INDEPENDENCE DALE
by Dave White
Story editor - Melody Rondeau
Music by David Arnold
Supervisor of Flying - Tink R. Bell
Executive Producer - Ponsonby Britt, O.B.E.
In a place where flight was the normal means of transportation, clouds and blue
sky the usual landscape, and brilliant sunlight the constant, one would think
a chipmunk in a Hawaiian print nightshirt and cap would clash terribly. In fact,
these colorful reflections of nature were right at home here, so close to their
true source.
Dale drifted upward among an uncountable number of nebulous desks, where endless angelic animals patiently worked. The only sound was the clicking of infinite keyboards and the whisper of pencils jotting occasional notes. He watched as a golden doorway slowly emerged from the concealment of the clouds. He encountered a beautiful chipmunk receptionist, with hair like a night sky and a smile like sunrise. Her desk plate said she was Miss Skylight, and she waved him on as the door opened. Unable to change the path of his flight, he could only wish he could stop and chat, but it seemed his presence was required by a higher power. Gosh, he thought, I hope it doesn’t ruin the Fourth of July for everyone, with me dyin’ and all.
He came to a gentle, standing halt before a grand desk that might have been made of pearls charged with starlight. At the left hand edge of the desk sat an elaborate golden scale, the sort one expected justice to be measured from, along with a computer that bore a resemblance to one associated with Eden’s famous fruit. Behind the desk sat a seemingly ancient badger who was just signing a document that overflowed the edges of the desk. Finishing the signature with a flourish, he set aside the pen and the paper rolled itself up and vanished. The badger turned his attention to the new arrival.
“Ahhh, here you are, Dale. Very kind of you to come so quickly. I promise this won’t take long. These things rarely do.”
“’Scuse me,” Dale said shyly. “I suppose I know why I’m here. Am I going to go up or (gulp) down?”
“As far as I know,” the badger said, slightly puzzled, “you’re supposed to go back to bed. You’re dreaming. See?”
He turned the computer screen toward Dale. A QuickTime window revealed a view of Chip and Dale’s bedroom. Dale was indeed there, in his own upper bunk, rump in the air, tongue lolling out. The sound to the screen was off (a minor blessing) but Dale knew he must be snoring from the way Chip was trying to stuff his pillow firmly into his ears.
“You mean, I didn’t die?”
“Oh, no. You’d be in the Office of Perfect Justice in that case. This is Accounting. I’m The Auditor for The Mysterious Forces of the Universe.”
“The whatizz?”
“Do you ever wonder why someone always calls when you’re in the shower? Or why something always happens so your coffee gets cold before you finish it? Or why there’s always an interruption when you’re trying to get to The Kiss?”
“Or why toast always lands jelly side down?”
“Dale, even I don’t understand that one. Anyway, those are all caused by The Mysterious Forces of the Universe, along with many other events. Here, we keep track of The Mysterious Forces of the Universe and attempt to keep them in balance.”
“Is that important?”
“Of course. Have a look.” He indicated the scale at the edge of the desk. Dale did take a close look. The pans of the scale appeared empty, yet the balance needle constantly and sharply moved back and forth as if tiny weights were continuously being added and removed.
“I don’t see anything.”
“Well, these are Mysterious Forces of the Universe, after all. You rarely see them, only their effects. At the moment those powers are becoming dangerously out of balance.”
“Everything seems sorta mysterious here. What does all this have to do with me?”
“It has taken us a while to catch up with a particular error in the bookkeeping, and it has contributed to the imbalance. Quite some time ago, you became the super-hero Rubber Bando, known to some as the Rubber Rodent.”
“Of yeah! That was great! Except for getting all my friends mad at me and the police trying to use a flamethrower on me and Seymour getting the other piece of the meteor and stealing the world’s monuments and...”
“That’s it exactly,” The Auditor said, finally stopping Dale. “The Mysterious Forces of the Universe were responsible for all of that. However, the outcome left things uncertain, and The Mysterious Forces of the Universe are rather fond of certainty. And spectacle. But most of all, they have a sense of humor about things. And that can make things dangerous.”
“Gee! A dangerous sense of humor, just like me! I think I’d like these mysterious forces thingies.”
“Good. Because they are work in your life right now. We discovered you were supposed to continue to be Rubber Bando for a bit longer that day. But you destroyed the meteor fragments that gave you and Seymour your powers in the course of your fight. It would take far too much intervention by The Mysterious Forces of the Universe to make you Rubber Bando again, but you are owed the use of super powers, so I thought I would let you choose your own.”
“Really? I get to be a super hero again!”
“That’s right. But for only twelve hours. And remember, The Mysterious Forces of the Universe will be at work all around you. So, what is your choice?”
“Oh, gosh. Let me see. There’s Kablammo Man and the Brass Avenger and Captain Kapok...”
“Yes, Dale, just choose...”
“...and Mossman and the Living Camera and Caffeine Chipmunk. I really like him...”
“Dale, it’s almost morning. Choose...”
“...and Motor Marmot and the Ozone Protector and the Pink Squirrel...”
“Dale, pick one.”
“Awww, shoot. I’ve been reading comic books all my life. I can’t decide. I like them all!”
“Very well,” the Auditor said in heavenly frustration. “You have them all.”
“All of them?”
“Correct. For twelve hours from the moment you awaken, you will have the powers of every super hero you ever heard of.” He indicated an anniversary clock on his desk whose hands were exactly at twelve.
“Gee whillikers! And all I wanted for the Fourth of July was to see the fireworks. And have a hot dog.”
“I dare say, you won’t miss the fireworks. But remember this: Power only means an ability. Whether you use it wisely or foolishly is up to you.”
“I have to be wise?” Dale looked a bit pale. “Oh, brother, I’m in trouble.”
“You have good friends, Dale. Ask their advice. They’ll help you.”
“Good idea. I have the feeling, whatever super powers I’ve got, I’m gonna need help.”
“There, you’re showing wisdom already. Now, back to bed you go, and good luck.”
Dale had the feeling of falling from a great height, down from the sky, through the branches of their tree, to a surprisingly soft landing against his own pillow. He stirred and opened his eyes, groggy after the previous night’s late surveillance. He managed to focus his eyes on Chip’s alarm clock, which just read 9:30.
“Man-o-man, what a nutty dream,” he said. “The Auditor and super powers and everything. I either need more sleep or less hot sauce in my milk shakes.”
Dale climbed down from his bed and sleepily tottered toward the door. He gave himself the usual casual glance as he passed the bedroom mirror. A moment later, he dashed back in front of the mirror, gaping at his image. He was certain he hadn’t gone to bed wearing his purple, green and gold Rubber Bando costume.
“Omigosh! It wasn’t a dream! I’m in trouble!” He sped out the door heading for the front room. “Gadget! Monty! Zipper! Chip! Dale! Wait, that’s me. Help!! I’m in trouble!”
Chip, looking like a mail-order zombie, wearily awaited the arrival of his shouting partner. Dale barreled into the front room and Chip planted the palm of his hand against Dale’s chest. He bounced to a stop.
“Dale,” Chip said with dull exasperation, “my coffee is in my cup, not in me. It’s too early for this much excitement. Even you can’t be in trouble right out of bed.”
“Oh, I’m in trouble. Terrible, terrible trouble with a capitol ‘T’ that rhymes with ‘P’ that...”
“Stop. No song cues. What’s wrong?”
“I went to sleep last night and I dreamed I met the Auditor only it wasn’t a dream and he said I had The Mysterious Forces of the Universe at work and I’d have any super-power I wanted for twelve hours and he told me to use them wisely and that means I’m in trouble!”
“Everything’s fine,” Chip said, relieved. “You’re as crazy as ever and making no sense at all. No problem!”
“Wait a second,” Dale said, tipping his nose up and sniffing the air. “I’m getting the scent of evil afoot. It must be The Snifter’s famous Nose for Crime working.” He rushed to the front door, pulled it open and took a long, deep sniff of the smoggy breeze. “It’s a bank holdup! Six miles west of here. Two crooks in a red Buick heading south.”
“Red?” Chip puzzled. “You can smell red?”
“If The Snifter found ‘em,” Dale reasoned aloud, “then the hero for the job is The Blue Barista, the Mixologist of Justice! Be right back, Chip.” With that, Dale launched himself over the railing.
“DALE!” Chip rushed to the railing, but couldn’t see any sign of where the chipmunk had fallen. Then he looked up and saw Dale, flying away, leaving a purple and gold vapor trail in his wake. Chip carefully set his cup on the railing.
“It’s definitely too early for this.”
Dale flew to the scene of the pursuit and quickly spotted the escaping Buick. Wasting no time, he zoomed down and scooped up the car, crooks and all. Flying the Buick over to the city jail, he shook the car a vigorously and emptied the crooks onto the jail’s rock pile. “Shaken, not stirred. Two red-handed crooks - on the rocks!” Dale said, dusting off his hands. “Hey! I wonder if witty repartee comes with the super-powers?”
Chip was still staring off into space when Gadget found him. “What’s wrong? You look like you saw a ghost.”
“Dale flew off. Thataway.”
“Oh, no!” She rushed to the railing. “I don’t see him down there. Where’d he land?”
“Up there,” Chip said, pointing to a speck in the sky. The speck quickly closed in and the costumed Dale touched down lightly on the deck.
“Dale!” Gadget said. “You can fly! Did you find another meteorite fragment?”
“Don’t ask, Gadget,” Chip warned, “you’ll be sorry.”
Too late. Dale was off again. “I went to sleep last night and I dreamed I met the Auditor only it wasn’t a dream and he said I had The Mysterious Forces of the Universe at work and I’d have any super-power I wanted for twelve hours and he told me to use them wisely and that means...”
“...You’re in trouble, pally,” Monterey Jack concluded as he came on the landing deck.
“Monty, he’s only got super-powers for eleven hours and fifty-five minutes,” Chip said. “What could happen?”
“If Dale’s right, then The Mysterious Forces of the Universe are at work, Chip. I’ve seen this sort of thing happen before. They’re capable of anything. They’ve given him back his old Rubber Bando power, haven’t they?”
“No!” Dale squalled. “The Auditor said I’d have any super-heroes’ power I ever heard of!”
“It’s worse than I thought,” Monty said. “The Mysterious Forces of the Universe are showin’ their sense ‘o humor.”
“The Auditor said the mysterious thingies were fond of certainty, too,” Dale replied.
“Worse still,” Monty said. “The Mysterious Forces of the Universe like dead certainty. When this day’s over, either everything will be back to normal or...”
“Or what?” Gadget asked nervously.
“Or there’ll be a lovely glowing crater where Los Angeles used to be.”
“And all I wanted for the Fourth of July was to see the fireworks!” Dale moaned. “And have a hot dog.”
Gadget turned to Dale. “I know you’ve got super-powers now, and you can deal with all sorts of danger, but you’re not going to ask us to be your sidekicks again, are you?”
“Oh, no!” he replied, tossing aside his mask. “I learned my lesson when I was Rubber Bando. The Auditor said I should listen to my friends. I can’t do this wisely. I’m not even smart! I need your help!”
“You’re not the only one!” Chip said. A column of police cars, sirens screaming, raced by in pursuit of a large truck. “They’re heading up Sunset Boulevard! There’s no telling what damage they could do!”
“We’ll take the RangerWing,” Gadget said. ‘It’s all charged up.”
“Rescue Rangers Away!”
It took only seconds for the Rangers to take off, but Dale was way ahead of both the RangerWing and the escaping truck hijackers. He hovered right in the path of the speeding truck.
“I got ‘em! How should I catch ‘em?”
“Turn ‘em!” Chip shouted.
“Stop ‘em!” Monty yelled.
“Pick ‘em up!” Gadget hollered.
“Which one!?” Dale asked. SPLATT! He was flattened against the truck’s windshield right in front of the driver’s face.”
“Hey! I can’t see!” the driver roared. A moment later the truck careened off the street and slammed to a stop against a fire hydrant. Dale flew to a crunching halt an inch deep in a nearby brick wall.
“I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille,” Dale said woozily as he peeled off the wall and drifted to the ground. He was joined moments later by the other Rangers.
“Great work, Dale ol’ boy!,” Monty said, helping him to his feet.
“Are you kidding!?” Chip said. “That was terrible! Dale didn’t know who’s advice to follow. He could have been killed!”
“Actually, Chip, I’m pretty much indestructible. But it could have gone better. Now, let me see...” Dale concentrated with a furrowed brow for a moment. “I know! Gadget, say something.”
“Something?”
“Anything.”
“Do you want me to say something or say anything? Because if you want me to say something I have to say something very specific in order to meet the qualification of saying something...”
“That’s fine, Gadget,” Dale said.
“...whereas if you want me to say anything I could go on and on and on about any conceivable subject of my own choosing...”
“Chip!” Dale urged. Taking the cue, Chip gently but firmly clamped his hand over Gadget’s mouth.
“What was all that about?” Chip asked.
“I was using Captain Kapok’s Super Sonar Hearing. Now, I’ll be able to tune in to Gadget’s voice from anywhere on Earth.”
“Gadget’s voice! Why not my voice?”
“Old friend, if you had the choice of listening to you or listening to Gadget, who would you listen to?”
“Dale, that’s awfully smart -- for you,” Chip said cautiously.
“I used the catly cunning of Calculating Cougar. But I better stop before I get a headache.”
Zipper whooshed up to the team, buzzing urgently to call the team’s attention to the radio of a nearby police car.
“All units in the northern districts,” the radio crackled. “Major explosion and fire at the Gas-O-Matic fuel refinery. Fire department is responding. Begin evacuation of civilians at once. If the storage tanks go, they’ll explode with a force of twenty megatons.”
“This,” Dale proclaimed, “sound like a job for Tsunami Shrew!”
“Dale, no!” Gadget said. “Don’t put water on a gasoline fire. It’ll spread out of control!”
“What should I do?”
“How about freezing it?” Chip suggested.
“Good idea!” Dale re-proclaimed, “This calls for the icy scorn of Aunt Arctica! Let’s go!”
It went that way for most of the morning. The Rangers zoomed from car chase to holdup to fire to landslide. They saved a sagging railway bridge and fended off a poorly thought out alien invasion. Dale called upon the powers of heroes ranging from The Night Radiant to the Wing Nut.
An explosion, flying sparks and the sounds of a general panic drew the Rescue Rangers to a Southern Edison electric power generating station which was strangely silent.
“Could be another scheduled blackout,” Monty reasoned.
“There aren’t any scheduled for today,” Chip answered. “I think the trouble is over there. That giant walking toaster-oven.”
“Maybe it’s just trying to hunt down a giant loaf of bread!” Dale surmised.
Chip rolled his eyes toward heaven. “All the super-powers in the world won’t give him a lick of sense. Get in as close as you can to that runaway appliance, Gadget.”
“Roger-Dodger,” Gadget acknowledged.
Prof. Nimnul’s Brown-Out Turbo Toaster was busily demonstrating the pointless destructiveness of Evil Science. Sucking in electricity like an energy vacuum cleaner, it blew out transformers, extinguished lights and even brought auto traffic to a halt as it absorbed the electricity from their ignition systems. The police were thrown into confusion as their radios failed, making a coordinated response impossible. Gadget glided the RangerWing to a safe landing as it’s batteries went dead.
“HAHAHAHAHA!” Nimnul screeched. “Once I’ve captured enough electricity to equal a force of twenty megatons, this whole city will be toast! All I’ll need is a million pounds of cinnamon to sprinkle over the ruins! HAHAHAHA!”
“Dale!” Gadget called. “Try to destabilize the machine’s capacitance control systems with a surge of electromotive force!”
“What does all that mean!?” shouted the exasperated chipmunk.
“Hit it with a lightning bolt!” Chip hollered.
“Gotcha! I know just the bolt for the job.”
“So!” Nimnul shrilled, “those do-gooder rodents again. A few megawatts ought to put you off-line for good!”
Nimnul expended his stolen current with abandon. Although a handful of scattering rodents proved a difficult target, he swiftly got the range and began to strike very close.
“Okay, Nimnul,” Dale said, cracking his knuckles. “Here’s some juice you wouldn’t want with breakfast! Dr. Terminal!” He pointed both hands at the machine.
Nothing happened.
“YEEE-OUCH!” Monty bellowed as Nimnul’s current singed his tail.. “Better hurry up, pally, or we’ll be buried with a spoonful of marmalade!” Another bolt struck next to him, sending him flying.
“Oh, darn it!” Dale said, “Dr. Terminal’s a bad guy! I can only use good guy’s powers!” With great reluctance he gingerly pointed his pinky and winced in anticipation. “Well, here goes. I... Am... SPARKTACUS!”
A bolt of electrical energy that equaled a month’s output from Hoover Dam lit up the sky. Nimnul’s dastardly device was instantly frizzled, overloaded, disassembled, partially melted and lightly seared with a patina of fresh positive ions. Nimnul landed in a trash heap some fifty yards away, smoldering but evidently not damaged beyond repair.
“Dale!” Chip shouted, his hat smoking from the near-miss. “Watch what you’re doing!”
“Sorry, Chip. Sparktacus can’t control his power either!”
“C’mon, Zipper,” Chip called. “Let’s make sure Nimnul doesn’t get away!”
Dale was about to follow when he heard a terrified gasp from Gadget up the street. He was at her side in an instant with the speed of Mercury Mouse. Gadget was stepping back from Monty in shock.
“Nimnul hit him! He’s not breathing!” she cried. “Dale, I think he’s...”
“Let me see him,” he said. He knelt beside the fallen Ranger, his back to Gadget. He took Monty’s head in his hands and called upon a power he had prayed he would never need.
Gadget stood, helpless, her hands clasped to her throat. This was something all her tools and all her skill could never fix. But Dale... Suddenly, Monty coughed and flailed his arms, conscious at last. Dale stayed close and cradled Monty’s head.
“Careful, Monty. Don’t get excited. Just...”
“Let me at ‘em! I’ll...” he tried to sit up, only to sag back down to the pavement. “Okay. You talked me into it. A brief vacation and a cup ‘o tea.”
Dale let him rest and turned to Gadget. If anything, she looked more distraught than a moment before. “Dale,” she whispered, “you have the power to bring back the dead?”
“Huh? No, no! That’s just rescue breathing. I learned it over at the fire station watching the paramedics practice last month.” He vigorously rubbed his lips with his sleeve. “I sure didn’t want to practice on Monty, though.”
Gadget caught Dale in a mighty hug. “That’s what I call a real super-power!” She kissed him soundly on the lips. “Thank you.”
Slightly punch-drunk (and a bit in need of rescue breathing himself) Dale said, “You can practice on me anytime, Gadget.”
“Watch that witty repartee, hero,” she said, blushing.
The situation didn’t improve as the afternoon turned to evening. Traffic pile-ups, robberies, attempts to take over the world and bizarre weather consumed the Rescue Ranger’s time and strength. The sun was low in the sky when they finally had the chance to return to their oak tree headquarters. Zipper was draped over Monty’s shoulder, too exhausted to fly any further. Chip and Gadget, sagging alarmingly, barely made it to the dining chairs. Dale, even with his infinite energy, dragged along, worn down by the sheer volume of super-activity he was called upon to perform.
“Maybe we can get a clue about what’s going to happen next,” Chip said wearily. “What else did the Auditor say about The Mysterious Forces of the Universe?”
“They’re dangerous because they have a sense of humor about things,” Dale said. “And they’re fond of certainty and glasses.”
“Glasses? That doesn’t sound right.”
“It doesn’t, does it? Wait a second. Mass Storage remembers everything.” Dale paused a moment as his head made a distinctive Zip-disc-drive sound. “Oh! It’s spectacle they’re fond of. What’s spectacle mean?”
“It means something splashy, big and loud,” Gadget said. “Nuclear weapons. Crashing meteorites...”
“Gadget! Don’t give them any ideas!”
“Too late, Chip. It’s on TV.”
On the tube, Stan Blather nattered away monotonously. “Along with the missing nuclear warhead, there’s a one hundred ton meteorite due to crash onto the city with a force equal to twenty megatons just after nine-thirty tonight. Film at eleven, if anyone’s left alive.”
“Twenty megatons again,” Chip mused. “Dale, is there a pattern developing here?”
“That’s The Mysterious Forces of the Universe for ya, Chip.”
“There’s only half an hour left to go,” Chip said. “Maybe the military can take care of the missing warhead.”
“Then Dale can deflect the meteor,” Gadget said. “There should be enough time for that.”
“Hold it,” Dale said. “I’m gettin’ a funny feeling. It’s Epicenter’s Seismo-Sense. There’s an earthquake about to happen on the San Andreas Fault!”
“Lemme guess,” Monty groaned. “About twenty megatons?”
“Maybe a bit more,” Dale agreed.
“We can’t handle them all in half an hour!” Chip said. “We’re stuck in a handbasket, and I don’t wanna guess where the next stop is!”
Gadget stuck push pins into the wall map of Los Angeles County, tracing the course of the fault. “If you can reach the core of the fault, you’ll have to relieve the stress at these thirty-two points.”
“Epicenter couldn’t do it in time. But when you’re in it really deep, the way out is down! It’s a job for Crashing Bore!
“That’s awfully witty repartee, but isn’t that supposed to be Crashing Boar?”
“He is a boar, but he’s a boar that can bore without being a boor.”
“This is making my head hurt,” Chip moaned.
“What about that atom bomb, Chipper?” Monty asked.
“It’s got to be at Fat Cat’s,” Chip replied. “He’s the only villain we haven’t tangled with today.”
“You’ll have to deal with Fat Cat,” Dale said. “Stall him until I can get there. I’ll head off the earthquake, then stop the meteor.” He went out the front door
“Dale, you might not have time for all three,” Gadget said. “Just handle the meteor. The city’s built to withstand an earthquake.”
“I can’t do that. There’s too many lives at stake. I’ve read about heroes all my life. I know all their powers and all their adventures. I’ve always wanted to be like them. Now that I can do everything I ever dreamed of, I have to live up to my own dreams. Stan Lee was right. With great power comes great responsibility.” Even The Mysterious Forces of the Universe joined in the moment, the breeze giving Dale’s cape a gentle, heroic rustle. “C’mon everybody. Rescue Rangers Away.”
* * *
Fat Cat gloated as only Fat Cat could. Even though he wasn’t yet certain what to extort form the city. Across the office rested the water heater sized bomb that had fallen into his paws. The fearsome weapon would make even the most extravagant demand seem fairly modest.
“Let me see,” Fat Cat muttered, consulting a list in his hand. “Exclusive rights to fish distribution... A total ban on dogs... and QUIT HIDING UNDER THE FURNITURE!” His gang members promptly reappeared from beneath the tables and desks. “You don’t have to take cover for every little tremor. There must have been two dozen of them this evening.”
Fat Cat returned to his list. “The fire department to give highest priority to getting cats out of trees... all humans in the city limits to brush cats sixteen times a day...”
“Rescue Rangers?” Mole questioned.
“Wouldn’t I love to get my claws into those burr-in-my-fur Rescue Rangers. But I don’t imagine the humans would have any more luck finding their hideout than you have.”
“I don’t know about their hideout, boss,” Mole said, “but the Rescue Rangers are right over there. On your bomb.”
“WHAT!!”
“Don’t move, Fat Cat,” Chip commanded. Gadget and Monty had taken up positions near the weapon’s control panel while Zipper hovered protectively above them, making a sneak attack impossible. Another tremor vibrated the building.
“Gadget’s got your bomb,” Chip continued. “And she’s not afraid to use it.”
“Actually, I am a little nervous about this.”
“Shhh. Give up, Fat Cat, or we’ll pull the plug on your whole scheme.”
“Do you think I’m going to let you Rescue Wretches ruin my plans? If the city doesn’t give me everything I want, I’ll blast it’s heart out! I’ll blow up Dodger Stadium!”
“What!” Monty roared. “Do you have any idea wot kinda bomb you’ve got!”
“Of course! It says right there. ‘Yield 20 M.’ Twenty thousand pounds! A ten ton bomb will make make shorter work of the Dodger’s pennant hopes than playing five games against the Braves.”
“Fat Cat, you silly kitty,” Gadget chided. “This isn’t a regular bomb. It’s an air delivered thermonuclear device.”
“It’s what?” said the bewildered feline.
“It’s a hydrogen bomb,” Gadget said, smiling. “’20 M’ means twenty megatons.”
“WHAT! I wanted to blackmail the city, not turn Barstow into a beachfront community!”
“Don’t worry, Fat Cat,” Gadget said confidently. “You’d have to have the arming plugs for the bomb.”
“Got ‘em.”
“And install them in alphanumeric sequence.”
“First thing I did.”
“Then override the permissive action links.”
“For a cat, it was a snap.”
“Then you’d have to drop it from at least thirty thousand feet.”
“Whew!”
“Or start the last-ditch pre-calculated interval salvage fuse.”
“The wha...?”
“I think she means the timer,” Chip said.
“Of course!” Gadget agreed merrily. “And you didn’t, so there’s no problem!” She plopped down atop a round blue disk which promptly sank into the surface of the bomb. A very dramatic ticking began.
“Oops. But I think I just started it.”
“Gadget!” her colleagues hollered.
“Ahh, hahaha,” she chuckled weakly. “I think we have a problem.”
“Shut it off!” Fat Cat shouted.
“I can’t,” Gadget admitted. “If I try, it’ll go off instantly.”
A streak of purple shattered the floor of the office, spinning at thousands of RPM. A moment later, the whirling blur set down on the floor near the Rangers and slowed to a stop. Dale had managed a timely entrance to match his witty repartee.
“Dale!” Gadget called. “You’ve only relieved the pressure on twenty-nine stress points. I’ve been counting the tremors. You have to get them all!”
“I’m workin’ on it. I heard you say you had a problem. I’m tuned to your voice, remember? I also remembered Copycat. He can split into three copies of himself. So I’m here and I’m finishing up the fault, and I’m stopping a jewelry shop heist on Figueroa.”
“Dale!” Chip yelled. “The bomb’s gonna go off! Bury it!”
“No!” Monty said. “Toss it into the Pacific!”
“No!” Gadget said. “Put it in orbit!”
“Just a second!” Dale said. “I gotta get myself together!” A few moments later, two identical Dales appeared, one out of the floor, one through the window. They collided with the first Dale, merging with him and causing another earthquake-like tremor.
“Get rid of the bomb!” his friends pleaded.
“Don’t worry,” he said with a wink. “I’ve got it covered.”
“We’ve had it!” they answered in unison.
But Dale had a secret super power of his own. His years of comic book reading had given him mastery over even the most obscure one-shot heroes. Dale confidently stepped up to the bomb.
“And now: Yucca Fats, the Nuclear Nosher!” With a burst of incredible speed and a sound like a circular saw encountering a car fender, Dale swiftly and completely consumed the bomb.
Fat Cat was both stunned and livid. “You ate my bomb. YOU ATE MY BOMB!”
Dale was utterly unperturbed. He grabbed Fat Cat by the whiskers and got in his face. “Yeah! And think what’ll happen if I bounce off the floor RIGHT NOW!”
Fat Cat’s gang didn’t wait to see if Dale was loony enough to make good his threat. For once they actually beat their portly leader out the door and over the horizon.
Suddenly, Dale’s stomach began to rumble as if he’d swallowed the End of the World. And maybe he had.
“Ya know, Yucca Fats WAS a one shot hero!”
The Rangers steadied their friend as the tummy rumble reached for a terrifying crescendo. Dale, powerless to stop the inevitable, opened his mouth and...
BOORRRROOOCCCHHHOOOOOOOOO!!!
...unleashed the belch that nearly set off the San Andreas Fault all over again.
Across town at the Warner Brother’s water tower, Wacko Warner stood and saluted in the direction of the awesome eruption. “You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Dale! Fa-boo!”
A tiny mushroom cloud issued from Dale’s lips. An astonished Monterey Jack sat on the floor, with Zipper, stunned, in his lap. Chip and Gadget, decidedly greenish, leaned on each other for support. Not a single piece of glass or crockery for two blocks survived intact.
“I beg your pardon,” Dale said with sincere embarrassment. “That’s why Yucca Fats was a one-shot. He was just too gross for his own comic book.”
“I hate to interrupt,” Monty said, “but there’s a bit of a weighty problem yet to be handled.”
“The meteor!” Dale said, smacking himself on the forehead. “I forgot!”
“Don’t go!” Gadget cried. “It’s already too close to deflect it away from the Earth.”
“Maybe he can crash it in the Pacific,” Chip suggested.
“The tidal waves would cover the whole world,” Gadget said. “We’ve just got to get out of it’s way.”
“She’s right Dale,” Monty said. “You’ve only got a few minutes until nine-thirty anyway.”
“Four and a half minutes,” Gadget corrected. “There just isn’t time!”
“No,” Dale said seriously. “I know what I have to do. If I’m going to be a hero, I have to be one right to the very last.” He rose swiftly into the sky. “Good-bye, Rescue Rangers. When I see you again, maybe we’ll all be able to fly.”
Chip grabs Gadget and Monty. “Come on! Get in the RangerWing. We might still be able to help!”
Dale flew around the Earth over and over, building up speed and leaving his purple and gold vapor trail in an increasing blur across the sky. He concentrated on adding the power of the swiftest heroes to his effort. If they were faster than The Creeping Vine, he called ‘em in.
Gadget kept the RangerWing climbing, trying to keep Dale in sight. Even though he was in low orbit, his vapor trail was visible. It hardly had time to fade before he streaked a fresh trail. Then he overlapped it. And overlapped it again.
“Dale’s not going out to deflect the meteor. He’s building up speed,” Gadget said. “I think he’s planning to hit it head-on!”
Dale was still tuned to Gadget’s voice, and heard her guess. You’re right, Gadget. Dale thought. Hyperdrive Hamster was right, too. Velocity never lets you down. Even if my time runs out, my speed won’t. And if I hit it with my head, I won’t feel it either way.
In the sunlit realm, endless keyboards fell silent as the attention of countless accountants was turned to QuickTime screens showing the drama as it unfolded. An infinity of breaths were held. As the last seconds slipped away, the Auditor’s gold-tipped pencil pushed the hands of the anniversary clock back one minute. “He can owe us a minute,” he whispered. “He’s good for it.”
The eight-ounce chipmunk moving near the speed of light hit with a force vastly beyond twenty megatons. The meteor was shattered, pulverized and powdered. Much of it it would still hit the Earth, but it was the difference between getting hit with a twenty pound concrete block, and having ten pounds of sand poured over your head.
Among the clouds, a cheer arose so great it drew the attention of winged powers, who asked: “What, in Heaven’s name, is going on in Accounting?” The answer to that question would find it’s way to cloud-white pages, written in letters of gold.
The whole hemisphere saw the pure white flash of the impact. News anchors at various observatories sent the good news around the world in an instant. But for a small band of airborne rodents, the news was anything but good.
“Oh, no!” Gadget said. “He’s already out of time!”
“Keep watching for him!” Chip insisted. “He may still make it down!”
Dale used his last borrowed seconds well, burning through the atmosphere at top speed. He had planned to switch to the Asphalt Kid and just let himself smash into the ground, but he was still a mile up when his last second ticked away. Speed and strength and invulnerability vanished and he became a simple chipmunk with a long way to fall.
“There he is!” Monty shouted. “Don’t lose him, Gadget, luv.”
“We’re not going to lose him,” Gadget said. “Not for all the world.”
Gadget pushed the RangerWing into a crash dive, matching Dale’s fall. She ignored the unwinding altimeter. There would be no pulling up without him. The Rescue Rangers were together, and they would save all, or none at all. Monty grabbed Chip’s ankles as he reached over the instrument panel, stretching his utmost to reach his falling friend. Zipper caught on to Dale’s cape and provided the final ounce of braking power they needed. Chip caught Dale’s foot and pulled him onto the nose of the RangerWing. He draped over the fuselage with his head still extending into empty air as they pulled up.
“Hey! I’m flying again! Am I an angel?”
“Not always,” Gadget said happily.
Dale was still tuned in to that voice. He tumbled back into the RangerWing and caught all four of them at once in a super-duper hug. “You saved me! Thanks for the rescue, Rangers!”
The pulverized meteor hit the atmosphere and created a brilliant, colorful and harmless light show over Los Angeles, giving the city a fireworks display that would never be forgotten. Various fireworks shows across the entire city decided to “shoot the works” in celebration. Observing from the RangerWing, Dale at last got half his Fourth of July wish.
“If you want, Dale,” Gadget offered, “I’ll even get you a hot dog.”
“No thanks, Gadget. I had a gut bomb for lunch.”
* * *
Late that evening at Headquarters, Dale folded and put away the costume, not entirely with regret. “I could have caused as much trouble as I stopped. And I was so busy I didn’t even have time to think up a snazzy name for myself. In a way, I’m glad it’s over for good. But, ya know, I’m going to miss being able to fly.”
Chip handed Dale a small stack of comic books he’d been leafing through. He rested his hand lightly on his long time partner’s shoulder.
“I’ve always made fun of you for reading comics,” Chip said. “They’re never going to be taken for fine literature. But you’ve learned from them. About devotion to duty and steadfastness and determination and loyalty to your friends and courage and to know what’s right and to do what’s right. And you’ve learned to read better than you ever could before. I was wrong about them. And I was wrong about you, too.”
“That’s too many words at once, Chip. You’re confusing me. What’s all that mean?”
“It means if I had to choose a hero to be, I’d choose you.”
In his office, the Auditor watched all of this on his QuickTime screen, then accepted the master ledger from Miss Skylight. “Well, Dale,” he mused, “it seems we owe you quite a lot for your courage and willingness to sacrifice.”
The scale on the Auditor’s desk was still, at last. The needle quivered, but didn’t move from dead center.
“If we owe Dale so much,” Miss Skylight asked, “doesn’t it mean that The Mysterious Forces of the Universe still aren’t in balance?”
“They never are. Or at least, not for long.” He indicated a small part of the scale. “Have you ever noticed this little weight on the balance beam? Every scale has a way to bring the beam into perfect balance. A counterpoise. I believe this ordinary chipmunk is an agent of balance. One who can correct the little flaws and imperfections that are inevitable when dealing with The Mysterious Forces of the Universe.”
“Sir, counterpoise also means: completely lacking in dignity, self-assurance, composure or calm.”
“That’s our Dale all over.”
With a touch of the golden pencil point, the tiny weight on the beam changed to the figure of a small chipmunk in a caped costume. Not a proud or heroic figure, but a chipmunk of simple humility, determined to do his duty well. You could have recognized Dale a mile off.
The Auditor turns to the QuickTime screen, viewing the Rangers as they prepared a late night snack.
“Of course,” The Auditor said, “there is still the question of how our counterpoise might be employed in order to bring balance to The Mysterious Forces of the Universe.”
As they watch, Dale picks up a tray laden with their late night meal. Not unexpectedly, his feet got crossed and he fell. The tray flew across the kitchen and landed with a terrible clatter. Every bite of food landed with geometric precision back on its proper plate, and the toast landed jelly side up! The Rangers gasped in awe at the near-impossible event.
The Auditor turned to Miss Skylight with a smile and said, “That’s a good beginning.”
THE END
COPYRIGHTS AND DISCLAIMERS: Gadget, Chip, Dale, Monterey Jack, Zipper, Fat Cat, Mole, Prof. Nimnul, Seymour, Rubber Bando and the Rescue Rangers are © and T.M. The Walt Disney Company. Wacko Warner is © and T.M. AOL Time Warner and all were employed without permission. The City and County of Los Angeles appear through a special arrangement with the Twilight Zone.
CPR and First Aid courses are often offered by local fire departments or the American Red Cross. They are genuine lifesavers. If you’re a Rangerphile who truly believes in what the Rescue Rangers have always done, here’s your chance to be the hero of your own story.
All other characters, locations, equipment and situations are © 2001 by David D. White. Permission to copy and redistribute without charge is granted, provided the work is not altered, edited, ionized, subjected to impact force above twenty megatons, or otherwise fiddled with.
Please note - The Mysterious Forces of the Universe are also kjiubn werdjik dfgbhd hdc hjuewu ds n jhd nekj hnuij kdfjjn k,mfdkjk!!! You have been warned!