The Tillamook Escapade
Act VII - It’s In The Bag
“Gadget? Gadget, time to get up.”
G.G.’s voice finally penetrated her fog of sleep and she struggled awake with a soft groan.
“Has it been four hours?”
“It’s eight in the morning. You’ve been asleep almost twelve hours.”
“That fibber, Gary!" she said, outraged. "He said he’d wake me up in four!”
“He tried once. You were so out of it I stopped him. I don’t think you realize how dead tired you were.”
Gadget lifted her covers and peeked underneath. “Who put me in my nightgown?”
“See? You don’t even remember. I did. I offered to sell the rights to the highest bidder but I didn’t get any takers.”
Gadget rolled her eyes. “There, you see? I don’t even know how to feel about that, even though you’re just kidding. I’m frightened by the possibility one of the guys did this, and I’m depressed by the fact they didn’t want to.”
“You worry about all the wrong things, Gadget. Come on and get dressed. The guys have something they want you to see.”
Gadget soon joined them in the office. Gordon stood and offered her the chair in front of the monitor. The screen was a scramble of graphics and text that shifted and scrolled faster than she could follow.
“What’s all this?” she asked. “What’s happening?”
“It’s what you started,” Gordon said. “I’m running a network monitoring routine. All this is your doing. You asked for help on the plastic problem. You threw out ideas and possibilities. You challenged. And this is the result. There must be two hundred researchers working the problem. Rabbits at Exxon, mice at DuPont, rats at Royal Dutch Shell, hedgehogs at British Petroleum. I think there are even a couple of humans involved who aren’t really aware of what’s going on. And it’s all come together. There’s a crew of Guinea pigs at Allied Signal who are cooking up that witch’s brew of yours. Ortho is sending pressure tanks and Shomer-Tec is sending the protective gear. G.G.’s team in Portland is gathering it up and will deliver it this afternoon.”
Gary knelt beside her. “This is why I told you not to feel you had to save the world personally. Alone there’s so little any of us can do; you, me, the Rescue Rangers, were just not enough. But we’re not alone, Gadget. We work together. And there’s almost nothing we can’t do together.”
“With the Rangers,” Gadget said, “we always felt we were the only ones who could do anything for animals in trouble. I never suspected all of this. Golly.”
“I’ll bet you’re starving,” Gordon said.
“Oh, gosh.” Gadget’s stomach gave an alarming growl. “I think I could eat a whole chicken egg by myself.”
“Let’s go down to the diner,” Gary laughed, “they’re open by now.”
Their breakfast became a little celebration. For the first time Gadget felt happy without an undercurrent of guilt. The thought of many minds and hands bringing the tools they needed gave her the feeling that everything would turn out fine.
“Dang it,” G.G. groused. “This is the part I hate. We can’t get after this until after the airdrop this afternoon, and I’m ready to go now.”
“I’m glad it’s not just me,” Gadget agreed. “I’m used to seeing a problem and going right after it. I’m antsy too.”
The waitress stopped and refilled their coffee. “If you’re at loose ends,” she said, “and you have some mechanical inclination, the museum is just finishing the restoration of a P2V Neptune. They could use a hand stringing the control cables. It’s really hard for humans in those small spaces.”
“What does a display aircraft need with control cables?” Gordon asked. “No one will even see them.”
“It’s a museum piece,” Gadget replied. “They’re used for aeronautical as well as historic research. They need to be as near to original condition as possible.”
“Sounds like a good way to spend the day,” Gary said. “Useful and unstressed.”
They crossed the hanger deck to the Neptune. The old Navy patrol plane was in near-perfect condition after years of painstaking work by dozens of volunteers and skilled artisans. The team set to work with Gadget checking the blueprints to insure each piece and part went to its proper place. They worked steadily, pulling cables through the aircraft structure, feeding them between pulleys and through fairleads. They struggled to fit the cables into quadrants and attach them to the flight controls. Tensioning and rigging the controls would have been backbreaking work for rodents, and of necessity they left that job for the staff.
Gary called a halt when it grew late, and Gadget shouldered a pencil and carefully wrote down the work accomplished in the aircraft records. With that, the legend of Tillamook’s hanger ghosts grew another tale.
G.G. led the way to the very top of the hanger roof, beyond the landing pad. Part way down the raised ridge that served as ventilation for the antique structure, G.G. and Gordon began to busy themselves with equipment cunningly hidden along the length of the ridge.
"Better let us rig the arresting gear," Gary told Gadget. "It's a bit exacting and the airdrop is already on the way."
Gadget made sure she was out of their way, but stayed close enough to watch the process. With the well-practiced skill of an aircraft carrier flight deck crew, the trio set up short poles at the edges of the ridge. Between each pair of poles they tossed thin steel wires which attached to spools below the ridge. After rigging eight of the cables down the length of the ridge, they raised a woven steel net near the edge of the hanger.
Gordon stooped to reach the spool of the first cable. "G.G., what's the pallet weight coming in?"
She pulled a note from her breast pocket, not trusting memory with the critical information. "Ten pounds, five ounces."
"TEN pounds!" Gary whistled. "They must have loaded all the groceries on this one!"
They worked their way back up the line of cables, setting each spool to the proper resistance for the incoming weight. They had reached Gadget and finished the final setting when a soft, high-pitched drone began to fade in.
"Right on schedule," G.G. called. "All hands clear the deck!"
Gadget clambered off the ridge and joined Gary close alongside. She hugged the wall of the ridge as Gary did. A couple of steps behind them the curve of the hanger roof increased sharply. Sliding down the steep side of the roof wouldn't end any more pleasantly than plunging off the far end.
She spotted the plane coming in from the east, a well-made miniature of a Fairchild Provider. With its high wing, even higher tail and boat-like fuselage it would have been right at home as a seaplane. The twin gasoline-fueled Cox engines rose from a drone to loud lawnmower buzz as it grew closer. Gadget had been around rodent sized aircraft engines all her life and the power that could be wrung out of them after a good mouse mechanic got through with them never failed to impress her. The Provider lined up on the prepared strip and descended.
Gadget shouted across the way to G.G. "Isn't he going to take a practice run?"
"I don't think Goodwin has ever taken practice at anything! It's not his style!"
Sure enough, the plane deployed a drouge chute from the big aft cargo doors. The drop was on.
Gary reached up and pulled Gadget down by the arm. “Keep your head down. If the pallet comes off the edge it'll give you a haircut at the collar line.” He gently tapped the edge of his hand across her throat to be sure she got the message. Still, she poked her head up high enough to see, and Gary kept a hold on the back of her shirt, just in case.
The Provider started the approach, flaps and landing gear extended as if he intended to land, the drouge chute bouncing and twisting in the slipstream. When Goodwin was as low and slow as he could manage without actually landing, he released his cargo and the chute pulled the pallet out of the plane like a cork from a champagne bottle. The loss of weight sent the plane bounding safely into the air.
The flat bottomed aluminum pallet hit the asphalt shingles of the roof ridge and the effect of friction at landing speed was essentially zero. Gadget ducked below the roof line as the pallet rocketed past. A large hook extending from the rear of the pallet caught the first of the arresting wires and Gadget heard the braking spool engage with a distinct whine. It didn't slow the heavy pallet much. The pallet engaged four more of the wires before finally coming to rest. Goodwin made a low pass over the hanger to check his handiwork, rocked his wings to say goodbye and flew rapidly back towards the east.
"Quite a performance," Gadget remarked. "I'd like to meet that pilot one day."
They used the time until dusk unloading the cargo and taking it below to store it. They set the special purpose equipment inside the office but left several tanks of chemicals on the roof. The variety of warnings on the tanks didn't make them seem to be good houseguests.
They gathered in the office, Gary taking a seat at the far end. He had taken upon himself the unenviable task of devil's advocate. If there were any flaws in their plan, this was the last chance to catch them. Gadget was last to arrive, coming in from the kitchen.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ve got a test sample of the treated plastic wrapped around a piece of fresh cheddar. By the time we get back, it should show us if everything is going to work.”
"You ordered gas masks, Gadget." Gary said. "I thought you weren't planning on poisoning anyone."
"I'm still not planning on it. The only ones in danger of being poisoned will be us. The solvent we had to use in this spray is based on hydrazine."
"Hydrazine!?" Gary said. "Good criminey, that's..."
"I know, I know," Gadget interrupted with her palms giving a "stop" signal. "Hydrazine is everything bad. It's violently reactive. It's poisonous, explosive, corrosive, flammable and carries the mark of Cain. It's what I call a whiffenpoof. One whiff and, POOF! You're gone."
"It's also the only thing that will do the job in a quantity we can carry," G.G. added. "You can take what Gadget says to heart. I've had to work with hydrazine-based chemicals myself. They’re deserving of the term 'rip your lungs out,' because if you get a snootful of it, it's what you'll spend your last seconds on Earth trying to do. It's absolutely vital that we keep our gas masks on while working with this chemical."
"The good news is," Gadget continued, "the solvent oxidizes in about five minutes after contact with the air. It's harmless then. I've re-calibrated my analyzer to detect it."
"And the better news is," G.G. added, "that the solvent will migrate through the plastic in either the raw or finished form. A small amount will go a very long way."
"The humans in the plant won't be wearing gas masks," Gary said.
"There won't be any humans," Gordon replied. "According to the company website the entire plant is automated. Everyone leaves at six-thirty so they can save money by turning off most of the lights and heat. Even if something breaks down, they wait until morning to make repairs. That saves on overtime costs. We will have the place to ourselves for a guaranteed eleven hours."
"And we should only need four hours to do the job," G.G. advised. "We'll be able to hit the storage bins as well as the production line. No stone unturned."
"How about protective suits?"
"We won't need them," Gadget said. "The solvent is only dangerous if inhaled. We'll wear gloves just for insurance. It is a mild corrosive."
"Are you sure this chemical concoction will do the job?" Gary asked.
"It should work," Gadget replied. "As you said, we've had a lot of help."
A grin began to brighten Gary's face. "My friends, I have run out of objections. Let's go commit some classic rodent mischief."
They loaded the Vertijet with climbing gear, chemical sprayers, protective equipment and, at Gadget's insistence, a change of clothing. Gadget noticed when G.G. came aboard, Gary took her hand to help her in, and she let him. They even smiled at each other. Why does all the interesting stuff happen while I'm sleeping? she wondered.
They lifted off and headed north, Gary pushing the throttles and staying low, clearly having fun with the flight. They were in high spirits now that they could at last get their hands on the danger.
"This is like old times," Gordon said, grinning. "Back when things would get really wild. Everything's soooo serious nowadays."
"Things aren't crazy enough for you?" Gadget said, surprised.
"It used to be madcap," G.G. said. "All the human intelligence agencies tripping over each other."
"And us," Gary said, "trying to keep from getting stepped on."
"Don't forget that night in San Diego," G.G. said. "You DID get stepped on! We thought you were a goner!"
"Hey!" Gordon said. "Remember Grover? Remember his gig?"
To Gadget's open-mouthed astonishment, Gordon began to sing the tune of "The Mickey Mouse Club," quickly joined by G.G. and Gary.
Who's that sneakin' in the dark,
And what's the game they play?
MI-6, K.G.B., U.S.C.I.A.,
Secrets, lies, counterspies,
Sleeping through the day,
MI-6, K.G.B., U.S.C.I.A.,
Who has got,
the microdot?
If it's not found by Thursday
You'll be shot!
SHOT, SHOT, SHOT!
Never trust a living soul,
Except for ME, Okay?
MI-6, K.G.B., U-S-C-I-A!
Gadget looked apprehensively at her companions and softly said, "I think I should go home now."
"Relax," G.G. said, "you haven't fallen in with complete psychopaths."
"Naawww," Gordon offered. "We don't want to lose our amateur standing."
"Guys," Gadget said, "this really is dangerous."
"Too true," Gary replied. "And if these are our last hours, we may as well have a little fun!"
"You're starting to sound like Dale."
"Then Dale has the right attitude. And I think that is the target for tonight."
Gary circled a light industrial complex and picked out the rooftop of the sprawling plastic factory.
"This looks good," Gary said. "There're no cars in the parking lot. Not even a security guard."
G.G. was literally bouncing in her seat. "C'mon Gary, I want to get in there and screw 'em up!"
"We will," he answered, "but be careful."
"Right! We'll carefully screw 'em up!"
Gary brought the Vertijet in for a landing on the roof of the factory. They put on their climbing equipment and backpack style spray tanks, rodent sized versions of the tanks used by forest firefighters. The tank fed a large pistol grip sprayer with a shotgun-style pump handle to pressurize the stream. Thick black latex gloves and gas masks with Cinemascope faceplates completed their gear. As Gordon and G.G. made cross-checks on each other's equipment, Gary helped Gadget adjust her tank harness.
"Is that comfortable?" he asked. "Not too much weight?"
"No problem. I can carry my share." She pulled on her gas mask and adjusted it. She had to pull the securing straps down to their stops.
"I thought so," Gary said. "Wrong size mask. They sent a squirrel-small instead of a mouse-small. Can you still use it?"
Gadget placed the palm of her hand against the mask's air intake and took a deep breath. The mask mashed tightly against her face and stayed there until she released the intake.
"It works just fine," she said, pushing the mask up on her head. "But I'm going to miss my goggles."
“Over here,” Gordon called. “I think we’ve got an in.”
He and G.G. were examining the edge of a skylight. “This isn’t locked. Is there anything we can chock it open with?”
“Here’s a piece of wood,” Gadget said, dragging a chunk of two-by-four that was bigger than she was.
“You weren’t kidding about pulling your weight,” Gary said. “Gordo, on three. One, two, THREE!”
Together they hoisted the skylight open. Gadget and G.G. pushed the wood block in place to hold it up. Gary stuck his head in and took a quick look around.
“The overhead is a steel framework, a lot like the Tillamook hanger. We can get around and not even go down to the floor.”
He swung in with G.G. close behind. Gordon helped Gadget through the skylight and G.G. steadied her on the girder. Below on the production floor rank upon rank of machines rumbled as they carried out their tasks. Gadget could feel the vibration in her hands and feet, sweeping in harmonic waves through the steel truss. There was not a single human being to be seen.
“Okay, here we go,” Gary said. “Everyone has a floor plan. Gord, take the storage bins for the raw materiel, the pelletized plastic. G.G., hit the production line on the south side, Gadget take the north side. I’ll get the rolls of finished bags. You’re sure one squirt is all it takes?”
“Positive,” Gadget said. “The solvent is designed to permeate at the molecular level. Even the vapor will migrate through the plastic.”
“Let’s hit it,” Gordon smiled.
G.G. rubbed her hands rapidly and said, “Here’s where the fun begins!”
The three squirrels used their natural talents and moved quickly through the steel framework toward their respective objectives, leaving a slow moving mouse in their wake. Gadget didn’t have a problem with heights involving aircraft, but the unprotected drop she faced here set her terrestrial instincts singing.
Gadget worked her way to a point above the first of the sheet plastic production machines. An overhead tram system, the tracks just beneath her perch in the girders, brought raw pellets of plastic to an open hopper in the top of the machine. The pellets were fed from the hopper by gravity; then melted, pressed, rolled and cooled into sheet plastic. The plastic went immediately into the next stage of the process, being swiftly cut, seamed and partially separated into a continuous strip of plastic packing bags which were taken up on huge rolls.
Gadget took a position above the hopper and unlimbered the sprayer. She gave it a few brisk pumps, twisted the nozzle and aimed a steady stream into the hopper, hitting the pellets being fed in as well as the hopper’s sides. She gave it a good wetting to make sure any refills of the hopper would be exposed to the chemical. Then she picked her way, handhold by handhold, to the next machine in line. And the next, and the next.
“Mr. Moncrief!” Gordon’s voice boomed gleefully through the communication link. “How are you getting along?”
“Splendidly, Mr. Worthing,” Gary responded. “It’s working great. You can see the chemical moving through the plastic. It’s like capillary action. Gwendolen?”
Gadget didn’t speak, and G.G. came on the air. “I’m doing fine, Earnest. I’m ready to refill my tank. Cecily, how about you?”
Gadget hesitated again before she spoke. “Is that me? You’ve got me. I don’t know the reference.”
“It’s Oscar Wilde,” Gary answered. “How are you doing?”
“I’m not even half way. Sorry, I’m not going very fast.”
“Don’t try to,” he warned. “We have plenty of time. As soon as one of us gets done, we’ll come and help. This is a team effort, okay?”
“Okay. Slow but steady.”
Gadget made her way toward the next machine in the line. She scooted along a thin part of the framework until she was over the feed hopper. She set aside her analyzer, aimed the spray gun and leaned out. But she had her left hand on the flat of the girder instead of holding tight to the upright. A bit of dust on the girder allowed her hand to slip and she was suddenly falling head over heels. A moment later she hit a lumpy, yielding surface. Then the surface sank from under her slightly. She was surrounded by steep steel walls. She had fallen into the machine’s feed hopper.
Uh-oh, she thought. She didn’t waste a moment. She rolled on to all fours and ran to and up the side of the hopper. She never got close to the edge and slid down. Remembering she was carrying extra weight, she released her tank harness and dumped it. Again, she took a running start, this time towards the back of the hopper, and climbed as far as her momentum would carry her. Along this side there were rivets holding the seam of the hopper, and her fingertips found a precarious hold on one of them. Her feet scrabbled for purchase, but even with the rubber soles of the sneakers she couldn’t get traction. She fell flat against the side of the hopper, barely hanging on.
“Guys!” she called into the headset. “I need help! I fell in!”
“What! Where are you?” Gary said urgently.
“Machine number fourteen,” Gadget answered. “I fell in the feed hopper! I can’t get out!”
“Everybody move!” Gary barked.
Gadget concentrated on keeping her fingers on the rivet head. Then a sharp movement above her drew her attention. The supply tram had just stopped directly over the hopper.
“Oh, shoot!” she said aloud. A second later an avalanche of plastic pellets, like hailstones the size of her fist, tumbled down on her. She couldn’t keep her grip against the assault and she was dragged back down into the hopper. When she hit, she kept her arms and legs churning to keep from being buried.
Strangely, her mind turned to an afternoon the Rescue Rangers had taken at the beach. She had allowed Dale to bury her in the cool, damp sand with only her head and feet showing. Dale had reached for something in their picnic basket and the tail of his shirt had brushed the soles of her feet, tickling her. She had jerked violently, but the sand held her like concrete. She’d bit her lip hard as the shirttail tormented her, fearing if Dale found she was helpless he’d tickle her without mercy. Gadget knew if the plastic pellets covered her she’d be just as stuck as that afternoon with Dale.
I’d let him tickle me ‘till I had the hiccups if he could get me out of this! she thought.
The pellet tram had only been partially full, and the flow of plastic stopped abruptly. As it was, Gadget was nearly buried to her hips. She dug desperately to free her legs and after a minute pulled herself clear.
She made another all-fours dash for the hopper wall, hoping the additional pellets had raised her enough to reach the edge. Her bid for freedom came up short again, and she caught another rivet head and clung to it, trying to catch her breath even as the gas mask restricted her breathing.
“Gadget! Hold on!” Gary’s voice snapped over the headset. She looked up and saw him, already roped off and making an inverted, head-first descent into the hopper. He lowered himself smoothly until he was almost nose to nose with her. He grabbed her arms and pulled her up.
“Hi-ya, lady. Need a lift?” Gary quipped. “Hey, where’s your harness? I can’t hook us together.”
“I had to ditch it in the...” she looked down into the hopper. The pellets had nearly run out, exposing a spinning steel auger that forced the pellets into the machine. Gadget’s chemical tank hit the auger, split open, was crushed and digested by the machine in seconds. Gadget had just missed going with it.
“Omigosh!” she gasped. “I always wanted to be tall and thin, but not like that!”
“Hold tight,” Gary said. “I’ll get us started back up.” He grabbed the line and pulled. He hauled them up a little way, then something slipped. They sank a short distance and stopped suddenly. “Dang it! The descender fouled. Can you reach it?”
Gadget reached up as far as she could and flailed at the snarled device. “I can’t reach it from here. Let go and I’ll swing up to it.”
“NO! You don’t have a safety line. Just hang on to me and we’ll wait for Gordon and G.G. to pull us up.”
“Oh, golly. Too late,” she groaned. “The feed tram is coming back.”
“Get a good grip!” he urged. He dropped his hand to the small of her back and pulled her against his body tightly. “Wrap your legs around me and hang on tight!”
Gadget kicked upward, flipping herself upside-down, and got her legs around Gary’s waist. His arms wrapped around her body and snugged her as close as he could, his fingertips pressed gently into her back, seeking the last bit of firm grip.
The tram pulled up over the hopper, brushing the line and setting the pair gently swinging. Gary’s gas mask was almost in Gadget’s ear. “Don’t worry,” he said reassuringly. “I won’t let you go. Just hold tight and we’ll be all right.”
Gadget saw the tram stop. “Here it comes.”
The tram dropped its polyvinyl cargo on the helpless rodents. Like being suspended under a waterfall, the plastic tried its best to tear them loose and drag them down. Gadget had her face pressed into Gary’s neck and shoulder, but a piece of the falling plastic hit her ear canal dead center and the pain made her flinch. The torrent caught her ill-fitting gas mask and stripped the mask and her communication headset off her face. She had the presence of mind to not gasp and held her breath.
The downpour suddenly ceased. Gary loosened his grip and allowed Gadget to lean back. He saw her unprotected face, more stunned than scared, more surprised than hurt. The expression of someone that had just received a dagger in the back. She knew her tank of deadly hydrazine chemical had just been burst beneath them. She knew she’d never hold her breath long enough to survive. Gary, clearly, knew it too. He looked her in the eyes with a caring half-smile, an open window to his heart. He reached up and pulled off his gas mask and pressed it firmly against Gadget’s face. Then he closed his eyes, his face calm, perhaps even serene.
Gadget gasped several deep breaths before she realized with horror what his expression meant.
“Gary, don’t do this! Don’t you dare try to do what I think you’re trying to do!”
She tried to push the mask away. With both her arms and all her strength she couldn’t budge his life-giving hand.
“Oh, no! Gary!” she cried frantically. “Oh gosh, no, please don’t do this! Please!”
His eyes opened at the sound of her distress and he smiled again, as if to say, What else would I do? Then he puffed his cheeks with his remaining air into a farcical balloon face, crossing his eyes for good measure. The meaning to Gadget was clear. Hold your breath!
She gasped as she understood. “Buddy breathing!” Gary grinned broadly in affirmation. She took several deep breaths and said, “Okay.”
Gary placed the mask over his face and exhaled sharply. “Of course, buddy breathing. You should have thought of that. If you need a breath, puff your cheeks like I did. When you’re ready to switch, say “over” like on the radio. And don’t forget to exhale when you take the mask to clear the fumes. Over.”
“Oh, golly, Gary. I thought I was going to watch you die in front of my eyes. You’ve got to do a better safety briefing. Over.”
“No need to cash in my chips now. But you’d be worth it.” The line suddenly bobbled. “Oops! What was that? Over.”
Gadget had a better view above and accepted the mask. “It’s G.G. She’s trying to pull us up.”
Gary shook his head sharply and puffed his cheeks. He pressed the mask to his face and spoke into the headset. “G.G., we’re all right. Wait for Gordon.”
“No!” G.G. panted. “That tram might come back.”
Gadget took the mask. “I think I see... Omigosh, Gordon’s coming in fast!”
Gordon was going at top speed, bouncing from girder to girder and making insanely long leaps, only to follow up with shorter, faster bounds that were even more reckless. He launched himself in a long, final leap, landed on all fours next to G.G. and instantly helped her haul on the line. With both of them pulling, Gary and Gadget rose like an elevator.
As they reached the safety of the girder, Gary passed the mask to Gadget. “Let me check the analyzer,” Gadget said. “We may be all right up here.”
G.G. immediately pulled off her own mask and pressed it to Gary’s face, slipping her arm around him as she did. Gary smiled at her and said, “You don’t have to do that.”
She looked deeply into his eyes and silently mouthed, “Yes, I do.”
Gadget took off the gas mask. “We’re okay. The meter is reading zero. The solvent is heavier than air and it hasn’t been pulled up by the draft. We’re safe.”
Everyone sat down and tried to settle their nerves. Gadget looked down on the grumbling machine that had nearly claimed her life.
“I’m sorry, guys. I goofed up big time.”
“We’re just glad you’re okay,” G.G. said. “You called for help as soon as you realized you were in trouble. That kept all of us from doing anything really crazy to save you.”
“You were right, Gordon,” Gadget insisted sadly. “I’m a klutz. Butterfingers Gadget.”
“C’mon,” Gordon said. “I’ve slipped up like that.”
“Me too,” G.G. agreed.
“Twice,” Gary admitted. “However, you are going back to the Vertijet and wait for us.”
“Awww, guys! I want to help.”
“You have helped,” Gary said. “You made all this possible. But now you have no spray tank, no gas mask and no communication headset. And we didn’t have any spare masks.”
“Maybe I can keep watch with my analyzer?” Gadget said hopefully.
All three squirrels pointed at the skylight and said, “GO!”
She went. The others were finished within an hour. They closed the skylight and loaded the gear into the Vertijet. Gary took the plane high into the clear, smooth air for an easy flight back to the hanger.
“I sure hope it works,” Gadget said.
“Relax, Gadget,” Gordon said. “We hosed everything plastic in there except the toilet seats. It’s going to work.”
“With something unproven, I always pray it works,” Gadget said. “I may pray quietly, but I always do.”
“The proof of this pudding won’t be in the eating,” Gary said. “We’ll know when we check your test sample in the hanger.”
* * *
The office kitchen and the fateful sample of cheese was their first stop after arriving at the hanger. They crowded around the counter and watched intently as Gadget re-set her analyzer to detect the deadly toxin embedded in the plastic. She carefully inserted a thin probe through the plastic and watched the meter for several seconds.
Gadget sighed deeply. “The toxin has been neutralized. There’s no trace of it. We’ve succeeded that far, at least.”
“What about the big payoff?” G.G. asked.
Gadget regarded the package a moment, then said, “Let’s see.” And she picked up the package and prepared to rip it open.
“No! Wait!...” Gary shouted.
“Gadget, don’t! Not -- ” G.G. shrilled.
Too late. The package didn’t open, it burst and nearly turned inside-out. The effects of the contents were instantaneous. Gordon recoiled back against the counter and fell into a fit of coughing. G.G. choked and pivoted to the sink, spun the cold water on and shoved her nose under the stream. Gadget’s eyes clouded with tears and she nearly gagged as she stumbled back, covering her nose with both hands. Only Gary, who prided himself on having the poorest sense of smell in the animal kingdom, was able to act. He grabbed a plastic bag and swept the entire experiment into it, then ran backwards down the hallway, trailing the bag to keep the fumes behind him. Gadget came after him a moment later, certain he had run the wrong way.
Gadget followed Gary onto the fire escape. He grabbed one of the escape trolleys and speared the bag on the handle, then gave it a mighty shove into the night. The downslope of the cable kept it going. Gordon and G.G. came onto the deck a few seconds later, gasping in the pure air.
“Great fiery pits of perdition, Gadget,” Gary wheezed. “That is the worst thing I’ve ever smelled that hadn’t been floating for a week. It was just mercaptin sulfur you used, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” she replied between coughs. “It’s the same thing they use to put the odor in natural gas. I didn’t think it’d be so strong. As bad as it is, it’s not enough to harm anyone that eats it”
“Eats it! I’ll be surprised if anyone can look at it!” Gary said.
G.G. patted Gadget on the back. “Well, when you decide to raise a stink, you don’t go halfway.”
“Do you think twelve hundred feet will be far enough away?” Gordon said, his voice rasping.
“I’ll go out and bury it later.” Gary assured him. “How long before that smell clears out?”
“It should clear out in just a few minutes,” Gadget said.
“Okay,” Gary said quietly. “Once we can go in, lets clean up the office and pack our gear. We’ve done what we could to save the little part of the world we could reach. It’s time to go home.”
* * *
Two days later, Gadget came upon Monterey Jack in front of the television in Rescue Ranger headquarters, looking as if a dairymen’s strike had just been declared.
“Crikies, luv, have you heard the horrible news?”
“What is it Monty? A natural disaster? A world-conquering evil scientist? A planet-smashing meteorite?”
“Oh, luv! It’s a cheese recall!”
“It is!?” She perked up considerably at this. It had been the goal of the entire sabotage effort, and it sounded like it had worked.
“Too right! Thousands and thousands of pounds of cheese and it’s all gonna be destroyed!”
“There, there,” she said, gently patting his shoulder. “I heard something had gone bad with that particular batch of cheese. Something to do with the packaging.”
“They’re recalling the packaging, too,” Monty said sadly. “But all that cheeeese!”
“It’s for the best. You wouldn’t want anyone to get sick, would you?”
“Of course not, luv.” Monty said with a smile. He could bounce back from adversity with the speed of a racquetball. “There’s plenty of other cheese, I suppose. I’ve got some bonzo Swiss stashed away. Join me?”
“Not this time, Monty,” she said with a conspiratorial tone. “I was going to raid Dale’s stash of peanut butter. I think I’m pretty much cheesed out.”
* * *