Part Two
                   Rehearsal -- Hearse Rental

     "And these are some old friends of mine from back East." Tham
smiled and indicated the two small mice, both having brown fur so dark
that it appeared almost black. They made a polite bow to Chip, which he
returned, noticing that one had a white mustache, while the other sported
a pair of small, well-trimmed white sideburns.
     "This is Ding," Tham motioned to the one with the mustache, "and
his brother Dong," he said as he indicated the one with the sideburns.
"They're both from the Hostess clan."
     "How about that?" Chip replied with a smile.
     Most of the guests were gathered in the hall, milling about and
generally socializing. A few, such as Dale and Foxglove, weren't up yet,
but that wasn't a big surprise. The guest count was a fairly modest
number, and was populated by some of Kan and Tham's old friends
as well as some mutual friends they had with the Rangers; through their
correspondence, the Rangers had told Kan and Tham about a few of their
own close friends, and the engaged couple had extended an invitation to them
as well. This was, Tham pointed out, a time for celebration and futher
solidifying the bonds of kith.
     Besides, Kan had added, the guest list was pretty small, anyway.
     Thus, in addition to the small group of clan members and friends of
Tham and Kan, a few of the Rangers' affiliations were in attendance, as
well.
     Gadget and Monterey's old friend Janice had arrived that morning,
her young son Henry quietly sleeping in one of the chairs; if no cartoons
were on, it was too early for him to be up. 
     "I'm really glad you could make it," Gadget said as she hugged her
old friend hello.
     "Glad to be here, Gadget," Janice replied as she returned the hug.
"The last wedding I was at was my own, and that was longer ago than I
care to admit."
     Monterey Jack grinned. "Ah, 'fore you know it, Janice, ol' Henry
will be up in front of the altar."
     Janice stole a glance at her sleeping son, and smiled. "Oh, I suspect
no matter when it will happen, it'll be too soon for me. Entrusting
someone else to care for your child is hard to do." She turned and smiled
wider at Monterey. "Besides, I keep hoping that you'll finally meet
someone and settle down first, so I won't be the last to be 'domesticated'
out of our little group."
     Monterey laughed, but Gadget looked puzzled. "How do you mean,
Janice?"
     "Oh, just an old joke, hon," Janice replied. "Geegaw used to tell us,
jokingly, that he was domesticated when he got married, as he wasn't
able to do everything on a whim anymore. Sid -- you never met him,
Gadget -- was the next, and then me. Monterey here is one of the last
ones from our old adventuring group who still hasn't been 'tied by the
knot', as Sid used to say."
     "Well," Monterey said as he nonchalantly twirled his moustache, "I haven't
heard from either Card or Hatch in a long time. They might have been
hitched."
     "Maybe," Janice smiled, "but I want to be at the actual wedding so I
can point and snicker."
     "I'm not sure the future spouse would take it that well," Gadget
replied, but she also couldn't help but giggle at the thought of Janice -- of all
people -- doing that during Monterey's wedding.
     "I guess we'll have to wait and see, then," Monterey quipped, "who
catches the timebombs at the reception here."
     "Timebombs?" Gadget blinked.
     "The bouquet and the garter," Janice clarified. "And being single,
we're all vulnerable."
     This thought sobered them for a few seconds before they gave in
and laughed.
     Across the dance floor from them, Chip's close childhood friend
Tim was also present, along with his wife, Catherine, and their three
girls: Cindy, Ann, and Serena. Catherine was carrying Serena this time,
the baby squirrel fast asleep. The preschoolers, Cindy and Ann, were
busy inspecting some of the flowers on the tables, Cindy explaining to
Ann in "older sister" tones what each one was and the history behind it:
     "This is a Lady Flower."
     "What's it do?"
     "It's for the ladies. It... it grows up real big and stuff when the
ladies hold it."
     "Wow...." Ann stared wide-eyed at the small daisy and reached for
it, but Cindy pulled the hand back.
     "No," she chastised Ann in official older sibling tones of
disapproval. "You'll ruin it."
     "I'm a lady!"
     "You're just a girl."
     "Well you touch it, then! I wanna see it get all big."
     "No, I'm just a young lady."
     "Really?"
     "Sure. That's what momma always says. But I'll be a big lady
soon."
     "How long?"
     "I dunno. I heard daddy say we'll be grown before he knows it, so I
guess we'll get big in a few months."
     "Yeah."
     The musicians had arrived the night before, as promised, and had already
gone through a few of the numbers. The reception music would be easy;
plenty of old and new favorites that the band had played before. The
tricky part would be the music during the wedding ceremony itself,
mainly meant for the guests waiting outside the shrine. The band hadn't
played appropriate accompanying music for a wedding before, so had
worked on that for most of their practice session last night. From their
spot in front of the Shinto shrine, the music would easily be heard by
those within, so they wanted to be sure they got it right.
     At the moment, however, most of the band members were cleaning
instruments, checking music sheets, or even doing a few quiet practice
bars.
     "I don't know, Zipper," Skip shook his head as he looked over his
group and then turned his attention to the CD player and mini-speakers
that had been hooked up. "How much time should we split between the
two? I mean, the band wants to be able to get in some dance time
themselves, and there are some things that sound better on CD, too...."
     Don't forget about Karaoke, Zipper's buzzing informed.
     "Yeah, yeah, good point," Skip nodded. "Man. Karoke at a
wedding. And I guess what really blows my mind is that this is typical for
a lot of Japanese weddings. They really enjoy it. Why can't we be more
like them?"
     Some of it isn't Karaoke, Zipper's posture pointed out. Kan was
telling me of a few people who sing a capella, which is as far from
Karaoke as you can get while still being vocal music.
     "Can't argue with you there. I hope I have enough selections, then.
But if they ask me to play the Funky Chicken, they'll be disappointed."
     Can't say as you'll be disappointing me, Zipper chuckled.
     "Okay, everyone," Tham clapped his hands a couple of times to get
the crowd's attention. "Let's go ahead and do a dry run, then. All of you
who aren't directly involved in the ceremony are free to leave now, if you
wish, or wait here. Right now, we only need those of you who will be part
of the actual ceremony."
     The Rangers and Foxglove said their goodbyes to the various guests
who took their leave, then everyone involved in the ceremony fell into
place behind Tham and headed in towards the shrine. Kan, however,
stopped everyone except for her fiance at the front of the shrine, knowing that
none of them would know the proper etiquette needed to enter. Tham
went over to the side of the shrine where (to the confusion of Foxglove
and the Rangers) he proceeded to clean his hands and mouth in some
basins apparently set up for that purpose, before disappearing inside the
shrine.
     "What was that all about?" Dale asked for the group.
     "Part of the procedure of entering the shrine," Kan replied, taking the
point to lead them step-by-step through it. "First, you should know that
this entrance gate, called the torii, is purposefully built to block people
outside from seeing inside, and vice versa. It separates the secular world
from the spiritual one. Very much like the sacred spaces within Catholic 
Churches, to step inside here is to enter a very sacred and solemn place of
worship.
     "That reminds me," she said, turning to face the group of
Westerners. "Does anyone here have an open wound? Is anyone in mourning?
Sick?"
     "Mentally?" Chip grinned at Dale, who looked back with a look of
total non-comprehension.
     "Why would that matter, Kan?" Gadget inquired.
     "Such people are considered impure," Kan replied. "The shrine is a place
to seek good fortune and turn away evil spirits, so great care is taken to
ensure that it remains free from impure influences." She then motioned
them over to the basins on the side. "Before entering, you must cleanse
your hands and mouth with fresh water, to purify you." She proceeded to
do so, then stepped aside to give the others room. They heard a couple of
claps from within the shrine, then silence.
     Dale felt like he was at his mother's house for Thanksgiving dinner
as he washed up, but still, he thought it was kind of cool. Maybe this meant
they'd be serving snacks inside.
     They followed Kan into the shrine, where Tham was standing still,
eyes closed.
     "Is he praying?" Foxglove asked, not sure if it was that or he was
asleep.
     Kan nodded, though, and replied quietly, "Yes. You don't need to
worry about it unless you plan to pray, but if so, you would bow deeply twice,
clap twice, and bow deeply once more before praying. Before that,
though, you would drop an offering of some kind into the box," she
motioned to a modest box near the front of the room.
     The Rangers and Foxglove glanced about, now that they were
inside for the first time. The walls were black with red trim, and only a
few simple objects were seen, including the box. One of them, Chip
recognized, was a small standing tray with the nuptial cups Tham had
informed them about last night. The Shinto priest who was waiting near the
center of the room smiled warmly at them, his fur a rich brown with
faded spots of tan, indicating his elderly stature.
     He was flanked by two small, young, female mice dressed in white,
apparently in their late teens. Tham had mentioned that they were the
assistants to the priest, called Miko, and as in most cases, were the
priest's daughters. They smiled politely in greeting to the visitors.
     Everyone got into their places as the dry run started, the Shinto
priest explaining to each Ranger what their purpose was in the ceremony,
while Kan and Tham were already aware of the procedures for their
wedding.
     Even during the build-up to this momentous occasion, Chip had to
wonder in the back of his mind what was going on in the criminal
underworld. But he chided himself on pondering over crime-fighting
when he should be devoting his attention to Kan and Tham's marriage,
which they all had been honored enough to receive the chance to participate in.
     If some underworld slime was slithering about, they'd hear about it
soon enough.

                         *     *     *

     "Is everything in place?" Morty asked his underlings as they
prepared to move out with their groups to the Ivy Crest.
     "Yeah boss, all set," Harvey (a.k.a. The Wonder Hamster)
answered with a nod. "We'll be ready to rock n' roll come the signal."
     "Good." Morty nodded, then walked to the front of the assembled
crowd, and projected his voice in the manner that only a trained
professional speaker could. "If I may offer you one piece of advice
for tonight, it's to avoid direct one-on-one fights. There will
undoubtedly be several martial artists there, and each one of them will be
able to wipe the floor with your scalps, even if they've consumed enough
alcohol to stun a bull elephant. You all suck compared to them, so save
yourselves the humiliation and pain of trying to take them on
individually.
     "You have the advantage of numbers; use it. Gang up
mercilessly on them. Fight dirty. Kick them in the shins. Hit them with
small, blunt objects from behind. Don't let any of them trick you with
that 'honor' crud. Upturn tables at them, throw dishes at them, use anything it
takes to beat them without fighting fair. We are the scum of the animal
society; let's start acting like it."
     A loud cheer rose up in support of Morty's simple, but informative,
advice. Sometimes, speaking bluntly worked so much better than the
false padding of egos.

                         *     *     *

     "Hello handsome."
     Dale and Zipper blinked and glanced around. They had been
heading back to the ceremonial hall after their quick trip to the cafe, while
everyone else was settling in for some more introductions. The rehearsal
had finished a while ago, those involved in the ceremony knowing their
respective parts -- Dale had even crafted a cheat sheet for himself, just to
be on the safe side.
     Now the chipmunk and the fly stopped at the corner of the stairs,
where the corridor leading from the hall emptied out into the lobby.
     "You hear something?" Dale asked Zipper, who nodded in return,
then pointed to a female mouse-like animal. Dale wasn't sure of her
precise species, but Zipper's ongoing general research into all the animals
which might eat him (which was a distressingly large amount) allowed
the sharp-minded fly to place her as a water vole.
     Makes sense, he thought to himself. She'd be likely to be by the
waterfront.
     The lady, about the same age as Dale, smiled at him with what
could only be described as predator's eyes, as if she were sizing him up
in the manner of a tasty snack. Dale felt the same nervous shiver he
had felt when Kan first shot him what she called her Ultimate Tease [TM]
gaze. The water vole's eyes were a rich, coal black, while her fur-tight
dress nicely revealed her hourglass figure. Long, luxurious, rich deep
brown hair ran smoothly from her head around her bare shoulders, so
enticingly in view thanks to her strapless evening gown. Indeed, there was
more of her supple, tawny fur in view than the reddish-violet weave of
her dress.
     Dale longed for Foxglove's presence -- he needed protection
desperately.
     She elegantly swayed over to him, lightly running a pair of
slender fingers up along his shirt, murmuring, "You know how much I
*love* Hawaiian shirts?"
     "Uh...." Dale struggled for a snappy response. "No." Not quite what
he felt a witty reply should consist of, but the best he could do on such
short notice.
     Zipper glanced back and forth between Dale and the advancing
man-eater, wondering if he should try to intervene or just enjoy a few
laughs.
     "I think there's something I should tell you," she whispered lightly,
expertly playing with the small tuft of fur on his chest.
     "Wh-wh-wh-wh-wh-wh-what's that?" Dale masterfully replied.
Man, he thought, Dirk Suave makes this look so *easy*! How's he do it?
     Zipper, meanwhile, had settled back on the check-in counter with
some chips to enjoy the show. Cable couldn't hold a candle to live events like
this.
     Meanwhile, the mysterious water vole gave a throaty chuckle and
leaned up a bit to Dale's ears. For his own part, Dale acted like most prey
victims do as a last resort; remain absolutely rigid in hopes the predator
would mistake you for dead and wander off in search of live prey. Thus,
his rigor mortis had already dug in and set-up base camp as her full lips
brushed against the very edge of his ears, her voluptuous figure pressing
firmly against him as she stood on her tip-toes to reach.
     Only a few seconds of whispering, and then she drew back.
     Only a few minutes of petrified fear, and Dale's brain had finally
managed to get the choke out and start up again after a few yanks on the
pullcord.
     "What?" he finally managed, all nervousness now replaced by
confusion.
     Zipper frowned. Show's over already?
     The enticing woman merely gave him a long, inviting wink, then
slowly sashayed away, towards the cafe. She paused long enough to cast
a sultry gaze back over her shoulder at him and add, "A pleasure to meet
you, kind sir. I'll be around." Then, knowing full well it would take Dale
several more minutes before he remembered how to operate his eyelids,
let alone his limbs, she gracefully moved off and disappeared into the
cafe.
     Zipper sighed at the quick wrap-up to the entertainment, then flitted
over to Dale to help speed him along the path of recovery. Stretching out
Dale's tail fully, he let it snap back with considerable force.
     "Ow!" Dale jumped, firmly returned to reality thanks to his pain
sensors. He lightly rubbed the sore spot, then turned to face Zipper. "I
wish you'd figure out a better way to bring me around than that," he
grumbled.
     Zipper just sported an innocent grin, showing that the fly was
merely attempting to resurrect his fellow Ranger.
     "Yeah, whatever," Dale mumbled, starting to limp back to the hall.
"Well, that was really strange."
     What's that? Zipper chuckled. Another knockout female coming on
to you?
     "Yeah--hey!" Dale frowned at Zipper, then looked thoughtful.
"Well, actually, yeah."
     This made Zipper blink. Come again?
     "Well, it wasn't a come-on," Dale explained, crossing his arms in
puzzlement. "It was a message, from Sewer Al."
     Zipper glanced back to where they had last spotted the water vole,
then looked back to Dale, waiting.
     "She said that after the ruckus tonight, we should meet Sewer Al.
He has some information for us."
     For us? Zipper stroked his chin as he thought. But he never solicits
information; people always come to him.
     "And he never gives out free advice," Dale agreed as they headed
back to the secluded hall. "A hefty fee of books always follows."
     Maybe he thinks we have a book he's after? Zipper's shrug
suggested.
     "Maybe," Dale replied. "But I don't trust him, Zip. He's too
creepy."
     While I don't think his creepiness has much to do with it, Zipper's
wry grin responded, I do agree that he's not the sort I'd turn my back on.
He'd just as soon kill you as save you, if the price is right.
     "Yeah, and this sudden offer of help stinks more than his home
does." Dale sighed. "But I gotta hand it to him, whatever he gets out of
his deals, he does come through. I mean, if he really does have something
to tell us, I bet it's real important."
     Zipper nodded glumly, then motioned that he wondered what that
water vole meant by a ruckus, though. This was just a rehearsal, after all,
not the actual reception.
     "I dunno, Zip," Dale said. "Unless there's some party going on we
don't know about, I dunno what she means by--"
     The two Rangers stopped dead in their tracks as they turned the
corner to the closed heavy double doors, which led into the hall. Various
shouts and screams seeped through.
     "Ruckus," Dale finished while he and Zipper stayed there in a
momentary daze, then burst forward.
     Kicking the doors to open them, Dale yelped and fell back, his foot
bouncing harmlessly off the thick wood. The doors had been barred shut
from the other side. He gasped as he carefully stood up; his foot was in
pain, but didn't seem to be sprained or broken.
     Zipper looked helplessly at the barred portal -- he certainly couldn't
knock them open if Dale couldn't, and there were no small openings
or crevices for him to slip through, either.
     The agitated housefly turned to his friend. What do we do? We have
to get in there!
     "I know, I know!" Dale glanced about, but honestly couldn't recall
any other ways in.
     Zipper quickly squeaked out his plan to go get help, as maybe the
manager or desk clerk would know of another way.
     "Good idea," Dale nodded. "I'll keep working on the doors, just in
case."
     As Zipper shot back out to the rest of the hotel, Dale backed up a
bit, settled into a linebacker's crouch, and then shot off to ram himself
fiercely against the double doors. His rebound sent him bouncing down
the hall a few inches, and ended with him flopping over face-first to the
floor.
     "This isn't working...." he grumbled to himself in a daze.

     The inside of the hall was, as Dale and Zipper feared, the site of a
massive brawl. And for the first time in several years, Tham was worried
about the outcome.
     It was too late to order replacement place settings, after all.
     For years to come, Kan and Tham's wedding rehearsal would
always be remembered for Kan's rallying cry: "Save the dinnerware!"
She held great faith in her guest's ability to not only defeat these
"gangsters" -- as they called themselves -- but also to accomplish their
victory with minimal harm to themselves.
     She was not, however, so hopeful about her wedding ceremony
ordnances. Particularly when a number of the intruders started
attempting to use them as weapons. Kan wanted her wedding to be
perfect, and if any of these attacking goons so much as nicked a plate or
scratched a table... well, she would have to ask that any children leave at
once.
     Not that they could, sadly. The gangsters had popped in out of
nowhere, apparently from some access tunnels of some sort near the back
walls. As others poured in, the first ones through had shut the doors and
barred them before the surprised occupants could react. The invaders than
claimed that "...the gangsters of the sewers..." were going to do a "good
ol' fashioned lootin' and pillagin'", and asked that their supposed "victims"
put up a fight. It would make the whole thing more satisfying.
     Kan had no clue if this was typical behavior for Western criminals,
but she doubted it.  Otherwise, this stupidity would have allowed the A.P.F.
to keep the criminal activities down to jaywalking and littering.
     Whatever the collective I.Q. of the attackers, Kan and the rest of the
wedding party decided to oblige them. When the gangsters made their
initial rush, the wedding party, led by Monterey, met them head on.
Tham had tried to interject and at least attempt to settle things non-
violently, but Kan (and Monterey) would not give him the chance.
Monterey enjoyed brawls too much.
     And Kan's wedding rehearsal had been interrupted, quite possibly
causing a delay to the actual event.
     She needed to work through a lot of sudden negative emotions, and
beating the interlopers senseless seemed like an excellent way to achieve
such an end.
     Foxglove was flying overhead, grateful for the spacious interior and
high ceiling of the hall. She really wasn't a fighter, but still wanted to
help out her friends. Her manner of assistance quickly turned out to be a
rescue service for the constant presence of airborne dishes, gifts, and
other items being tossed in the air, whether accidentally or purposefully.
Soon, all of her time was devoted to snatching breakables out of their
current arc, swooping over to a secluded corner of the hall, and carefully
placing them down before going back for another load. 
     In her haste on one of these errands, she failed to notice one of the
crooks advance menacingly on Janice, who had placed herself in
between him and Henry. The small boy had been asleep before the attack
had started, and was proving he was a true deep sleeper, not having even
stirred once during the entire event thus far.
     Janice looked at the encroaching mouse with horror and fright.
"Surely you wouldn't harm a mother who's merely trying to protect her
only child?!" she pleaded.
     The mouse looked at Henry, sleeping peacefully in one of the pews.
"Uh, no, I guess--"
     Janice cut him off with a powerful right hook to his jaw, quickly
followed by a sharp rabbit punch. As he doubled over in pain, a strong
uppercut sent him flat on his back, out cold.  "That's what I was counting
on," she explained cheerfully to the unconscious form sprawled out on
the floor.
     Things weren't as simple in the dining area by the dance floor, as
the battle cry reminded people.
     "We cannot fight if we are too busy saving the plates and floral
arrangements," Tham grumbled to Monterey, the two of them not
fighting so much as preventing their oppenonets from breaking anything.
     "I think that's their plan, mate," Monterey couldn't help but chuckle
in reply as he snagged a few more teacups out of the air and set them
down quickly, just in time to defend himself from another attacker.
     "We need to move them away from the tables," Tham continued,
balancing a stack of plates in one hand while he blocked one of the gang
member's attacks with the other arm. "You think you can handle it?" He
grinned to Monterey, who merely laughed in response.
     "Too right, mate!" the boisterous Aussie exclaimed, diving for
Tham's attacker, he and Tham in effect suddenly switching enemies.
Monterey tackled the outmatched thug easily, hoisted him overhead, and
made a shotput throw to make any Olympian turn green with envy. The
crook, despite his flailing, sailed clear over the tables, landing squarely in
the aisle, about halfway down toward the barred double-doors. As he struggled to
his feet, he was knocked flat again by one of his fellow partners in crime
who had wound up too close to Monterey's catapulting service.
     Janice stepped up from behind and politely convinced the two
crooks to remain motionless by knocking each of them out with an
effective punch to the head.
     Henry yawned, stretched, rolled over, and continued to sleep.
     "The cake!" Gadget screamed in alarm -- she, like all the other
guests, rightly believed in the rallying cry.
     Chip snapped his head around from his current adversary to see a
mouse start to hoist the top layer up, in order to throw it, no doubt. Needing
to get over there in a hurry, Chip abandoned tact and swiftly kicked his
foe in the shin. When the thug bent over in pain, a pair of Chip's forked
fingers jabbed in the gangster's eyes, momentarily incapacitating him
and allowing Chip to dash off towards the latest crisis.
     Crouching down as best he could while making a run for it, Chip
sprang directly for the mouse at the cake, catching him in mid-turn
perfectly. The tackle knocked the cake layer up out of the mouse's hands
harmlessly, but as Chip rammed into the ground with the criminal, the
leader of the Rescue Rangers realized he was too preoccupied to catch the
cake layer himself.
     "Skip!" he yelled out, hoping his old friend was nearby.
     "What?" Skip's voice replied.
     "Cake!"
     "What?" Skip repeated, then spotted the descending piece of
bakery.  His heart dropped. He doubted Kan would take it out on him
if her wedding's formality was diminished due to the cake's being
incomplete, but he had no desire to test this theory.
     A strong horizonal jump landed him on his stomach, sliding directly
under the flavorful dessert moments before it would have smashed into
oblivion against the hardwood floor. His hands caught it delicately, so as
not to damage it; sadly, his head did not receive as gentle a treatment as it
thumped into a table leg, putting him on "time out" status for a few
moments. Fortunately, at least it had brought him to a halt; a few more
inches would have placed him at the feet of a ring of invaders who had
surrounded Ding and Dong.
     Even worse, all of these mobsters had finally gotten a clue and had grabbed
the knifes and forks from the tables. Now armed, they had intended to
make short work of these two fairly slow-looking mice.
     They were, naturally, dead wrong.
     The Oriental mice had each managed to snatch up two pairs of
chopsticks; one for each hand. In a dazzling display of "woodwork", they
effortlessly used the chopsticks to deflect each jab and thrust of the metal
dining implements, never breaking the chopsticks or getting them
caught. Fighting back-to-back, the brothers didn't speak a single word to
each other. In fact, they seemed to be humming a duet.
     An attacker blinked, which Dong was quick to capitalize on;
snapping out his chopsticks, the martial artist caught the opposing
mouse's whiskers firmly and pulled the entire head down, directly into an
oncoming foot.
     The unconscious attacker's knife clattered to the floor, and Ding
swung his foot around, kicking it up in mid-bounce and sending it end-over
-end through the air towards Tham. He gave a quick shout to Tham,
who took one look, snagged the knife in midair, and redirected its course
with far more power and speed. The humble piece of cutlery finally ended
its exciting life as a projectile as the handle bounced solidly off of the
head of a gangster on the other side of the dining area. The victim, never
even having seen the speeding object, collapsed with a grunt to the floor
right behind Gadget, who had been too busy tying up the growing
number of downed oppenents to even notice the thug's unconscious form
lying only centimeters from her.
     She looked up curiously in front of her, oblivious to the body
behind her.
     "Someone call me?" Her eyes glanced about, but didn't see anyone
looking at her. She shrugged and went back to work, wishing she had
brought a Syrup-Slinger along. Her contemplations prevented her from
noticing yet another criminal's body sailing high overhead to crash in the
growing pile near Janice.
     The widow was getting worried, now. Sooner or later, some of
these party crashers were going to wise up and approach her as a serious
opponent. Worse yet, they might get the idea to use Henry as a hostage.
She had no desire to try and carry Henry through the hall-wide battle, and,
glancing up, grinned when she spotted the little boy's salvation.
     "Foxglove!"
     The bat swiveled in mid-air, changing her course to swing in
towards Janice. "What?"
     "Can you be a dear and drop Henry off in a safe corner?" She held
up her sleeping son. "Better yet, gently set him down? I'd hate for him to
wake up right now."
     "Can do!" Foxglove assured her, swooping in and grabbing Henry
as gently as she could. She quickly flapped to rise over the level of
airborne items around her; plates, chairs, gangsters propelled by
Monterey. Once clear, she easily glided over to place Henry behind the
growing pile of breakables in the corner. Inwardly, she knew she had to
be careful not to wake him -- an active little boy near a large pile of
fragile objects would be courting disaster.
     Henry twitched slightly in Foxglove's grasp, but remained asleep as
she delicately settled him down, even covering him with a tablecloth she
had rescued. He smiled as he snuggled up, and Foxglove would have
liked to think of this as a tender moment if not for the screams and cries
of battle erupting around them.
     She stood up and launched herself back into the air, then
remembered in a flash that Tim and Catherine were here as well, and they
had young children, too. She became alarmed as she realized that they
might not have been nearly as lucky as Janice had been in avoiding
endangerment to her child.
     Circling over the room, she scanned the confusion below as best
she could, calling out for Tim and Catherine. An answering call from the
edge of the dining area grabbed her attention, and enabled her to spot
Tim waving frantically to her. He was half-hidden under one of the
tables, and as the bat swooped down in, she spotted the rest of his family
tucked away under it, behind him.
     "I can get the girls to a safe corner," Foxglove quickly explained
over the din of background shouts.
     Tim quickly nodded his appreciation, and quickly ushered up Ann
and Cindy. The girls were frightened, but their father kissed them each on
the head and promised them that they would be okay. Ann and Cindy
shivered, but nodded bravely. Their daddy wouldn't lie to them.
     Foxglove hopped up in a hover and held each girl gently, but firmly,
in one of her claws. Tim handed Serena over Ann, kissing the baby as
well before Foxglove sweep up into the air, and headed for safety, the
girls being carried free from danger.
     "They're safe," Tim sighed in relief as he watched Foxglove settle
out of sight behind the pile of wedding decorations in the corner. "Now
we just need to get over there ourselves."
     "How?" Catherine winced at the fighting between them and the
edge of the dining area.
     "I'm not sure, but Foxglove is leaving the pile, probably to help out
the others some more. We need to get over there to protect the girls on
the off-chance some brute wanders over that way."
     Catherine looked around again, worried. "I guess we'll just have to
make a break for it and hope for the best." She fretted. "If only we had a
blocker of some kind!"
     Tim glanced up at the table, then smiled. "Works for me."
     Long ago, Catherine had learned that when her husband had that
boyish glint in his eyes, it was officially time to worry.
     It was why she had fallen in love with him in the first place, after
all.
     Chip grappled with yet another party-crasher, this time over by the
musicians' area. The thug had tried to lift up a chair to use as a weapon,
but Chip had grabbed it, and now they were fighting over a seat even
worse than several Star Wares fans had done during the premiere of the latest
film.
     The thug blinked as he felt Chip's force suddenly go slack, and saw
the chipmunk looking behind him with an expression of shock. Not about
to fall for it, the crook yanked the chair free and was about to bash it over
Chip's head when the Ranger turned and bolted. The thug turned around
just in time to catch the full brunt of a charging perpendicular table,
powered by two determined parents.
     They barreled through several of the crooks, and once they reached
the edge of the dining area, dropped it and darted down to the heap of
breakables in the corner. Kan watched them go with a frown, but when
she saw them embrace their kids, the bride immediately dismissed the
table as an acceptable loss.
     She'd just make a new one from the bones of these uninvited
guests.
     
     Zipper had just arrived at the front desk, but before he could
frantically flag down one of the desk clerks, he spotted a large raccoon
heading down the stairwell. This garnered the sharp-eyed fly's attention
for two reasons.
     First, it was a tight fit for the raccoon; the Ivy Crest mainly catered
to animals of rodent-size. Raccoons, cats, dogs, and other larger animals
would find the accommodations somewhat cramped.
     Secondly -- and far more important -- Zipper spotted the ornamental
object which was being held by the raccoon.
     That's the Time Blade! Zipper's shocked glare read. What are
*you* doing with it?!
     "I'm stealing it," Morty replied with a sigh, not bothering to stop
walking towards the door. "I thought it would be obvious."
     Zipper flitted over in front of the raccoon and held out his hand
imposingly.
     Not so fast, the solemn fly's posture read.
     Ironically, Morty moved faster than Zipper would have guessed,
plucking him from the air with his free hand. Only Zipper's head was
free of the raccoon's grasp.
     "That was really stupid," Morty observed to his captive. "I'm
amazed you've managed to avoid no-pest strips this long."
     Zipper's uncomfortable squeaks expressed that there was no need to
get insulting. Morty merely rolled his eyes and shook his head, then
glanced back around. People were now watching him with surprise.
Certainly, his current position probably made them wonder if he was
going to kill Zipper. He didn't have any intention of it offhand; crushing
the fly bare-handed was too messy for his tastes. Glancing at the watch
on the wall, he decided it might be better to go and clear out the hall. Zipper
was probably out here to get help, after all. Morty figured that by now, his
thugs were getting their senses beaten in, and they could use a humiliating
rescue from their boss.
     "Excuse us," Morty said to the gathering crowd. "I think this bug
and I are needed elsewhere." As he headed down the hallway, the rodents
could only glance at each other in puzzlement and apathy. Morty knew in
a few minutes one of them would finally evolve to a phylum with a
backbone, and notify security. A few minutes was all he needed,
however.
     What are you doing? Zipper managed to squeak out, only to be
answered by a contraction of Morty's fist. The fly gasped for breath,
coughing slightly at the forced exhalation.
     "Be quiet and you'll find out," the raccoon replied evenly.
     They rounded the last corner to find Dale still striving and pushing
with all his might against the unyielding double doors.
     "They're barred from the other side," Morty offered, causing Dale
to glance up in surprise and momentarily elation.
     "All right, Zip must've gotten help!" Dale grinned, then noticed
Zipper was present. Alarmingly, in the raccoon's tightened fist. Zipper
gave Dale a slight simper, letting the chipmunk know things had jumped
from "Bad Bad" to "Bad Bad Bad Bad".
     The three of them stood in an awkward silence for a few moments.
Dale felt something profound should be said, but all he could think of was to
state the obvious. Lacking anything more worthwhile to say, he decided
to give it a shot.
     "Uhm, you've got Zipper, you know."
     "Yes. Yes, I do."
     "Uh, I also see you have the Time Blade."
     "Yes. Yes, I do."
     Dale scratched his head and looked at the large raccoon who was
conveniently blocking the only exit out of this current dead end.
     "You... uh..." Dale started, then smiled at Morty. "You're a bad
guy, aren't you?"
     "Yes. Yes, I am." The raccoon nodded amiably.
     Zipper was starting to get a little annoyed. *He* hadn't been shown
this courtesy when the raccoon first met him. Of course, Zipper had
willfully attempted to thwart the raccoon's escape -- if one could consider
walking down the stairs an escape -- so maybe he had it coming.
     "My name is Morty," the raccoon went on, tucking the Time Blade
under his other arm and extending his free paw to Dale for a friendly
shake.
     "Pleased to met you. My name's Dale," Dale replied in kind, his
mind's auto-reset feature kicking in. He walked over and shook Morty's
large paw affably.
     "May I call you Battering Dale?"
     Dale frowned. "Why?"

     Kan spun around with a start at the loud noise of breaking wood. At
first, she feared they had lost the buffet table, of maybe part of the shrine,
as the echos made it difficult to say from whence the noise originated
from. But the next sound effectively answered that question.
     "Zipper is going to be pulped into every camper's favorite drink:
bug juice," a dry, cynical voice cut through the rumble, "unless I receive
everyone's undivided attention." Everyone halted their current endeavor,
and turned to face the speaker. It was a large raccoon, wearing a black
and white jean jacket, standing in the doorway, and holding up a captured
Zipper in his hands for all to see.
     To prove he was in a splendid position to carry out his threat, Morty
squeezed Zipper forcefully. Zipper squeaked out in pain, and Morty
chuckled.
     "Better than a rubber duckie."
     As Kan moved slowly over to better see down the aisle, she spotted
what had caused the doors to splinter in through the crossbeam that had been
holding them shut: poor Dale was strewn out over the remains of the
double doors, having been heaved through them with massive force. Even
though he was not quite out, it was obvious that he was not going to be of
any help for a while.
     "I'm a rodeo bullfighter...." he mumbled, not moving.
     "Dale!" Foxglove swooped down to the fallen chipmunk, Morty
merely watching her carefully. Once he was satisfied that her attention
was reserved for the badly-dressed Rescue Ranger, he looked back up to
his awaiting audience.
     "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced in a crisp, projected voice,
"boys and girls, and my henchmen; it is time that I, and my colleagues, take
our leave. Please, do not attempt to stop us, follow us, or do anything else
which would hinder our departure. I rightly doubt your desire to have this
impending marriage marred by the death of one of your guests."
     Zipper struggled, but Morty's grip was too strong, and his hand was
too big for Zipper to effectively maneuver in. Zipper had hoped to use the
standard escape procedure of biting Morty's hand, but the larger
mammal's fur was thick and coarse enough to block most of the pain,
even if Zipper *could* have managed to reach over for an effective bite.
     Morty's thugs slowly began to head towards the exit, the
unconscious ones being carried out. Tham did a quick visual check
around; all of the guests seemed to be in good health. Skip was rubbing
his head, but was standing and otherwise unharmed. The cake was
separated, but not mashed or destroyed. A few chairs and tables had been
banged up, but none broken. All the breakables were safely in the far
corner, intact, thanks to Foxglove.
     The cool-headed groom directed his attention to Morty, now,
studying the raccoon for when they next met -- knowing his bride, she
would be adamant on such a reunion. It was then that he noticed the other
object carried by Morty.
     Tham's Time Blade. Tham's sole link to his parents. Tham's
*birthright*.
     Instinctively, he broke into a run, hurdling from pew to pew, closing
the distance between him and his treasured family heirloom in mere
seconds. He flipped over the last few, tucking himself into a ball as he
sailed over the startled crooks in the asile to land squarely in front of
Morty, fists raised--
     --and lowered immediately as Morty squeezed Zipper harshly once
more, causing the small fly to screech in pain.
     "Truth be told," Morty stated evenly, staring Tham in the eyes, "I
have no more desire to smear this bug than you do. It's such a mess, and
an utterly annoying hassle to clean off my fur. And if the stain sets
in before I can wash it out, you can pretty much forget about removing it
short of shaving off the actual fur. Very inconvenient.
     "I *will* kill Zipper, however, if you do not cooperate."
     Tham's clenched fists remained tight. But they also remained
lowered.
     "If you think you can strike fast enough to save your friend here,"
Morty grinned sardonically, "I invite you to try. It's a great test of
reflexes: can you leap over and knock me out before Zipper is reduced to
window caulking?"
     The Oriental mouse slowly unballed his hands.
     "Smart." Morty nodded to his men, who started to exit through the
double doors. "Very smart."
     "Know you this," Tham suddenly stated, "the Time Blade is my
family's most cherished object. It holds the spirits of my ancestors to this
world and binds my soul to theirs. No matter where you go with it, I shall
follow. No matter how you try to hide, I shall find you. No matter how
much you beg, I shall show no mercy for this breach of my sacred bond
with my family's heritage."
     Morty gazed at him in wonder. Could anyone really talk this
cheesy? This guy must've taken dialogue pointers from "Kung Fu: The
Serial".
     "I don't care," he finally explained. "I'm only in it for the money.
Take care, now, and give the bride a big, wet kiss for me, hmm?" He
chuckled and waved as the last of his gang exited, then backed out of the
doorway himself and around the corner. His thugs were ready, and
quickly began barricading the entranceway shut with plant holders and
furniture they had gathered from the hallway.
     The group being blocked in could do little more than clench their
teeth and hope Zipper was released. After the barricade was finished and
the gangsters were no longer heard, Tham was the first to leap at the pile
of obstructions, driven by unbridled anger as he tore through the planters
and tables. He was quickly joined by the rest of the wedding party, but
even with their help, it took far longer than Tham would have wanted to
clear away the heavy, bulky furniture that had been erected to block their
path.
     By the time the group cleared a way through, the criminals were
long gone. A quick round of questioning of the staff and guests in the lobby
offered no leads. The gang had been last seen slipping through a curb sewer --
they could be anywhere in the maze of tunnels below the city by now.
     While the group waited in the lobby for the hotel staff to clean up
the mess in the hallway and wedding area, Tham stood rigid as a jade
statue at the doorway, staring out at nothing. Kan quietly stepped up next
to her beloved fiance, slipping an arm around his waist and leaning into
him. Her own desire for revenge over her wedding being disrupted now
seemed small and insignificant in comparison to what Tham had lost.
Morty didn't understand it, but he truly had stolen part of Tham's soul.
     Unlike dinnerware and wedding plans, Tham's loss was
irreplaceable.

                         *     *     *

     Gadget's miner's helmet light pierced the blanketing darkness
cleanly, providing a clear path for her and her friends to follow as they
crept along the treacherous and slippery ledge within the sewage drain.
She wrinkled her nose at the odors which assaulted her olfactory senses,
and tried not to think about what might make up the black ooze that slid
through the water below. Falling in it probably wouldn't be lethal, but
creatures which lurked just below the surface could undoubtedly pick up
the slack. That wasn't counting possible disease, infection, or
inflammations, either.
     For someone who worked with grease and oil a lot, she suddenly
found herself appreciating the benefits of a clean working environment.
     Behind her, the rest of the Rangers and their friends grumbled
occasionally, voicing their agreement to her own thoughts. Chip and Dale
also carried penlights, but had them off. The penlights were modified by
Gadget, who had pumped up the amount of lumens created to act as
effective blinders for any possible predators. The increased power use
drained the batteries quickly, however, so the chipmunks only used them
in case of an attack. Gadget's own lamp provided them with enough light
for now.
     Monterey followed behind the chipmunks, keeping more of an eye
out for things to the side or above. He wouldn't mind scouting up ahead
of them a little ways, but in the twisting corridors of the sewers and the
oppressive blackness, it would be too dangerous.
     Foxglove, on the other hand, could handle herself the best out of the
group, but had no desire to prove it. Her exceptional hearing was more of
a detraction than a boon in this case. It was so quiet and still that the
slightest and most insignificant noise was magnified and echoed about
her mockingly. This, by itself, was not a problem -- having lived in caves,
Foxglove was adept at getting past echoes and finding the true
direction of a sound.
     But that had been within caves; natural, warm, inviting spaces
where the silence and darkness was a protecting element. The sewer had
an altogether different feel to it. The cold darkness hid who knows how
many horrors and creatures, while the silence only inflated the smallest
of noise fragments to be heard, leaving her to wonder what could have
caused it, and how big it might really be. This was foreign territory for
the bat, and her acute senses did nothing more than drive that fact home
in the most nerve-wracking way, much like a child distrusts a lonesome
basement.
     She clung tightly to Dale, only this time out of a need for security
rather than as a sign of affection. Fortunately, Dale had braved this path
before, and calmed her with a wide smile and a reassuring pat on the wing.
     He wouldn't let her get hurt.
     Bringing up the rear of the group were Tham and Kan. At first, the
Rangers told them there was no need to come along -- they would merely
be going to obtain some information (they hoped) and then return to the
Ivy Crest before venturing off to find Morty. The raccoon was their only
lead to the whereabouts of Zipper.
     Kan and Tham, however, refused to wait behind. Tham explained
calmly but quite unconditionally that he would be with the Rangers every
step of the way on this one -- he had as much of a vested interest in finding Morty as the
Rangers did. And even though he didn't voice it, Kan knew that he felt
his cause was more important: Zipper was capable of thinking for himself
and might escape by his own accord. The Time Blade had no such
advantage.
     Rather than waste time trying to dissuade them, the Rangers had
agreed. While they weren't too comfortable with Tham's resolute thirst
for payback -- even if it was justified -- they also couldn't deny that his
determination was firmly set. With or without them, he would seek his
heirloom, so they might as well work together. Kan, naturally, would not
hear of being parted from her fiance, especially during this stressful time,
and thus was currently side by side with him as they marched down the
slick and broken concrete walkway lining the sewers.
     "Not much further," Gadget informed the group, her voice echoing
all too loudly for comfront in the stillness surrounding them.
     "We shoulda brought the Ranger Plane, or something," Dale
grumbled. "Could've been there and back by now."
     "You know that would be asking for trouble, Dale," Chip remarked
as quietly as the echoing pipes allowed him to. "The noise they would make
would alert every predator within a mile of us, and even if we managed to
outdistance any pursuers, the chances for getting lost are too high to
risk."
     "Honestly?" Kan queried. Tham was brooding, she could tell, and
was hoping that a little conversation might help unwind his nerves, at
least marginally. "These tunnels are that convoluted?"
     "Well, when you're being chased by somethin', you usually don't
take the time to leave a trail of bread crumbs," Monterey chuckled.
"Kinda defeats the purpose." He glanced at Kan with a amused smile;
expecting trouble, she had taken a tip from the ninja, and was swathed in
black clothes, although she had her head uncovered at the moment. The
result was that at first glance, she looked like nothing more than a head
bobbing along in the darkness.
     "It's more than that, Kan," Gadget added as she continued to lead
the way. "All the tunnels look alike. Turn the wrong way, and you might
not realize it until you're already hopelessly lost. And creatures down
here tend to be larger and very mean to trespassers or possible food
sources."
     "Can we drop this subject?" Dale was glancing about fervently, all
his nights of horror film fests coming back in full to haunt him.
     "Sorry, Dale," Gadget smiled back at her friend, then returned her
attention to navigating the sewers.
     "Seems odd that the sewers are so complex," Kan commented.
     "It's a big city," Chip pointed out. "And a lot of these sewers run
parallel, above, or below old subway lines and the like. Cave-ins and
animals burrowing through have interconnected them all into one huge
maze."
     "Fortunately," Gadget smiled as they rounded a corner, "Sewer Al's
place is one of the only places that is actually mapped out."
     Kan and Tham blinked as they looked into the looming cavern, the
sudden appearance of light causing them to shield their eyes for a few
moments.
     The Rangers easily, but warily, made their way up to the door of the
half-buried subway car. It was closed, but the light coming from within
signaled that their old associate (and occasional adversary) was home. Tham was
momentarily taken out of his hardened emotional state by the rather
striking living space. It was well-lit, and actually clean -- an impressive
feat considering the surrounding area. The light was strong, casting 
hard-edged and sharp shadows around them on the walls, ceiling, and pillars.
Either the face of barren concrete reflecting the pale light was seen, or the
opaque shadows, hiding whatever the mind could imagine within their
folds.
     The Rangers were aware of this, but not as overcome by it as they
used to be. They always got a distinctive sense of dread from the desolate
dwelling, but had learned to push it to the back of their minds. It was
more difficult this time around, though, as Sewer Al never had felt the
need to call for them. He stood to gain something from this meeting, and
a trap could not be ruled out.
     While the other Rangers and Foxglove kept an open eye -- and ear -- 
out, Chip stepped up to the door and lightly rapped on it.
     "Sewer Al?" he called, managing to keep the waver out of his voice.
"It's Chip. We got your message."
     There's was a moment's pause, during which Foxglove could hear
something massive moving within the subway car. Simple curtains
were covering the windows, but everyone could see a somewhat
amorphous shape rise up near the back of the car, and move towards the
door. The lighting played tricks on the shades, stretching the form wide and
then narrow as it passed over creases and folds in the curtains. As it
moved, the shadow was stretched out to infinity and then vanished
without warning, only to reappear again behind the subway door.
     A loud -- too loud for any of the small mammals' comfort --
groaning screech resounded as the door slid open, the light released from within
momentarily blinding everyone outside once more.
     "Welcome, Rescue Rangers," a low voice said, with just the
slightest flavor of a Cajun accent. "I can only assume your mice
companions are Kan Sune and An Tham Sun, but I'm afraid I'm not
aware of the bat's name."
     "F-f-f-foxglove," she stammered, peeking out from behind Dale.
Her wide eyes travelled up at the six-and-half feet frame of alligator
looming over the small -- very small, it seemed, now -- group of friends.
     "Welcome, Foxglove," Sewer Al grinned, an unnerving and
disconcerting gesture for the little bat.
     The tiny animals huddled together in front of the reptile,
Chip finally clearing his throat and stepping forward.
     "We got your message," he repeated, never sure of the best way to
approach this particular denizen of the deep. He decided to brave it and
prompt the gator. "You have something to tell us?"
     "Yes," Sewer Al maintained his slightly sinister smile, although
nearly all of the alligator's expressions fell close to that countenance.
"Please, make yourselves comfortable inside. It's a bit warmer, and much
drier." He stepped back into the subway car, moving to the back.
     The others glanced at Chip, who shrugged, then followed in behind
their host.
     Once inside, everyone had to admit it was slightly more relaxing.
The light was warm and bright, the climate was dry -- just right for
preserving the seemingly endless amount of written material lining the
walls, bookshelves, and every other available space. Sewer Al, himself,
seemed to have a more engaging side to him in here. Seated at the back
of the cab in a shabby but comfortable recliner, surrounded by the books
he loved, the cold-blooded animal could have passed for nothing more
than a scholar or librarian.
     The Rangers were aware of this illusion, however, and thus did not
relax their guard very much at all.
     "Now," Sewer Al began once everyone was comfortably seated, "I
understand you had some unexpected guests tonight?"
     "How'd you know that?" Kan snapped, her eyes narrowing in
suspicion. Top of the food chain or no, she was not about to let this
reptile off easy if he was working with that infernal raccoon.
     "I have my methods," Sewer Al replied calmly.
     "Such as?" Kan didn't quit easily. A bad habit here.
     "My dear lady," Sewer Al answered slowly, but with an amused
smirk. "Tread lightly on foreign soil, for you know not where the
landmine fields are."
     Kan opened her mouth, but Tham gently covered her hand with his
own. A simple gesture, but a clear one. She stole a glance at him, then
looked back at Sewer Al with a frown, but remained silent.
     "My ancestral katana was stolen," Tham quietly stated, the even
tones of his voice reminding Kan and the Rangers of how harshly Tham
had taken the murder of his parents. "And our friend, Zipper, was
kidnaped. What of it?" Although he wasn't saying anything, Tham knew
the game Sewer Al was playing. He had previously dealt with Red Paw, a
similar broker of information back in Japan, and was thus fairly well-
versed in the language of underworld traders.
     "Information flows past me daily," Sewer Al explained, "although
very little gets by without my awareness of it. By various means and
methods of procurement, I learn of events and obtain missing objects,
whether it be the news of an upcoming attack at the Ivy Crest or
something more tangible, such as a fully valid Platinum credit card."
     "Or the Time Blade?" Dale blurted out.
     "Not the actual blade, I'm afraid," the mammoth bookworm
shrugged. "I am aware of who stole it, however, and I surmise that
finding him would be a step in the right direction to retrieving the
missing Ranger and Tham's property."
     "Payment?" Chip give a terse smirk. Sewer Al had them over a
barrel and he knew it.
     But the informant merely waved it aside. "All in due time. And
time, my friends, is not on your side."
     "How so?" Gadget asked.
     "The Time Blade, as far as I can piece together, will be leaving
town tonight, undoubtedly to be auctioned off to some private collector. It
is quite a legendary blade in certain circles, after all," Sewer Al
chuckled. "Once that's taken care of, I doubt they'll see little use from
your friend aside from a possible appetizer during one of their potlucks.
If you wish to save him and retrieve the Time Blade, you will have to
work quickly. All I ask for at this time is your word." Here he suddenly
lost all pretense at congeniality and leaned forward, staring at Chip too
intensely for the chipmunk's tastes. "You word of honor, Chip, as you
are the spokesman for this group, that the Rescue Rangers will honor my
payment, whether or not you actually succeed in your rescue and retrieval
endeavor."
     "But--"
     "I offer information, and that is all. What you make of it is your
own responsibility."
     Chip gritted his teeth. He looked at the other Rangers, who all had
the same expression of knowing resignation. They had no choice.
     "You have our word," the leader of the Rangers quietly, but clearly,
stated.
     Sewer Al merely nodded, but did not lean back. Instead, he cut
directly to the chase. "The individual's name is Morty. He is a new
crimelord to the docks, but has already somehow acquired a fairly
impressive power base. The funds and favors he plans to get from the
sale of the Time Blade will further his operations, but he is also aware of
how relentless your group can be, and thus is ready to move his
merchandise as soon as possible.
     "He plans to catch a boat leaving for New York at 3:00 A.M."
Sewer Al relaxed back in his chair. "Dock twelve."

                         *     *     *

     If one were to ask Zipper what the worst thing about being a fly
was, he'd state that it was the fact that his diminutive nature made everything around
him huge by comparison.
     Ask him what the best thing about being a fly was, and he'd state
that it was the fact that his diminutive nature made everything around him huge by
comparison.
     The box they had shut Zipper into was one of dozens, made from
some sort of corrugated cardboard, only a few inches in height, length,
and depth. It was a portable holding tank where Morty's gang threw
malcontents, people who were late with a loanshark debt, or anyone else
they wanted to punish but didn't want to waste their own energy on.
Even mice as strong as Monterey wouldn't have been able to break
through, because being crammed into the box offered them no leverage to
work against the surprisingly strong walls.
     The typical plan was to leave the victim trapped for about a day or
so -- no food, no water, and no "potty breaks". The dark, confined
quarters worked heavily on the mice usually stuck in the boxes, barely
able to move their fingers, let alone get the blood flowing to their
uncomfortably twisted limbs. After they were finally released, the fear of
going back into such a tortuous device kept most in line.
     Zipper was currently whistling his way through "Turkey in the
Straw", casually strolling around in the darkened box. He kept his walk
to a small circle, so as not to bump into any walls. He was trying to figure
out a solid escape plan, but wasn't having much luck. He wasn't strong
enough to break or tear through the walls. This cardboard seemed to be
one of the customary types for a certain product; some sort of hardened wax
or similar coating had been applied to the interior of the box in a thin
layer, which only strengthened the wall. The uncertainty of what exactly
the coating consisted of also prevented Zipper from attempting to chew
his way out. No telling if that stuff was poisonous.
     Even if it wasn't, though, Zipper still had to wonder about what he
would do once he got out. If he was above ground, it would be a simple
matter to find his way back to the Ranger Tree. But they had only gone
deeper underground upon entering the sewers, and Zipper had no clue
which way would lead him back to the surface. If push came to shove,
however, he didn't really doubt that he could escape this box, sneak
away, and eventually find his way up to the ground level once more. He'd
survived worse.
     Since he saw his eventual freedom as a certainty (only the timing
was unclear at the moment), he didn't bother worrying about it, and was
actually enjoying the coolness with which he had been handling the whole
situation.
     Morty would want him alive for a bit longer, he figured, as
insurance against the Rangers. As long as Zipper was around to be
threatened, the Rangers would be forced to keep their distance. It was a
stopgap measure, but Zipper could tell from his time watching the cronies
of Morty, before he was rudely stuffed in here, that they weren't wasting
time in unloading the Time Blade. Snippets of conversation he had overheard,
bolstered by body language and the occasional loud mouth, had confirmed
that they had already had a buyer lined up, even before they had stolen the
katana.
     And that was the reason he had decided not to fret over escaping; this
was a surprisingly good chance to dig up some information -- not only on
the theft of the Time Blade, such as the buyers and selling location, but
also on Morty's gang in general. Most of the thugs seemed to be par for
the course: muscle first and brainpower when the budget allowed. A few,
while not intelligent in the manner of Chip or Gadget, were cunning and
crafty enough to land positions as makeshift sergeants, leading the shock
troops with a good idea of what they were doing, where they were going,
and whom they would be hurting.
     The ones Zipper was thinking over, besides Morty himself, were
those who had enough intellect to organize this large crowd of apparently
haphazardly gathered crooks. Harvey was the only one whose name he had
managed to catch, but he knew of at least three others in the
ranks. An iguana, mouse, and a guinea pig all seemed to be
lieutenants of some type, in that Morty actually talked to them as opposed to
just demeaning them with pointed comments (even though, in Zipper's
humble estimation, Morty's observations of ineptness were justified).
     From the hustle and bustle he could hear around him, the group was
packing up its equipment for its next destination. Zipper would
undoubtedly be coming along, although he was debating the merits of
going peacefully or just escaping now and tailing them. His quandary was
easily solved when the box he was in was abruptly hoisted and thrown into
a pile of other boxes on a waiting cart.
     After bouncing around a bit within the box, Zipper's senses congealed back
to the point where he was oriented enough to make out what Morty was
announcing through the other side of the cardboard wall.
     "Let's move, boys. We have people who will be awaiting us at the
docks."
     The box lurched slightly as some of the members pulled the cart
along, while Zipper sat inside, disappointed. He had hoped Morty would
have taken the required time to taunt his prisoner with the details of the
crime about to be committed while the hero is helpless.
     Criminals these days, Zipper snorted. No sense of tradition.

                         *     *     *

     Dale suddenly stopped as he realized, quite out of the blue, just how
long they had been awake. They had gotten up early this morning (was it just
this morning? It felt much longer ago for some reason...), gotten ready for
the dry-run, gone through rehearsal, gotten involved in a rather tiring fight
-- he didn't count being knocked out in the same league as taking a nap --
gone to Sewer Al's, stopped by headquarters to grab a few supplies, had
just disembarked from the Ranger Wing (left parked in an alley just down
the street), and now were heading to the docks. Yet, none of them felt
tired, despite the non-stop pace of the day. They had apparently not only
gotten their second wind, but received an advance from their third and
fourth winds, as well.
     Like all conscientious college students, they had learned that when pressed
for time, sleep really wasn't a necessity so much as an elusive "carrot"
held in front of rabbits running on a treadmill.
     Dale glanced over at the small group, noticing that despite everyone's
steadfast resolve to see this thing through to the proper conclusion, worry
was clearly evident.
     The Rangers' foremost concern was Zipper. Morty seemed to be
the type of a guy to milk a hostage situation for all it was worth, which meant that
their trusted companion was more than likely still alive. It wasn't a
certainty, but they took faith in what comfort they could. Kan was also
worried about Zipper, but not nearly as much as she was about Tham.
     Her stoic husband-to-be was devoid of any emotion, his
face set in grim and unyielding determination. He had been taught by his
father in the ways of war, and Kan knew that Tham felt any display of
emotion at this time would be a show of weakness. Weakness that a crafty
enemy could exploit.
     She sighed deeply as she walked alongside him. Scant centimeters
from each other, but still worlds apart.
     "There," Chip announced as he pointed to the docks. Ships could be
seen up and down the coast, but the activity was minimal at this early
hour. Things wouldn't really start moving until later in the morning.
     "Dock twelve?" Tham asked for clarification.
     "Up a little ways," Chip replied as he led the way.
     Monterey looked at the docks and frowned. As the others headed
off, Gadget stopped by him and lightly touched his shoulder. "Monty?"
she asked.
     "Hmm?" Monterey started and looked at her. "Oh, sorry luv. Just
thinkin', is all."
     "About what?" she asked as the two walked after the rest of the
group.
     Monterey was quiet for a moment, trying to put his thoughts into
the appropriate words. "Somethin' ain't addin' up, I guess."
     Gadget smiled. "Golly, Monty, you sound like Chip now."
     He chuckled at that. "Well, the bloke rubs off on ya after a bit, I
guess."
     "Too right," Gadget replied in a friendly attempt at an Australian
accent.
     Monterey was tempted to make a follow-up comment about Gadget's
wide smile concerning the chipmunk in question, but decided to stick to
the business at hand. "What I mean, Gadget-luv, is that I've been hittin'
these type o' ports for most of me life. Catchin' ships is second-hand to
me now."
     "So you think that there's something happening we aren't aware
of?" Gadget glanced up at him. While he might not be as big on
deduction as Chip or Zipper, Monterey was unsurpassed in travel
knowledge. "Something about the boats?"
     Monterey nodded. "Yeah. See, for a boat to get from here to New
York, it'd have to travel down the coastline to the Panama Canal, then
back up around the States all the way to the top. Not many liners are
gonna do that unless they've got a lot of stops on the way.  That takes a lot of
time, and this blighter Morty seems to be smart enough that he should
figure we'd track the Time Blade down soon enough if it was on one boat
for all that time."
     "You know, it does seem odd." Gadget tapped a finger thoughtfully
to her cheek. "I wonder why Morty isn't moving it to New York by land,
or air even? Certainly would be quicker, and there's tons of possibilities
as to how he could be transporting it."
     "Too right, luv. Only thing I can think of is that it's easy to slip
things onboard a ship without having it discovered for the whole trip.
Morty might not even be goin' all the way to New York, even if the ship
is."
     "We should mention this to the others," Gadget suggested.
     Monterey nodded. Now that he had actually voiced it, he realized
that this hitherto unknown factor might have some major effect on how they
could recover the famed katana. Quickly, the two mice caught up
with the rest of the group to bring this to their attention.

     From a warehouse about fifty yards away, the vole Dale had met in
the Ivy Crest stepped back from the human-sized binoculars set up on the
top of the roof.
     "Well, Carolyn?"
     Carolyn glanced down at Hedgerow. The large raven adjusted his
tattered woolen vest and old bowler as he walked over to the ledge of the
roof she was standing on.
     "They're on their way, naturally." She smiled and shrugged. "Not
surprising in the least, given how much that katana means to Tham."
     Hedgerow yawned. "Whatever."
     "In any case, we'll need to move over to a warehouse on the
waterfront in order to watch the proceedings unfold. I'll watch the area in
front of the ship, while you poke your beak around inside and see if you
can find out who's waiting in there."
     Hedgerow nodded. Carolyn made most of the decisions, but she
wasn't the boss. The two had worked in tandem for years, but Hedgerow
preferred to handle the physical work rather than the mental. He was
smart enough to do the latter, but just never had the ambition. Carolyn's ambition,
however, more than made up for it.
     "Any idea who might be in there?" he asked as he hopped up to
the ledge and hoisted the binoculars up on his back, using a small bit of
twine to hold them securely in place.
     "Not offhand," Carolyn answered, a bit disappointed. Information
brokers hated to admit when they didn't know something, but being her
partner, there wasn't any reason to falsify it. "But whoever it is would
need to have some strong resources to acquire the Time Blade. That
ship's last major port was Japan, so it could be the Yakuza for all we
know. Of course, they've had brief stops along the way, as well, so I
wouldn't place any bets just yet."
     She deftly leapt onto Hedgerow's back, settling herself down safely.
"In any case, it's not our main task here. We just monitor the happenings
of this waterfront; but extra bits of info like who the real players were
here might mean a nice bonus from Sewer Al."
     The raven chuckled at his partner's business sense. "Whatever,
Carolyn. I just work here."
     He leapt from the roof and glided out over the darkened dockside,
far above the Rangers and the looming cargo ship.