The Knight and the Jester

Chapter Eight

The Rescue Rangers made their way back to the roof. Despite the fact that Foxglove had been hurt more than Dale during their encounter with the Great Thing, she refused his pleas that she and not he should get the comfy seat on the Ranger Plane. As they were about to leave, Sam remembered the reason they had come in the first place and ran back to get the diamond from Fat Cat's paws--he was still sound asleep, although the usual expression of contempt had replaced the fear on his face.

On the trip back to the oak tree in the Ranger Plane, everyone congratulated Dale for saving them, Gadget and Foxglove giving him a big kiss on the cheek. When they got back, Dale went into his and Chip's room, opened a large chest, and from its carefully organized and sealed contents pulled out a giant-sized issue of Kablammo Man Annual featuring the Great Thing From Beyond to show to his friends in the living room. Sam patted him on the back on the way into the bedroom. There he waited for Al.

"Hey Sam," said Al, "aren't you going to join the party? You should see everyone out there, dressed in their finest. And that Gadget, what a looker!"

"Did you hear what you just said?"

"Ack! I've been around the Rangers so long I find mice attractive! When will this leap end?"

"That's what I want to know."

"Any ideas, Mulder? Scully? Is anyone there? That's funny, the line's dead."

"They must have disappeared when Dale changed history."

"That must be it."

There was a knock at the door. "It's Foxglove. Can I come in?"

Sam opened the door for her and she closed it behind herself. "I'm sorry I nearly ruined everything," she said, quietly.

"Don't worry yourself about it," said Al. "It's what I would have done if I was there in the flesh. Besides, that thing never would have been defeated if you hadn't taken a stand."

Just then Dale burst back into the room. "Hey, Foxy, com'on! We're just about to break out the cake and ice cream!"

Foxglove stood up and held Sam's hands in her own. "Perhaps we'll meet again."

Sam smiled. "Perhaps."

She turned and walked out past the confused Dale. "But Foxy, you see him every night!"

Sam got up and started walking for the door. The departing Dale turned and held out a hand to stop him. "Haven't you got something to do first?"

Sam was confused. "Uh, the..."

"The journal, Chip! You've got to put tonight in the journal!"

Al turned to Chip. "Dale says you should be writing in some sort of journal right now. Do you know what he's talking about?"

Chip was surprised by this remark. "How'd he find out about my secret journal?"

Sam repeated the line fed to him by Al.

"Well, you don't spend years reading comics under the covers by flashlight without learning how to tell when someone else is up to the same thing."

Sam was hesitant. It was one thing for a leapee to return to vague memories borrowed from Sam about what he just did, quite another to have a written document that can be analyzed for foreign ways of thinking. "I'm not sure this is the kind of case to go in the journal."

Dale's eyes went wide. "Chip, you're joking, right? You remember what life was like before the journal, nothing happening every day. Then you started writing when Detective Drake was framed, and every day since then has been an adventure! If you stop writing, maybe everything will go back to the way it was, and we can't have that!"

Sam shook his head in confusion. "Okay, Dale, because you insist, I'll work on the journal. Be sure to leave me some cake."

"Sure thing; see ya later!"

Al was just as discombobulated as Sam. "Dale said that your journal was what kept all the exciting stuff happening to you."

Chip shrugged. "That's nothing--you should hear his 'syndication theory'." He sighed thinking that one over. "I worry about him sometimes."

With Chip's help, Sam crafted a remarkably Chip-like journal entry, emphasizing the fact that it was Dale who had saved the day. Sam leaped as he finished the final sentence.

Chip shook his head as the world came back into focus again. He was sure something interesting had just happened, but he wasn't sure what. He looked down to see his journal open on the desk in front of him. From the same vantage point he was also able to see his legs.

"Hey," he asked aloud, "where'd these pants come from?"

Admiral Al Calavicci woke up by the simple expedient of falling out of bed. He jumped up, looking wildly around him. Hearing a sound behind him, he suddenly turned around.

The television was on, as it had been on when he had fallen asleep the night before. On the screen were three identical cartoon ducks in red, green, and blue shirts and caps. What they said went something like this:

Red Duck: "Gee..."

Green Duck: "Unc'a..."

Blue Duck: "Scrooge..."

All three ducks: "What'll we do now?"

Al shook his head in bewilderment, picked up the remote, and shut the TV off. I guess there is such a thing as too much Disney, he thought. He walked over to the window of the little bungalow and threw open the drapes to look at his tiny garden. Just beyond was the edge of the New Mexico desert and scampering across the desert, crossing from one tree to another, was a chipmunk, an acorn grasped in its hands.

Aware it was being watched, the chipmunk stopped and looked around. When it saw that the observer was safely behind glass and paralyzed by shock for some reason, it picked up its parcel and continued on its way. Al for his part had only one thing to say at the striking resemblance between this chipmunk and Dale.

"Yikes!"