Chapter 2.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid...that's what that was. Just had to show off for the bad guy, didn't you old boy. Stupid, reckless and overemotional. And now look where we are."
Leaning back on the low-slung, hard pressed bunk, Corkscrew Hackwrench stretched out his long legs and folded his hands behind his head, contemplating the ceiling. Sighing, he closed his eyes, mentally replaying the events of the last several days. He had been so sure he could buy the Rescue Rangers the time they needed to pull all irons into the fire-but true to form his personal vendetta had gotten in the way. The sight of Birchbriar Bakerstreet lording his deceptive skills over the crowd of hapless politicians had been too much for the old agent, and he had allowed the burden of knowledge that he carried to overflow and overpower him, sending his emotions into a downward spiral that had devolved into a heated shouting match on the floor of the Trifecta Ball. Tipping his hand to Bakerstreet now, at this earliest juncture had been foolish at best, and inwardly he berated himself for allowing his passions about the mission to override his good judgement.
"What is it you always said about me, Gadj...cool under fire, but once the cork pops..."
Leaning up, he adjusted the thin pillow the jailers had deigned to provide, and did his best to settle in for what rest he could find, amid the swirling turmoil in his mind. His father had always touted the power of knowledge for those who used it wisely-but he had always given Corky and Gadget a father's warning, along with a little advice.
"Sometimes kids, those with certain knowledge can be tempted to use it for the wrong things-or at the wrong time. Always be careful with what you know-lest you turn the weapon on yourself."
He'd been right of course, just like he always was. Corky did have knowledge-a burdensome discovery that he had carried for longer than he was willing to admit to most, and just as his father had warned, it had been a dangerous road to navigate; the journey had taken its' toll. He'd argued often with his wife about what he should do with the information he had discovered, and her response had always been the same.
Some secrets are best left buried.
But could they ever truly be so? For years he had struggled with the facts he possessed, and worked with all his might to put it out of his mind...to let it go, as Gadget would have said. Vengeance would solve nothing.
But what about justice?
He had always fired back at Cassie with this point, and the love of his life had each time shaken her head, and given him the same answer.
Justice will find its' way to those responsible. Don't destroy yourself for it...especially when there are others who need you so much.
It was a fair point, and he needed Cassandra as much as she needed him-perhaps moreso, even. She had stuck with him through all the missions, all the rescues, all the rocky times, and each time her arms waited when his boots touched the front foyer, without fail. He was well aware what his brother-in-law had lost, and he pitied him all the more.
"Well now, this is a fine portrait for the Great Hall of the RAS. How the mighty have fallen, I believe the saying is. Yes, quite so."
Corky squeezed his eyes shut and turned toward the wall, gritting his teeth against the wave of hot anger that pressed up through his throat. The voice set every nerve in his body on edge, and he knew he must contain it or lose more than just his freedom and his reputation.
"I say, old boy-no congratulations? No words of encouragement for the new chief executive? Dashedly unsporting of you, I must say."
"What d'you want, Bakerstreet?"
"He speaks! My, I am surprised-my father always said that only the top of the line models were equipped with vocal chords, when it came to Hackwrenches."
"I have been known to turn a phrase, now an' again."
"Yes, indeed you have...quite a few phrases, in fact, some of which are the cause of your landing in here, I do believe."
"Oh? I thought I got assigned here to improve the decor. You people have got lousy taste in curtains, y'know."
"Don't play games with me, my friend. Your fate was sealed the moment you took thought to oppose me, and now you have seen how futile the gesture was. Futile, and pointless other than some vain attempt to needle me with our kindred's longstanding feud. A pitiful effort, all in all."
Slowly and with determination, Corkscrew turned, swinging his knees over the side of the flattened mattress with measured intent. From the moment his eyes made contact with Bakerstreet's, they never wavered.
"Yet here you are, standing in the cells in your morning suit and mindin' your society manners, to see me. I find that interestin', my lord. I really do."
"Do not flatter yourself, Hackwrench. We are both mice of means and influence, but I have played the superior game, and to the victor go the spoils. As our human friend Tolkien once put it, you are a lesser son of greater science, I am quite afraid."
"An' yet still-here you are."
He eyed his boasting visitor with a critical stare, noting Lord Bakerstreet's abrupt silence as he rose from the bunk, leaning forward against the old-style cell bars. The noblemouse seemed uneasy, swaggering but yet uncertain. He had not expected to find any fighting spirit left in Corky, yet here it was.
"Here you are...all decked out in your finest, showing off your new power an' prestige for little old me. I'm touched. But my question is-why d'you need to?"
Bakerstreet said nothing, his smoldering eyes simmering with contained rage, but Corky had hit his stride and his deductive reasoning was in full swing.
"You want something from me."
"What could you possibly have that would be of any use to me? You are no more than a peasant, a serf to be bent to my will in due time."
"You're bragging again. What's under that massive ego that needs propping up so much? I wonder."
"I warn you, Hackwrench-"
"Warn me? That's rich, I'm already in a cell. What more can you do t'me at this point?"
"That...depends."
"Depends on what? Your mood? How generous you're feelin' on a given day?"
Corkscrew took a breath, turning his back to the reviled peer as he paced toward the rear wall. For some hours he'd been running the situation over in his mind, wondering when Bakerstreet might have him processed and interrogated. There were rules in place to make such things humane and effective, but how much his Excellency would adhere to them depended...depended...
"It depends..."
Grinning crookedly, Corky looked over his shoulder as light dawned on him, the answer arriving as quickly as a flash of inspiration or insight. The answer to all of this waiting and grand posturing, at last.
"You wanna find out what I know."
"What you know?"
The hawkish mouse pressed close to the bars, his mouth turned down in a grim line.
"There is nothing that you could possibly know, that would cause me any consequence."
"So certain are you, hmm?"
"Quite certain, and confident of of the fact. Had I not been so, there are more...drastic steps, that I could have taken."
"You are really bad at bluffing, d'you know that? I hope you don't play poker with that face."
"I have already held you under the sedition statutes-do you care to continue pushing me further, to see how extreme my wrath can be?"
"I once led a mission to arrest a Siamese that was First Pet to Heinrich Himmler. Do I look scared-or impressed, for that matter?"
"Confound it, you airborne rogue-you claim to have knowledge that is dangerous to me, and I shall have it from you-one way or the other!"
"Well now, getting down to brass tacks, are we? I thought you'd come around, sooner or later. You're too smart to not be curious."
"Yes, I am curious, hang your mottled hide. I must know."
"Yes?"
Bakerstreet's eyes bulged, and Corky chuckled to himself in contentment. His plan was working, and thus far he had managed to keep control of his temper in the process. This might be a good day, after all.
"Achally, I think I'd rather have my one vidcall, if you don't mind. Send the jailer in on your way out."
"I am not some petty servant to be dismissed at whim! Your rights are only those which I choose to give!"
"Oh me, oh my, sorry about that, good buddy-but the Treaty's got some rules about those kind'a things. Just a quick news flash, your lordship-you're not that powerful yet."
"Yet is the operative word, old boy. I am working toward my vision, even now. Keep your secrets! Little good they will do you, rotting in the mire of this place until the city above us fades to dust! And even yet then, my hatred will remain to bind the memory of you. Enjoy your accommodations!"
The lights seemed to brighten as Bakerstreet stormed from the cell block, and as Corky watched with thoughtful intent, the Englishmouse pounded on the armored door, signalling the guard outside. Now was the time, if there was going to be one-years in the air dodging combatants had taught him the fine art of judging an opponent's time.
"How is your brother, by the way? I hear he retired from the Air Guard with full honors-quite an achievement."
Stiffening, Bakerstreet's back went ramrod-straight, and his answer came without turning, cold, flat and aloof.
"Leave my family out of this matter."
"Why? You seem perfectly content to destroy mine."
A cool eye looked back at him, and in the depths of his heart, Corky knew he had struck a nerve, and pressed his advantage.
"As it happens, your brother started out at a pretty dismal assignment early on, didn't he...Outpost Seven I think. Off the border of Ghana, isn't it?"
"What of it?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all really. Was he on duty that day, I wonder? September twenty-seventh, 1981...the proverbial day that'll live in infamy, hmm?"
"You will stop this, cretin. You will stop it immediately."
"Stop what? I'm just reminiscing about a bygone time. I was there after all, remember?"
"You are attempting to extract information from me by playing my emotions. I am not a pianoforte sir, and you shall find me more difficult to provoke than you may have thought."
"Is that right?" Corky paused. "Y'know, I'm sure the chairmouse would be interested to know that Mousedom's noblest family has been complicit all these years in covering the tracks of an unmitigated murder. I'd be very interested t'see how that treats your standing."
Lord Bakerstreet was silent for a few moments, considering his feet most carefully as he thought, choosing his words.
"You cannot prove it."
"Is that an admission?"
"No, it is a fact. Whatever it is you believe you know, is based upon circumstantial evidence at best, hearsay at worst, and vain imagination, even worse than that. You cannot prove one iota of what you have presented, and should you try, it would mean the end of you."
"Are you threatening me, my lord? I wouldn't have thought you'd have the stomach for that kind of action."
"You would be surprised what you can tolerate, when presented with the opportunity to change the world."
"Change it into whose image-yours, or Desiree D'Allure's?"
"...who?"
"Don't try to act cute with me. She was seen with you at the Trifecta, she's a known associate of Corylus Banastre, and the both of them are hip deep in so much evil plotting they couldn't crank their own ailerons if they wanted to."
"I say again, you can prove nothing."
"Maybe not. But I might just know somebody who can."
"If you mean our friend Miss Ableheart, I am not certain as to what credibility she possesses, at this juncture."
"Cred-what have you done?"
"I? You blame me for your difficulties? Surely you jest, friend. I am but merely a public servant, serving the people's interest."
"Propwash. You serve whatever's your interest at the time. Now what've you done with Acorna?"
"I have done nothing, as such. But I do say you may find the power of your allies...waning, somewhat."
"You'll be reaching for sure if you think you can break the likes of Bianca. She might be old, but politically she can bench-press half the councillors on your side. Between the two of them I'd call that some pretty powerful clout, still."
"Perhaps. But at the proverbial end of the day, I am the mouse holding the gavel, and you are the one sitting in a holding cell. Therefore which of us holds the greater power, currently?"
"Power is a matter of perspective, Bakerstreet. You'll well to remember that."
"I shall, since the perspective from which I see it is the seat in my new office-which is approximately twenty stories above this facility."
Turning on his heel, he rapped his knuckles sharply on the corridor door, summoning the cell block guard. As much as he refused to show it to Corky, the conversation had left him drained. Just how much did the old pilot know? The poignant hints he had dropped were alarming, implying things that heretofore he had thought only known to his father, and his grandfather, old Lord Bakerstreet himself. The events Corkscrew had referenced were dark deeds most perilous, and should they come out...he shuddered to think of the consequences, not only to himself, but to the reputation and fortunes of his entire house.
"Guard? Guard! I am ready to depart!"
"Yeah, I would run, if I were you. The next few days are gonna get hairy for you-unless of course, you intend to shut me up."
"Do not tempt me, vermin filth. Guard!"
"How would you do it an' get away with it, though-that's the question. Such a high-profile prisoner, disappearing from lockup in the freshman days of your administration? Scandalous."
Lord Bakerstreet's shoulders were beginning to heave with strain by the time the guard made it to the door, keying it open with a specific pass code which changed each hour, on the hour. Corky's mind was processing multiple variables-that he had managed to get inside his adversary's head was obvious. Bakerstreet wasn't just worried-he was terrified, and it was obvious to anyone who had studied personalities and behavior very much at all. He knew the same truth that Corkscrew knew, at least in part-and the thought of Geegaw Hackwrench's son possessing that knowledge was eating at him, from the inside out. The noblemouse's face was a portrait in shadows when the guard on shift finally keyed him out, and in spite of the current low circumstances, Corky sat back in his bunk well satisfied. His revised plan was going off exactly according to design, and he must simply wait, and allow the doubts he had sewn to fester and grow. Even the most intelligent of opponents could be counted on to make a mistake, eventually. It was only a matter of time.
"Step one, psychological warfare-check. Give him a few days to stew, then we'll see what we got to work with. Now then, what comes next? Oh, golly all the day, I'm forgetting something...I know I am. Hackwrench's prerogative I suppose, but it is an annoying turn of-oh-thunderama-I forgot!"
Grabbing the plate that had been left from his dinner, Corky rattled it forcefully against the cell bars, setting up a racket like nothing the young patrolmice had ever heard before.
"Guard? Guard! I need that vidcall-I know I only get one but it's important-good golly but it's important! Guard!"
"Terminated? What do you mean, terminated! I have a class-six security clearance with this agency, if I was going to be cashiered out somebody would have notified me!"
"I'm sorry, Miss Ableheart-the orders came down from Mr. Limburger this morning, he left no room for mistake-termination effective immediately."
"I'll just bet-he already tried to terminate me once. Out a tenth-story window!"*
"Miss Ableheart, making wild accusations is not going to get you your position back-and it will certainly cause you difficulty in getting another."
The office receptionist lowered her eyes and took off her glasses, rubbing the bridge of her nose tiredly.
"I'm sorry, Acorna," she said in a quieter voice. "But I think this was being debated days ago. What did you do to tick off Limburger and the other counselors?'
"I didn't do anything except what we're paid to do-find out the truth. And What I've found is distinctly unpopular, and maybe even just a little dangerous."
"You can't seriously expect anyone to believe that Limburger tried to murder you?"
"I don't care if anyone believes it or not, it happened and it is the truth! If it hadn't been for the poor mouse sitting in RAS lockup right now, I would most likely be a smear on the street. Corkscrew Hackwrench saved my life, and that's not the action of a dangerous mouse. Our new Secretary General is full of bull."
"Careful Acorna-the sedition laws-"
"Are meant to protect the republic, not spare a blowhard's hurt feelings. I am not afraid of Birchbriar Bakerstreet, no matter how serious he takes his office. If he wants me, he can take his best shot-I'm getting sort've used to it."
The receptionist, whose name (in a universal moment of irony) was Tammy, eyed her incredulously.
"You're taking this all very calmly, considering."
"I see it this way-I simply have no other alternative."
Slipping into the short trenchcoat she'd brought, Acorna picked up her briefcase and looked back toward her office.
"Am I allowed to clean out my desk?"
"Under observation, I have to be with you at all times to ensure you don't remove any official material."
"I'm sure. Hamilton thinks of everything, doesn't he."
"He didn't get a reputation for being ruthless for nothing."
Walking along the narrow corridor that led back to her corner office, the former prosecutor let her thoughts wander. That she'd stumbled into a conspiracy of enormous proportions, she had no doubt-but just how deeply had the infection spread? The connection between Banastre and Bakerstreet was becoming more and more evident-it only remained to prove it. There was no doubt to be had that Hamilton Limburger was deeply embedded in the plot, given his attempt to be rid of her, and her mind raced to the obvious question-how many others had been compromised? Who could be trusted?
"Do you really think something's rotten about the whole thing? Like inside the government?"
"To be honest with you, the less I tell you is probably better, after the experience I've had. D'you have a family?"
"My husband and my two sons."
"Then take my advice, and stay away from it. Do your job and don't get too curious-leave that to those of us that are responsible for it."
"How are you responsible for any of this?"
Acorna opened the lid of a box, sliding the small stack of awards she'd removed from the wall into it. How did you explain this to someone whose entire career existed in one room? Who'd never seen the darker underside of civilization, only hearing about it from watercooler gossip and news services.
"I'm responsible because I saw it, Tee. I looked at this happening every day, and I buried myself so much in more menial work that I looked right over top of it, not willing to admit what some older heads would have probably seen in two seconds. I thought I was doing such important work, punishing offenders against this grand republic...when really I was just feeding a mask. A monster that my hubris helped create."
The other mouse nodded sagely but said nothing, twiddling with her long curls nervously as Acorna picked up several books and other loose odds and ends that were her own-she'd never been one to clutter her office with belongings from home. A couple of nice pens, a rodent-published copy of a classic mystery novel, and her nameplate topped off the box, with just enough room to seal the lid.
"There now, that wasn't so bad...nothing for the powers that be to be concerned about. Just replacing one more cog in the machine, as it were."
"I'm sorry, Miss Ableheart...I wish things could be different."
"So do I. If I still had access to the resources here I might be able to do some good against this thing. Make a difference of some kind. As it is I guess I'm just one more rodent out of work and looking for a new meal ticket. But who knows...this game is always unpredictable."
Sighing, she shouldered into her over-arm purse and picked up her small box of effects, her mind already occupied with the situation ahead. Just what should she do with the information she knew, in her own head? Without documentation she couldn't hope to make the connections she suspected, and she wasn't gifted with the photographic memory possessed by some of her peers. If she determined to delve back into the investigation on her own, it would be without aid, starting completely from scratch. The thought was daunting, to say the least.
"Thank you for listening to me vent, Tee. Sometimes it helps to just get the frustrations out in the air. That's about the only thing I am sure of, right now."
"Don't give it another thought. Sometimes we all need to sound it out."
"Too true. Listen, good luck with everything-keep your nose clean and your head down, and don't appear too interested in anything. You might just make it in this business."
The open door beckoned, and Acorna found that for the first time in her life-she had no idea what to do. Taking some time off might be advisable, to get her thoughts in order-but then, the situations in this case had very little room to wait. Things were now in motion that could not be undone, and both speed and stealth would be of the essence.
"Oh, Miss Ableheart!"
"Yes?"
"Don't-ah...don't forget this."
Turning, she found a heavy, thick bound volume of files thrust on top of her box, its' weight pulling her nearly into a stumble as she leaned back to steady herself. The aroma of inexpensive paper and strong coffee immediately assaulted her senses.
My case notes! she realized , with a rush of adrenaline and elation. The folder was a full half-inch thick, and contained copies of Acorna's personal observations, documents she had obtained, and other material she could never had reproduced from memory. It represented countless hours of research, hard-won leads and an endless amount of legwork performed by she and other members of her office, over the last month. This handwritten and photocopied version had been the counselor's personal backup, the main version having been stored on her desktop computer interface, which Limburger had promptly confiscated before her arrival; how the head prosecutor's cronies had missed the paperbound collection was beyond her guess. Unless...
"Tee, I-I don't know what to say."
"Say you'll do the right thing. Say you'll be careful."
"Of course I will. You know what a careful girl I am."
"That's what worries me. Now get out of here, before somebody comes down and starts asking questions. I think there's a car waiting for you out front."
"Pulling me a ride from the motorpool is pushing your luck a little, isn't it?"
With a smirk that belied a hint of knowing, the office clerk pulled aside the drapes.
"This wasn't my idea. I think you must have a friend, somewhere."
At the curb, a long, low-slung limousine sat, purring evenly in the twilight. Built by a private coachworks many years earlier for a creature of discerning tastes, its' rakish lines and smooth curves spoke of a thought to luxury-yet the well maintained alcohol-driven motor under the long hood was ready to deliver the passenger from harm, in a pinch.
"A friend somewhere, indeed..."
Standing at the back door of the ostentatious kit-car, a tall squirrel in an old-style chauffeur's cap inclined his head respectfully, ready to usher Acorna into the plush interior.
"Ma'am. Mr. Maplewood's compliments-he asks to see you, if the time is convenient. If not, you have use of myself and the car to tidy whatever arrangements you have need of, until a dinner appointment, perhaps."
Birch Maplewood. The answer should have been obvious from first glance, and in spite of the relatively desperate circumstances she had to smile at the old chipmunk's tactics. He was a sly fox, and his reputation was well-deserved, in court and out. Making a temporary alliance with him had felt prudent when she'd made the decision**-perhaps now would be a good time to make the arrangement a bit more firm.
"I accept Mr. Maplewood's kind invitation. I do have one or two minor matters to clear up-could he spare you for a couple of hours?"
The driver bowed graciously.
"I am at your disposal, madam. Mr. Maplewood anticipated that you might need time for such things, and therefore has reservations for this evening for the two of you at Romano's."
Romano's? The old boy was laying out the proverbial red carpet-if Bernard's was considered the gold standard for fine dining in their little world, Romano's could be called the platinum tier. Just getting a reservation usually took months in advance, unless one happened to be a fairly well-famed old chipmunk of considerable means and connections. He was a bit pretentious, this one-but he was also accustomed to getting what he wanted.
"Your employer is very sure of himself, isn't he."
"Yes ma'am, he usually is. If you're ready?"
"Very much, thank you. I think I've seen all of this place I can stomach, for the moment."
Sliding into the richly upholstered interior, Acorna arranged her belongings in the opposing seat and sat back, taking in the opulence of her abruptly offered chariot. Old he might be, but Birch had impeccable taste in some things, and it showed. The fact that he was working this hard to woo her with first impressions told her one thing, and it would have been evident even to a first-year police academy cadet-he wanted something. More than likely Birch was after the same thing she was, a cementing of the impromptu partnership they had formed at the Trifecta-but if he was willing to provide this kind of coaxing, Acorna was certain she could endure it for a day.
"Does the lady require anything during our outing, today?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I did not know if you might have need of anything for your meeting, this evening-Mr. Maplewood has standing accounts with most of the finer establishments in the city, and he offers the use of them, for your immediate needs."
Oh, you are smooth, sir. I approve, she thought with a chuckle. Very well, if the gentlemunk was offering, who was she to disappoint. Let the old fellow throw his resources around a bit, after the preceding days she was not going to be one to complain.
"Very well, Mr.-I didn't catch your name, I'm sorry."
"That's quite all right. My name is Christopher, and it is my pleasure to attend you, my word upon it."
"Very well, Christopher-Macy's at Thirty-Fourth, please. The rodential establishment there has a very fine salon and I'll want to look my best for such a prestigious establishment this evening. Does the car have communication?"
"It does-you have been anticipated once again, however. Mr. Maplewood's secretary procured an appointment at the Thirty-Fourth Street salon for you this morning."
"Mr. Maplewood's staff is very thorough."
"We do try. And not to sound crass, but Mr. Maplewood has entertained ladies before, in his time-he tries very hard to be gracious."
"He succeeds," Acorna returned, with genuine appreciation. Maplewood wasn't even sure she would accept whatever suggestion he might make, yet he was willing to pull out all the stops to make her feel not just wanted as a resource-but like a lady. She was unaccustomed to this level of gentility in the males of her own generation, and her respect for her former opponent rose another notch.
"Christopher?"
"Yes, ma'am?"
"If I can ask, um...why is Mr. Maplewood...well..."
"Alone, ma'am?"
"I wasn't going to be that blunt, but."
The squirrel chuckled quietly.
"Much like his son, Mr. Maplewood had one great, powerful love in his life, and that was Mrs. Maplewood. Oh, now there walked a great lady. Genteel, well-mannered, generous, and quite beautiful, if you consult the old photographs. I believe his son's wife reminded him much of her-they were good friends."
"So he has two personal stakes in the case," she mused thoughtfully. "This makes a great deal more sense now."
"To be truthful, he likely would have helped you even if neither of them had been involved. Hates an injustice, does Mr. Maplewood-hates it with a passion. The likes of Banastre and Bakerstreet drive him to literal distraction."
"I've begun to realize that."
"One caveat I will offer, however. If he may save his son from this fiasco-he will. That has ever been his intent."
"I think I'm beginning to come around to his point, on that one, with everything I've seen. Too many variables don't add up."
"Hopefully between the two of you, you may be able to alter the equation."
"I hope so. I'd prefer to think I didn't just blow my career for nothing."
The two fell silent, and the dispossessed prosecutor withdrew into her own thoughts, sorting through the events of the previous days as she lounged in the comfortable confines of the velvety seats. She knew she would have to stay somewhere safe-Hamilton knew where she lived, and she didn't doubt the place was already staked out. Her old boss would take no chances, realizing what she knew, for in turn his employer would have no mercy. The question only remained...could she evade them both, and stay alive long enough to straighten this entire affair out? If it could be straightened out...
I wonder... she thought somberly. The thought of Corkscrew Hackwrench bothered her to no small degree. He had risked a great deal when he had saved her, knowing it would complicate his plans. He could have let her fall-had he been a lesser mouse. But instead he had effortlessly performed a feat of absolute midair acrobatics, plucking her from the jaws of death with a smile. It almost felt like an old movie, with a plot well contrived.
I wonder how we can get him out of there.
Filing a brief at this point would be useless, even with Maplewood's legendary legal clout. With the writ of habeas corpus suspended, and Corkscrew's charges bolstered by the Treaty's sedition laws-getting him released by any legal means might prove nigh-impossible, short of proving their case against the top names in the conspiracy. And even then it would require powerful allies to make the matter stick.
"Thirty-Fourth street, ma'am-I suggest you head along in, your appointment is shortly."
"Thank you, Christopher. If you would park the car, I'll find you as soon as I'm finished. I think they have a garage under that oak over there."
"Very good, ma'am."
Maplewood had accomplished one thing-Acorna had gone from feeling like a drowned cat on the run, to feeling like a princess in a coach-and-four. Very likely that had been the old chipmunk's design, and she made a mental note to thank him, no matter how the meeting went.
Our list of friends grows thin, she thought, signing an assumed name to the salon registry book. Unless these Rescue Rangers can pull off some manner of miracle, the rest of us may very well be doomed.
"We are doomed."
"Oh do shut up, and help me here. This may prove rather delicate."
"What're you talking about, delicate?! This is my posterior we're dealing with!"
"Precisely my dear, which is why I was attempting to keep a certain level of decorum," Reguba seethed impatiently. Tammy swallowed hard, and allowed her temper to cool slightly.
"I'm sorry. This is embarrassing."
"I would well imagine, but we are doing as best we may. I say, Chip my lad-any luck with that bit of girder?"
A grunt came in response, and a faint creak as somewhere in the darkness a piece of metal moved. Tammy drew in her breath sharply.
"Ouch!"
"Sorry, Tam-sorry."
"It's all right, just...be more careful. Please."
Growling, the squirrel crossed her arms ahead of her in the crawlspace, plotting darkly.
"If I see another walnut walleroo in my life, I am going to lace Monterey Jack's coffee with a diuretic."
"Tammy!"
"Well I'm sorry! They're the fault for this-this-well, problem."
"There are such things as limits, dear one."
"Dannflor Reguba, when I get loose from this predicament..."
"On that note," Mariel interjected quickly, "I think we've got it. Heave, Aunt Tammy!"
"I am not a whale," came the muffled response, and a faint creak and a thunk as Tammy's hips cleared the obstruction. Brushing off her soot-stained jeans, she grimaced, shuddering in the damp chill.
"What I wouldn't give for a hot shower."
"Or a hot meal," Reguba replied, poking his head through the hole. "Which hopefully may not be long in coming. Look up, my bonnie lads and lasses!"
Overhead, albeit small, a little patch of welcome starlight shone through a breach in the roof, beckoning like the breath of fresh night air that came with it. Against all odds and all circumstances, the Rescue Rangers had once more made it out to fight another day, and for the first time in many days much of the team felt hope in their hearts. All was not lost, after all, and a ray of light shone through the darkness at last, illuminating the possibility that maybe-just maybe-victory might emerge after all.
"Bring everybody up!" Mariel shouted. "Single file, one at a time-be quick but be gentle! We don't know how long we've got!"
"You inherited that leader yell from your dad," Dale groused as his head appeared in the opening, one finger wiggling in his ear. "Watch out, I got kids behind me."
One by one the teenagers Banastre had left behind emerge through the gap and made their way out onto the roof, guided by Reguba and Mariel's sure hands. Sparky followed, their fallen comrade slung over shoulder, as Chip, Lawainie and Foxy brought up the rear, treading carefully as their wet feet slipped against bare metal. The leader of the Rangers carried Gadget in his arms, her head nestled against his shoulder as he walked, and despite his earlier outburst there was a tenderness in him as he balanced her weight carefully, ensuring nothing jostled her as they made their way up. Lawainie kept her eyes locked downward toward her feet and said nothing-but she knew now was not the time-the reckoning of all these things would come later. Right now they must escape, and survive-survive to regroup with their allies, however small the group might be, and to see what could now be done. Escape was now first priority-afterwards resupply, then a search for intelligence. What resources they could bring to bear must be used carefully.
"Carefully, I say-up we come, into the light again, here we go!"
Reguba's running dialogue of encouragement had been irritating at first, but the further he went Chip found it effective. If they were to succeed, they had to have a ray of sunlight somewhere. In days gone by Gadget had filled that role most of the time, but now...so many things were uncertain, to say the least. More than ever before in their lives, the Rangers were living in interesting times.
"Hold on a minute, I'm counting," Mariel called. "I wanna make sure everybody's here!"
"I think we're a little old for roll call, princess," Chip chided gently. The cold, blue fire that Mariel stared into his core abruptly changed his mind, and he spoke up dutifully when she called his name.
"Present!"
"Unnghhh...present? Doesn't feel like a present to me, man...curse, maybe? Yeah, there you go."
Chip's daughter stopped her dialogue in surprise, and gulped back any protest as to the shock of all present, Danny, leader of the teenaged team that had been under Banastre's control, slowly sat up.
"What-what happened? I feel like a cat used my head for a golf ball."
"That's not too far from the truth I think, lad," Reguba rumbled, marveling as the youth got unsteadily to his feet, leaning on his friends as they hugged and patted him on the back with overjoyed looks on every face.
"Atta boy, Danny!"
"Right-o, if anybody could beat that thing we knew it'd be you!"
"Thanks guys-I-I dunno what happened. I was confused, I thought for sure I was gonna die, an' then-then-well, here I sit. Or stand, I guess."
He looked at Tammy with a dawning light of recognition.
"You-you're the doc. You tried to save me."
"I wish I could say I had. But I think you've got somebody else to thank here, unless evidence points me another direction."
She gazed down at Gadget pointedly, encouraged at least by her steady breathing as she lay limp in Chip's arms, her chest rising and falling rhythmically and strong. Whatever the strange, destructive energies that now lay sleeping within her body, they had ensured that every process, every fiber of her had been renewed and apparently restored to working order.
"Unless I miss my guess...I think she shared her regenerative energy with him, however that's possible," Tammy speculated in wonder. "I'm no geneticist, that's Mariel's department. But whatever she did...he seems perfectly fine. At least by a visual diagnosis."
She turned her attention back to the younger squirrel.
"How d'you feel, kiddo?"
He flexed his fingers and breathed deep, trying to clear his head.
"I kinda feel better, I think. Actually, I feel pretty good-great even. Really great!"
"Amazing," Mariel said softly, pondering the myriad scientific variables even as the front compartment of her mind was absorbed in disbelief. "Absolutely amazing. Not an hour ago this kid was ready to fall off into the great unknown-and now this."
"Is that your official position, Doctor?" Tammy chortled.
"No, my official position is...I'm stumped. I'd need at least a basic med-scan to start working on even a rudimentary theory."
"Walks like Gadget, talks like Gadget," Dale grinned. "But somehow I don't think our friend here is gonna get permission from his parents for us to poke him in a med chamber."
"My parents!" Danny yelped. "If they get home from th' opera an' I'm not there they'll freak! I'm s'posed to be there watching my little sister!"
"An' I'm supposed to be in bed by nine," one of his friends piped up worriedly. "I'm gonna be grounded for life."
"Maybe not, if the lot of you can get yourself home in some kinda timely fashion," Chip replied with a tight smile, a knowing light in his eye. "I'm not exactly in a position to carry tales."
"You're lettin' us go?"
"You weren't in control of your own faculties-got nothing to hold you on," he said nonchalantly. "Besides, we're not exactly on deputized terms with the RAS right now. Where would I hold you? The best thing for every one of you is to just go home, and sleep this off. Get up, have a big breakfast-an' forget you ever saw us. Please," he added quickly. Danny shrugged.
"We're in."
"No problems, man!"
Shaking his head at the natural banter that came to the kids so easily, Chip suppressed a laugh. Were he and Dale like this, when they were young?
"You are still like that," Lawainie said with a breathy chuckle, putting a hand on his arm as she read his mind. "We should send them along though, so we can be heading out ourselves. We have a lot on our plate tonight."
That was the understatement of the year, Chip mused as the group made their way down an access ladder, doing their best to ignore the troubled groans coming from the building's structure. Pointing to a prominent red switch by the handrails, Lawainie nudged him as they proceeded downward.
"Emergency alert-probably should trip that to let the humans know something's up, if this building collapses we don't want anybody in the blast radius."
"Or any of ours either, for that matter, it'll get the word out."
A keening alarm filled the air as he pulled down the bright red toggle, and as the last foot touched ground Chip could already hear sirens in the distance.
"Christine's boys are on the ball tonight,"*** he said approvingly, watching the windows down the street lighting up with the dim reflection of approaching blue lights. "Wish I could say that about our own."
"We will again," Mariel said reassuringly. "One day all of this will be a bad memory, and we'll laugh it off. You'll see."
"You have your mother's optimism," he responded listlessly, ever conscious of the precious cargo he carried close to him. "I wish you could spare a cup of it."
"I'll see what I can do, next time I give at the office," the redhead quipped cheekily, and squeezed his hand. "Maybe a good transfusion'll even make you grow a sense of humor."
"Or a sense of purpose," Chip returned, with a touch more bitterness than he had intended. Mariel nodded, putting an arm around his shoulders briefly before running ahead to join the others, and left her father momentarily alone with his thoughts.
Not the best place to be, at the moment.
"Tell me about it. My head's messier than my makeup vanity right now."
"You wanna tell me how you keep doing that?"
"Doin' what?"
"Reading my mind. Like, down to punctuation marks-it's almost spooky."
Lawainie laughed, a reaction she didn't expect to have by any means.
"I'm sorry to tell ya flatfoot, but my sister was right-you're easy to read. I mean real, real easy. When she said you were like readin' the flap on a novel, she meant it. In a good way, I mean! She loved it...loves it."
"Yeah...I have to keep reminding myself, too."
He gazed down at Gadget, still trapped in a sphere of awe and near disbelief as he took in the feeling of her breathing against his chest. It was a sensation he'd never expected to experience again.
"She's so beautiful...I had almost forgotten what this version of her was like."
"That's because you fell in love with her again, every day. It was always new for you."
"How could you possibly-?"
"Because it was obvious. You, Chip Maplewood, wore your love for my sister like a badge of honor on your sleeve. You wanted everybody to know it, anywhere you went, case or no case. If she called, you answered. Period. Paragraph."
She sighed.
"That's kind'a a rare thing in a guy."
"Lawainie, I-"
"No. We have got to hash this out at some point, but not now-not like this. She needs you."
"What about what I need?"
"Charles..."
Lawainie had used his given name maybe three times in her life, and he immediately took notice, his mind shaken from its' self pity.
"You don't even know what you need, right now. You're still too hurt, too raw. I should have seen that when I started falling, an'-an' I'm sorry. I let what I wanted get ahead of my good sense. Just like I've always done."
"This isn't your fault-"
"No, no it is, in a way. I wanted you from the beginning, y'know. All the way back on the big island...Shaka and I weren't 'serious' yet, and when I walked into your marshmallow roast that night****...I might not have shown it through all the scheming and bluster, but my heart skipped a beat. I guess that attraction has always been there, all these years. An' I let it get the best of me."
"We both did."
Sighing, she took off her jacket, tucking it around Gadget as her sister began shivering in her sleep. Would she remember them, when she woke? Lawainie hoped so...but she dreaded the conversation that must come after more than anything she'd ever dreaded before.
"She'll forgive you, you know."
"I know she will," Chip said simply, cradling Gadget just a little tighter. "That's not the question."
"Then what is?"
"The question I have to ask...is how do I forgive myself?"
*, ** A Touch of Quicksilver (2018)
***References Christine Cagney, of Cagney & Lacey(1981-1987), Chief of Police of New York City in this universe.
****Gadget Goes Hawaiian (CDRR: The Original Series)(1989)