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.