One move remains............... RHYME & REASON By Michael Demcio Part VII:Players In Check. Section 1 of 6 ***** 4:04..... /Less than three hours./ Looking from the sun's position in the West, Chip glanced down from his perch and across the street at the crowd gathered there. A few minutes ago, two fire trucks had arrived in front of the building where he had obtained his last clue, responding to the alarm that he had set off. With a short sigh, he looked away from the flashing red lights of the fire trucks towards the building standing across from him, a worried frown breaking the concentration that had set upon his face before. /I wonder if they've found them yet?/ he wondered, thinking briefly of the unconscious technician, Sally Briggs he had left there, as well as his old robotic friend, Tom, who he'd been forced to battle and to shut down. /I hope they'll be okay./ As these thoughts played across his mind, a stiff, cool breeze played across his body seconds later as he turned away from the sight, the chill wind cutting right through the warmth of his jacket. Feeling the breeze as it ruffled the fur atop his head, Chip visibly winced, the sensation serving to remind him even more strongly, of the bandanna now tied tightly about his bleeding ear. It still burned intensely from the vicious, and near deadly slash which Tom had given him with his razor sharp steel claws. The wound in turn, as well as the brisk wind, also reminded him of the absence of his cherished hat which Tom had torn asunder in that same attack, making him wince yet again in regret. Grasping the paper with both hands now as the wind blew against it, he frowned once more in concentration, shunting these feeling aside as he studied what had been given to him upon this latest rhyme clue. More curious than all the rest he had encountered thus far, this particular paper was significantly different in that in addition to the rhyme message that was normally there to decipher, this time there was also a picture to factor in as well. Six coins, consisting of four silver dollars and two quarters in that order from left to right, had been photocopied and their images shrunk to fit onto the paper. However, what made these coins all the more unusual in their appearance, was the fact that lines had been drawn onto the pictures of the coins, creating from them, the representation of six musical notes. Two final details he observed, completed this picture. The first was the fact the coins had been photocopied in an alternating sequence of sides. The first coin was featured with its' face side up, while the next coin displayed the tails side. This sequence continued down the line. The second fact he observed with his magnifying glass, was that all the coins with the face side up, featured the same date: *1893*. Turning part of his attention to the rhyme clue, he studied it yet again, staring at it intently as he glanced between it and the picture, trying to find the connection between the two. "What was done with this note, will allow you to find, along with these other notes in kind, the place where a basic economic rule, attempts to become a multifaceted tool." /Looks like I won't get any quick start on *this* location either./ Chip thought to himself disappointedly, as he looked at the message and the makeshift musical notes. /If Ivana's working this one the way she has with all the others, then there has to be some sort of a reference to one of our old cases, but even knowing *that* doesn't help me any, with finding this next one!/ The reason for this, was that there were simply too many cases to choose from, with no way to know for certain which case it was talking about. Most of his team's old cases had involved money on one level or another. The trail could almost always be traced back to it. However, while a some of those old cases also involved sound or music *as well as* money, there was nothing in either the picture or rhyme clue that he could deduce as having any connection to any one particular case. Forgetting the case reference as a lead, Chip turned his full attention back to the coins that had been photocopied on the paper. /In the last rhyme clue, Buzz had mentioned that to crack this code, "my chances were rare." Could this be a reference to rare coins?/ he wondered. /A quarter or silver dollar from 1893 is certainly rare, the only thing is, I can't remember any cases we had that dealt with rare coins and sound, musical or not. Aldrin Claudane stole gold coins out of the federal gold depository, using sound in our first case*,/ he mused, thinking a moment more, /but this picture is showing *silver* dollars and quarters which have nothing to do with gold, at least on the surface.....They *are* part of the nation's economy along *with* gold though......./ he thought further, looking at the rhyme, ....mmmmm, *nah*. he frowned, discarding the half composed train of thought. /That's can't be it. There's no connection to music or sound......and a basic economic rule? The only rule Claudane was following was the "golden rule"!/ he concluded,<*> cracking a small smile at his own joke. /Could the musical notes be a play one words for bank "notes" or dollars?/ he wondered further. /Ivana's given me more than a few plays on words, and a lot of our cases did involve banks, which would also explain the coins./ "Hmmmm." he mumbled. /Maybe. The notes don't "read" as any particular piece of music, which might suggest that they aren't notes at all, but I don't know. Ivana had me fooled in the museum, thinking that "bread" was a reference to money. She could be talking about cash, or she might actually be talking about musical notes. It's getting pretty hard not to start second guessing myself here. Let's see if I come up with anything else to narrow it down a bit./ he finally decided. His brow furrowing deeply in thought, Chip began to slowly pace up and down the parapet, mulling the two aspects of the paper over simultaneously. /All right, start from the top. What *was* done with this note?/ he considered, flicking a finger against the rhyme paper. /It was written on,.......given to me,......put in the air duct for me.......taped there..... ...painted over........../ he pondered slowly to himself. Stumbling slightly, Chip placed a gentle hand to his head as he closed his eyes in pain. Even though Tom's slashing claws had only found their mark upon his left ear, the blow from the rest of the robot cat's "paw" had caught him across the top his head, enough to send him flying a good half foot. Though the swipe hadn't knocked him out or dazed him that much at the time, it had been more than enough to give him a painfully distracting headache. Now, along with the sensations of his other injuries and general fatigue from this adventure, he determinedly tried to push past them all, striving to fully concentrate on the clue before him. "All right." he whispered after a few more moments. /What about the basic economic rule?/ he thought. /The two rules of economics I know about is that "time is money", and the Law of supply and demand, both of which would fall in with a bank location. Only which one?/ Sitting down upon the ledge, he propped his head on his hand and stared out at the streets which were now beginning to grow more congested with rush hour traffic. Staring ahead, his eyes unfocused as he began to think of all the cases the Rangers had been involved in which had to do with banks and money, only to abandon the task a half minute later. Through all of the cases which had been solved here, he knew the city practically backwards and forwards, but even with his extensive memory he couldn't remember the exact location of every single place that had had to do with a case. /I can't figure this out in my head./ he realized, as he began to get to his feet once more, remembering a travel agency a few blocks away he had spotted on the way to the building he had just left. /I need a map./ Placing the rhyme clue carefully back in his jacket pocket, he took ahold of his glider, still continuing to ponder the possible location connections that had to do with the rhyme. As he was about to take off though, he noticed something before him now, stopping in his tracks to look at it. The object was a lamppost, in plain sight on the sidewalk, and no different than the one he had used earlier to stop his plummeting fall from Cranston Tower. Looking at it though, something clicked in his mind. "Post." he murmured in a tone that smacked of realization. /What was done with this note,/ he thought, reviewing the beginning of the rhyme clue. /That message *was* posted there!/ he considered thoughtfully. /And what's more, I seem to remember something else about a "Post"./ he recalled. /Something recent, too. I don't remember if it was name or a place or what, but something pretty recent. Within the last two days, even. I don't know why, but I've got a hunch..../ Gliding his way down to the sidewalk level, he quickly folded his plane back up and hotfooted it down a number of blocks, proceeding to climb into and out of the public trash cans along the way, tearing through them for a newspaper older than today's current edition. On the third block down, he finally found a can that contained one. Flipping through the paper, the item that he remembered was in middle of the "local" news. There. Chip thought, his instincts tingling as he spotted the article and began to read it. It didn't take him to finish even halfway through the article though, before an ominous look of dread contorted his face. Springing back out of the wastebasket in a flash, he scurried back toward the rooftops, urgently preparing to take flight once more. * * * * * Fear iced over Monterey's heart. Catching Gadget's sobbing and quivering form, the husky Australian held her gently in his mighty arms as if she were a fragile thing, looking down with an almost frightened concern at his dear friend. It was obvious from her grieving sobs that she was in no position to talk, though his anxious expression stated how badly he wanted some immediate answers to what was going on. /Gor blimey!/ he thought worriedly, gently stroking her hair as he held her in a comforting embrace, /*What 'appened*?! The last time I saw her shook up like this was when..../ looking at Sparky at that instant, he caught sight of the object held within the dejected mouse's hand. /Aw, no......./ he thought, his mind reeling as he blinked at the hat. Following Monterey's gaze, a pallid look of horror crossed over Dale's face as well, as he put together Gadget's reaction with the hat that Sparky was holding. Landing on Monterey's shoulder with a worried look that mirrored his friend's of a moment ago, Zipper caught sight of the fedora in Sparky's grasp as well. Blinking at it in silence at it for a moment, he then turned his shocked expression up toward Sparky, finding his voice before anyone else. "Sparky?.........*What happened here*?" Zipper buzzed in an uncertain voice, asking the question that neither he, Monterey or Dale was really sure that they wanted to hear the answer to. Slowly, but sparing no detail, Sparky quietly related to the latecomers what had occurred, starting with how he had fallen asleep in his cage at M.I.T. and woken up within the deathtrap Gadget had rescued him from. Finishing his story with the "evidence" that Ivana had given Gadget, leaving them both uncertain as to who's fate she had sealed, his face held mixed emotions, showing his relief at still being alive, as well as his confusion and sadness. Though he hadn't known Gadget's father, the anguish that that possibility was causing Gadget, was clearly hurting him as well. At the same time, if Chip had been the one in the coffin, while he couldn't stand seeing Gadget in such pain, Chip had become a friend of his too, during the few visits he had made back to see her and the Rangers. A friend, not as close as Gadget, but a friend all the same. And for him to go in such a gruesome way.......... "Uh, guys?" Sparky asked in an timid voice a moment after finishing his tale, as he remembered the acid tank with a slight shiver. "I know this might be a really bad time, but could someone possibly tell me what's going on? After I woke up, that lady never told me anything while she was waiting for Gadget. Not that I could ask her, anyway." he finished, his fur still stinging slightly from the masking tape gag, he had ripped off his mouth. Monterey, Zipper and Dale all turned to look at Sparky, the same look of confusion and sadness mirrored on all their faces. None of them knew what to decide about who had been in the coffin. Each of them recognized the medallion that Gadget now held. From looking through her family album with her, they had seen pictures of the day that her father had won that award from the aviators contest. They all knew the medallion to be the same one that Gadget had said she'd buried with him. With the card though, while Sparky had told them it was from Chip, none of them knew what was in it that had contributed to Gadget's breaking down in tears the way she had. Sparky had not read it to tell them what was said in it, and none of them, not even Monterey were about to try to pry it from her hands. Whatever it was, they knew that it had to be something very stirring, if not private as well as convincing, to make her think that Chip had been the one in the coffin. Whereas before, the four Rescue Rangers had come to see through Ivana's lies and trickery, this time, she had come up with tangible proof for one of her despicable acts. However, between Chip's hat and the card from him, and the medallion that had belonged to Gadget's father, that proof now pointed in two different directions. None of them knew what to think. His mouth drawn into a taut line of bereavement and anger, Monterey gave a short nod of acknowledgement to Sparky, looking at him through misty eyes. "Oy, mate." he stated somberly. "We can tell you on the wa-" Monterey never finished his sentence. Once again, the lights in the room were abruptly extinguished, plunging them all into darkness as a series of slamming noises sounded behind them as well. They barely had time to react to this occurrence though, as Zipper suddenly cried out in surprise from Monterey's shoulder in the next instant, a fraction of a second before Monterey's felt his friend's weight being yanked off of it. Turning in alarm toward Zipper's startled yell, Monterey, Dale, Gadget and Sparky had not even begun to move as the lights came back on again in the next instant, illuminating the room once more. "Zipper!" Monterey, Gadget and Dale called out, looking in the direction that the fly's panicked shout had come from. Their friend was nowhere in sight. Something else though, *was*. "Strike me starkas!" Monterey exclaimed in shock as he looked in the direction that Zipper had disappeared in. On the opposite side of the room from the platform that Sparky had been on, a series of packing crates had been stacked upon each other against the wall. The front panels of the bottom four of these crates had now fallen to the floor, revealing within the crates, quintuplets of a very familiar face. "Ri-bit!" Monterey called. Monterey and Zipper had tangled with the giant bullfrog known as "Ri-bit"only once before, but once had been enough for Monterey as the huge amphibian had proved virtually unstoppable, as well as having more than enough of an appetite to swallow even *him* whole for a meal. The monstrous frog had been as challenging an adversary for him as some of the toughest cats or dogs he had come across. In that one time battle though, in which Zipper had ultimately devised a plan to defeat the behemoth, thereby saving a colony of water Beatles from being wiped out, the two of them had only had to face down *one* juggernaut bullfrog. Standing before him now though, were *four* of the monstrous beasts. Not that it made much of a difference at the moment, to Monterey. "Let go of me pally, ya ruddy wartbags!" he shouted, releasing Gadget as he charged at them. The four Ri-bits did not answer Monterey's defiant challenge or give in to his demand. They only continued to stare down at him, a satisfied smile on all their faces. "All right then ya blinkin didgers," he continued, seeing no reaction from any of them as he drew near them, fists at the ready. "if it'll take a punch-up to free me pally, ya came to the right mouse!" With that, Monterey hurled himself forward headlong at one of the bullfrogs, only to rebound solidly off of the green gargantuan with a dull metallic clank. "Monty!" Dale called out, rushing to his side as he changed course from attacking one of the other Ri-bits. "Monty, are you all right?" he asked with concern, looking as Monterey's eyes swam groggily around before him. "Too-ra-loo! What've those blokes been slurping down? Steel plating?" Monterey asked, trying to hold his head steady. "I think that's because they're *robots*, Monterey." Sparky stated thoughtfully, as he and Gadget caught up to him and Dale. To prove his hypothesis, Sparky stepped up to another of the looming bullfrogs and rapped tentatively upon it with his knuckles, listening to the sound that issued from it. "Hollo, but still solid metal. Incredibly lifelike though." he concluded, observing the metal constructs. "Incredibly lifelike, and incredibly *lethal*." Ivana called down from the speakers above them. As Gadget, Dale and Monterey turned to look up at the ceiling where Ivana's voice had come from, their attention did not remain there long. "What in *Einstein*?!" Sparky called out in a startled voice. "Sparky!" Gadget and Dale called out, turning toward him. Not from the frog he was standing before, but from the frog at the far right end of the line, a long mechanical pink tongue had snaked out of the duplicate Ri-bit's mouth, and had wrapped its way around Sparky's body, pinning his hands to his sides. Even as Dale and Gadget broke into a run toward him, the tongue now began to retract, quickly reeling Sparky along the floor and toward the waiting black maw of the mechanical bullfrog. "H-help!" Sparky called out to the two onrushing Rangers, a pleading and frightened expression on his face. "Don't worry Sparky! We gotcha!" Dale assured him, grabbing onto the cold metal tongue and digging his heels in. "Monty!" Gadget exclaimed, grasping the folds of Sparky's lab coat as she desperately tried to pull him from the tongue's mechanical clutches. "We need help!" Such a request was not needed for Monterey though, for even as Dale had begun his little rewarding efforts to help Sparky, Monterey had already gotten shakily to his feet and started the few steps toward them. Reach them however, he didn't. "Crikeys!" Monterey cried out as another mechanical tongue now flashed out and wrapped it's way around his body as well. "Let go of me, ya bullwhip'n bullfrog!" he exclaimed, straining to keep his footing against the tongue's retraction as he struggled against it. "Monty!" Dale shouted in alarm, now seeing his other friend similarly trapped. "Dale, look out!" Gadget cried, now letting go of Sparky's jacket as she tackled the Chipmunk to the floor. From the middle two frogs, another pair of tongues had now shot out, and would have trapped Dale and herself had she not pushed them both out of the way. As the tongues shot overhead, curling around thin air, Gadget glanced over in horror to see Sparky being sucked headfirst into the mouth of the far right frog. He was gone an instant later. "He got him." Dale whispered, blinking at the frog before turning toward Monterey who was now quite near being pulled into the left most frog's mouth. "C'mon Gadget!" he called, grabbing her arm and lifting her to her feet before he rushed at Monterey. "No, mates! *Stay back*!" Monty shouted, shaking his head at them violently. Ignoring his repeated warnings, Dale and Gadget continued forward, both of them keeping an alert eye upon the two middle frogs as they passed them and reached out toward Monterey. "Duck!" Dale shouted suddenly, seeing the lashing pink tongues reaching out for them once more. Dropping to the floor even as the tongues reached out overhead, he and Gadget simultaneously reached out to grab and pull desperately at Monterey's ankles. Glancing up as the mechanical tongues snapped out overhead, a plan quickly began to form in Gadget's mind. /If....if I can guide those two coils to wrap around the one pulling Monty in,/ she thought, preparing to spring to her feet, /the shearing force of the two against each other should..../"Uh-oh." she called out suddenly in an uncertain voice. At the sound of her simple statement and the slightly worried tone in her voice, Dale turned to quickly look at her, and then up in the direction that she was staring. Overhead, the metal tongues had now stopped. Hovering in the air instead of coiling and returning back to their metal housings, they now raised themselves up into a vague "S" shape and began to slowly sway about, looking almost like a pair of cobras waiting to strike. They seemed to be looking for their prey. "Mates, I told ya, save yerselves! Get OUT of 'ere!!" Monterey shouted desperately to them once more, looking at the foreboding sight as well. Monterey's call came too late as the tongues suddenly sped down, pouncing toward the two Rangers. Getting his feet under him, Dale nimbly tried to dive over the tongue, but it swiftly followed his movements, swinging back and encircling him an instant later. Continuing to squirm against the metal coils, Dale shot a hopeful look over at Gadget even as he was dragged away, wondering if she had eluded capture. Rolling out of the way as the second tongue whipped down toward her, Gadget almost escaped the cold steel clutches of the device as well. Wrapping its way around her ankles as she got to her feet though, it stopped her instantly and held her fast, the coils feeling like a vise grip around her as she fell back to the floor, her feet pulled out from under her. Twisting around, Gadget cast a desperate last look toward Monterey, watching as he was hauled into the mouth of the left frog, vanishing a moment later. Turning her gaze, she stared back with a wild look toward Dale now, who cast a helpless and terrified look toward her as he too was swiftly pulled toward the waiting opening. He opened his mouth, looking like he was about to say something to her, but he never got the chance as the tongue swiftly yanked him up and swallowed him into the darkness within. "No!" Gadget screamed in anguish as Monterey, and then Dale vanished. Continuing in vain to try and tug off the coils from around her ankles, she felt herself being lifted into the air a moment later before the tongue began to reel itself in with earnest. The last thing she saw before the darkness surrounded her as well, was the sight of Chip's hat, his Christmas card to her, and her father's medallion laying close by. Looking at those three empty items as she was pulled irresistably inside, she wondered if this was the end. Section 2 of 6 ***** 4:19..... Seven minutes later, the theater came into sight. Landing atop the roof, he hurriedly repelled down to a nearby window and cut himself an entrance inside. The hallways of the elegantly styled playhouse were deserted, but there was no question as to it being occupied or not. The merry and warm sound of laughter carried clearly to him through the air, ascertaining what he had read. The sound sent a chill down his spine. /I have to find a fire alarm box, fast!/ Chip thought frantically to himself, sprinting down the hallway. Coming to one, and casting a grappling hook up to have it catch securely upon the lever, he pulled down with a grim determination upon the rope. With a slight snap, the lever broke off and fell to the floor at his feet. Blinking in shock at the lever, Chip picked it up. The plastic piece he saw, had been cut and glued back in place. "*No!*" he breathed, throwing the lever aside and continuing his dash down the hall. Coming to another fire box, he again attempted to activate the alarm, though the result was the same. Even as this next lever hit the floor near his feet, Chip was off and running into one of the balcony boxes upon the level, his pulse wildly racing. /Ivana's literally "cut off" any way to evacuate this place!/ he thought desperately. /What the heck do I do now?! Pushing his way through the curtains into one of the balcony boxes, the laughter that had been audible in the hallway, now came through to him in a rush, the sound enveloping him as it swept its way through the open air of the majestic old playhouse. Ducking his head out from under the brass railing that fenced in the top and the bottom of the balcony box, Chip looked down and around him throughout the vast theater, hoping that something would give him an idea of what to do. Nothing did. All he could see before him was the crowded masses of humanity that packed the theater. /There must be at least *a thousand people* in here!/ he gulped. /And whatever trap that Ivana's going to pull, those kids down there could be caught right in the middle of it!/ The performance taking place in the playhouse was the latest live annual telecast of "Comedy Relief", a non profit charity organization formed by comedians. Every year, well renowned comics from all around the country gathered together, volunteering their time to put on a nonstop, twenty four hour standup comedy show, with all the profits going to help the homeless of the city that the show was done in. The news article that had told of this performance though, in addition to stating that the city picked had been changed to San Francisco at the last minute, also mentioned one other important fact. As special guests of honor, ten homeless children ranging in age from five to eleven, had been picked to attend two hours of the performance, and were now happily sitting in the front row of the theater, laughing with glee at the quips and antics of the comedians. "Ground zero." Chip whispered forbodingly. Behind him, the man and woman seated in the balcony box were falling all over one another, thrown into overwhelming hysteria. Using their distraction, Chip leaped atop the man's jacket to swipe his handkerchief from out of his breast pocket, jumping from there to the top of the railing. Then, grabbing the corners of the handkerchief even as the man had just begun to react, he jumped off the railing, parachuting quickly down toward the floor. /If I'm lucky,/ he thought, /the trap might be somewhere secluded in the theater, but considering the cases she's referring to, I don't think that's going to happen./ Gliding down toward the middle of the playhouse, the air around him now shook with a new roar of laughter and applause. Looking down at merry crowd, Chip gazed at them almost sorrowfully, wondering if he would be able to stop what seemed to be a fast approaching disaster. Ignoring the few gasps and shouts that were made as he landed atop the head of a woman in the audience, he threw the makeshift parachute aside and began to bound forward from head to head, racing toward the stage. Seconds later, and five rows away from the lighted stage where the latest comedian stood, yet another new wave of laughs swept through the playhouse, when the sound slowly began to die away....being replaced by another sound that Chip instantly recognized with a look of surprised horror. Erupting from the speaker system throughout the playhouse, the sound was an ear tweaking, pulsing noise, which droned with an almost hypnotic like rhythm that could almost be called *music*. In a sense, it was *exactly that*. A very special kind of music, meant for a certain type of "ears" only. "Oh, no!" Chip gasped, his voice a panicked whisper as he looked around him, even as he leapt forward onto another head. "She set off the trap *early!*" The laughter in the theater now completely died out and was quickly replaced by terrified screams and shouts. The cries came first from the crew and waiting comedians behind the curtain as they all came running frantically out on the stage. Turning at the sight, the performing comic instantly joined them in their flight, adding his screams to their own. The cries then were picked up by the audience as everyone saw exactly what was chasing them. Billowing out from the stage wings, an enormous black swarm flowed out onto the stage, swiftly continuing in its buzzing fury straight out toward the audience and into their midst, almost before anyone could react. Leaping forward as the swarm swiftly approached, Chip dove into the television camera pit barely a split second before the black cloud sped overhead into the audience, the screams of the people now cutting through the air more clearly than the laughter it had replaced a moment before. /Hold on, a sec!/ Chip realized as he watched the last of the cloud of insects fly overhead. /Those aren't *bees!*/ The case that Ivana had brought up this time, was the one wherein an exterminator by the name of Irwina Allen, had invented a machine that could mesmerize bees with its "music", placing them completely under her command whether it was verbally or with gestures. Using the machine, she had abducted a local queen bee's swarm, had them steal music instruments, trap a rock band that was giving a concert that same night, and then taken their place on stage with her and the bees as the band. All of it done in a wild attempt to break into rock and roll.** Yet while the machine was certainly the same that was controlling the flying, mesmerized insects, as Chip had just realized from the sound, the type of swarm was most obviously *different*. /*Hornets*?/ Chip wondered in surprise. /Well, hornets, bees or whatever, I've got to find that machine and shut it down!/ he concluded resolutely as the swarm began tearing into the crowd, attacking people viciously and repeatedly with their stingers. Clambering up the television camera nearest to him, Chip leapt onto the stage and raced toward the left wing, knowing that the swarm would certainly be close behind at any moment. His heart pounded as he wondered how in the world he would escape, let alone survive such an attack when they caught up to him. Regardless of the risk though, he knew he had to try to stop this madness, regretting the innocent people that were getting hurt because of him. /If she's mixing cases again, like she was before.../ he thought to himself hurriedly as he sped backstage. Other than the case with Irwina, only one other previous case of his team's had taken place in a theater of this size. That one being the one with Sewernose De Bergerac. An alligator who loved the opera and surprisingly, could sing quite well in recognizable English, Sewernose had similarly "stolen the show" like Irwina, replacing the lead singer in an opera performance, attempting to prove himself better than the human whose status he yearned for.@ In that case, the Rangers had defeated the alligator by flushing him down a working fountain prop on stage, that Gadget Monty and Zipper had jury rigged to the cast bathroom's toilet. Now, thinking of that past case that seemed to correlate quite closely to Irwina's, he sprinted through the backstage hallways, looking for the bathroom that he believed would contain Irwina's machine. Spotting the washroom through its slightly opened door, a sudden realization hit him, even as he sprinted toward it. *The swarm was nowhere around him*. /What the-?/ he thought, stopping in his tracks to cast a suprised look back toward the stage. Indeed, the swarm had not even followed him at all. The cloud of insects was still totally occupied in attacking the audience. /Sort it out *later!*/ he growled to himself angrily within his mind. /People are still in trouble!/ Snapping himself out of his confused stare as he listened to the buzzing of the wasps intermingling with the panicked shouts and screams of the audience, he bolted toward the washroom and stopped within it, *listening*. Even though it was obvious that Irwina's machine had been hooked up somehow to the speaker system of the playhouse, he remembered that the sound of the machine was loud enough to be heard from quite a few feet away, unless it had been deeply hidden. However, no extra sound of the music machine came to him now, outside of what he could still hear over the speakers. /It's not here!/ he concluded, checking every nook and cranny of the room as he continued to listen carefully. /She's *not* mixing cases this time? he wondered his brow creasing with confusion. If she isn't, then that's *another* turn about she's done on me!......If she's following this case straight through though, then that means the machine has to be in..... *The dressing room*. Other than in her lab or on the stage itself, the only other place that the Rangers' had faced off against Irwina had been in the dressing room, where she had sealed the rock band "Iron Goose" in the closet. Getting within five feet of the room, Chip knew immediately that his second guess was correct, picking up a faint amount of the extra "music" coming from the machine that was unamplified by the speakers. The door to the room was wide open, all the comedians who had been waiting their turn to go on stage there having fled from it in extreme fear moments before. As he suspected, running up to it, the musical noise was coming from inside the closed closet. /Where she had her bee slaves seal in Iron Goose, with wax./ he remembered. /Locked./ he found as he tried to open the door. Climbing up to the knob to pick the simple tumblers, Chip opened the door and slipped inside, flicking on his penlight as he followed the trail of sound. It was coming from under the wooden closet floor. Squeezing himself through a tiny crack that was barely big enough for him to fit into, he made his way carefully down the steep embankment that had been dug there, finally spotting the bizarre looking contraption at the bottom of the large hole after traveling a dozen or more feet. A remote controlled switch had been hooked up to the device, as well as to a cordless microphone which lay propped up in the hole near it, providing the link which had fed the sound throughout the theater's speaker system. A small button type radio speaker, the type that were worn in the ear of undercover officers who were "wired" had also been placed in the headset of the device, enabling her to give the command to attack from a *distance*. he realized with a grimace, thinking that with this case, he might find Ivana, and with her, his friends. She was never here to begin with. Switching the transmitter off, he then turned toward the microphone. "Break off your attack!" he commanded. "On the second level, right hand side, there's a hole in one of the windows. Leave through it!" Waiting a few moments as he hoped that his instructions would take effect, he then turned off the power supply to the machine, as well as pulling out the necessary wires to disable the invention. /Couldn't hurt. Just in case my commands *didn't* work./ he thought, instituting these extra measures. With the device rendered inert, and with the radio transmitter in his grasp, Chip crawled back up steeply inclined ditch, dragging along the radio transmitter which he'd tied behind him with his rope. Making the painful trip back out from under the floor, the pressure of pushing himself through the hole causing fresh new pain within him as he pressed his battered body back through the opening. Gasping with relief as he finally negotiated his way through once more, he untied himself from the transmitter as he pulled it up through the hole, hurrying back out on stage to see what effect his efforts had had. Looking about onstage, Chip stared about him in horror. The hornets were now gone, but the trouble was far from over. The swarm's attack had started a massive stampede for the exits on both levels, with the now unleashed mass panic only serving to intensify it. While he couldn't see what was going on in the stairwells or hallways, he suspected that the scene would mirror the one laid out before him. Several hundred people were still crammed into the aisles, pushing and elbowing and climbing over another, in a frenzied attempt to get out. The situation was the same for the stage exit as well as for the main one, he saw. /Too many people and not enough space. It's like something out of a disaster movie!/ Chip thought, looking down at the now unoccupied seats that had held the homeless children, he turned his gaze to look out at the crowd from which the sounds of screaming, crying and shouts could still be heard. /I hope at least *they* made it out all right!/ he shivered, wondering if anyone was getting trampled under that crowd. With a heavy heart, Chip turned and made his way back toward the dressing room where he would be able to think in near silence. For now, he knew there was nothing more he could do. 4:36..... Emerging from the dressing room, Chip walked back over towards the stage and sat at the edge of it, looking out at the now totally deserted theater. Jackets, purses, food, shoes and various other items littered the isles all about in front of him, bearing testament to the calamity that had taken place. /What a mess./ he grimaced, his thoughts referring to the fiasco that Ivana had created, than to the frantic and untidy leavings of the humans. /I still don't get it though! Why the heck did she set off the trap early?!/ he considered, shaking his head as his thoughts echoed once again what he had been pondering in the dressing room. He frowned then, thinking further. /And why does she keep changing direction? She had established a pattern all throughout today. She hides the clue to be found, and once I find the rhyme and get a hint about an incoming trap, a trap is set off with me as the target. Now though, she didn't even set the trap to go after me this time!....A trap that I was totally unprepared for and she doesn't even put me in as the target? I don't get it!....On top of that, after the second stop today, she started mixing previous cases together. This time, she did mix cases, but now in a *totally different direction!*/ In the case with Sewernose, while he and the others had followed the alligator underground after his first attempt to murder the singer Clarence Dudley, the underground passage had led into the sewers. Ivana's case reference had led him into the hard packed dirt underneath the theater's foundation. While the ground under the theater could have been construed as being *related* to the underground sewers, at least as far as being located deeper underground, thus far, Ivana had been very *exact* in her mixing of case details. Surely with the painstaking detail through which she had carried out all the other case references thus far, Chip knew that if she had wanted to place the device within the sewers, she surely would have done so, since he could have gotten into the system through any of the sink drains around the theater. /No, this clue means something *different*./ he decided. /It's not exact in detail as the other case references have been, but what does it mean?/ he asked himself. Unable to come up with an answer, Chip let out a sigh. /This is really getting confusing!/ he frowned, looking back in the direction of the dressing room where Irwina's music machine was located. He'd written out a short note and posted it to the door, telling everything about the machine located underneath the floorboards of the closet and how it had caused the insect attack. He didn't know who might find it, but whether it was a janitor, an actor, actress or one of the stage crew, he hoped they had the sense enough to check out the existence of the machine and to call the police as he'd also instructed in the note. /Hopefully,/ he thought, /that thing'll get put away in the evidence room for good, or even better, get completely dismantled or destroyed./ The last time he had encountered Irwina's invention, the thing had proven to be only dangerous. In the hands of a sick enough mind like Ivana's however, the little invention had proven to be potentially deadly. Looking back toward the disheveled, torn, and littered seats before him, he wondered how many people had been hurt or even killed in the attack and in the ensuing stampede. With an angry stare, he unraveled the rhyme paper that was now clutched tightly in his hand, giving a glance over at the radio transmitter he'd carried out with him. He'd contemplated the idea of tracking down the radio signal that Ivana had transmitted, back to her headquarters. To do that though, he realized later that he would need equipment. The equipment in Gadget's workshop was up to the task, but he knew that he was forbidden to use her inventions or equipment, and although he knew other places where he could get his hands on such equipment, it would probably take too long to reach, setup, and to find Ivana's hideout from there he realized, in the time that he had left. Besides the fact that she's probably already stopped transmitting to this receiver. he added disappointedly, turning his gaze back to the rhyme clue. Laying the paper flat upon the stage, Chip gently laid himself down on his side before it, wincing as the movement elicited short stabs of pain in certain spots of his chest and midriff. Finally getting comfortable and relaxing somewhat, he began contemplating the paper once again. /Still have to find the next rhyme clue,/ he mused, his face darkening at the paper, /only I don't know what to look for! Okay Chip,/ he told himself in a calm voice after a few more moments of frustrated and somewhat angered thinking. /One more time. Go over everything you know about this paper. There has to be *something* that you've missed. Something hidden deeper than you're looking and the only way you know you're going to find it is to eliminate everything else./ /All right, "What was done with this note," I figured out to mean that the note was posted, leading me here to *Post Street*. "Will lead you to find" is either self explanatory, or hiding something else that I haven't figured out. "Along with these other notes in kind," meant the notes on the paper which were referring to the musical notes of Irwina's machine. The case with Irwina Allen, and the case with Sewernose de Bergerac were the only two cases of ours, which took place in a theater or concert hall of this size. I didn't know which trap she was planning to set off, but I knew that it had to deal with either one or both of the two. "A place where a basic economic rule, attempts to become a multifaceted tool", was referring to the "Comedy Relief" show. In economics, "Time is Money", and the comedians were donating their *time* to raise *money* for the homeless, which was going to feed, clothe, and shelter them, which is where the "multifaceted tool" comes from. Finally, there's the coins. The *other* thing that I haven't totally figured out. The date on the coins that are showing them is *1893*, the date this building was erected which I read in the article. The address of this place is 450 Post Street, which along with the *Post* reference, is what you would get if you added all the coins together at face value, barring their collectible value. he continued, tapping an index finger over the six coins. The one thing that remains here, is why are three of coins photocopied face up, while the other three were copied with the tails side up?/ "*What*, *am*, *I*, *missing*?" he whispered, stabbing his finger against the paper with the emphasis of each word. /"Will lead you to find," and coins with head or tails./ he considered. /Will lead you to find coins? Will lead you to find heads? Will lead you to find tails? Does "Will lead you to find" have anything else to do with it? *What*?!/ Picking the paper up in his hand, Chip looked at the notes made up by the coins in an inquisitive manner, cocking his head at them. /Six coins./ he wondered. /There *are* six of us in the Rescue Rangers, but only Zipper is smaller than the rest of us, or compared to Monterey, *all of us* are smaller than him./ he observed, comparing the size of the silver dollars to the smaller quarters. /That's probably only a coincidence that there's six of them and six of us, so then what *does* this six mean?.....A coin, like a note, is a symbol that represents something./ he began, thinking now in an even more analytical manner, trying to break down the clue into its most basic components. /A coin represents monetary value, something that can be used to buy goods or services, while a note represents a pitch on musical or sound scale. A note can also represent many different pitches, while a coin can represent many different values. Then there's the metaphors associated with both of them, like "sour notes", "opposite sides of the same coin", "two faced", ........... ....two..*faced*?/ he thought. Both of the latter metaphors now clicking in his mind, he turned his head toward the audience area, a knowing smile crossing over his face. The answer had literally been laying right in front of him all this time. Situated on the walls of the building were the masks of Comedy and Tragedy. Symbols of the theater and of drama, the happy faced mask and the sad face mask were indeed opposite sides of the same coin. Two faces or personas that like light and dark, good and bad, and all the other dualities or opposites known in life, could not exist without one another. There were three pairs of masks, Chip saw as he leapt back from the stage onto the television camera. One mounted above the stage, with two more on the adjacent walls. Six masks in total, *exactly* the number of coins that Ivana had used, which doubly confirmed his realization. /You'd have to be looking at the masks above me from the audience to really see them,/ he realized, glancing above him. /So like reading music, the "notes" would be read from left to right, and so would the *masks*. Therefore, if I was in the audience, the three pairs of masks would be viewed from the left wall to the one over the stage and then the right, which means that since I'm facing the *opposite* way,/ he concluded, looking toward his left, /the masks on my *left* are the ones that I want./ he finished, leaping down from the camera out of the pit and scrambling toward the stairs. ***** Section 3 of 6 ***** This shouldn't be hard. Chip thought, tying a line to one end of a balcony box railing. The masks were mounted near the ceiling, equally distant between the box and the level below where the stage began. He knew he had more than enough line to swing that far up to them. Taking the end of the line in his hands and stepping back to the other end of the box, he jumped off into space, arcing over the seating area, and swinging up gracefully toward the masks. Actually overshooting the masks on the first attempt due to miscalculating the amount of rope needed, he climbed back up to the railing and caught onto the mask of comedy on the second attempt. Hooking his legs over the mouth of the face, and tying the line around his waist as a precaution if he should slip out of the mouth and fall, he activated his penlight and swept it's light about within the darkness of the hollow mask. A moment later, he spotted it. To his right, a note was rolled up and secured at the junction where the mask of comedy met the mask of tragedy. Standing with one foot on the lip of the mask and keeping a handhold upon the side of the mouth, Chip gently swung himself in, deftly grabbed the note, then pushed himself back off from the inside of the mask and swung himself back out. Tricky, he thought, regaining his balance as his other foot found its perch upon the lip of the mask once more. but not h-"YOW!!!" he cried, feeling a sudden stabbing sensation behind him. Startled by the sudden sharp jolt, Chip lost his grasp upon the mask as well as his balance, toppling backward to plummet toward the floor far below. He didn't fall far though, due to his foresight to tie the rope as a safety harness around him. The rope caught, swinging him haphazardly back toward the box seat. The arc of the swing however, was out of his control, carrying him underneath the box seat instead of to the side of it. Slamming up against the underside of the box seat, the last thing he saw before everything went suddenly black, was his hand clutched desperately about the rolled up piece of paper. 4:53...... With a weary groan, Chip opened his eyes as the world slowly began to come into focus. "Whoa!" he exclaimed, flailing about slightly as he suddenly realized where he was, looking down at the dizzying drop that he was suspended from. Feeling the painful pressure about his waist, he remembered about the rope he had tied about himself, turning his head to give a grateful look at it. Even as he did though, his head instantly whipped back to his open hands with a look of worry. Breathing a very audible sigh of relief, he spotted the paper he had taken. Though his hand had gone slack when he'd been knocked out, the tape that had secured the note to the inside of the mask now stuck the paper to his fur. Grasping the note again firmly, his look of relief suddenly melted away, his eyes glazing over with a stare of extreme fear. "How long have I been out?!" he whispered in a terrified voice. "Oh no, please...PLEASE don't let it be too late!!" he pleaded aloud, his adrenaline kicking in as he stuffed the note back in his pocket and ascended the rope back up to the box. Sliding back under the brass railing, he began to run, and was suddenly made aware once more of the pain behind him that he now remembered from before, though to a lesser extent. Wincing, he reached a hand around to his posterior. Feeling something small and metallic impaled upon his right upper thigh, he plucked it out and brought it before him. The object was an ebony dart, exact in shape and design to the much larger one that had impaled itself upon the headquarters front door earlier today. "Looks like I have Ivana to thank for my fall before." he growled as he remembered, bolting forward down the hall toward the stairs. Placing the dart into his pocket as a potential clue along with the other rhyme notes, his only thought racing through his mind now, was centered upon finding out what time it was. That fact quickly changed however, for as the stairs came into view around the bend seconds later, Chip abruptly stopped in his tracks, swaying noticeably as the room around him began to shift and whirl. Staggering a few steps, he fell limply to his and knees, trying to steady himself as he fought off a wave of dizziness and nausea. /*W-what*...?/ was the only coherent thought he could bring to his mind as he closed his eyes against the sickening sensations. His breath now coming in short shallow gasps, he shivered with fright as his heart began beating with an uncomfortably irregular rhythm. /Oh no,/ he thought sluggishly, swallowing hard as he tried to bring in air that still didn't seem to be enough for his now weakening body. /she....must have....*poisoned* me with that dart! How....how can I find my friends now, if I.....c-can't...fini....unable to even think clearly anymore-/ Chip fell to his side in a heap, yelping weakly at the pain the collision shot through him. For what seemed like forever, he lay there among the other items littering the floor, simply trying to get enough air into his lungs as he continued to fight against his feebleness. "Let me just find out...the time." he whispered, gritting his teeth together. "If I still have time, there might still be a....chance." Slowly, ever so slowly, he began to feel his dizziness and nausea subsiding. Opening his eyes he slowly but determinedly pushed himself up into a crouch. Gradually getting to his feet, Chip felt a small bit of his strength returning though he still couldn't seem to catch his breath. "It's not over yet." he hissed darkly, trotting slowly toward the stairs. Spotting the time as 4:58 on the clock in the lobby, as well as the daylight through the open lobby doors which told him it was P.M. and not A.M., an immense feeling of relief rushed through Chip's mind and body. With a glance at the flashing lights of the police cars which were now parked outside the building, barring entrance to the theater, he leaned against one of the ornate couches in the elegant lobby and unrolled the latest rhyme clue. The note stated: "Go back to the park and close to your tree, you need no direction for you know there to be, a small water fountain where you like to unwind, and leave your cares for the moment behind, but upon this site and under its base, you'll find the next clue to do with this case." Staring perplexedly at the paper for but a moment, Chip turned and made his way back towards the stairs as quickly as his body would let him due to his shortness of breath. /She's telling me *exactly* where the next clue is?/ he shook his head, blinking at the paper as he slowly ran. /I don't get it! Does this mean I'm near the end of the game? I hope so, since she's almost *completely* changed direction now, not to mention the fact that I might not have much time left now! In this location so far, she set up two deathtraps, one that wasn't meant for me that came *before* finding the rhyme note, and one that came *after* I had found the rhyme note, but *before* I had read it! That first trap with the hornets might have been just to make me think that there would be no deathtrap later on, but with that dart, she *always* waited until I had at least read the note, before springing the trap on me, and now I get *this*! A location with no reference to any previous case of ours at all, no hidden clues within clues, no double meanings, no plays on words, nothing? And no cryptic message at all, referring to the dart that she poisoned me with, or the hornet trap? What the heck is she doing? There's practically no pattern left anymore! All that's left is the rhyme notes!/ Making his way up the stairs he shivered visibly, thinking again about the poison that now coursed through his system, sapping his strength and beginning to make him feel almost helpless. I wonder how long I have left. Chip thought with a depressed air, wondering if this birthday of his was set to be his last.......... 5:11..... The park came into view. Angling his craft down, Chip banked the plane in the direction of headquarters and the water fountain. Purposely, he landed the craft a minute later upon the grass before the great oak, but on the opposite side from the front door. Securing the plane underneath a bush, he crossed the seventy plus feet between the great oak and the water fountain, looking up a moment later toward his treehouse home. From this distance he could easily see the flat surface of the landing pad, as well as the front door, and upon the landing pad before the door, he was also able to make out something else which he had spotted from the air. This was namely, the outline of his friend Buzz, who lay there waiting for him and the other Rangers to return. /Good thing I spotted him before I got too low./ he considered, thinking that if the Guinea Pig had spotted him, he might have thought that the case was over and begun asking him questions once more about the case. /I really don't need any more distractions right now./ he finished as he approached the water fountain. All right, he shrugged to himself, according to this latest note, Ivana said that the next clue is/ ....Wait a minute! Is that...?/ he wondered, breaking off his train of thought as he rushed forward to what he thought he had spotted. *It was*. Leaning against the fountain's base, next to the stone block which children used as a step to reach the water, sat his dogeared book of "The Complete Sherelock Jones." Picking it up, Chip saw that the book was covering a thin hole which led underneath the fountain's base. Laying the book aside, some quick digging turned up what had been placed in the hole. The object was a message minder, a credit card sized device that humans used for dictating quick messages, lists, and reminders to themselves. Pulling the machine out of the hole, Chip looked at it incredulously as he propped it up against the base of the fountain. /Now she's even gotten rid of the notes!/ he thought as he hit the play button. With click and a slight humm, the tiny device whirred to life. "Hello, Chip." A female voice with a light Slavic accent stated evenly from the built in speaker. "This final message," Ivana stated after a pause, "is simply to let you know that you now have everything that you need to complete the game. Let us now see if you are as good at adding up the elementary to find the truth, as your hero, Sherelock Jones. Do not worry though. For even if you should fail to figure out this puzzle as I fully expect you will, you won't have long to lament about your failure or the death of your friends, for you will soon join them. Like their lives, yours will come to an end shortly *after* sunset with the poison that I've now given you, stealing your life as it *drains* your strength away. Are you ready for the final round of the game of life and death, Chipper? We'll soon see." With that, the message ended with a click, leaving Chip gaping, staring at the machine in shock, and completely speechless. * * * "Well, I wanted a challenge." Chip murmured sarcastically to himself as he made his way back to collect the glider, the wind now picking up around him. "Now I've got the greatest challenge of my life...not to mention the *last*." he finished, a distinct feeling of fear creeping through him. As with all his other emotions and sensations though, he clamped a lid down on this as well. He'd think about it later if he could. Right now, his friends were the main priority, and worrying about his own imminent death wasn't going to help him figure out where they were. It would only *hurt* his reasoning, his most valuable tool at the moment. He'd played the message twice more, mostly out of stunned reflex, but as with the first time, that short message was all that he got. He'd even gone so far as to pry the memo machine apart with his pocket knife, to see if Ivana had hidden anything in the device, but even after a careful search, there was nothing there that could be considered a clue. A search of the hole that the machine had been hidden in, had also turned up fruitless. Poison. he shivered, the word breaking into his thoughts once more. He knew that he could try to make his way to the animal hospital to be treated for the toxin in his system, but with only an hour and forty five minutes or so until sunset, to do so would mean deserting his friends and leaving them to their doom. Something he knew he would never do, even at *the cost* of his own life. Making his way back to the police station and using the ventilation system which ran behind the walls, Chip soon arrived at the holding cells. Seems pretty appropriate. he reflected to himself, staring at one of the cells before entering it, glad that it was vacant at this time. The cell was the very same one where he and Dale had received their first case. The one which had sequentially led to them meeting Monterey Jack, Zipper and Gadget. Plato's human partner, Donald Drake, had been framed by his longtime adversary Aldrin Claudane. Accused of trying to steal the Clutchcoin ruby, he had been locked within this cell pending investigation, as airline tickets had been planted upon Drake as well that made him a potential flight risk. Having lost his temper due to the outrage of his partner being arrested, Plato had been thrown within this cell as well. It was here upon the cell's wooden bunk where he and Dale had volunteered to help Plato find the ruby to clear Drake's name. It was here that his career as a Rescue Ranger had really first began. Hopping up upon the bunk bed, Chip looked down at the place on the wood where he and Dale had stood on that day, two years ago. /We did it because they needed us and we wanted to help./ he thought to himself, now looking at the rest of the bunk bed, remembering where Plato and Detective Drake had sat, his imagination and memory transporting him back to that time for an instant. He remembered the worried look on Plato's face at the predicament they were in. He remembered the melancholy expression Detective Drake had worn, having been suspected of one of the greatest dishonors he could think of; being a dishonest cop. He remembered the excited rush he had felt after convincing Plato to let him and Dale take the case to get the ruby back, after Plato had been quite skeptical if not scoffing about their abilities to do so. "We did it because they were our friends and we were the only hope they had." Chip finished, kneeling on the wood as the visions of his memories faded away. "Well now my closest friends need my help, and like that time, I'm the only hope they have." he stated with determination, beginning to unload his pockets of all the rhyme clues he had obtained on this adventure. He was glad that he had come here now. Upon getting the last message, he knew that he needed a quiet place to think. Somewhere out of the wind where he could examine all the rhyme notes he had gotten, to figure out how they could lead him to Ivana's lair. He had originally intended to just sneak back into his room in the treehouse to puzzle all of this out, but thinking that he might need a computer along the way, his path had led him back to the station. Then he had remembered this room, becoming almost drawn to it by the deja vu' of the situation. Just as it had that time long ago, the room served to inspire him once more. "Now." he stated in a whisper, spreading out all the unfolded rhyme notes before him, having written down the last one by himself. "Let's figure this out." ***** Section 4 of 6 ***** 5:40..... The inspiration wasn't enough. Stopping his pacing, Chip glanced over through the window to the fading daylight in the sky, wondering how much time had gone by since he'd begun puzzling over this latest clue. He had checked the time upon entering the station, but since then he'd completely lost track of it, his mind trying to focus upon all the various and complex clues he had been given. Uttering a guttural and deeply tired sigh, he closed his eyes and leaned back once more against the holding cells' cold stone wall, allowing himself now to slide down into a sitting position upon the smooth wood. Folding his legs gently to his chest, and his arms upon his knees, he let his head come to a rest gently upon them. /Don't think about the time, Chip./ he told himself, as he began to concentrate. /Just think about the clues./ Closing his eyes as he drew in another series of asthmatic breaths, he tried again to picture the words and images of all the clues in his mind, trying to draw some conclusion out of it all, but still nothing seemed to fit. Placing a hand to his aching head, he moaned softly, finding it hard to concentrate. He was almost completely exhausted. Whether it was the almost nonstop physical and mental exertion he had been through these past few hours in conjunction with the poison that was taking its toll on him, or whether his fatigue was caused solely by the poison alone he didn't know. All he knew was that his mind was getting more and more cloudy and his concentration less and less steady. "The cases dealt with: Freddy,^ " he mumbled through gritted teeth, opening his eyes and looking at the list on the paper, where he had written everything down. "The Zombie King-Heinrich Von Sugarbottom^^, Ignatso Ratski Watski and Nimnul's gigantico gun(), Nimnul's weather weapon{}, Nimnul's Pied Piper machine[], his modemizor+, the preconditioning case with Nimnul|, the case with Tom and Fat Cat<>, and the case with Irwina Allen.** The clues that were left were: in headquarters: the timer and the watches. In the library: the reference book, the newspapers on microfilm, and the conservation book on rainforests. In "The Cutting's Edge": Chocolate chips and candy hearts, a red rose, a chocolate walnut, and a concrete heart in a heart shaped candy box. In the art museum: Roman statues. In the communication company: an order of flowers, a pizza, and a preconditioned guinea pig. In the playhouse: The masks of comedy and tragedy, and at the fountain, my book of Sherelock Jones, and the memo machine. The traps that were set on me were: a bomb or explosive device of some type in the library, the concrete heart and acid from the sprinkler system in "The Cutting's Edge", the weather machine and remote controlled toy planes loaded with explosives in the museum, Tom in the communication company, and the hornets and poison dart in the theater.....What connection do they all have?" he asked himself again, pondering the question. Again he began to sift through the details in his mind, trying to find similar things within and between each group, something that would stand out. Something that would click or fit together to give him an idea of the last location. "Locations, cases, clues, clues within clues, words with double meanings, patterns, traps...." he growled, staring at the paper, his gaze intent and hot enough as though it would burn right through it. "and then she started letting go of her pattern for some reason. First she got rid of the sequence so that the trap came before the clue and put out a trap that wasn't meant for me. Then she got rid of the direct reference to the clues with the "Sewernose" case. After that, she got rid of the reference to the trap with the dart not being mentioned in the note, then she got rid of the case references, and finally she got rid of the rhyme..........." He pondered this as he began to shiver, his breathing now beginning to shudder with frustration. "...and also after "The Cutting's Edge", she got rid of that running "Eight six" gag and....it doesn't make any SENSE!!" Chip cried, pounding a fist against the wooden bed. Jumping to his feet, he stalked furiously around the bunk, slashing the paper through the air before him. "None of this makes any sense! What kind of crazy connection is there in all of this?!! WHAT?!!!" With a snarl, Chip crushed the paper between his hands, crumpling it into a ball before he viciously hurled it away from him across the cell. "*I can't figure it out!!*" With that, Chip closed his eyes and clenched his fists before him, letting out a prolonged and unrestrained scream of frustration that shook through his whole body, tearing through the air. Moments later, his anger then spent, he sank to his knees, his emotions now welling hot within his raw throat. "I can't figure it out." he whispered, bowing his head. Getting slowly to his feet moments later, the tears now starting to flow from his eyes freely, Chip climbed atop the sill of the small barred window set into the wall. Sitting himself down upon the ledge facing the outside of the window, he hung his head, swallowing hard against the tears as a sob racked his body. "I failed you guys," he whispered to the air, looking up toward the sky. "and I failed myself." he finished, hanging his head once more. He cried freely then, sobbing deeply as he dug his claws in anguish into the stone beneath him. /I could ponder Ivana's riddle until *next week* and *still* not come up with an answer!/ As his tears began to subside some minutes later, Chip reached into his jacket to retrieve a picture of him and his friends. Then, taking his book of Sherelock Jones from jacket as well, he placed the picture on top of the book, taking a long, hard look at himself and his life as he had believed it to be. /All this time,/ he thought, /being a Rescue Ranger meant *everything* to me. It meant the chance to be a detective, have adventures and solve crimes. To help the helpless.......*to make a difference for the better*./ It was practically all he knew in life. It was as though if there were no missions to be taken on, no crimes or mysteries to be solved, if there was no challenge, then life had practically no meaning. No point. Only now, true to the saying that one doesn't know what one has until it's gone, did he now realize his folly. No matter how grand the adventure, no matter how big the case or interesting the mystery to crack, /it means nothing without you guys./ he thought, looking at the picture. Every one of them made up so much more than just the Rescue Rangers. They made up his life. Alone, any one of them were worth far more than anything that the "Rescue Rangers" could ever hope to attain or become in the history of crime fighters. Their worth together? He knew their loss would be unimaginable, something he wouldn't be able to bear. "If only I could figure out Ivana's final location." he said to himself, "If I could just save them before time runs out......before I die." /I really don't want to die, he thought, but as long as they would be saved, I wouldn't mind it that much. For them *and* me to die though, because I can't figure out Ivana's clue? That's a worthless death. One with no meaning./ He scoffed then, almost glad now that it would soon all be over for him. That in another few hours, tops, it would all be done, and that the agony in his heart at his failure would be gone for good. Putting the photograph away in his jacket, he hefted up his Sherelock Jones book, one of the few things in the world that he truly prized as a possession. Looking at his beloved book then, a deep scowl darkened his tear stained face. "All because I became a detective." he murmured, remembering Ivana's claim of what had started this entire game. "I made being a detective a part of my life. It opened a chapter of my life and now it's it's going to end it, as well as those of my friends. I wish I'd never heard of the word." he growled in a dangerous voice. He stood then. Bending back the embossed cover with his hands, he grasped the pages with his other hand and with another short cry of rage and frustration, tore the pages out of the jacket. Throwing the jacket aside he grasped the pages of the book and tore them asunder, ripping them from their binding and tearing them to shreds with his fingers and claws. Tossing the torn pages of the book out into the air, he watched with an uncaring expression as the wind caught the pieces, sweeping them through the alley and into the street. Glancing down then at the decorative jacket laying there upon the sill, he swept it over the edge with a quick, disgusted swipe of his foot. Watching as the hardcover tumbled down into the alley below, landing with a splash in a puddle of dirty water, he turned back toward the interior of the cell and removed the picture of his friends from his jacket once more. "I'm sorry." he whispered in a resigned voice, his heart breaking as he looked at the picture, different feelings of love and friendship crossing his mind with their respective memories as he gazed upon each individual face. He was about to replace the picture in his pocket when the wind suddenly shifted, ripping the picture from his grasp and blowing it into the cell, along with some of the pieces of his demolished book which had been carried back. Gasping slightly as the picture was taken from him, a curious expression crossed his face a moment later as he watched its course. The picture fluttered gently down to come to a rest upon the edge of the bunk, the same place where Plato had laid in frustration and depression those two years ago, teetering there for a moment before sliding off to fall to the floor among some of the pieces of the decimated book. Chip blinked, looking at the spot where the picture had first landed, another memory sparking in his mind of that same first day. He and Dale had just returned to the station with Plato, after having helped him and Detective Drake recover the stolen Clutchcoin necklace. Upon his request to teach them the finer points of police work, Plato had given them several words of wisdom, one phrase of which stuck in his mind now. "And above all lads, remember this." Plato stated as he had gazed most seriously upon him and Dale. "Cases are solved through *dogged perseverance*. You must never, NEVER give-"..."never give up." Chip whispered aloud, completing Plato's sentence which had been the greatest lesson his mentor had ever taught him. How many times had he himself been the inspiring voice behind the group, he wondered, remembering occasions during those first few hard months? The cheerleader? The one who had lifted the team's spirits with his tenacity when the going got extremely rough? When things seemed impossible? The one who kept pushing them, telling them to never give up? He had even convinced Plato himself not to give up on that big case of the Rangers, teaching Plato his own lesson. /Then why are you giving up now?/ an inner voice seemed to ask him. "I don't want to give up," Chip sighed despondently, sitting back upon the sill again, the fire that had briefly shined in his eyes from these thoughts, flickering and burning out once more. "but I'm almost out of time. I've already tried every possible combination of those clues that I can think of, and I couldn't come up with *anything*. I don't know how in the word she called this clue 'elementary", he thought, remembering the words that now seemed a taunting joke instead of a straightforward message. "I just don't know what the connection is." Resting his head in his hands, he stared glumly down into the alley below him and shook his head in defeat. "There's just no hope." Looking absently at the litter and filth that was strewn about the alley, his eyes wandered aimlessly about the various objects, finally coming to rest for an instant upon the hardcover of the book he had kicked there. His gaze traveling on down to another part of the alley then, his eyes then wandered back to the cover almost immediately, as if they were drawn to it. He stopped then, and began to stare at the cover with a fixed gaze, the profile of the picture upon it capturing his full attention. He seemed almost mesmerized by it. Another inquisitive expression came over his face then, melting away the melancholy that had settled there as a scene began to form in his imagination. One that he remembered well. The world seemed to disappear then as he continued to stare at the picture, his mind's eye forming the images before him. The details of the scene itself was unimportant. Sherelock was up against one of his toughest cases to date. One which looked to all appearances impossible to solve, and accompanying him on this case was his faithful companion, Doctor Blotson. The case had taken a particularly bad turn at that part of the tale as the Doctor turned to his friend, wondering what could *possibly* be done next that might help them succeed. "Do you think there's still hope?" Blotson asked, a semi doubtful questioning gaze in his eyes, wondering if even his friend's brilliant mind could figure a possibility for them to use. Turning and with a composed air, the detective calmly made his reply, his brow creasing as he began to concentrate. "There is always hope...........*as long as one can think*." As if a ghostly apparition, the scene faded away before his eyes, and Chip found himself staring at the cover of his book once more. Even with the scene gone though, those last words now resounded in his mind, echoing in every corner of it. He visibly straightened then, a slight bit of strength returning to his body as a new determination now flared to life in his eyes. "You must never give up," he repeated solemnly, as if reciting a oath, "for there is always hope, *as long as one can think*." Getting to his feet, he gave a last glance down at the cover of the now grime covered book cover, smiling at it with a gleam in his eye. "Thank you." he whispered sincerely, thinking of the late author Howard Baskerville who had written the unpublished story he'd remembered, and of his friend Macduff who had given him the only copy of the unpublished manuscript.>>. "You too, Plato." he added with affection, patting a picture of the police dog in his jacket. "I may not make it, but I'm going to keep trying." Turning, he reentered the cell and jumped down to the bunk, and to the floor. "All right." he said aloud, picking up the picture of his friends and replacing it warmly in his jacket pocket. "Let's look at this from a different angle. Forget about her clues, and her pattern for a minute......What do I know about this lady who calls herself Ivana?" he asked himself. Walking about the cell, he folded his hands behind his back, turning his mind inward. "For starters, she's patterned herself after a character in a book I read. She's ruthless, cruel to the point of being sadistic even, very creative, and extremely destructive as well. She has a warped sense of humor with her warnings about traps and her puns, seems to consider the struggle of life and death as a game, and she loves to hide to hide things in plain sight using plays on words and other subtle clues. Finally, she likes putting her clues into a rhyme form...except for that last one." he pondered. "Well I still don't know why she broke her pattern on that one." he continued, "However, using what I remember about her though, let me see if I can match up anything about her personality with any of the clues, locations or traps, to come up with her lair." Saying this, Chip retrieved the paper that he had thrown away which contained every aspect of the case to date. For the next few minutes, he continued to analyze the puzzle using this new factor of Ivana's personality to see if it sparked any ideas. Unfortunately, still nothing seemed to appear. "I still don't get it," Chip said, now sitting back upon the cot again. His eyes fixed upon the paper, he was again feeling slightly frustrated at not having been able to decipher the final clue by now, but willed himself to keep his frustration suppressed. *To continue trying and to not give up.* "there has to be *something*, but so far I just can't seem to spot where all of this is leading. There's no rhyme or reason to any of it-.......I can't believe I just said that." he scoffed with a smirk of sarcasm. "There's no connection anywhere that I can see." he amended to himself, changing his statement. "No pattern to follow. Even her trademark destructive behavior ended at the last location." Falling silent once more, Chip then continued again to ponder all the clues, when his eyes seemed to light up with a glint of recognition a moment later. /Her destructive behavior *ended*./ he thought to himself. /*All* of her patterns *ended*./ He thought again, looking at the fact with new eyes. /She *killed* them. There *is* a common denominator here!/ he thought, his mind suddenly tingling as it caught onto the hidden fact. /*Death*. *That's* the pattern!/ Blinking in wonder at this realization, his eyes flashed over the facts he'd written on the paper, checking them as things finally began to fall into place. /That's the *only thing* that didn't change!/ he continued, looking at the locations. /At headquarters, she had the timer that was set to kill representatives of me and the others in a symbolic death that would also take place literally at sunset. At the library, she "killed" or destroyed books, as well as killing a few people, though I don't know if that was intentional. At "The Cutting's Edge" she killed plants and "killed" a card as well. At the museum, she "killed" a statue with the lightning gun and the exploding plane, not to mention killing that 'Eighty Six' running joke. At the communication company, she had Tom "kill" that computer engineer's project assignment by running roughshod through it. At the theater, she had the hornets "kill" a comedian's performance, not to mention the entire production of "Comedy Relief", and finally, at the masks in the theater, she began to "kill" her own sequential pattern of rhymes, clues, and traps, having everything, even her own "destructive nature" in the pattern, die out and be destroyed *completely* at the water fountain. Nothing else could be counted on to continue but the pattern of death and destruction........./ "wait a minute!" he called aloud, another idea sparking in his mind as he finished analyzing the clues. /*A clue in plain sight!*/ he thought, grasping the summary of all the clues as he bolted out of the cell. /*I know how to find them!*/ ***** Section 5 of 6 ***** 6:08...... Having made his way through the ventilation system which led all around the station, Chip now sat in the evidence room, the royal blue illumination of the computer monitor tinting his dark brown fur in the surrounding darkness of the room. Normally this computer station was only used to log in evidence material, but as it did have a modem jack should the need arise, he now took advantage of the secluded location of the terminal to find what he needed to know, without having to distract the police from any of the other often used computers. Bringing up the modem menu using the station's password, he scrolled down to one of numbers listed and hit the "call" command. "Dialing" the screen said, he tapped his fingers impatiently against the keyboard, expectantly waiting for the connection to be made. Seconds later, the call went through and a well known logo appeared on the screen, along with a short list of command options, and a brief title listed above the logo. "I.R.S. DATABASE." the title stated as Chip swiftly picked out a command option and went to work. /Having access to a computer that's already tied into the Federal law enforcement network is a really big advantage right now!/ Chip thought with satisfaction. For although he could expertly have hacked his way into the Federal database from any computer that might have been handy in the city, the process would have taken time, and right now, he was racing against every second of it. "List city needed for search." The Federal computer prompted him. "San Francisco." Chip typed out. As the request went through, a new screen of information came up seconds later. "List name of person, business, or other criteria needed for search." the new prompt came from the Federal Computer. "List all businesses closed due to tax evasion within the past two months." he typed out. "Searching............." the Federal computer replied. A few seconds later, the screen displayed the answer to his question. There was only one location. "YES!" Chip cried ecstatically, giving a triumphant grin at the screen. Taking out a pad and pencil, he began to write down the name and address of the business. As Ivana had said, the final location where the game would be finished was elementary, as long as one knew what to look for. In this case, as he had said before, "Nothing else could be counted on to continue but the pattern of death and destruction," those very words had made him realize something else about the clues, and had prompted in his mind a famous quote. A piece of insightful wisdom that had been around for quite some time, telling of a *truth* that could always be seen in the history of civilization. "Nothing else could be counted on to continue but the pattern of death and destruction." In other words, nothing else was *certain* to continue, but the pattern of death and destruction. He'd realized that even the uncertain elements of this chase had been a part of a larger pattern, for they all could be accounted for in the phrase which had finally found him the last location in the game. That age old phrase being: "*Nothing in life is certain*," Chip muttered to himself with a smirk as he finished jotting down the address, "*except death and taxes*." /A business that "died" due to taxation./ Chip thought, looking at the screen that listed the business as "repossessed". Like a double edged sword, it fit the pattern of the quote perfectly, completing the puzzle so precisely as well. He shook his head. In spite of all the trouble and suffering the game had caused, in spite of the fact that he was dying because of it, he just couldn't help but look at this last piece, as well as the rest of the puzzle now, with something bordering on admiration. "Just like a jigsaw puzzle. "Everything hidden in plain sight." he murmured as he terminated the modem connection. /Especially those parts in her last message: "Let us now see if you are as good at adding up the elementary to find the *truth*," and "stealing your life as it *drains* away at your strength," to "drain" being another word for "taxing." Different meaning, but the same word nonetheless../ Those two parts had left no doubt in his mind that this was what Ivana was referring to. /Like she said, "elementary." as long as you know what you're looking at./ "Ivana's got a sick mind," he mumbled. "but she's either a genius or completely insane to have dreamt this up." Checking the time through the clock in the computer, another thought occurred to him as he looked at the address he'd written down, his breathing still rasping heavily. He knew approximately how long it would take to reach the location, being located on the outskirts of town, and with that thought, came the idea. /Somehow, I don't think that Ivana's just going to release everyone once I get there. Not without a fight. And with the way I'm feeling right now..../ he realized, with another drawn out breath, /I'm in no shape to give her one, not with brawn alone. I'm going to need *an edge* to win this game and to capture her,/ he mused, shutting the computer down, and slipping back into the ventilation system to make his way toward the rooftop catapults. /and even with traveling there, I think I've got just enough time............./ * * * Tumbling out onto the floor, Zipper struggled to get to his feet, looking down at the coil wrapped tight about him. After the lights had gone out, all he had known when he was whisked off of Monterey's shoulder, was the sensation of the metal wrapping around his body and wings. Then the sensation of falling. The coil had fallen with him though, preventing him from flying back up to the others. Now as he lay there upon the floor, Zipper realized that it was *his* turn. This level, maybe even this very room that he had fallen into, would be his own personal test against Ivana. With a nervous tingle running through his body, he wondered what it would be as he looked about, wondering as well if it was already in the room with him. No lights were on in the room. He couldn't even perceive any emergency lights from wherever the hallway might be. Wherever he had fallen was as completely dark as the tube he had just emerged from. Listening as a door of some sort covered up the end of the tube, sealing it off with a precise click, a slightly relieved look crossed over Zipper's face as he felt the mechanical coil relaxing its grip perceptibly from around his body. At least I'll be able to use my wings. he thought gratefully, beginning to shrug the coils off him, wondering how Ivana was able to control them by remote. "HELLO, PUNY FLY!" A deep and powerful voice thundered meanicingly from beside him. Zipper gasped and instantly took to the air, hearing the sound of a slight whipcrack striking through where he had stood a moment ago. Not stopping his frantic climb until he touched the ceiling of the room, he looked down at where the voice had come from. "Ri-bit!" he whispered, trying to find some sign of him in the darkness. "Hello, my dear Zipper." Ivana stated with a sinister note from a nearby speaker. "How good of you to come." As she spoke, Zipper winced, shielding his eyes as the lights abruptly flared to life before him, only an inch away. Blinking away the afterimage a few moments later, he stared down at the enormous bullfrog looking up at him from far below. Looking around him then, he saw that he was in an very long, but narrow office. Like the other ones he and his friends had investigated earlier though, this office was similarly barren, save for an industrial sized plastic waste paper basket standing against one wall, and a simple rickety desk. Flying to the closed door, he tried the handle and found it as he'd expected it would be-*locked*. The ventilation grate was similarly unaccessible, having been painted over. /I wonder where she's taken the others?/ Zipper wondered, still feeling remorse over what had happened in the room he had been taken from. She doesn't even give us a chance to grieve. he thought angrily, shaking his head. "And now it comes down to you, Zipper." Ivana said, her voice seemingly thoughtful with a hint of expectation in it. "Are you ready to handle the responsibility?" "Responsibility?" Zipper buzzed, a confused and annoyed expression on his face. "For what?" "For the life of your friends of course." Ivana answered simply. "You see my dear Zipper, we're almost at the end of this game, and as befitting one who has pulled more than his share of the weight in spite of his size, I've left the enormous responsibility of this final play to *you*. As I said at the beginning, all you and the others had to do to win this game, was to get out of this building before sunset. The only way you could do that was for each of you to survive and get past the traps I had planned for each of you. If no one had survived their traps, you wouldn't now be facing this enormous task, but I'm sure you would much rather have this responsibility than not." she intoned in a mocking voice. "And so, with you, we now enter the crucial part of the game. Simply put, if you pass this test, if you survive, you and your friends will be returned to where you came from. If you don't, then all of your friends will share your fate as well." "What about Chip?!" Zipper demanded. "Was he the one in the coffin, or will he be set free as well?" "Chip *cannot* be set free." Ivana stated in a most serious tone. "He's......?" Zipper gasped. "Circumstances dictated that I deal with him in a different manner than the rest of you." Ivana stated in an offhanded, callously flippant manner. "You won't find him at the end of the game." "No....." Zipper whispered, feeling as though someone had punched him in his chest. "This is not the time to mourn though," Ivana stated, "now is the time to play. Time to begin playing this final game." Ivana stated, a sneering slyness in her voice. "Your job will be to defeat Ri-bit, rendering him incapable of attacking you. If you can accomplish this task, then I will keep my end of the bargain. And now.......*we begin!*" "Now puny fly," Ri-bit stated expectantly a second later, uttering a low, menacing chuckle, "YOU DIE!" With this roaring exclamation, the giant bullfrog proceeded to jump into the air straight at Zipper, crossing the third of the room in the single leap, as well as the more than eight feet in height between them. "Yipe!" Zipper cried in surprise, barely managing to dive down out of the way of Ri- bit's hurtling form as he streaked overhead. Turning about in mid flight, his gaze grew even more astonished as Ri-bit, now having reached the opposite wall, instead of rebounding off it as he should have, simply connected with the wall with a loud thud and stuck to it, holding himself there as if a vertical surface were as natural to him as a horizontal one. "Oh, boy." Zipper murmured, the feeling of fear and adrenaline shooting through him as his mouth hung open incredulously at this newest amazing development. He did not have long to stare though, for Ri-bit's head immediately swiveled around toward him, his long menacing pink tongue lashing out directly at him. His speed and reflexes saving his life once more, Zipper slipped out of the way and bolted over to the other side of the room, aware even as he flew, of the sound of Ri-bit's thudding form jumping toward him from upon the walls. "Oh perhaps I forgot to mention," Ivana stated offhandedly as Zipper began to fly frantically all about the room, trying to get away from Ri-bit's speeding bulk, constantly looking over his shoulder to dodge the frog's whipping pink tongue, "I'm afraid I wasn't able to get the real Ri-bit for our little game, but I think the extremely lifelike robot I've created, more than makes up for that. Wouldn't you agree?" Zipper was not exactly in a position to answer her. Flying about the room at top speed, with Ri-bit only a second or two behind, constantly looking over his shoulder as he dodged the frog's whipping pink tongue, his thoughts were upon more pressing concerns. /A *robot!*/ his mind shouted with anxiety, his worry and panic now quite evident upon his face. How am I going to defeat *this* thing?! /Everyone's counting on me on this one, but the real Ri-bit was difficult enough! It took me *and* Monty to stop him, and this robot is *a lot* more powerful in speed, agility and tricks than that frog *ever* was!/ Down along the carpet, from the floor, to the walls, to the ceiling, and down to the floor again, Ri-bit continued his relentless chase of Zipper. No matter what combination of directions that Zipper tried to go in, Ri-bit was never more than a second behind. /I need a weapon!/ Zipper ascertained, looking frantically about the room for one. Flying over towards the waste basket, as he continued to maneuver out of Ri-bit's voracious attack, he shook his head as he saw that all the basket seemed to contain was a massive pile shredded paper. If there was anything under the paper he wasn't sure, but he wasn't about to find out. /That robot'll would probably have me cornered if I go in there and he jumps in after me./ he realized, negating the idea as he crossed back to the other side of the room. Next, his eye fell upon the single drawer upon the middle of the desk. Maneuvering out of "Ri-bit's" way once more, Zipper bolted over to the drawer and hastily pulled it fully open with a bit of difficultly, examining its contents even as he dashed away again toward the ceiling. A few sharpened pencils, a felt pen, a box of staples, scotch tape, and a small bottle of clear glue completed the contents of the drawer. /Nuts!/ he thought, gritting his teeth in frustration and fear. /If I were Gadget, I could probably figure out something to do with one or *all* these items, but I can't see-..hey wait a minute! Hold on!/ he grinned, a plan starting to come together in his mind. /If I can keep that thing from *seeing* me, I have a lot better chance of stopping it!/ Hurrying over to the drawer, he picked up the large bottle of clear glue. Hoisting the bottle up on top of the desk to its edge , very nearly getting caught by the robot in the process, he put his idea into motion. Two passes to the desk were all it took. Upon the first pass, with the end of the glue bottle protruding out over the waste basket, he uncapped the top, letting it fall into container. Upon the next pass, gaining all the speed and momentum that he could from the ceiling directly above the bottle, he pounced down upon it, sending the glue out in a large spray into the can. At this last action, he dived down into the center of the basket itself, with Ri-bit bounding in after him a second later. Flying rapidly between the layered strips of shredded paper, dodging to and fro through them as he would through an obstacle course, Zipper reached the bottom of the basket a moment later, even as Ri-bit came crashing down behind him. Swooping back up along the side of the can after skimming the bottom, Zipper didn't even dare to look back as he reached the top of the desk once more. Then, grabbing the bottle from the top of the desk, he held it out over the can and squeezed it with all his strength, forcing the glue out into the can, even as Ri-bit came rocketing back up out of it. Throwing the bottle aside, Zipper hovered in the air, smiling with satisfaction at his handiwork as the robot landed back upon the desk. As he'd planned, the first spray of glue had coated the first few layers of papers in basket. He had been small enough dodge between the sticky strips, but the same could not be said for "Ri-bit". The paper had stuck around his entire body as he'd fallen in, while the larger volley of glue that Zipper had sent in as the he'd reemerged, had recoated those paper strips, packing them upon his body even tighter. The result was that as "Ri-bit" landed upon the desk, he looked as though he had been mummified, bearing more of a resemblance to a ball of papier mache than to a fierce marauding bullfrog. "Very good, Zipper," Ivana's voice stated in a tone of deference. "but I'm afraid that you'll *still* have to do better than that to best *this* bullfrog." Without even bothering to try and pull away the strips of paper covering its eyes, the robot ominously opened his mouth, snapping open the strips of paper covering it, and turning its head unmistakably toward Zipper, sent its tongue lashing out towards him once more with near deadly accuracy. With a gasp, Zipper dodged this renewed attack, the satisfaction on his face turning once more back to surprise. "Don't you just *love* heat sensors?" Ivana sighed in a contented voice a moment later, as "Ri-bit" overpowered the glue strands now sticking him to the desk, leaping into the air and resuming the chase once more. ***** Section 6 of 6 ***** Making his way all about the room once again with Ri-bit in fairly close pursuit, Zipper's mind raced as he tried to come up with a new plan. /I *have* to beat this thing!/ he thought to himself with grim determination, his mouth twisted into a frown. /For the others, and especially for you, Chip./ he resolved to himself, a twinge of emotion catching in his chest and throat as his friend's features flashed through his mind's eye. Before, he'd realized even before Ivana had said it, that the robot now had to be relying upon either heat or motion sensors now to be able to track him so accurately without sight. /Okay, so if it can only see me because of my heat,/ he realized, another plan now coming to him. /it shouldn't be able to see what I'm doing and....*hey!*/ he finished excitedly, streaking once more down toward the desk drawer. The trick that he'd pulled on the robot, had just reminded him of the trap that Ivana had set upon Dale, the one in which Ivana had shown Dale a "video" depicting his own demise to Dale, at the hands of the tarantula "Lou" as he was caught in his webbing. That part, as well as another part of that very trap had just given him a great idea, one that he was pretty certain would succeed. Scooping up the scotch tape in his hands and flying over to the end of the room where the tube entrance was located, he left it there and flew back to the opposite wall to wait for Ri-bit. The glue upon the robot's body had served to slow it down somewhat, sticking it slightly to each surface it landed on, so that now instead of being practically right on top of him during the chase, he was able to get at least a three second lead upon it. As the robot reached the wall upon which he was perched, trying to snag him once more with its mechanical tongue, Zipper sped back once more to the opposite wall and set to work. Grabbing the end of the tape and sticking it against the adjoining wall, he rapidly reeled out the tape across one of the narrow walls in an overlapping zigzag pattern, creating in five seconds a rough, but fairly functional looking web. Leading Ri-bit back toward the opposite wall once more as the robot neared the web, and racing back yet again, he grabbed up the other item that he needed to make his plan work-the coil of metal he had been bound with before. Unraveling the strand of pink colored metal, he collapsed against the wall behind his *web*. With the coil securely held in his hands, he began panting hard, trying to catch his breath. "You know Zipper," Ivana stated in an almost scolding tone, as Ri-bit landed upon the floor and advanced toward him steadily. "running is a good way to stay alive for a time, but it's certainly no way to win a battle." Zipper looked up at the looming robot. In spite of the fact that its eyes were still covered, he could feel it's cold gaze upon him, looking him over almost hungrily. "Out of strength?" Ivana inquired, the robot now only one small jump away from him, "Pity." she stated disappointedly. "I suppose the game must end here then.....*for you all*." Zipper said nothing, but only flew into the air a half inch, waiting for the robot to make it's move. /Just a little closer..../ "It's been fun, Zipper." Ivana stated cheerily as the robot took yet another leap toward him....*and entangled itself upon the web*. "What in....?!" Ivana cried as the robot Ri-bit struggled to free itself from the tape. Thrashing about and pulling backwards, the robot was able to loosen some of the loops of tape from the wall, but the rest of the "web" held fast. Between that, and the glue sticking its feet to the carpet, the robot was rendered practically immobile. Zipper however, did not cheer his victory or even smile at his adversary's capture. He only stood silent and ready for what he suspected might come next, his eyes fixed upon the robot's mouth. "No matter." Ivana stated gravely, "The game is still mine." Opening its powerful jaws, the robot was able to separate and snap some of the strands of tape. Then, with a hiss of pressurized acid from the tip of its tongue, a gaping hole burnt through the tape strands before it's mouth. "Again a very good try, Zipper." Ivana stated with slight tone of admiration. "But still not good enough. For this robot does not have to move-" /I hope this works./ Zipper thought simply with a gravely nervous feeling. "for it to do *this*." The tongue again lashed out, heading dead on target for Zipper. In that instant, dropping his feign of weariness, Zipper quickly sidestepped the attack, the tongue just barely grazing him as he held out another target for the deadly device to curl around,......*namely the other metal coil*. Even before the robot's tongue began to retract though, Zipper was in motion, dashing the end of the coil over to the electrical wall socket only a foot away. Without hesitation, he jammed the metal end into the wall socket. Slamming against the adjacent wall as the jolt of electricity threw him from the socket, Zipper fell and tried to shake away the involuntary buzzing in his head. Looking up from the floor, he grinned as he saw what was happening to the robot Ri-bit. Its tongue locked around the metal coil and glowing a dull yellow from the electricity coursing through it, the robot twisted furiously upon Zipper's web, shuddering as sparks and smoke began to fly from it's mouth. After a few seconds of some audible crackles and "pops" of overloading electrical and mechanical equipment, the robot reflexively kicked backwards with all it's strength, the powerful force tearing itself free from the web and sending it sailing clear across the room where it struck itself against the far wall, exploding in a fiery ball of green shrapnel. Seconds passed as Zipper collected his wits and stood up, looking vengefully at the smoking remains of the ruined robot. "So much for "*Ri-bot*..........*That one was for you, Chip.*" he said aloud in a soft voice, grimacing as he hung his head in his friend's memory. "*Very good*, my dear Zipper." Ivana called down as she applauded, "Most impressive indeed. Using my own tools against me. I applaud your ingenuity as well as your speed." Zipper looked up sourly at the speakers in the ceiling, the compliments holding no feeling of pride for him. "*Shut up, Ivana*." he grumbled to himself. "And now, as I promised, you and your friends shall be set free to return to where you came from." Ivana stated. "A deal is a deal, after all." As Zipper looked, a section of the carpet near the tube which had taken him to this room, swiveled aside with a hum, revealing another passage leading downward. Flying over to it, Zipper stopped over the entrance to look back up toward the speaker through glaring eyes and gritted teeth. "This isn't over yet, Ivana!" Zipper yelled, "You're going to pay for what you did to Chip! You can *bet* on it!" the little fly swore, pointing up at the speaker. With that oath, Zipper turned and flew down into the hidden passageway. As the carpet covered metal cover softly hummed shut upon the passage, closing it slowly behind Zipper, Ivana lightly chuckled to herself. "I don't know about my paying for what I've done to Chip, little Zipper," Ivana stated amusedly, "but you are quite right about *one* thing. This isn't over *yet*." Flying down through the now pitch darkness of the tube, his hands skimming lightly against it's cool metal surface to guide him, Zipper's entire body seemed to sag visibly, now fully feeling the heavy weight upon his mind that he hadn't had time to fully absorb before. /Chip./ He thought sadly, picturing his teammate in his mind once more. /He's really gone./ A small lump rose in his throat as his eyes slightly unfocused, paying more attention to the image in his mind, than to the black tunnel around him. /The Rescue Rangers just won't be anywhere *near* the same without him./ Pausing a moment, his thoughts then flashed to the rest of his friends who he would finally rejoin at the end of the tunnel. He didn't look forward to the fact that he was the one who had to tell them the fatal news, picturing now how everyone might react. Another moment passed in silence as he flew along. /I don't know what we're going to do without you Chip,/ he whispered sorrowfully, wondering if his friend's spirit could hear him. /I just know *how much* I'm going to miss you./ Another few moments passed in mournful silence before Zipper finally saw light coming from around a bend of the tube, but his speed did not increase any, as no sign of relief crossed his pained face either. With the fact that one of their number had not made it out of the sadistic setup of this madwoman, the fact that this nightmare was finally over for the rest of them held practically no comfort for him. Flying into the light, his eyes quickly adjusted, widening in surprise as he reached the end. "What?!" he cried, stopping just short of colliding into a mirror image of himself. Zipper's head whipped around, his eyes quickly scanning about him. His friends were not here. There was no way out here. All that he could see here was-/Another trap!/ he realized, trying to double back into the he'd emerged from. The realization and the action, almost instantaneous as they were though, came too late as another cover quickly sealed itself upon the tube, snapping audibly into place. Tugging frantically at the cover with all his might for close to a half minute, Zipper finally abandoned his attempt with a short cry of frustration. "Your friends are here, Zipper." Ivana crooned mockingly from above him. "No reason to fear." Turning his head, Zipper looked above him. He was sealed in a large glass prison. The glass though, had been treated so that every surface around him was mirrored, creating the illusion that the cell was filled with a number of Zipper's all staring wildly about. He opened his mouth to speak when another sound filled his ears. With a hydraulic whir, Zipper turned his head as the left wall of his chamber suddenly began to rise, revealing clear glass underneath the mirrored portion. The almost paper thin portion of glass rose up into the ceiling of the cell, disappearing along with, a number of other mirrored portions down a number of other cells that he could see. Sitting within those similarly mirrored cells now visible, were Monterey Jack, Gadget and Dale. Sparky, he noticed though, *was missing*. All heads turned toward one another as they suddenly realized they were not alone, their expressions communicating their surprise quite clearly. As they all began to talk though, Zipper realized that he could not hear the sound of his friend's voices. Only silent gestures and moving lips with no audible words, were all he could see. A crackle of static abruptly emanated from the ceiling. "There." Ivana stated with satisfaction, as Zipper turned at the sound. "I've activated the intercom. You may now all talk freely." "Where's Sparky?!" Gadget asked anxiously, looking up at the speaker as she could find him nowhere about her. "Although I made him a part of this game, Gadget," Ivana stated factually, "I had no real quarrel with him. He was simply a tool to be used. A role he fulfilled quite well. I rendered your friend unconscious and arranged transportation for him back to his lab at M.I.T. He's safely on route there even as we speak. *You* however, are not going *anywhere* yet." Gadget blinked, her expression showing relief as well as confusion. She hoped that Ivana was telling the truth about Sparky, that he was safe, but.......... "But what did *we* do that you've been getting back at us like this?!" Dale demanded, speaking Gadget's thought before her. "Oy. What's this ruddy *score* that you say you've got to settle up with us?" Monterey added. "I could tell you if I wished," Ivana replied, "but the one who I claim revenge for, never knew who to thank for their death either. I figure by all rights, you deserve the same treatment." A horrified look overcame the faces of all the Rescue Rangers. "Are you saying that we *killed* someone?" Gadget whispered. "I am." Ivana stated in a completely serious voice. "*You* were *responsible* for it." "That's a ruddy lie!" Monterey exclaimed, jumping to their defense. "We never killed anyone in our lives!" "Oh really?" Ivana countered. "Then how do you explain these?" Clearing her throat, Ivana began to speak as though she were reading from a list. "Sewernose de Bergerac. Psychological breakdown from the act of you flushing him down that fountain in the theater, making him relive that same trauma of his childhood. Ceased to continue eating and wasted away to nothing. Died alone in the sewers. Did you ever check to see what happened to him? I did. Can you tell me that you're not responsible for that?" "But that was-" Dale began to say, "What?" Zipper gasped "I never knew..." Gadget whispered "Did we......?" Monterey asked in a shocked voice. "Captain Finn and all his crew except for 'All Hands' the octopus. Carried out over the desert in the "Nautilus",> where they landed with no way to get back. No water, no oxygen. You can imagine what happened. Did you check on their fate? *I did*." "We were protecting-" Zipper began weakly, as the others similarly protested the charge. "The crocodile that you tied a parachute to and sent him sailing out over the Brazilian rainforest.^^ Do you know where he landed? Near a trade road. Just as a poacher in a truck spotted him descending. I asked animals along the way who spotted him flying, and followed the poor beast to that spot. What I found wasn't pretty." "But..he..would..have...." Gadget began to say, silencing herself a moment later as she saw Ivana's point. "-self defense." Dale stated. "Rat Capone, Arnold Mousenegger, and Sugar Ray Lizard. All of them eaten by that piranha you unleased, Dale.<" Dale gulped in a guilty fashion, as Ivana reminded him of this incident. They'd had no way to rescue them. All the boats had been wrecked in the collision. They hadn't seen their actual demise as they disappeared down the sewer pipe, but they all knew that escape for them was practically impossible at that point. He hadn't meant to release the piranha, but................. "Harold. Desir'ee's Delure's longtime beau. Did you know the type of dog that was in that carrier you hit him into, Monterey?#" Ivana asked accusingly. "It was a *Doberman*. *Harold never had a chance*. I got on that plane, but by the time the carrier had been loaded, it was already too late." "I...I didn't mean...." Monterey stammered. "Who yoo, and his two bosses who were shrunk down in that automobile by you, Gadget.%" Ivana continued. "While their cat didn't catch up with them, they never did find water to reverse the process. The denizens of Cat Street found them first." "They,...you mean I.....?" Gadget asked, trying to find the words. "There are others, but I trust I've made my point. I know that like the police, such events leading to a fatal incident do occur in your line of work. Although you didn't intend for them to happen, you *are responsible* for them........I don't know what you might have thought, but the Rescue Rangers are all *far* from innocent." Ivana stated coldly. "For what you did, I have to make you *pay*." Gadget glanced at herself in the mirror, avoiding her own gaze as she and the others looked silently at one another in stunned silence. It seemed that none of them knew what to say now. "You're taking *revenge* on us for one of them?" Zipper finally asked a moment later, still quite shocked at the accusations. "But you said that you were going to let us go!" Ivana let loose a highly amused laugh at this. "Oh, no, no, no, Zipper. You're quite mistaken. First of all, my actions have *nothing* to do with any of those cases. Second of all, I never said anything to the fact that I was going to let you go. What I did say was that if you won your individual game, instead of you and the others falling prey to the robot Ri-bits I created, 'you and your friends would be returned to where you came from'. That is *exactly* what I have done." Zipper blinked silently in confusion. "Look around you, Zipper!" Ivana exclaimed. "You and your friends first began this game within this aquarium upon the upper floors. *That is* where you came from, and *that* is where I have returned you to now,....*to end the game.*" * CDRR-To the rescue! P5 <*> That more greedy version of the "Golden Rule" being: "Whoever has the gold, makes the rules". ** CDRR-Risky Beesness @ CDRR-A case of stage blight ^ CDRR-Good Times, Bat Times ^^ CDRR-Chocolate Chips () CDRR-Out of Scale {} CDRR-Weather or not [] CDRR-The Pied Piper Power Play + CDRR-A fly in the Ointment | CDRR-Does Pavlov Ring a Bell? <> CDRR-Robocat >> CDRR-Pound of the Baskervilles << CDRR-Zipper come home > CDRR-A creep in the Deep < CDRR-S.S. Drainpipe # CDRR-Love is a many splintered thing % CDRR-Puffed Rangers.