Chapter I.

Chapter I.

"Come on men, snap to it! Get that hose up here!"

"Roger, Roger!"

"That tree's a historic site for the Park—if we can't save it the Commissioner'll have our heads! Pour on the water!"

"We're doin' everything we can, Cap'n. The top of that hulk is dry as tinder—I dunno if this old husk even has any life left in it! It's burnin' faster than we can put out!"

"Well try harder! Focus the streams on the upper branches, and work your way down!"

"Yessir!"

"And don't cross the streams!"

Captain Thomas Mitchell sighed heavily, shielding his eyes beneath the brim of his officer's helmet. The call had come in only a few minutes before, summoning his department to this conflagration in the middle of what had been an otherwise dead night. The high-pitched, squeaky voice at the other end of the line had been faint, but it was enough to send his men scrambling for their gear and racing out of the station at breakneck speed.

There was a fire in Central Park.

A fire in the Park—such a thing was unheard of in this day and time. Cigarettes had been outlawed in the confines of this green preserve for decades, and even the streetlights had been replaced years ago with low-power LED fixtures, reducing the risk of shortage. To think that someone had possibly even set the flames in motion on purpose…it made Mitchell's blood boil. This place was part of the city's heritage, its' legacy held in trust for future generations. It could not be squandered for one person's carelessness, or their own twisted glee. It had to be contained. It simply must.

"Are we sure the tree was the focal point?"

"Aye, sir," MacDougal, the shift lieutenant replied. "No doubt aboot it. Whatever ignited this mess, it had to 'ave started here. Whether arson or accident, we'll not know till we can examine th' evidence."

"Terrific. This is an election year for the mayor, my departmental budget's been cut three times in three review periods, and now one of the most historic areas in the city is threatening to burn down on my watch. This night couldn't get any worse, could it."

"I don't know, Captain—I always think there's a silver lining somewhere in the works."

Mitchell straightened abruptly, almost saluting as he turned on his heel to face the voice.

"M-Mr. Mayor, sir! Stay well back, its not safe in this area!"

The tall, balding man that stood at his side sipped calmly from a steaming cup of coffee, and nodded.

"Don't worry, Mitch. I'm not here to rock your boat. Couldn't sleep and I heard the call on my scanner."

The Honorable Edward J. Koch, or affectionately 'Young Hizzoner' to those who worked for him, had one thing in common with his famous great-uncle—he had an impeccable talent for showing up where he wasn't expected. It was a trait that made him popular with the voters, but the bane of his security service's existence.

"What are we looking at, arson?"

"No way to know yet, sir. If we can get this location under control, the forensic boys can start getting a look around. Chief Cagney already dispatched a team from the Nineteenth Precinct to question witnesses."

"Christine never sleeps, does she."

"Neither does Hizzoner, apparently."

"Touche."

A short distance away, a pair of watchful eyes observed the conversation from the cover of a vidphone booth, reading the two men's' lips carefully. Even though his night vision might not be quite what it once was, years of practice had sharpened Chip Maplewood's hard-earned skills handily, and he easily made out the gist of the exchange. Arson, he thought. So Banastre IS still out there!
Climbing up to the vidphone screen, he punched in an account number, and dialed an extension he'd memorized several days earlier.

"You called, Mr. Maplewood? I've been expecting you."

"KITT! Careful, someone might be listening!"

"Not a chance. I have this line connected directly into my secondary processing center. The boys will never even know their number rang."

"Am I ever glad you're on our side. You'd be one tough adversary."

"I won't presume to debate you. What news?"

"The tree's a loss—we got everyone out in time through the escape tunnel, and our case files are safe in underground storage. But everything above ground is wrecked."

"My condolences. I know that old oak was your home for many years."

"More years than I care to count. The garage is on the second underground level, so the RangerWing and the other vehicles might be safe—Tammy and Bink are gonna go in after the humans move on and see what's salvageable. It's not much—but it's more than we've had to work with in years past."

"Sometimes the greatest triumphs come during the times of greatest adversity, my friend. Bonnie—my original technician—once rebuilt my body completely with only a street garage and a crew of self taught shade-tree mechanics from the hood. Don't lose hope."

There was a slight pause.

"I…hate to bring up a sore subject, but what of Mrs. Maplewood?"

Chip grit his teeth.

"Gadget's….body, was laid out in our room on the fifth branch. By now her ashes are spread to the far ends of the Park."

"I am sorry. I don't quite know what to say."

"Don't feel bad. Neither do I."

A brief silence passed, and Chip cleared his throat, trying to push back the angry tears that threatened to spill down his dirt-caked fur.

"I'd…appreciate it if you could act as our temporary analysis wing—with Tammy's office destroyed and Ranger HQ in ashes, we don't really have the equipment to process any evidence we pick up."

"I'd be only too glad. The laboratory closes down promptly at 6PM each day. After that, I'm all yours. And Mr. Maplewood?"

"Yes, KITT?"

"Take heart. We will run them to ground. I promise you."

The connection broke, and for once in his life, the leader of the Rescue Rangers admitted to himself that he felt absolutely, totally helpless. Everything that he had built over the decades, everything he had worked so hard to nourish and protect…all gone. In the blink of an eye, his aging team of do-gooders was now forced to begin all over again. Right back to the beginning, where they had started so many years ago—with nothing.

"How did we come to this, Gadj?"

Sliding down the wall of the vidbooth until his tail touched the cool metal counter beneath the phone, Chip took off his hat, and ran his hands through the graying, soot-stained fur that lay underneath. He was too old to start over like a raw gumshoe; that was the long and short of things. Tammy's own investigation had proven that the Rescue Aid Society, the Rangers' old allies, could not be trusted. Danger lurked everywhere, deceit and betrayal threatened to creep into the very corners of their world, and even now at the darkest hour, at the pinnacle of sorrow…he was left without his anchor.

"How did we fall so far?"

He watched the blazing flames from the relative safety of the booth's glass enclosure for a few more minutes, losing himself in thought as the orange and golden light flickered angrily in the darkness. Gadget hadn't only been his wife, his beloved, the core to which he clung. She had been the heart of the Rescue Rangers, a conscience when it felt the center could not hold. Her gentle wisdom and fierce devotion had grown over the years, touching every life that she passed through with an indelible mark. There would never be another like her, of this he was sure—his daughter Mariel might be a close second. But even she never truly felt that she could stand in her mother's shoes. The space was simply too large to fill.

"Heya, Chipper!"

Dale's voice floated upward from below the vidbooth, and Chip awoke from his reverie with a start.

"What's the word?"

"The word, is lousy."

Plopping his fedora back onto his head, Chip slid down the dataline that ran up the booth's center pole, and landed roughly in the foul, flowing water that was pouring from the firefighter's containment area.

"KITT will help us as long as he can, while avoiding discovery. But if we want any chance at cracking this thing, we're going to have to set up a base of operations of our own."

"What about the bunker?"

Chip blinked.

"What're you talking about?"

"You know, the garage where Gadget keeps all 'er old inventions an' tech and stuff. The bunker, she called it."

"But I thought she shut it down, years ago!"

"Nahhh, it just got full an' junked out and she closed up the doors an' locked it down. Still there, far as I know."

Dale rubbed soot from his glasses, and settled them across his expansive nose.

"'Less you got a better idea."

"At the moment it's a pretty great idea—I'd forgotten all about it. Least we've got somewhere to go."

A dull, throaty rumble floated across the air, preceding a long, sleek remote-controlled car that eased out of the weeds near the booth's base. The RangerBolt was a little singed and its' main computer had been damaged by the heat, but it was operational. Tammy opened the gullwing doors and beckoned to the two detectives.

"C'mon guys—I've got her running, but there's more things wrong than right, right now. Wherever we're gonna go, we better go fast."

"Make for the west gate," Chip grunted as he settled himself into the passenger seat. "The victory fountain. Radio the rest to meet us there."

He leaned back into the seat, and stared out from under the brim of his hat into the flickering abyss.

"We're going underground."


She had to run. It was the only dominant thought that pervaded her fevered mind, driving her on into the night, faster, further, as the lightning flashed and sheets of rain began to pour from the thunderheads above. The water was cool, mercifully cool to her sweat-drenched touch, but the fire still burned. Not without, but within—within her veins and in her very blood it felt as if white-hot phosphorous flowed like rivers of boiling lava, pushing her to run. RUN.

"Have to…have to….run…"

The thunder rolled above, and an explosion between the clouds illuminated the ground below, glinting off of a set of bright, azure green eyes, their almost sightless gaze locked in an expression of pure terror.

"Have to keep going…have to…have to…HRRRKKK!"

The searing pain seized at the very core of her, and she doubled over, gasping for air as the tendrils of bright, golden energy rippled over her fur, driving her to her knees as a feral scream tore its' way free from her throat. The grass around her burst into flames from the waves of heat and sheer electrical force that rolled off of her body. Forcing her eyes open, she caught sight of her reflection in a puddle of water by her feet, before it boiled away at her touch. Her features seemed to nearly twist, stretching and reshaping themselves as the spasm finally faded, allowing her to fall limply to the ground.

"What—what's happening to me?!"

It would help if she could remember…remember anything at all, really. Each time she tried to reach for a scrap of her past, it seemed to evaporate in her mental grasp like the vapor of a faint dream on awakening. The trouble annoyed her to no end, nearly as much as the nuclear tremors that continue to wreak havoc in her body. It was as if some cruel joke had filled her brain with bleach, corroding the connections that would grant her access. Even her own name escaped her, for the moment.

"I have to be somebody. No one's a nobody, there has to be something!"

Struggling to her feet, she tottered unsteadily, reaching out to gain her balance against the decaying leg of an ancient park bench. The effort made her head spin, and she resisted the urge to be sick as she breathed deeply, steadying herself by force of will.

"Not gonna throw up…not gonna throw up…not gonna…"

Her churning stomach eased after a moment, and she sighed in relief.

"Y'know, it would help if I could even remember where I am…nothing looks familiar…"

"Are you lost, miss?"

She nearly jumped through her crawling skin at the voice, which seemed to emerge from the shadows with the fluidity of an ice cube melting in water. The old squirrel who waddled across her path looked as if he had grown gray along with the city—he might have once been a German Red, but years upon years of life had drained the color from his pelt, giving him an almost ghostly appearance as he tapped his cane against the ground, checking for obstacles.

"I…I do think I'm lost. Yes, I'm pretty well sure of it."

The young mousemaiden frowned, and peered at the dark lenses that sat on the squirrel's nose.

"Do you know where I am?"

He chuckled knowingly, tapping the curve of his cane to the side of his head.

"I think we all ask that question of someone once in a while in our lives, don't you?"

"Well…I suppose so, but right now I could use an answer."

"So do we all seek, my dear. Where do you think you are?"

"I think I'm under a park bench in the dark, and I have no idea where home is. If I have one."

She frowned again.

"Maybe I got knocked out in a robbery? I know that head trauma can cause temporary amnesia at times, depending on the scope of the hematoma and internal damage, and…"

There was a brief pause.

"Wait…where did that come from?"

The old squirrel smiled knowingly.

"Who knows…perhaps from memory?"

"That's something I seem to be in short supply of right now."

Her had swam abruptly, and she sat down in the grass.

"I'm so confused. And somehow I know that's not a feeling I'm used to."

"Confusion often comes when we seek answers in the wrong places. Or perhaps we seek the wrong answers."

The old squirrel twirled his cane, and leaned upon it with a flourish.

"What answers do you seek?"

"My name would be a good start."

"Is it? Or should you perhaps first discover who you are, and what you are. Then the name would follow."

She growled in frustration.

"I don't even know where to start looking for that!"

"Don't you then?" he chuckled. "We all begin somewhere, young miss. Sometimes it simply requires a light to show us the way, before we recall who we are meant to be."

Tapping his cane against the time-worn pavement, he melted back into the darkness, leaving the lone mouse with her thoughts, as he trailed off into the distance.

"And sometimes, we must follow the light out of the darkness, lest we crash and burn."

"I suppose you're right. If I could remember anything, even just one thing to start from, I'd—hey, wait! Where did you go?"

He was gone almost before she realized he had left, and a sense of great loneliness suddenly took her in sway. Somewhere, deep inside, she knew by instinct that she was not a creature accustomed to being alone. Did she have a family? Friends? A husband, or children who would be looking for her? It all seemed a grand dream, compared to where she presently found herself—alone, marooned in a sea of shadows and half-thoughts.

"Whatever I need to find, I hope it comes along soon. I'm holding together on a wingnut and a prayer, here."

Rising to her feet, she drew her arms around her, noticing for the first time the chill through her tattered clothing. The night air was growing frosty, and in her weakened state the cold seemed to seep through to the depths of her bones, setting off a round of shivers. Whatever was wrong with her, she knew she wouldn't find it out by staying here and catching her death. She had to keep moving. But moving toward what?

"I just keep thinking I'll know it when I see it…maybe I'll know myself, too. I do remember that sometimes it only takes one familiar sight to trigger a return from amnesia, and if I live in this city then something will have to jump out at me sooner or later. Something that I've missed, or I would miss if I remembered it, and I—HRRRKKK!"

Stumbling, she felt the rush of heat and crackling fury sweep over her again, and looked with horror at her hands, watching streams of energy arc in twelve different directions as the sparks flew from her glowing body. The snapping tendrils blazed a smoldering trail around her feet, and she dashed onto the path, running toward she knew not what as her voice echoed into the night.

"Somebody help me!"


"Your army has impressed me, my good waterhound. Zey have a keen eye."

"Well, we programmed 'em to find the best."

"Yes…yes, that we did. Jewels, gold, pearls and silver…even this small ransom might be enough to begin my ultimate design. Money talks in zis world, Banastre!
Oh, how you must have learned zis already, by now."

Corylus wisely stayed silent, preferring rather to watch his cackling partner play out her gleeful reverie while he felt out the situation. He was beginning to wonder just how sane Desiree D'Allure was in her old age, but after witnessing the rage she'd poured into destroying her old enemies, he thought it quite best to bide his time, before pursuing plans of his own. And boy, did he have plans.

"So what's yer next move, lady?"

"Next? Next, we expand! Your second location is operational and ready to go online, yes?"

"Well yeah, the tech boys finished up with the wiring yesterday. Whatta ya got in mind?"

"Something a bit more…sinister, than a jewel heist, yes? I should like to test these youngsters' mettle against something more complicated. Say, a bank vault, perhaps."

Banastre raised an eyebrow.

"You're gonna rob a human bank? With a bunch'a kids? This is gettin' ambitious even for you, Des."

"I never said it was not, my friend. No indeed, I never said zat. But if it can be done, zen it opens up certain possibilities."

"More profitable ones, I hope."

D'Allure's hand flashed almost before Banastre could react, and he felt a sharp sting as the back of her aged claws clapped against his whiskers.

"Foolish churl! Is your appetite whetted only by wealth? By base things like money and economics? Mon plan diabolique will bring me something more precious than jewels, gold and currency—It will bring me power. Power to topple established orders, to bring the status quo to ze brink of utter ruin—and it will bring me something which I have long desired, for zese many long years zat I have wandered."

She clenched her fist, smiled wickedly with a twinkle in her eye which caused even so bold a blackguard as Corylus Banastre to flinch unwittingly.

"It will bring me vengeance."