hear Monty and Tammy snicker at his
plight from somewhere ahead of him. Why couldn’t they understand that travelling
several miles per hour while lying flat on your back was just unnatural?
Monty couldn’t resist teasing Chip some more, “Whatsa matter, Chippah? You
don’t trust me little Gadget, or is it that yer not in tha pilot’s seat?” That set off another
round of giggling at Chip’s expense. Suddenly, Gadget’s firm voice cut through the
silence. “Quiet! We’ve stopped!”
The Rangers changed their attitudes. Gone was the playful mirth. Gone were the
personal jokes. Gone was enjoyment. Only tempered determination was left. They put
all their trust in the blonde inventor’s imagination and skill. Together, they would
succeed against a computer.
After a few moments of groping around in the dark for their controls, the Rangers
saw a faint, red, flashing light overhead. Gadget called out, “That’s the signal! The
container will collapse in seconds! Everybody power up and let’s begin the startup
sequence!”
Outside, Tom’s sensors completed another sweep of the area with nothing to
report. The computer re-tasked the sensors to sweep the area. Suddenly, something
unexpected happened. The container split in half down the middle lengthwise. This was
not in the mission parameters! The threat matrix was forcefully bumped up to yellow for
‘caution’.
The robot focused its sensors on the container, searching for magnetic signatures
of the piles of weapons that the Master had told it would be inside. It called up the
secondary mission specifications and re-learned them. The Master had specified that if
there were no large amounts of weapons present, then the driver and one other enemy
would be captured alive. The rest are to be killed and given to the dogs.
Tom 2.0’s computer brain calculated the first thirty strategies to use in case of the
secondary mission specifications needed to be executed. With this information in his
immediate memory, the robot was ready for anything.
Suddenly, Tom’s sensors went haywire. Huge electromagnetic readings saturated
his sensors to the point where he could not estimate what target profile fit the object. It
was a large amount of energy for any conventional weapon. The robot’s threat matrix
immediately spiked at red, meaning ‘imminent danger’. All weapon systems came
online, but without a clear reading of the object, his computer brain could not determine
if he was adequately equipped for combat.
The walls of the container fell wide open slowly, and the sounds of rodent voices
entered Tom’s auditory sensors. The signal was filtered and amplified. Then it was fed
through the logical scrubber and matched against the on-board language dictionary to
check for useful data.
Gadget called out, “Activate interlocks!”
Chip replied, “All modules linked to housing!”
Gadget called out, “Dynotherms connected!”
Dale answered, “Everywhere inside is cool and venting!”
Gadget called out, “Infracells up!”
Tammy yelled, “Controls online and responding!”
Gadget called out, “Mega-thrusters are ‘go’!”
Monterey Jack roared, “Pressure is steady at maximum, luv!”
The blonde mouse pushed a lever while turning a knob where she was laying
down. From the flat trailer, there sounded a huge, metallic BANG! It was followed by a
second BANG, and a vision only born in the depths of madness or genius appeared to all.
The thing stood twice as tall as Tom 2.0 and made of five separate robot dogs.
The center dog, painted with black highlights, stood as if on its hindlegs and its head
tilted to face forward. Two robot dogs, one painted with blue and the other yellow
highlights, were affixed around the legs of the center dog, their appendages removed and
the necks bent backwards so the forwards face seemed like a foot. The center dog had its
forelegs removed, replaced by another two robot dogs, one painted with red and the other
green highlights. The red and green robot dogs had all their legs removed also, affixed as
arms of the center dog.
From the depths of the center dog’s upper chest, where the Rescue Ranger logo
lay, there came a female mouse’s battle cry of “LET’S GO, RANGERTRON FORCE!”
The living dogs shook in total terror, wetting themselves where they stood. They would
have nightmares about this horrible vision for the rest of their lives.
The weasels and hamsters pulled out badges from their sashes and showed them
forcefully to the dogs. The hamster that drove the truck proclaimed, “Freeze! A.P.F.!
You’re under arrest!” His voice was suddenly devoid of any Far Eastern accent. The
dogs panicked and tried to run, only to see they were surrounded. The entire population
of the junkyard had assembled to surround the criminal dogs. Dozens of rats jumped on
the dogs, subduing them and tying them up securely.
The female dog whimpered, unable to tear her eyes away from the mechanical
demon that just rose up from the trailer, “Please, don’t let it eat me.” The junkyard rats
worked together with the A.P.F. officers to drag away the captives, clearing the field for
the two titans.
The two metal combatants stared each other down carefully. Each was measuring
the strengths and defenses of the other. At length, Gadget said to her teammates,
“Everyone, remember your positions. Just do your job and let the others do theirs.”
Dale, in the red dog, confirmed, “No problem! I got punching duty!”
Chip, in the green dog, stated, “I block slower attacks, then help fight.”
Tammy, in the blue dog, chirped, “I stand up the robot and brace for impacts.”
Monty, in the yellow dog, boasted, “An’ I make us walk and run!”
Finally, Tom 2.0’s computer brain unlocked and made an assessment. He spoke
out loud, “Threat identified. Damage potential equals infinity. Target destruction
priority one.” Hearing this statement, Chip refused to be intimidated. He called over,
“Hey, Dale! Let’s tell him what we think of him!”
The chipmunks thrust their dog-headed appendages forward and pulled a cord.
Each dog head emitted a loud WOOF!!! Monty cheered, “That’s tellin’ that bucket o’
bolts, mates!” Tom’s servo motors tensed and whirred, gathering momentum. Gadget,
recognizing this behavior in machinery, cried out a warning, “Get ready! It’s going to
pounce!”
Tom 2.0 flexed his servo motors and leaped. He stuck his claws out, ready to
pierce the Rangertron at chest level. Gadget torqued a pair of levers in opposite
directions while the chipmunks pulled their controls in the same way. The green dog
swiveled across the chest while the red dog pulled away. Tom’s claws grazed the
Rangertron’s chest, carving three shallow cuts. Dale felt like a matador and screamed,
“Ole!”
Tammy held her limb firm and pivoted the Rangertron while Monty pulled his
dog back, then threw it forward. The yellow dog kicked out, striking Tom 2.0 in the right
hindquarters. CLANK!!! Monty taunted, “Punt!”
The robot cat’s brain was working into overdrive trying to adapt to each new
situation. The constant stream of seemingly random data was making it hesitant to
choose an action.
A nearby human news van was driving by the junkyard, hoping to find a story for
the evening news. The sound of metal-on-metal banging caught their attention. The van
pulled over to the sidewalk and the humans came out to gaze upon the robot fight. A
distinguished-looking human ordered the others, “Go to ‘live’, now!”
The other, younger humans pulled out their portable video cameras and pulled it
into the van’s computers. A powerful transmitter antenna turned on, beaming the signal
back to their headquarters. The camera turned onto the distinguished human, who was
smoothing his hair. The cameraman called out, “Live in three, two, one!” The
distinguished human began his calm, professional report.
“This is Stan Blather, live from the city junkyard where a strange sight has been
recorded by this station first. Pan over to the fight, Mike.” The cameraman obeyed,
showing the Rangertron fighting Tom 2.0. Stan continued, “Thanks, Mike. Keep it
there. It appears that two man-made machines are battling each other in some kind of
gladiatorial contest.”
Tom 2.0 turned around and quickly leaped right for the head of the Rangertron.
Chip and Dale moved their robot dogs to catch the wicked feline in mid-air. Tom flailed
his claws, cutting into the Rangertron’s shoulders. Gadget commanded, “Kick it! Hard!”
Monty braced his dog and offered, “Get ‘em, Tammy! Oi had me turn!” The
eager squirrel bared her teeth and moved her dog into a fast back-and-forth pattern,
kicking tom in his underbelly. The squirrel chattered excitedly, “Come on, feel the
noise!!!”
The armor plating underneath Tom started to buckle. This event caused Tom’s
computer brain to abort the attack and command his limbs to curl up and cushion the
abuse. Chip and Dale maneuvered their robot dogs together, hauling the mechanical cat
above their heads, and then throwing him forward. Tom 2.0 rolled around for several feet
before uncurling onto his feet.
Stan Blather continued, “The apparent size of the robots seems to be that of large
dogs. The stiff movements of the machines suggest that nobody is inside, so they must
be remote-controlled. There are no visible controllers or cameras, but they must be
nearby. I cannot seem to place the purpose of this fight other than a movie scene.”
The cameraman mentioned, “Hey, I kinda recognize that big one! Doesn’t it look
similar to that old cartoon…um, Amptron?” The other technician agreed, “Yeah, it’s got
the color scheme and construction, but I don’t recognize the four-legged one. Hey,
maybe they’re making a new Amptron movie to generate a new cartoon show!”
The man behind the camera experienced a small amount of euphoria. A new
Amptron show? If the guys at the comic book shop went nuts over those gaming rules for
flying miniature Skywolf helicopters, they’d soil themselves at the chance to roll dice for
miniature mecha. He began daydreaming about numbers, equations, and spreadsheets in
the back of his mind while filming the robot battle.
In the center dog, Gadget checked her gauges. She was losing a small amount of
pressure in the shoulder joints, and the legs were being overworked. “Guys! We can’t
keep this up for too long! We need a way to end this fight or Tom will nickel-and-dime
us to death!”
Dale asked, keeping a close eye on the mechanical cat, “Well, can’t we bury him
in a pile of cars?” Gadget refused, “He’d just dig his way out. We need something even
stronger than we are.”
Monty spied a contraption that fascinated him since childhood. “Well, luv, we are
in a junkyard. We could put ‘im in tha car crusher.” Gadget snapped her fingers and
grinned. She praised, “That’s brilliant, Monty! Everyone, try to batter him towards the
crusher!”
Monty and Tammy began a quick sequence of alternating motion that caused the
Rangertron to advance on the robot cat. Tom 2.0 began to furiously scan his enemy by
focusing all his power and equipment solely on the Rangertron. He intoned, “Scanning
for structural integrity flaws.”
Tammy cried out, “He’s going to change his strategy! If he moves around us,
we’ll never get him to the car crusher!” Dale, familiar with this action sequence in
cartoons, dispensed his sage advice that came from years of hardcore research. “We
gotta stun him somehow! We got a lot of distance to cover!”
Gadget pivoted the torso of her creation to point straight at Tom, and then
thumbed three switches together. She cried out, “Release Electro-force Cross!” The
Rescue Ranger logo on the chestplate swung open and a taser dart shot out. The extreme
point of the dart stuck into a crack between Tom’s armor plates. Electricity shot out at a
huge voltage, shocking the robot cat senseless.
The blonde inventor pulled a small lever, retracting the dart, and then
commanded, “Chipmunk Barrage!” The ‘munks, understanding exactly what she
wanted, chattered so fast, even the others couldn’t understand what they said. Tammy
and Monty commanded their dogs to run right at Tom 2.0, closing to punching distance.
First Chip flung his dog forwards, striking Tom’s head and knocking him back a yard.
Then the Rangertron ran up again and Chip retracted his dog. Dale would fling his dog
forward, striking Tom on the opposite side of the head, knocking his computer brain
around in its shell. Over and over, back and forth, the chipmunks would punch the
mechanical daylights out of Tom 2.0, closing distance to the crusher.
Suddenly, Tom ducked, and the green dog flung forward and around, pulling the
Rangertron off-balance. Tom reared up where he stood and brought both sets of front
claws crashing down. The razor-sharp claws pierced the metal of the limb, severing
components and stopping the robot’s momentum.
The Rangers shouted fearfully, “CHIP!!!” The green dog slowly retracted, and
the red dog moved forward to protect it. Chip called out slowly, “I’m okay, but my dog
has almost no power anymore. I can move, but not attack.” Gadget checked her gauges
fro the green dog and the reading worried her. The green dog has lost all but emergency
pressure and heat was building up fast. She looked behind Tom to see that the car
crusher was only a few feet away.
Tom stood shakingly, and then launched an attack. He leaped close, and swiped
each of his paws at one of the Rangertron’s legs. The claws sliced open the skins of the
legs, and steam began spurting out in random places. Monty complained, “It’s getting’ a
mite hot in here luv!”
Gadget watched the temperature gauges from the legs slowly rise, guessing that
the primary steam lines have been punctured. She had enough of this. No one takes
apart her inventions while she’s still in them! “Dale, Tammy has a weapon for you!”
The squirrel pulled a pair of handles that only her dog came equipped with. Dale
maneuvered his dog down to the blue dog like a claw game in the arcade. Out popped a
long, steel baton from the spine of the blue dog. The red dog grabbed it and pulled it up,
ready to swing it like a club. Tammy yelled, “It needs a few seconds to charge up!”
Chip casually declared, “That’s my cue.” He thrust his dog forward and pointed it
at Tom 2.0. Dale pulled his dog back further to counterbalance as well as made a bigger
swing. Chip pulled the cord again, hard. Chip’s green dog barked loudly at Tom 2.0,
causing it to pull back a few steps. WOOF!!!
Gadget smiled at her favorite chipmunk’s spontaneous tactics. He’s so clever.
Now we could win! She could not resist crying out as she saw the electromagnetic
readings from the baton spike to their maximum. “Form Blazing Sword!”
Dale questioned Gadget’s sanity as he remembered the attack from the show. Oh
well. You only live twice, Monty would say. He slammed the controls to thrust his robot
dog forwards and downward.
Tom’s computer brain screamed a warning of potential shutdown from the
electromagnetic discharge of the baton. Tom leaped forward, claws extended, trying to
close distance in order to avoid the deadly weapon. Unfortunately, one of Tom 2.0’s
back legs only gave half of its power output. The robot cat hopped gracefully right into
the path of the baton. Tom twisted his neck all the way to the side to avoid certain
destruction.
Guided by the excited chipmunk, the baton struck Tom in the shoulder with the
force of a sledgehammer. Tom’s shoulder buckled, ripping a hole in his body. The
electricity released, causing an explosion in the air. Both the Rangertron and Tom 2.0
were pushed backwards a few feet.
Tammy and Monty commanded their dogs to grip the ground with all their might.
The Rangertron held upright as it was pushed backwards, scraping the ground as it went.
Tom was knocked backwards, flipping over a couple of times before coming to rest at the
edge of the car crusher.
Tom’s computer brain scrambled and desperately tried to reboot itself. His
motherboard was cracked and his threat identifier memory was destroyed. His EM
scanner was offline and his left foreleg was bent beyond usefulness. His core
programming told him to retreat to avoid destruction. His primary objective refused him
the privilege of altering his mission parameters without the Master present. He chose to
fight.
Gadget surveyed her options carefully. This next move could decide the fight.
She had to get Tom into the crusher, no matter what. Suddenly, she thought, Oh no! No
one’s at the controls! How will we reach them before Tom climbs out? She spied the
control booth for the crusher. The front window was smash, leaving only jagged teeth of
dirty glass.
The blonde inventor called out to her teammates, “Guys, the temperatures are
spiking too high! Switch over your controls to me and eject. I’ll park the Rangertron and
join you.”
One by one, the Rangers turned a black wheel above their heads and then pulled a
yellow cord beneath their seats. A hatchway opened up and they climbed out of their
robot dogs. Monty took a head count as Tammy, Chip, and Dale came over to try to
brainstorm.
Tammy asked, “Can we push Tom over?” Chip denied this action, “No, he’s too
heavy, and we’d be filleted before we finish.” Dale frantically asked, “What about a
wrecking ball?” Chip again refused, “It’s all the way over to the other side of the
junkyard. We’d never get it here in time.” Monty gasped, “Gadget?!?! What are ya
doin’, luv?!”
The Rangertron positioned itself perfectly in front of Tom 2.0, tensing its legs for
a run. Inside the pilot’s area in the upper chest of the center dog, Gadget patted the
control console tenderly. With sympathy for the poor, damaged machine, she asked,
“Just one more time, baby. Please?”
She pushed all the controls forward and alternated the leg levers. The Rangertron
raised its arms forward, dog-mouths open, and then it charged forward as fast as its
damaged, overheated legs could travel.
Tom’s computer brain had mostly recovered itself. It analyzed the enemy’s
suicide attack. A long-forgotten routine finally computated and verified a prized piece of
information. The control center was located! Tom calculated that it could destroy the
robot dog-amalgamation if it risked its own existence.
The cold, unfeeling computer decided that if the giant robot was destroyed, then
the Master could send more support troops to capture the objective. Tom 2.0 raised its
right forepaw and aimed its razor claws at the approaching robot. Keeping the
mechanical lines of its usable foreleg straight, it locked its servo motors in place and
recited a phrase of philosophy that the Master had once said about his enemies. The
robot cat declared, “An eye for an eye.”
CRUNCH!!! The Rangertron slammed into the robot cat, pushing its center of
gravity over the edge of the car crusher. Gadget pivoted the torso forward, leaning the
black dog’s body forward. She saw the approaching claws and pulled her own yellow
cord beneath her seat. Several firecrackers went POP as the hatch above her opened.
Her chair released a spring and ejected her through the opening, shooting her forward
into the broken window.
SCREEE!!! Tom’s razor claws pierced the heart of the Rangertron, destroying the
place where Gadget sat just a second earlier. Fatally wounded, the Rangertron released
all of its pressure through vent all over its body. Steam clouds formed in the pit as the
yawning chasm of the car crusher echoed with a HISSSS!!!!!!!!
Tom’s threat matrix turned to green as he knew the enemy was destroyed.
CRASH!!! The pair of metal titans landed in the bottom of the crusher. Gadget squealed
with terror as the shards of dirty, broken glass came right at her like the maw of a cat
from the nether-realms. She curled up into a ball and held her breath.
BOING! Her body bounced off the human operator’s seat safely. All the fear
drained from her being and she laughed in joy. Her calculations worked! She jumped up
to the console and waved to her friends. The other Rangers jump, cheered, and whooped
at this last piece of victory.
“YEAH!!!” “Gadget, you’re the greatest!” “That’s me mate’s little girl, right
there!” “Hooray, Gadget!” The Rangers ran alongside the pit to meet up with their
favorite inventor.
SLAM!!! Tom 2.0’s good metal foreleg rose up from the abyss, landing his paw
right in front of the Rangers. The sharp claws were broken, jagged, and dripping with oil.
From the depths of the car crusher, Tom 2.0’s mechanical voice boomed with power.
“…and a tooth for a tooth!”
Squealing in terror, Gadget ran backwards to slam her foot down on a red button.
The panel glowed and came to life. She threw herself on a large lever, slamming it with
the whole body weight. The lever dropped, activating the crusher.
Tom’s paw was dragged away as the ledge pulled it towards the center of the
crusher and towards the incoming opposite wall. As the two walls met, Tom declared,
“Mission accomplished.” CRACKA-CRUNCH!!! BOOM!!!
The sound of shrieking, breaking metal was accompanied by the explosion of
Tom’s batteries exploding from the overwhelming force of the crusher. The paw fell
back into the cold, smoking, uncaring abyss of the machine. As the walls retracted, the
second set of walls closed. CRUNCH!!!
When the machine finished cycling through, the floor raised to show the remains
of the two robot titans. A misshapen lump of scrap, composed of a nightmarish mass of
twisted metal parts, rested on the platform. A robots cat’s face smashed head-to-head
with a robot dog’s face. The Rangers shuddered at the sight, reminded of the sights of
infernal reaches of Hades depicted in paintings.
“This is Stan Blather, reporting to you live from the junkyard. It seems that the
robot fight is over. Wow, I feel sorry for you viewers watching other channels at this
time! This was the fight of the century, played out by persons unknown. We’re glad no
one was hurt, and we look forward to seeing how this event may play out in the near
future of the entertainment industry. Back to the main office, with Jan the Weathergirl.”
Deep in the basement of a human-owned laundromat, a small cat, wearing a red
sash, entered and bowed respectfully. He reported, “Honorable Ones, I have bad news.
The hidden shipment of weapons was intercepted in the junkyard.”
The Siamese Twins narrowed their eyes at this news. It did not make sense.
They answered in their characteristic echo of each other, “We-e did not-ot ex-expect a
shipment-ment of w-weapons today.”
The small cat started sweating, wondering if he had accidentally given offense.
He decided to tailor his news into something more pleasant. “I mean…that the A.P.F.
has attacked and destroyed Fat Cat’s secret weapon. Our spies saw the operation
themselves.”
The twin cats smiled, and planned, “Perrrr-rrrfect. Order-der our wor-workers to
begin-in r-repairing our docks. B-begin recruiting-ing new so-soldiers for our dedefense.”
The small cat bowed deeply again, and then left. He was glad to have been so
clever. The Twins have never been known for granting second chances. At least now the
docks will become safe again.
Up in his office in the head of the cat statue of the cannery, Fat Cat sat smoking
his catnip cigar. Specially prepared for him overseas, he slowly savored the sweet smell
and calming effect upon him.
The elevator chimed, announcing the arrival of a visitor. As the doors opened,
Mepps stumbled into the room, panicking. He yowled, “Boss! Boooooosssssssss!!!!!!
We failed!”
Normally upset by news like this, Fat Cat merely exhaled and said calmly, “You
always fail, dolt. I sent you and the empty-head squad out on a tiny errand. It does not
matter if you fail.”
The scraggly cat tugged on his cloth cap hard, stretching it out of proportion. He
whined, “I’m not talking about us!!! Your robot failed!” The words made their way
across the room and entered in to the feline criminal’s ears. Winding their way through
his head, they plowed their way through the smoke to implant themselves in his mind.
Fat Cat’s eyes snapped open. He dropped his cigar on the floor, and bellowed,
“WHAAAAAAATTTT?!?!?!?!” Mepps nodded, pointing downstairs. He explained,
“The shipment was a fake! The A.P.F. arrested the dogs and the Rescue Rangers beat up
Tom with their own robot!” A slight smile crossed his face as he unwisely gloated, “It
was the greatest fight ever! You should’ve come with us to pick you up a left-handed
framwinkle.”
The corpulent kitty’s eyes bulged as he processed this information. All the
soothing effect of the cigar was immediately flushed from his system as his adrenaline
fed his rage. He screamed at the top of his voice, “THOSE INTERFERING RESCUE
RANGERS!!!! I’LL KILL THEM! I’LL KILL THEM IF IT’S THE LAST THING I
EVER DO!”
His eyes turn bloodshot and his head entire body trembled. Focusing all his rage
on the image of the Rescue Rangers in his head, he extended all his claws with a FLICK.
He imagined them at his mercy, in his claws. He imagined ripped their entrails out with
his bare paws.
In reality, Fat Cat dragged his needle-sharp claws down across his own face. Thin
streaks of red appeared, showing he had broken the skin. As the pain calmed him down,
he began breathing heavy. Mepps’s conscience told him that something was wrong with
the boss and he should leave. The scraggly cat backpedaled toward the elevator and
mentioned, “I’ll be down in the casino…um, working.”
Back at the A.P.F., McDugell had finally tidied up his office. The temper tantrum
he threw when his detectives came back was not something that children of any age
should have seen. Both of his detectives reported the news of the fur samples perfectly
matching Fat Cat and they confirmed pieces of the fried Gigantico Gun at the place Chip
told them to look were solid matches. This means that once again Chip was right and he
was clueless.
Worse, he nearly committed the worst sin that someone like himself could do. He
nearly jailed a group of innocent animals for some other animals’ crime. Not only would
it cause riots in the streets, it would be a travesty against Justice!
It took three pieces of cheesecake in the shared station icebox to calm him down
enough to at least use clean language with berating himself. It seems he owes a couple of
the ladies some cheesecake. I’ll have to buy each of them full cheesecake to make up for
it.
He started the paperwork necessary to recall warrants and release prisoners. He
also remembered to make phone calls that were needed to wipe the arrests and
unflattering details from the records of the accused. I’ll probably have to make an
announcement to the papers admitting my mistake and flattering the Rangers just to cool
all those hot tempers. Well, it’ll be worth it.
McDugell then turned his attention to a form that was given to him a couple of
weeks ago. It was an application for recognition of Militia Status by the Black Rat
Society. They submitted it to him before all this mess happened. He was going to throw
it away, but something in him wanted him to hang onto it. Now, after all that happened,
he felt obligated to pass it through to City Council.
Still, something in his mind just didn’t trust them. He wasn’t sure what it was.
He knew they were innocent of all wrongdoing. They were also exonerated from being
blamed for the curfew. Once the newspapers heard they were victims, the reporters got
off their lazy tails and discovered footage of the human mayor trying to get re-elected and
the poll standings before and after the initial sprayings. There were several animalinterest stories describing the hard life the rats have had and how everyone should be nice
to them.
From out of nowhere came all sorts of ‘experts’ who came up with radical plans
to stop the city-wide exterminations. What it all boiled down to was that the city’s
animal population would simply have to hide themselves better from now on. If the
humans stop seeing animals, then they’ll stop feeling threatened.
Still, old habits died hard. McDugell put down the application and filed it away in
his ‘investigate later’ pile. Maybe there could be a compromise to this ‘weapons’ thing
the Black Rats wanted. In the meantime, he had a bigger headache do deal with. With
Fat Cat’s attack on the docks aborted, now he had two rival gang bosses vying for more
power again. He wasn’t sure what was worse, open war or cold war.
In front of the T.V. at Ranger Headquarters, Chip and Gadget sat on the couch.
They half-listened to the re-cap of the robot battle on the evening news. They were alone
as the other Rangers had other things to do. They all realized after this mission just how
precious their lives were and decided to celebrate in their own ways.
Dale asked Foxglove out on a romantic date, which she gratefully accepted. The
two of them left an hour ago, by wing and hang-glider. Monty was spending time in his
room, going over all the souvenirs he’s collected over the years. Zipper decided to make
a surprise visit to Queenie. Tammy thought it was good time to visit her family and
maybe spend the night. That would make it easy to wind up Bink by telling her all about
the robot battle and indirectly drive her mom nuts.
The T.V. news anchor finished up her story by stating, “Finally, sales of vintage
comic books from the ‘Amptron’ series of stories have tripled in price in the last hour on
all online auctions sites. Our phone calls to the studios who last owned the rights to
‘Amptron’ cartoons and toys have not yet been returned, possibly due to the late hour.
This is Amanda Jenkins, signing off. Goodnight, everyone.”
Chip turned off the T.V., wishing for a brain that worked. For the last hour, he
had trying to come up with something romantic to say to Gadget. He immediately
believed in the principle of the Conservation of Good Ideas. To prove it, he used up all
his good ideas today. He had just sat on the couch and said nothing while Gadget sighed
over the T.V. footage.
Gadget hummed to herself, a tune that Chip didn’t recognize. Chip buried his
face in his paws, silently regretting how stupid he was. Gadget noticed this and asked,
concern evident in her voice, “Chip, are you all right?”
The leather-clad chipmunk retorted, a little sharply, “No! I’m not ‘all right’. You
almost died today and I don’t know what to say to you. I’m a flop!” The blonde inventor
took his paws in hers and said firmly, “Now, Chip, you are NOT a flop. You’re just
stressed out from the battle. I’m okay. The glass didn’t even touch me.”
She blinked slowly, her brain suddenly making a connection that has been months
late in the making. “Now I understand what you and Dale went through back in the
Crossed Cardinals warehouse. Chip, I’m sorry for putting you two through that window.
That was the scariest thing I’ve ever been through! It actually looked like a cat from
Hades was trying to chomp me in half!”
Chip grabbed her arms firmly and said, “That’s almost what happened! We were
flying by the seat of our pants and got lucky. Think of how bad it could be if you died
before I could tell you I love you!” The detective’s eyes went wide as his brain finally
caught up with his mouth. He resolved to punish his free-wheeling mouth in the future
for breaking the speed-talking limit.
Gadget breathed in slowly, fully taking in everything Chip said. Her faced
blushed delicately as she took Chip’s arms in her own. She leaned forward and the two
kissed softly. She whispered, “I love you, too, Chip.”
Finally, all of Chip’s inner turmoil and nervousness faded away like mist in the
sunlight. He smiled widely and leaned in for bigger kisses. After trading breath for what
seemed like hours, Chip and Gadget parted.
The fedora-clad detective whispered, “Now I finally know what McDugell
meant.” Inquisitive, Gadget asked, “About what?” Chip explained, “Remember back
during the Sweet’n’Sour case’?”
Gadget nodded, remembering the details of that awful case too well. Chip
continued, “Well, I was pretty stressed out with our first day of investigation, and
McDugell knew it. He told me to go find my ‘pure thing’, the one thing that will make
all of this danger and effort worthwhile.” He kissed her again and said, “I think I know
what answer I’ll give him.”
Gadget leaned against Chip, reveling in his fur’s warmth and softness. All her
cares and worries released, she felt at peace. Timidly, she asked, “Did McDugell tell you
what his ‘pure thing’ was?”
Chip lifted her chin up to gaze into her soft blue eyes. He nodded and said,
“Paperwork.” Gadget recoiled, shaking with laughter, “PAPERWORK?!?! Really?!
HA, HA, HAAAAA!” The detective tugged the brim of his hat. A smarmy grin spread
on his face as he said, “Yup, that’s what he said. Considering how much time he spends
at the office, I think I believe it.”
Chip then said tenderly to Gadget, “I know you’re upset about losing your prized
invention today. It must have taken a hundred cups of Monty’s coffee to make your idea
come to life. I’d like to help you get over it, but I don’t want to rush you in our
relationship.”
Gadget’s eyes shined, then she playfully grabbed Chip’s hat and placed it on her
own head. She held him close and said, “Chip, let’s finish this conversation in a more
private place. The others might get back soon.”
The leader of the Rescue Rangers spoke, very confused, “Gadget? You’re always
broken up over the destruction of your inventions. They’re kinda like your children, or
something, and this last one was your biggest, greatest accomplishment. You’re saying
you’re not the least bit upset?”
The blonde inventor chuckled at Chip’s inability to figure her out. She said coyly,
“I already got over that hastily-constructed monstrosity. I didn’t have enough time to put
in much affection for it while building it. It was really Norton Nimnul’s machine. I just
put it together. If it was really my machine, then I’d build it from scratch and make it so
the five separate robot dogs could function independently and then come together. We
only lost a kit-bashed emergency tool. Besides, I just watched some old ‘Amptron’
episodes on T.V. and I’ve got some new ideas for inventions in my workshop. I’m fine.”
Chip’s mind boggled at how easily Gadget could go from ‘intense’ to ‘sorrow’ to
‘drained’ to ‘normal’ in the course of a single day. He asked, “You’re ‘fine’? Just like
that? It was only two episodes.”
Gadget led Chip towards the hallway, sliding an arm around his waist. She
lectured, “Chip, let me tell you something about women that you’ll find useful for the rest
of your life. Chicks dig giant robots!”
THE END