Claw and Antler: Small Animals Unit

An animal police unit had arrived within an hour, bringing a small medical crew with them. Of the twelve canine victims, only two were still alive, and were spirited away and left on the doorstep of a veterinary office to be treated. Within another half an hour, the reports had come in. Only a single survivor remained, the dogs had been poisoned, and not by a human. One of the police troops, a basset hound, picked up a dog biscuit lying on the ground at the scene and sniffed it, remarking, "Smells like rodent – a mouse . . . somebody call the small animals unit."

"We're already here, Frank," a gruff voice behind the hound replied. "Whad've we got?"

"A real sicko, Bennie," the hound replied sullenly as he nosed the biscuit into an evidence bag. "First glance is some rodent fed twelve mutts doggie treats laced with something really nasty."

"Great," the squirrel sighed. "We're here less than six months and we get something like this. Who found them?"

The basset hound pointed a paw over towards a group of four mice being uncomfortably surrounded by a Pekingese and two tabbies in uniform. The squirrel approached and asked the dog what the story was on the rodents. "They say they were already down when they found them," the Pekingese growled and pointed at the second mouse. "But I found pieces of a kibble treat in this one's pockets!"

Immediately all four mice began a chorus of denial and protest. A warning yeowl from the tabbies quieted them. "You can't eat us, right?" the first mouse said before the third mouse clapped a hand over his mouth to stop him from tempting the felines.

"Haul them in!" the squirrel spat, clearly disgusted. "I'm gonna enjoy sorting this out back at the station."

"Promise you'll save some for me, Bennie," the Pekingese replied as he and the tabbies roughly forced the four protesting mice into a metal cage bolted to an old rusty Radio Flyer wagon.

They went on about their business, all wondering what course the investigation would take next. By the next morning, the scene was cleared away.

-- Rescue Ranger HQ, Tree in Park, March 2^nd, 1991, 9:28 a.m.

Chip Maplewood fumbled his key out of the left pocket of his bomber jacket and unlocked the front door. He cautiously peeked in. A year's worth of dust had settled on everything, including the floor. No tracks were visible. Chip concluded he was the first one home. Just to be sure, he called out, "Anybody home?" Only the ring of a hollow echo answered him. He hefted what was left of his luggage over the threshold. It had taken him a good chunk of the morning to lug his bags back to the tree from where he'd been dropped off in the city. He looked around and sighed deeply. "Well, a little more peace and quiet won't hurt," he mused, already starting to savor the calm.

A hearty slap on the back broke his brief reverie. The unexpected contact sent Chip into a defensive posture, as he spun, hooking the slapping arm, matching his shoulder to his opponent's for the body throw he had practiced time and time again. He twisted and turned, using strength, mass, and leverage in concert to upend whoever had assaulted him. Somehow, though, the technique felt oddly incomplete, as his intended victim rolled with the motion, twisted in mid-toss and landed only slightly off-balance. Chip spun away, then saw he'd just tried to give Dale a flying lesson. Dale stood there grinning, and said, "Hey! Nice throw, Chip, you haven't lost your edge in a year, have you? Boy, it's been awhile, hasn't it?"

Not nearly long enough, Chip thought, as he picked up his house key where he'd dropped it when Dale smacked him. Both of them picked up their bags and went to the room they shared. "Hey, Dale, did you see any of the rest on your way back here?"

"Nope, sure didn't," Dale replied, as they both started unpacking.

Chip noted that while he had started out traveling light and had come back with more than he left with, Dale had began packed to the gills, but had come back with far less than before. More to the detail, Chip noted that of the favorite comics Dale had packed one year ago, only two tattered issues remained. Chip considered asking what happened, but figured it would come out later. Dale was halfway through his suitcase when both chipmunks heard a sound for sore ears: "Hello? Anybody home?"

Both chipmunks raced for the door following the melodious cadence they'd just heard, and found themselves both jammed shoulder-to-shoulder in the doorway. Two seconds of furious struggling popped them both free, and they sprinted into the living room to greet the only one they knew it could be. They rounded the corner towards the front door, and beheld – well, someone who didn't exactly look like Gadget.

"What the—" sputtered an incredulous Dale, eyes wide.

Chip swore he felt his own lower jaw impact the floor. Both chipmunks struggled to regain their composure. "Yaa..—" Chip began, but all his conscious thought ground to a halt.

Gadget blushed, turning her face away shyly. She still wore her usual lavender coveralls, but her fur was a light chestnut brown, as was her hair. From a distance, it looked like she'd gotten a tan and dyed her hair. Presently the light from the front door was cut off as a large frame strode through. "Did we make it on time, Zipper, me lad?" came a barely audible whisper. A tiny affirmative squeak from the insect sprawled over Monty's left shoulder answered.

Monterey Jack and Zipper both looked like they'd lost a bitter, heated argument with a paper shredder. They regarded Gadget's altered appearance with some shock. "Why Gadget, love," Monty began. "You've gone and tried to get prettier? Man, it's been a year already? It hasn't even seemed that long ago."

"Well," Chip said, snapping out of his staring-at-Gadget trance. "let's all get unpacked and we'll tell each other all about what's happened this past year."

Monterey and Zipper just headed for the shower. Go to shower. Go directly to shower. No words, no facial expressions, no passing go, no 200 wedges of cheese. Chip and Dale finished checking the rest of the house. Aside from a single broken window pane in the attic, nothing was disturbed. Monty and Zipper took turns in the shower and got new clothing from their rooms and joined them all in the living room as Gadget served lunch.

"Who wants to go first?" Chip asked with a knowing look at Dale.

"I nominate Gadget!" Dale said quickly, understanding the set-up.

"Hey," Monty exclaimed as he bit into his sandwich. "This tastes different – no taste of machine oil or grease or anything! You can taste the lettuce and ch-hee-ee-ee-se plain."

All four of them turned as one to regard their embarrassed companion with quizzical looks. Gadget took one look at her friends and figured she had about as much chance of getting out of this as an extreme skateboarder had of getting good life insurance. She gave up with an exasperated sigh and sat down. "Fine," she groaned as they ate, paying rapt attention to her. "If I tell you why I look this way, will someone else tell their story first?"

"I'm game," Chip piped up. "What's the deal?"

"This is my hair's natural color," Gadget replied, looking aside, feeling vastly self-conscious at the importance they were placing on what was to her a minor detail. "The blond and white fur you've always seen is from the cleanser I use to get all the grease and oil off me after I work."

"So you switched brands?" Dale asked, adding two and two together and coming up short.

"Yes, Dale, dear," Gadget added sarcastically. "I've been using the new 'Division By Zero' brand."

"Huh?" Dale asked, looking befuddled.

"It doesn't exist, you doof!" Chip solved it for him, punctuating it with a swift bonk to Dale's noggin. "She's trying to tell us she hasn't been playing with machinery for a long time, so she hasn't needed to use industrial cleaner on herself. Because she's not using the cleaner, her fur's the color it would be naturally. Right Gadget?"

"On the nose, as usual," Gadget confirmed, touching her nose to make the point for Dale's benefit. "You haven't lost your edge in a year, have you, Chip?"

Inwardly, Chip flinched. I wish they'd quit saying that. If only they knew . . . well, they'll know soon enough. His train of thought was interrupted by Monty's accented rumble: "S'not like you to leave mechanical stuff alone, Gadget, love. How long has you been off the sprockets?"

"Ten months now. None of you heard the Ranger Wing land when I arrived, did you?"

The other Rescue Rangers realized they hadn't and were obviously shocked. They ate in silence for another minute or two. Chip finished his sandwich and faced the expectant stares of his compatriots. "Well," he began, "I said I'd go first, so here goes…."

* * * * * * * * *

After all their tales were told, it was getting late. Monty and Zipper went to clean up the dishes and kitchen from the lunch and dinner they'd enjoyed. Chip and Dale watched them go. Gadget had used her industrial cleansers and showered while dinner was being prepared to regain her normal appearance. She had been feeling really shy with everybody staring at her more than usual. Gadget spoke up behind them, "I better hit the hardware store so I can prepare for fixing the Ranger Wing tomorrow."

"You need any help?" both chipmunks asked.

"Nope, I'll be okay. I'll be back soon."

They waved goodbye, then Chip went to help Monty and Zipper in the kitchen, while Dale sat back to enjoy some television. He saw some station was showing its 8 p.m. news, so he changed the channel. After all, Dale thought, I've heard enough news for one night. And enough stories, too. Maybe I can find some music videos to watch.

-- Animal Police Station, Interrogation Rooms, March 3^rd, 1991, 2:42 a.m.

The squirrel eyed each of the four mice seated uncomfortably in the small, hard chairs, each with a different single leg that was slightly shorter or longer than the other three. As he stared them down, his sparrow partner flittered from one end of the room to the other behind them. Normal procedure dictated they be interrogated separately, but he had a hunch he could play them against each other. He could always separate them later, too, he figured. After letting them fidget some more, he prepared himself mentally and began his assault. "Okay, you," he suddenly snapped at the first mouse. "I wanna hear your story: What went down tonight?"

"Nothing!" the mouse blurted out, surprised. He'd been playing with his chair, trying to figure out why it kept wobbling. When the question came, he'd nearly jumped out of his skin.

Spurred on by the look on his quarry's face, he pushed for details. "Taking out twelve canines is nothing?"

"That's not what I meant!" the mouse wailed in protest.

"Which part didn't you mean?" the sparrow chirped in from behind the mouse. "The part about trying to kill them or the part about leaving a survivor?"

"But we didn't do anything! We were just coming back from the hardware store!" the second mouse said, putting a hand on his friend before he could say anything else incriminating.

"You mind?" the squirrel spat. "I'm talking to him!"

"Didn't do anything, eh?" the sparrow continued to the second mouse. "Not even lift a paw to help those mutts?"

"It was already over when we got there," the third mouse explained. "And it was us who sent for help."

"Really," the two inquisitors replied, almost in stereo.

The sparrow flitted to the door, opened it, left, and came back with three pieces of paper in his beak, which he placed on the table.

"This," the bird explained, indicating the first document, "is an affidavit by our bloodhounds that the scent on the kibble treat found at the scene matches one of you."

"This," the sparrow went on, motioning to the second paper, "confirms the kibble pieces found on you match the kibble found on scene."

"This last," the bird finished, "is a statement from the surviving canine, who confirms he saw four rodents in the alley as he lost consciousness."

"And what better way," the squirrel added, "to throw off suspicion than by calling for help?"

The fourth mouse's normally jovial expression was long absent. The third mouse said quietly, "I think we'd like to see a lawyer now."

The door opened and a red vixen stuck her head in the doorway. She passed a fourth piece of paper to the sparrow, saying, "I think they might need one, too. Book them."

The squirrel began binding their paws together as the sparrow recited the text of the new document, chirping, "You are being placed under arrest for criminal acts committed outside the Laws of Nature…"

-- Rescue Ranger HQ, Tree in the Park, March 3^rd, 1991, 8:06 a.m.

Dale yawned and stretched before he found the dampness on his chest. Closer examination revealed it was drool. He had fallen asleep on the couch in front of the television set watching music videos. "Well, look who's finally up and about, Chipper," came Monterey Jack's burly Australian drawl. "Took 'is sweet time rising from the grave, din'e?"

Uncharacteristically, Chip said nothing, remembering Dale's tale from the night before, and instead, simply nodded and focused his attention on the television set. Chip and Monty had switched the television over to the local news while they finished off their morning cups of daytime fuel. As Dale scratched several itches and stumbled towards the shower, the news anchor switched to Stan Blather for a report of an unfortunate incident the previous night. Chip's ears perked up and he listened intently.

"This is Stan Blather reporting," came the newsman's familiar opening line. "Last night at this veterinary office behind me, two mixed-breed dogs were left in severe condition on the doorstep. Only one survived the night. Both dogs had been poisoned. Police and ASPCA workers are on the case, but report that progress is slow, as both animals were apparently strays. More on this as it develops."

"Yikes!" Monty said. "Sounds like somebody had it in for those poor mutts."

"Yeah," Chip agreed. "Sounds like we found our first new case."

" . . . already . . . ?" came a groggy, groaned complaint drifting in from the direction of the shower.

"I think I recognize that place, Monty."

"Right you are, mate – I definitely do! Zipper, lad!"

Zipper flew in from the kitchen, covered in suds, as he was washing the dishes from breakfast.

"Finish up quick and go get Gadget," Monterey told the fly. "We've got a case to investigate!"

"Aye-Aye!" Zipper buzzed, and saluted, then performed a tight 180 and zoomed back into the kitchen, followed not two seconds later by a loud crash of pots and plates and a bemoaned "…uh-oh…"

Monty swore he heard Chip mumble something about "the ninth full set we've gotten since we moved in here" under his breath, but contained his laughter. Monty snuck away and began getting things together, leaving Chip sitting on the couch shaking his head, face buried in his hands. With the Ranger Plane and Ranger Wing both out of service until Gadget could repair them, they'd have to take the Rangermobile. The mere thought made Monty shudder, and he began looking for his long-misplaced crash helmet. I'd almost face a cat alone than ride in that thing again, he thought. Almost.

-- Larry's Hot Dogs, Corner of 12^th and Riverside, March 3^rd, 1991, 10:25 a.m.

Bernard Coliss idly chewed a walnut as he tried to stay hidden underneath the hot dog vendor's cart. His eyes seldom left the alleyway across the street. A sideways glance revealed his partner, Mark Chew, perched on a windowsill, also coyly watching the alley while pretending to pick for scraps. The sparrow and the squirrel had been partners for quite some time, and they were a successful team. Both knew it was a long shot if they found a lead here now, but it was worth at least a day's worth of investigation.

A strange noise drew his attention back to home plate, as a bizarre contraption zoomed along the sidewalk and into the alley, producing a loud metallic crash. As a garbage can lid rolled out of the alley and into view, Bennie nodded to Mark and they both ran into the alley, determined to figure out what was going on. Mark let out a shrill chirping song and he flew down to join Bennie. Together, they advanced slowly, leapfrogging around each other.

Their initial caution disappeared as they surveyed the scene. A skateboard with some makeshift seats had apparently impaled a friendly neighborhood garbage can. The front end looked inextricable. The seats were lying on the pavement next to the can. Among the loose bits and pieces, four rodents and a fly slowly began to move again, making groaning sounds. A battery and electric fan were lying some distance away, the mangled fan blades slowly grinding to a stop as they squelched through a small pile of doggy deposits.

"So this is what happens when it hits the fan, eh, Mark?" Bennie said with a wry grin.

"Guess so," Mark chuckled in reply, then called down the alley. "Hey, you all right?"

"…golly," came the dazed and disappointed reply. "I guess upgrading the hair dryer to the fan and modifying the blades for extra thrust didn't work out so great after all."

"Ooohhh, crikey," came a deep rumble next. "Which clue first gave you that idea, love?"

"Next time," began a chipmunk wearing a fedora and jacket, "maybe you should upgrade the steering as well as the engine?"

"Can I ride it again, mommy? Oooff!" uttered a chipmunk wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt as he unsteadily stood and took three staggering steps before tripping over a loose bolt and falling.

The fly walked over and opened the fallen chipmunk's crossed eyes. After a moment's examination, he motioned a thumbs-up to the other rodents that Hawaiian Shirt Boy was going to be okay. Bennie and Mark approached the crash site. Fedora 'Munk was helping a blond mouse in Overalls try to remove the skateboard from the garbage can, without much success. As a large, outsized mouse picked himself up and dusted himself off, he was heard to utter, "I don't know why I'm doing this, as many times as this bloomin' thing's tried to kill me…."

The large, burly Australian brushed aside Fedora and Overalls, then began using his bare paws to bend sections of the can from around the skateboard, a feat of strength which impressed the two officers very much. As the front wheels emerged intact, Overalls clearly was elated.

"Wonderful! There's enough undamaged parts for me to have this fixed up good as new!"

"Do you have to?" whined the Australian.

"Yes, do you have to?" Bennie asked as he drew up. "May I ask who you are and what you're doing here?"

"We're the Rescue Rangers," Fedora stated proudly. "We solve mysteries, fight crime, and help people in trouble."

"People?" asked Mark as he and Bennie exchanged interested glances.

"Well, mainly animals," Overalls explained happily as she continued collecting up scrap bits. "But we help humans as well, sometimes."

"Some dogs were hurt here last night," Fedora continued. "And we came to see what we could find and how we could help."

"Really?" Bennie answered. "Well, we're here about that, too."

"Great!" Fedora said. "After we clean this all up, you can help us look around for any clues."

"We've already got the clues," Bennie said, giving Mark a sideways look. Mark nodded as if he agreed.

"What?" cried Fedora. "Well, where'd you find them at?"

"All over the place," Mark said. "You want to come see them?"

"Of course!"

"Come on, and bring your friends. I know somebody who can help clean up your ride, there, just leave it in a pile."

The Australian picked up the groggy Hawaiian Shirt and they all walked out of the alley and into the waiting paws of the uniformed animals that Mark's special signal had summoned from their hiding places. Bennie and Mark spun around, taking out their badges and showing them to the group.

"Oh, by the way," Bennie said, an expression of mock surprise on his face. "We're Natural Law Enforcement. Bennie Coliss, Mark Chew, Small Animals Unit. See you at the station."

As they were herded into the cage wagon, Mark turned to Bennie and said, "I guess sometimes they do return to the scene of the crime."

Bennie said nothing, merely savoring the completely unique look of Fedora's expression as the wagon was towed away.

-- Animal Police Station, Interrogation Rooms, March 3^rd, 1991, 11:49 a.m.

Mark Chew stared at the chipmunk with the jacket and fedora who gave his name as Chip Maplewood. Chip stared right back, an annoyed look in his eyes. "You know," Chip spat, indicating the pawcuff that bound him to the table. "This really isn't necessary; we're on the same side! I want to solve this case just as badly as you do."

"And how," the sparrow retorted, "would you know how bad I want this case solved?"

"Well, pretty badly if you're just hauling in animals off the street."

"But you weren't in the street," Mark pointed out. "You were in an alley. An alley, in fact, where we had to clean up ten dead dogs."

"Ten ?! There were more?" Chip exclaimed, shocked.

"Like you didn't know they died?" Mark pressed, keeping his tone unconvinced.

"We didn't kill anybody; we don't hurt, we help! Look, officer . . ."

"Investigator . . . Mark . . . Chew," the sparrow corrected strongly. "That's Mark Chew, sir to you!"

"Right, sir. We've all been gone for the past year, we just got back a day ago and saw the story on the news, so we went to investigate."

"Gone for the past year?" Mark queried. "And can anybody confirm that lovely story for you, aside from your other friends, here?"

"Well . . . " Chip found himself at a loss for words, thinking: No, nobody you'll be able to talk to anytime soon.

"And you were there to 'investigate?'"

"Yes, we investigate and solve cases," Chip said eagerly, then suddenly realized what the sparrow was aiming at. "Like . . . you . . . guys . . . do."

"Yeah, like us. And I suppose the local animals have officially supported you in some way?"

"Well, we were given a police badge by Plato . . ."

"An animal police badge?" Mark asked, pulling out his shield. "Like this one?"

"No, Plato was working as a K-9 for the human police." Chip explained. "He and his human partner were framed on their final case, and we helped them out and solved the crime. Plato was issued a badge by the human police and he gave it to us for our help. Since then, we've been helping out humans and animals we find in trouble."

"So you claim the humans sanction your activities?" Mark asked.

"Yes, well, sorta, yeah, that's it, I guess."

"Sorta?" Mark practically snorted. "You're not some covert agency covering up government activity?"

"No. . . Have you been talking to Dale?"

"And you've been gone for a year, right?" Mark asked, ignoring the question.

"That's what I told you."

"So you wouldn't know about us, then?"

"No. When did an animal police squad get formed?"

"It's been six months since the local animal population voted us in, making us official. That makes us legit, and makes you unfit. Sit tight."

"On this chair?" came the annoyed, sarcastic barb of Chip's parting comment.

And Mark Chew walked out the door, leaving Chip behind. Chip removed his fedora with his free hand, stared at it, and buried his face in it, weary with worry. What have I gotten us into now?

Bennie Coliss watched the chipmunk in the Hawaiian shirt as he kept fiddling with the chair, rocking it back and forth. The chipmunk had a curious expression of happiness on his face. Upon seeing Bennie's scowl, however, the grin vanished and was replaced by a worried look, complete with a nervous gulp.

"You enjoying yourself, there?" Bennie said sternly.

"Uh, yes, sir—uh, I mean, no, that is, uh…." The chipmunk answered nervously. "Well, maybe a little."

"Yeah," Bennie answered. "You got a name, or you confused on that, too?"

"I'm Dale," the chipmunk said, trying to point to himself, though the pawcuff on his wrist interrupted the movement. "Ow. Dale Oakmont."

"And do you have any idea what you're here for?"

"Uh, 'cuz ya like us so much?"

"Wrong!" Bennie chuckled. "Guess again."

"Uh, maybe 'cuz . . ."

"Because!" Bennie shouted, slamming his open paw down on the table with a terrific smack. "We caught you sniffing around the same spot where eleven dogs rolled over and did more than play dead last night."

"Didya give 'em a treat for doing well?"

"Did you?"

"No, I wasn't there. Were the dogs any good?" Dale asked anxiously, an expression of childlike glee on his face at the thought of doggies doing tricks.

"I guess they were," Bennie said, feeling a headache coming on. "Because somebody gave them treats."

"That was nice," Dale said happily, smiling.

"Laced with poison."

"That's not nice," Dale said glumly, his face falling.

"You said you weren't there," Bennie asked. "Where were you last night?"

"We'd just gotten back after bein' on vacation for a year," Dale explained. "We were unpackin', tellin' stories, and stuff."

"Anybody can confirm that besides your friends?"

"Well, uh . . . " the chipmunk stammered, seeming nervous and reluctant to speak anymore.

What, I finally got him to shut up? Bennie thought, then barked, "Well, out with it!"

"Well, I was kinda visitin' my family on the other side of town for the past year. They might say I've been with them."

"Might?" Bennie asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Well, we don't exactly get along," Dale admitted, thinking, Ain't that one of the understatements of the year.

"Right," Bennie stated simply, then sat on the edge of the table. "You think things are going well for you and your friends?"

"Um, well, maybe," Dale stammered, hopefully, flashing a placating smile.

Bennie let him sit there looking goofy for a few seconds, really starting to feel that headache coming on. He decided to try a different tack.

"So," Bennie began, standing and starting to circle the room at a slow pace. "Let me see if I understand this correctly: You and your friends have all been on vacation for the past year, you come home, and somehow wind up at a crime scene?"

"No, we went there for a reason."

"To cover it up?"

"Naw, only the government covers up stuff like that."

"What?" Bennie said, his attention suddenly acquired.

"The government," Dale repeated. "They're always coverin' up stuff like that. Alien sightings and secret experiments and when their best spies get captured and stuff."

And that's when the headache really hit Bennie. I should get Mark in here with this one, Bennie thought through the pounding. Then I should write down what they say, publish it, and retire.

"Aliens, experiments, and spies, right."

"Yeah, like the aliens we met, and the spies we kept from stealing microfilm . . . " Dale rattled off, counting on this fingers like there were 50 or 60 such stories he had to tell.

"Ok, hold it," Bennie said, putting out his hand as his headache approached full migraine status. That's it, he thought. There's no way I'm getting Mark within earshot of this guy. I'd never hear the end of it. "Just keep that under wraps, chipmunk. Now, you weren't going to the alley to cover up a crime. Why were you?"

"We were going to investigate the case."

"Doing our job for us?"

"Your job? When did you become a Rescue Ranger?"

"I'm not, walnut-head," Bennie said, pulling out his shield. "I work for the Animal Justice System."

"Wowie Zowie! A badge! Cool! Can I have one, too?"

"Sit tight, lemme see if I can get you one," was what Bennie's absolutely straight face said. Get me out, get me out, get me out NOW! was more along the lines of his thoughts.

Bennie and Mark met in the hallway between Interrogation Rooms A and B to compare their notes and opinions on their newfound suspects. "So how was the chat with yours?" Mark asked.

"Swell, just swell," Bennie sneered back. "A real piece of work, there. You'da liked him."

"Just as well," Mark retorted, gesturing behind him. "I got Launcelot the Great in here."

"Get anything outa him?"

"Besides his idiom? I'm not sure if he had anything to do with it or not. He claims to have been out of town for the past year. Definitely got him on their little 'police game' bit. What'dya get from yours?"

"He claims they were gone for a year, too. Says his family could confirm that, but they probably won't because they hate him. He likes to play 'police,' too."

"You want I should go have a go at him?"

"Naw, he's pretty worked up," Bennie lied, desperately trying to hide his reaction of absolute terror. "Let's go hit the next one."

"Oh, yeah, the blonde," Mark agreed.

"We need to get a female to go with us so's it's legit."

"Will I do?" said a feminine voice behind them.

"Ah, the 'Defender of Nature' graces us with her presence," said Mark, giving a mock bow to the red vixen standing in the hallway.

"The boss wants to push this case along," the fox explained. "Once they're arraigned and the word gets out, he wants something to release to the public to put them at ease. If we can close this quickly, this will seal the deal on setting up the AJS in this area."

"Gotcha," Mark replied. "So, shall we go interrogate this nice young mouse?"

"Gimme a minute OK?" Bennie said, touching a hand to his brow. "I gotta get something for this headache first."

Bennie, Mark, and the red vixen entered Room C and confronted the blond mouse in overalls. When they entered, she was sitting on the table, her chair across her lap, eyeing the legs of the piece of furniture intently.

"If you'll give me back my tools, I think I can fix your chair," she offered, talking at a high rate of speed. "Whoever did this did a very bad job. The legs aren't all even. It looks like they used a spare one from somewhere and didn't bother to—"

"We know," Bennie interrupted her. "Believe us, it's all right."

"Did you get all that?" Mark asked in a whisper, turning to the fox, who shook her head slightly.

"Ok, Miss . . . ?" Bennie asked, gesturing towards her.

"What did I miss?" the mouse asked, then after a pause, she slapped a hand to her head. "Oh, silly me, you were asking my name! I'm Gadget, Gadget Hackwrench."

"Ok, Miss Hackwrench," Bennie tried again. "I'm Bennie Coliss, this is Mark Chew, and Michelle Carabi. We work for the Animal Justice System. Maybe you could help us."

"Well, unless it's something simple," Gadget said. "I think I'll need my tools back to help you."

"Uh, not that kind of help," Mark explained. "Could you explain where you were last night?"

"HmmIdunno, mostly I was at home with the others telling stories and unpacking after our trip."

"Mostly?" Bennie asked, his brow furrowing.

"Well, after we were done telling stories I went to the hardware store, then I went back home."

"Can you think of anybody who can confirm your little vacation story, other than your friends?" Mark asked.

"Gosh, there's Buzz and Sparky," Gadget answered. "And all the animals attending the National Convention of Inventors and Machinists Guilds."

"And where can we find them?" Mark asked, noting Bennie's odd silence.

"They're research animals at M.I.T., and the conference was held in Boston, but the animals there were from all over the world!"

"Anybody kinda . . . local?" Mark pressed.

"Golly, no." Gadget said softly, wincing inside as she remembered the unfortunate events of the conference.

"Okay, that covers that," Mark said, nudging Bennie, who turned and took Michelle aside and began whispering with her. Mark glanced at them with interest. He was about to continue, but was interrupted by Bennie.

"Miss Hackwrench," Bennie prompted. "Can you tell us about that strange machine you were on when we saw you?"

"Oh that," Gadget said, her expression of worry dissolving into a proud smile. "That's one of my inventions: The Rangermobile."

"Do you create a lot of stuff like that?"

"Yeah, lots of things," Gadget bubbled. "The Ranger Plane, the Ranger Wing, the Gyromobile . . . "

"Okay, that's fine," Bennie said.

" . . . our Ranger Boat, but that got sunk by a swordfish," Gadget babbled on, her speech increasingly rapid. "andthespacerocketandmyantisalesmantankand…"

"All right already!" Mark cried, but was barely noticed.

"…becauseyouseeIhavethismindbashinglyhighIQandIgetboredeasilysoI," and Gadget barely paused for a breath, "goandinventthingsoutofpracticallynothing, wellnotreallynothingjustjunkthatgetsthrownawayand…"

"We get the point!!" Bennie roared, finally bringing the Explain Train to a halt.

"Sorry," Gadget blushed. "Sometimes I get carried away."

"Yeah, we can see that," Bennie agreed. "You know, we've got guys in the back looking over your vehicle's wreckage and the stuff we got out of your little group's pockets. Half of them don't know how your stuff works, and the other half can't figure out why it works."

"Golly," Gadget said demurely.

"So your little group does, uh, 'investigating?'" Mark asked.

"Of course!" Gadget piped up. "We're the Rescue Rangers! We help . . . oh, wait, you know that already."

"Yes," Mark said. "And you use the things you build to help animals and people?"

"Well, yes," Gadget said. "Why not? What else would I use this stuff for?"

"Perhaps you could te—" Bennie's next question was cut off by a crash from outside the room. "Sit tight," he told Gadget as her three interrogators left the room quickly.

"Well, I don't really have much choice, do I?" Gadget muttered to herself as she pulled and tugged at the pawcuff that bound her to the table.

Bennie kicked open the door to Interrogation Room D, then went in after Mark was in a position to cover him. Mark followed Bennie in, and they both beheld the towering form of the Australian. The large mouse stood, still pawcuffed to the table, holding up the splintered remains of the chair and a slightly annoyed look on his face.

"Thanks, mates, but I think I'll just stand," he grumbled.

"What happened?" Mark asked in a loud voice.

"It had an bonzer accident," the big rodent said sarcastically. "And I fell down, went boom."

"And your name is . . . ?" Bennie asked.

"Who wants ta know?" the Australian asked, idly tossing away the chair wreckage with a final, flippant fling of dismissal.

"I'm Bennie Coliss, this is Mark Chew."

"Never heard of you blokes. I'm Monterey Jack."

"Well, you've never heard of us," Mark said with a smile. "But, boy, have we heard of you!"

Bennie distinctly heard a faint "uh oh" uttered as Monterey Jack's face fell.

Mark then added, "Luckily, we can't do anything about a rodent eating some cheese."

Monterey Jack let out a hearty sigh of relief.

Mark then added, "But when a rodent tries to eat ALL the cheese…."

Monterey Jack's face grew anxious again.

"Well, we've never had that one come up yet," Mark admitted.

Monterey Jack's face relaxed again, then grew annoyed. "You gonna quit playin' games and finish up here? The Rescue Rangers have a case ta solve!"

"Hey, hey, easy does it, big guy," Bennie said calmly. "We're all just tryin' to do our jobs here. Now where were you last night?"

"With the others at home all night," Monty answered. "Swappin' stories and stuff, we was."

"And you were at the alley . . . ?" Mark asked.

"Trying to figure out what's what with the dogs."

"How did you know where to go?"

"We recognized the vet place on the news," Monty explained, "and we went there. The poor mutt that lived wasn't much good to talk to us, but there's only one place that has hot dogs that smell like what was on his breath. Only Larry's Hot Dogs puts that kind of che-hee-hee-ee-ee-se on them. Larry's is always at 12^th and Riverside, so we went there to see what we could find. You blokes know the rest."

"Well, not all of it," Mark said. "We still don't know what the heck just happened to your face when you said 'cheese.'"

"It's a … personal problem." Monty said sheepishly, twirling his tail in his free hand and looking away.

"Sure, sure," Bennie said, grinning. "Now, then, would you care to explain what four rodents and a fly are doing cruising around the city in scavenged vehicles getting into trouble?"

"Actually, mate," Monty replied, deadpan. "Sometimes I wish you'd explain it t'me."

Bennie and Mark just stared at him, then glanced at each other, then faced Monty again.

"Sit tight," they told him in stereo.

Bennie and Mark stopped outside Interrogation Room E, just as a dragonfly named Sam Marshlover, the Insect Liaison Officer, came out. "Hey, what's going on, Sam?" Bennie asked.

"Don't waste your time, Bennie," Sam said. "He isn't talking, and he asked for legal aid."

"Great," Bennie said. "What is it with these guys?"

"You got me," Mark replied. "Every single one's a problem."

"So what do we have?" came Michelle Carabi's voice from behind them.

"We have a crusading chipmunk…" Mark began.

"Another who's one acorn short of a forest…" Bennie groaned.

"A mouse with a garbage obsession…" Mark continued.

"An old and confused cheese-happy mouse…" Bennie said.

"And a fly who's asked for legal aid." Mark finished up. "Did we miss anything?"

"The partridge in the pear tree." Bennie said flatly.

"Don't remind me about that case," Mark said dryly, giving Bennie a very annoyed look.

"Wasn't it actually in a peach tree?" Michelle began.

"Yeah, but he doesn't like to talk about it," Bennie finished.

"Now I need something for a headache," Mark said. "Or a stiff drink."

"Back to our current guests," Michelle began again. "Can we bring any charges against them?"

"All of them admit interfering in the investigation," Mark answered. "They claim they're part of an imaginary group of crime fighters who run around helping everybody, no matter who or what they are."

"None have any local alibis we can check," Bennie said. "Except what I told you about when we were with … what's-her-name – Gidget? No, Gadget."

"Yeah, what was that you were talking about, anyway?" Mark asked.

"Well, she mentioned she went to a hardware store, right?" Bennie said.

"Yes, she did." Said Mark after a moment of thought.

"Those four mice said they were coming back from the hardware store, right?" Bennie said next.

"That connects the two groups?" Michelle asked.

"Seems to," Mark admitted. "There is a hardware store nearby."

"Check the hardware store, but let's file on them first," Michelle said. "I need to move on this, remember?"

"Right," Bennie said. "We'll start writing our statements."

"And I'll get a clerk to take their information," said Mark.

An hour or so later, Chip, Dale, Gadget, and Zipper were led into Monty's room by uniformed animals, also escorted by Bennie, Mark, and Michelle. As the uniforms unclipped Monty from his table and bound his paws together behind him, Michelle began reading the indictment.

"Charles Maplewood, Dale Oakmont, Gadget Hackwrench, Monterey Jack, and," Michelle squinted as she read the page, "Zipper. You are hereby placed under arrest for criminal acts against the Laws of Nature, and, pursuant to the wishes of the animals of this community, you will be held for trial and your fate decided accordingly. You have the right to be treated fairly, and to receive the benefit of legal aid and counsel."

The Rescue Rangers' shocked expressions looked like the only possible surprise that could top this would be Aldrin Klourdane and Donald Drake making out on the 6 o'clock news.

"You are charged with Gross Interference in Human Affairs, Impersonation of Natural Law Enforcement, and Obstruction of Justice," Michelle continued. "And if our investigation confirms it, you'll be up for Unnecessary Killing charges as well. You'll be arraigned later this afternoon."

"Now, see what you've done," Bennie said with mock disappointment. "We were all going to be such good friends."

"And then you have to go and get arrested," Mark added, as the uniforms led the solemn and silent Rescue Rangers away.

-- Animal Criminal Court, Small Animal Division, March 3^rd, 1991, 4:38 p.m.

The Rescue Rangers were led by their captors from the Small Animal Criminal Detention Center into the courtroom, which had been built into an old abandoned warehouse. Behind them, four nervous-looking, haggard mice were led in by another set of guards. As they paraded across to a set of tables in front of a high benchlike desk, they noticed an old, graying Great Dane presiding over them as judge. At their table sat a salamander and a porcupine. At the other table on the other side of the room sat a crested falcon and the red vixen they had seen earlier. A raccoon sat in front of a typewriter and an ink pen and what must have been a quarter-ream of paper, transcribing what was said. The raccoon began writing as the head bailiff, a Pug, began reading the indictments against them.

"Docket number 2731," the Pug began. "Nature versus Alfred Stuart, Bradley Thomas, Charles Ulrich, and Donald Victor, all mice. Charges are twelve counts of Using Unnatural Means to Kill, one count of Attempted Unnecessary Killing, eleven counts of Unnecessary Killing."

The Pug swapped sheets of paper and began reading the next indictment: "Docket number 2731-A, Nature versus Charles Maplewood IV, Dale Oakmont IV, both chipmunks, Gadget Hackwrench and Monterey Jack, both mice, and Zipper, a fly. Charges are all aforementioned offenses, in addition to Obstruction of Justice, Impersonation of Natural Law Enforcement, and Gross Interference in Human Affairs."

The judge looked up and spoke, "Counsels, state your appearances, please. Counsel for the Predatorcution?"

"Mack JaCroix," said the crested falcon.

"Michelle Carabi," said the vixen.

"Counsel for the Preyfence?" the judge asked.

"Gamble ShaGreene," the porcupine replied.

"Nordon Geel," the salamander hissed.

"Fine. How do you do. Nature on bail?"

"Nature," JaCroix stated, "requests that in view of the grave and severe particulars of the crimes committed, bail be categorically denied."

"Your honor," Gamble ShaGreene protested, standing up. "That's excessive."

"So is poisoning twelve canines and then masquerading as the police trying to investigate it," JaCroix countered. "Denying bail will help facilitate a fair and honest investigation in the interests of Nature and Justice."

"Agreed," the judge intoned. "Bail is denied, Preyfendants are remanded to custody, and the trial date is set for here, tomorrow, 9 a.m."

And with that, the judge banged a large limb bone of some kind on the desk. As the Rescue Rangers and their co-accused were led away in different directions, one of the mice called out to them, "You're the Rescue Rangers! You gotta help us!"

-- Animal Detention Center, Small Animal Wing, March 3^rd, 1991, 5:07 p.m.

Chip, Dale, and Monty were locked into a cell together. Zipper had been taken to the special Insect Wing of the Detention Center. Gadget was locked into a separate cell two doors down on the opposite side of the hallway. Monty immediately moved across the room and claimed the top bunk bed, leaving Chip and Dale to figure out who would get the bottom bed and who got the ratty old cot that sat near the door. Dale pulled Chip's jacket rearwards by the collar, giving himself a head start, and with a flying leap, slid onto the bottom mattress.

"Take it from me, mates," Monty said. "I've been in a few of these places before, and you always, always, wanna get the top bunk."

Monty managed to heft himself up onto the top mattress just as Dale stuck his tongue out at Chip. The top mattress immediately sagged under Monty's weight and began pressing down on Dale's head, leaving only Dale's sagging tongue showing from between the mattresses.

Chip allowed himself a good laugh before pointing out Dale's predicament to Monty, who obliged by grudgingly switching bunks with Dale. Chip gladly took the cot after seeing what shape the top mattress was in after Monty had been on it. Then they heard Gadget's voice from down the hall.

"Oh, excuse me, I'm sorry . . . "

"Hey!" came a gravelly female voice from Gadget's cell. "Those are my goggles! Gimme!"

"No, they're not!" Gadget cried back.

"They are now! I want 'em and they're mine! Give 'em!" came the grizzled matron's demand, followed by the sounds of a scuffle.

"Oh, no!" Dale yelled. "Gadget's in trouble!"

"She can take care of herself," Chip said simply. "I trust her."

Dale regarded Chip's disinterest in his Heart's Desire with utter shock. There was a loud BANG and from the guys' vantage point they saw two large, tattoo-covered arms reach outside through the bars of Gadget's cell, then slide limply to the floor. Evidently Gadget had managed to ram her cellmate's head into the cage wall quite forcefully.

"She can take care of herself, all right," Monty said, then muttered under his breath, remembering his embarrassing experiences at their training sessions a year ago, "and don't I know it."

"What was that, Monty?" Dale asked.

"I said, 'and don't you forget it,' lad."

"Oh. Yeah . . . didn’t know she had it in her."

"Everything all right now, Gadget?" Chip called.

"No problems anymore, guys!" came her happy reply. "Just getting acquainted and settling in."

"Yeah, we should all do that," came a familiar voice from behind them.

Through the bars they saw the serpentine form of Bud, the snake they had encountered during the case with Winifred and Foxglove. Bud slithered closer to the bars that separated their cells.

"Bud? What are you doing here?" Chip asked in wonderment.

"I tried to get back with Winif – Freddie again," Bud hissed in disgust. "And these guys threw me in here trying to gather more ingredients."

"Isn't she still in jail?" Dale asked.

"Yeah, but a snake like me has ways of getting' in and out unnoticed-like."

"So they got you for theft, eh?" Chip said.

"No, they didn't care about the toupee I nabbed," Bud said. "What they're mad about is how I'm messing with humans!"

"Where'd these blokes come from, anyhow?" Monty asked. "And what's their game?"

"Where've you guys been?" Bud asked.

"We've been away on business," Chip answered before the truth could be told.

"Well, about eight months back," Bud said, "some of the rich animals in the area and the political types started making noise about 'civilizing' our part of the country. Seems there's a group called the Animal Justice System which sets up animal police outfits like this one wherever it goes. They come in, set up local cops, then move on to the next place. They've been doing it all over. Anyways, six months ago, they had everybody around here attend a meeting and vote. They're here now, so it must have passed."

"And now nobody's supposed to mess with humans?" Dale wondered.

"Yeah, but there's more," Bud added. "It's all based on the Laws of Nature. OK, get this: if a cat eats a mouse, these guys won't do a thing. It's natural for a hungry cat to eat a mouse. But if a cat kills twenty mice and only eats one, they might arrest him for killing the rest of them for the fun of it."

"It's starting to make a lot more sense now," Chip said, thinking hard. "And it's starting to look real bad for us."

"Oh, but that's not the half of it," Bud said. "Remember what snakes eat?"

Bud's tongue shot through the bars and wrapped around Chip's neck, then pulled his face hard into the cage wall, stunning him. Bud passed one of his thinner coils sideways between the cars and wrapped Chip in it, starting to squeeze. Bud became intent on his meal, not quite having figured out how he was going to get Chip through the bars to eat him. He was so intent on snuffing out Chip's life, he didn't notice Monty reach through the bars and grab Bud's hat, which he stretched and wrapped around Bud's throat in one quick, deft movement. Monty heaved backwards, crashing Bud's head into the bars repeatedly until he released Chip enough for Dale to pull him to safety. Monty released Bud, who drifted off into a trauma-assisted repose with a happily dazed look on his face.

"That was close," Monty said as he tossed Bud's hat away, then joined Dale in making sure Chip was all right.

They stayed away from the walls for the rest of the night.

-- Animal Criminal Court, Small Animal Division, March 4^th, 1991, 7:22 a.m.

Gamble ShaGreene and Nordon Geel stood up as the Rescue Rangers were let into the conference room by the guard, who removed their pawcuffs. They all sat. Dale tried to wiggle his chair, made a disappointed face, then turned to face their legal counsel as the meeting began.

"Okay," Gamble ShaGreene began with a sigh. "I'm Gamble ShaGreene, I'm representing your little group here at the trial. Do you understand what's about to happen in there in just over an hour?"

"Yeah," growled Monterey, as he slammed a hamfist onto the tabletop, leaving a shallow depression. "Me and me mates are about to get fricasseed for somethin' we had no part of!"

"Calm down!" the salamander hissed. "Displays like that won’t help you a bit. In fact, it'll make it more difficult to help all of us. I'm Nordon Geel, and I will be representing the other four Preyfendants."

"Look," ShaGreene continued, "quiet down and listen. Pay close attention, because I'm only going to say this once. Here's what's going down: you're going back to that same room where you were arraigned. It's going to be you and those four other mice with myself and Counselor Geel, here. On the other side of the room will be Conselors JaCroix and Carabi for the Predatorcution. We've already picked a jury of seven predators and seven prey animals. They will ultimately decide what happens to you. The judge decides what does and does not happen in the courtroom. In front of both sides and in front of the judge are food troughs. This is important: Do Not Eat The Food! That's our 'currency' we use to make arguments and requests. If we run out of food in our trough, all we can do is sit back and watch things happen. Got that?"

All the Rescue Rangers nodded.

"Here's what happens next," the salamander said. "The Predatorcution gets to make opening arguments. They can say whatever they want. Then we get to go, same deal. Next, the Predatorcution calls witnesses and makes arguments to prove you did the crimes they say you did. We get to question those witnesses after they're presented. After they're all done, it's our turn. We bring in witnesses to prove you didn't do it, and they get to question them after we've presented them. After we're all finished, we make closing statements, then they do. Then the jury decides what happens, and the judge hands out your punishment. Nobody can say anything except the judge and us Counselors. Any questions?"

"Yeah," Dale said. "Why's this court got it so complicated?"

"It'll make more sense when you see it happen," ShaGreene replied. "Trying to describe it makes it sound worse than it is."

"Do we have a chance?" Gadget asked worriedly.

"There's always a chance," Geel hissed in answer. "But we'll have to see what cards he plays first."

"What happens if we lose?" Chip asked.

"Well, if they pin the Unnecessary Killing on you," ShaGreene said. "You'll be handed a death sentence. And you'll be given The Choice."

"The Choice?" Monty asked.

"When the sentence is death," Geel answered, "the accused is given The Choice . . . how you want the sentence to be carried out."

"Can I pick eating myself to death with cheese?" Monty asked.

"No," ShaGreen laughed, then she became serious again. "There are only two choices: The Duel or The Gauntlet."

"Which is better?" Dale asked.

"Depends on your point of view," Geel offered. "The Duel means you are locked in a sealed room with a natural predator. In your cases, you'd be locked in a room with a hungry cat. The fly would be sealed in with a hungry bullfrog."

"The Gauntlet," ShaGreene continued, "means you are forced to face three lethal traps. In your case, common mousetraps down a narrow corridor. You have no choice but to risk the trap, and you have to carry all the baits with you as you go."

"If you happen to survive The Duel or The Gauntlet," Geel interjected, "you go free."

"But nobody has yet." ShaGreene added. "Many think they can beat the Gauntlet, but I've never seen anybody get past the second trap. Most don't survive the first."

"Thanks for the pep talk, Miss ShaGreene!" Chip said hotly. "Is there any good news for us?"

"Not yet. Now, we've got a little over an hour until we're due to start this, so let's go over what you know and what we can do to help your case."

-- Animal Criminal Court, Small Animal Division, March 4^th, 1991, 9:00 a.m.

"All rise!" called the Head Bailiff. "The Animal Justice System Criminal Court for Small Animals Fifty Pounds and Under is now in session. The honorable judge Popus is presiding. Case number 2731 and 2731-A now appears before the court. Nature versus Alfred Stuart, Bradley Thomas, Charles Ulrich, Donald Victor, Monterey Jack, and Gadget Hackwrench, all mice, Charles Maplewood IV, Dale Oakmont IV, both chipmunks, and Zipper, a fly. Charges are twelve counts of Using Unnatural Means to Kill, one count of Attempted Unnecessary Killing, eleven counts of Unnecessary Killing. In addition, charges of Obstruction of Justice, Impersonation of Natural Law Enforcement, and Gross Interference in Human Affairs against Maplewood, Oakmont, Hackwrench, Jack, and Zipper. All Preyfendants have entered pleas of 'Not guilty.'"

"Is the Predatorcution ready?" the judge asked.

"We are, your honor," Mack JaCroix answered.

"Is the Preyfence prepared?" the judge asked next.

"Quite, your honor," Gamble ShaGreene responded.

"Proceed, Counselor JaCroix," the judge announced, and banged the bench with the leg bone.

The bailiffs moved in unison, opening the food troughs. Each trough had been built into the tabletops of the Predatorcution and the Preyfence. The judge's bench also had a food trough built into it, which the Head Bailiff opened. The Counselors' troughs were mostly full of food, meat in the Predatorcution's box, vegetables in the Preyfence's. The judge's trough was empty. A bailiff used a cup to scoop some fragments of meat out of the Predatorcution's trough and carried it to the bench. He dumped it in the judge's trough as the crested falcon stood to make his opening statements. JaCroix faced the jury boxes, two separate boxes with seven seats each, one housing seven predatory animals and the other housing seven prey animals.

"Fellow animals," JaCroix began, "today I want to present to you a case of the utmost severity. Just days ago, twelve canines were in an alley. They were strays looking for food. Suddenly, their problems were over. In the cold dead of night, they were granted a food bounty in the form of some kibble treats. It must have been too good to be true – and it wasn't. One by one, they succumbed to the poison – poison! – that was wrapped within the tasty treats. Out of the twelve, only one survives, and he is still only hanging to life by a thread."

The Rescue Rangers sat, glumly listening. Gadget was fighting back tears, thinking of the poor dogs in the alley that night. Monty felt like he was going to gnaw through his lower lip, furiously fuming that they weren't out trying to catch the real villains. Chip watched and listened intently, trying to seize on any details that could help later. Dale was sitting on both his hands to keep himself from snacking on the trough food. Zipper sat in silence, pouting.

"The police's job is to find out what happened when tragic things like this occur," JaCroix continued as he paced the courtroom, "and find out who did it. They find out who and they bring them here, so we can all decide what should happen to them. The police find clues . . . and evidence . . . which can lead them to the animals responsible, and these same clues and evidence are used here to provide proof of what happened."

The crested falcon stopped in front of the Preyfence's table and said, "And the evidence the police found led them to these four mice here! And we will present that evidence before you, as well as the evidence which also led the police to these two chipmunks, and the mice and fly that call them friends! These other five not only were involved, but tried to pass themselves off as investigators! Investigators to the very crimes of which they are now accused of taking part in!"

JaCroix stepped down the table, away from the other for mice, and stopped in front of the Rangers. He centered himself on Chip, staring directly into the eyes of the chipmunk who scrutinized him right back, scowling defiantly. "Investigators," the falcon scoffed and smirked. "They call themselves investigators."

JaCroix leaned toward Chip, bringing his beak to within hairsbreadths of the chipmunk's nose, and continued accusingly, "Only they don't investigate. They interfere. They interfere constantly."

The falcon turned and walked away, speaking to the jury again, "They freely admit to delving into other animals' business whenever it suits them. And not only animals, but they also get involved in human affairs as well! Humans! A direct affront to the Laws of Nature! And are they ashamed of this behavior? No. No! They! Are! Not! They boast about it every chance they get. They boasted about it right to the police, even when they were pawcuffed in an interrogation room! And if they are so proud of this behavior, then they should wholly reap and enjoy the consequences as well. What I ask, in the name of Nature, is that you examine the evidence and testimony that is presented to you honestly, and enact the consequences that are warranted. Do this by rendering a fair, and just, verdict."

The crested falcon took his seat. It was the Preyfence's turn now. As Gamble ShaGreene stood, a bailiff scooped a cup of the food in her trough and transferred it to the judge's trough. The porcupine took a moment to gather herself and began to speak.

"Animals of the jury," she said. "I agree with Counselor JaCroix."

The Rescue Rangers and the four mice all gasped. The crested falcon looked amused, but held his tongue.

"A terrible crime has been committed here," she continued, "and I won't try to tell you it wasn't. In fact, it was so terrible that the Predatorcution and the police snapped up the first animals they could find to accuse. And who did they pick up and throw unceremoniously into incarceration? Four mice who found the victims and reported it. Five friends who wanted to help when they heard the news. Is this the kind of action the police take toward those who do their civic duty? Or those who volunteer to lend a hand? I certainly hope not. I'm not convinced the police may have the right animals on trial here today, but they have seen fit to move forward anyway. So they've come here to show all of Nature what they've found."

The porcupine held her arms outwards, and turned in a circle slowly, causing a couple of bailiffs to give her a wide berth.

"Let them present their evidence, the evidence they say proves these animals had something criminal to do with the terrible events of a few nights ago. And when they present that evidence," she said, facing the predators of the jury and squinting her eyes, "you scrutinize it."

"You analyze it," she continued, looking at the prey animals of the jury. "You think about whether it really proves the guilt of any one of these animals here today."

She gestured widely with her arm, indicating the row of Preyfendants, then faced both jury boxes and said, "Because if there is any doubt, don't hold them accountable for something they may not have done. Remember, any of us could end up where they are right now someday. Thank you."

Gamble ShaGreene returned to her chair and sat down.

"Call the first witness," the judge ordered, banging the limb bone on the bench again.

"The Predatorcution calls Investigator Bernard Cloiss, a squirrel, to the stand," JaCroix announced as another cup of food was transferred to the judge's bench.

"Bernard CO-liss," came the squirrel's angry, gravelly voice in answer. "Proceeding."

The squirrel strode forward to the witness box, which he entered, then stood, his right paw raised. The Head Bailiff approached him and did likewise. "Having come forward and raised your dominant paw, do you swear or affirm to me, animal to animal, that what you say here today shall be honest and true, in its entirety and completeness?

"Yes, I do."

"And do you say the same before all present here?" the Head Bailiff continued.

"Yes, I do."

"You swear or affirm this under penalty of perjury, punishable under the Laws of Nature?"

"Yes, I do."

"Please state your name, species and occupation for the record."

"Bernard Coliss, a squirrel, Investigator for the Animal Justice System."

"Please be seated."

"Thank God, I was getting arthritic," Bennie muttered under his breath.

As the graying squirrel eased himself into the witness box seat, Mack JaCroix stood as another cup was moved. The falcon approached him and began, "Were you part of the group which originally surveyed the scene of the crime?"

"Yes, I was," Bennie answered.

"Please describe what you observed there that night."

"The incident occurred in an alley near 12^th and Riverside," Bennie stated. "When we got there, twelve canine victims were scattered around the alley. Ten were already dead, the two remaining were taken to receive help. We got lucky on one of those. We also found four mice at the scene, who claimed to have found them this way."

"Are those four mice present here today?" JaCroix interrogatively interrupted.

"Yes, the last four mice at the right of the Preyfendant's table."

"Let the record reflect a positive identification of Preyfendants Stuart, Thomas, Ulrich, and Victor."

"So ordered," intoned the judge.

"Continue, Investigator Coliss," the falcon asked.

"On each of the dead canines' muzzles we found kibble crumbs, and near the mice was found a kibble treat. Pieces of kibble were also found in the pockets of Preyfendant Thomas. We sent all the evidence to forensics, escorted the mice to the station for further questioning, and cleaned up the scene. When I checked back with our survivor, he wasn't in very good shape, but we did get a statement from him."

"Would you read that statement for the court, please," the falcon asked as another cup was transferred. "We enter it into evidence as Nature's Exhibit A."

"I asked the victim what he could remember," Bennie read from the official transcript, "and the victim just burbled and mumbled. I repeated the question, and I distinctly heard the victim say, 'A rodent gave me food.'"

"I have no further questions for this witness," the falcon stated, and sat down.

"Investigator Coliss," Nordon Geel hissed, as the bailiffs did their food-shuffle again. "You just testified that the victim was burbling and mumbling, correct?"

"Yes, I did."

"And then he distinctly uttered the clear, crisp phrase you just read into evidence?" the salamander pressed.

"Well, it might have sounded a little more like, 'roden . . (hack) … gabe . . . (plbplbpblb) . . . .foo..,' I'll admit," Bennie dryly imitated, then shrugged. "But he repeated it twice. 'Rodent gave food.' Combine that with what we found, it makes sense."

"Thank you, Investigator Coliss," Geel said as he sat down. "No further questions."

"The witness may step down," said the judge, and Bennie left the courtroom.

"The Predatorcution calls Investigator Mark Chew," JaCroix stated, and the process began anew.

The sparrow gave the Predatorcution their next evidence, the statements of the mice and the Rangers, all of which went in with hardly even a token argument possible for their defense. Next came a bloodhound, the head of the forensics crew, who gave details of the kibble treats and the scent traces. Geel tried to argue about the accuracy of the scent testimony, but only partially succeeded. The Rescue Ranger's faces showed increasing desperation as the mountain of evidence and argument seemed to loom against them. For their next witness, Michelle Carabi called the mouse who ran the hardware store, who testified that he did see both the group of four mice and Gadget that night just before the crime took place. The poor old mouse did try to stick up for Gadget, but JaCroix confined his answers with 'yes or no' questions. Gadget fumed at the falcon's harsh manners, but kept it to herself. Gamble ShaGreene did, however, manage to effect a little damage control with her cross-examination. Suddenly, the judge banged the limb bone on the bench again, calling, "This court stands in recess until after lunch! Back here in two hours!"

Investigators Coliss and Chew strode up to the Rescue Rangers and their attorney during the break. "Oh, no you don't," Chip said, holding out his hands at their approach. "We're not saying another word to you!"

"Trust us," Bennie said, grinning, "You'll wanna hear this."

"Realizing your mistake, Investigators?" Gamble ShaGreene asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We just got word of another pile of canines in an alley a little further south," Mark offered. "Insect Liaisons are on their way now to interview some of the scavengers to find out how old the scene is. We're about to head over there ourselves."

"Before we go, however," Bennie added, "we wanted you to know a couple of things. First, it looks like the same modus operandi as the other crime, and it seems to predate your little groups' arrivals. We actually tried to get ahold of the Oakmont family . . . "

Dale suddenly assumed a very pained, hangdog expression and groaned audibly.

"But one of them was here already and actually confirmed his story," Bennie continued, as Dale assumed a bizarre expression of horror and amazement. "It's pretty obvious your group's kinda tight-knit and idealistic, I'm pretty sure if one story's confirmed, the rest will, too."

"We gotta check out this new crime scene," Mark said. "But before we go, you got anything else for us?"

"Does this mean we aren't tied to the killings anymore?" Gadget asked.

"We're making that recommendation to the Predatorcution," Bennie confirmed. "But it's their call if they drop the charges."

"Hey," Dale asked. "How can you just use all the stuff we said like that? Don't we have the right to remain silent, or something?"

"We don't get everything the humans do because we're animals," Mark said, then hopped over to Dale and looked him in the eyes with a look of absolute annoyance. "And, my friend, have you ever tried to Mirandize a parrot?"

"No, I guess I haven't," Dale said simply, as Mark seemed to have yet another bad memory attached to that particular reference.

"Come on, Mark, let's go," Bennie said, and they left together. "We'll swipe a doughnut in the park on the way . . . "

As they departed, Bennie looked over his shoulder behind Mark's back and mouthed words and made gestures about his avian partner having a bad day.

About a half hour later, Michelle Carabi approached their group. "Based on the new input of the police, we're dropping the joint case against you."

"So we're good ta go, now?" Monty asked.

"Not hardly," the vixen corrected him. "You're still being tried for Human Interference, Impersonation, and Obstruction charges, you're just not being tried for what happened to the dogs anymore."

"When will that happen?" Dale asked anxiously.

"Right after your co-Preyfendants' case is done after the break."

"What?!" Gadget asked, surprised.

"Doesn't this change the case against the mice, too?" Chip asked. "Don't you have to wait until you know about the other killings, too?"

"We waited until we had a complete investigation before we began the trial," Michelle explained. "If we do wait, it's before we get started. Once a trial begins, it doesn't wait, we finish it. Human trials can drag on forever. You don't stop a battle between a lioness and an antelope, it starts and it ends. In addition, we've got fourteen animals on the jury being kept from their normal lives that we have to think about. So since this trial has begun, we're finishing it. The other mice will have their chance at defense, a decision rendered, and then your trial will finish with the same jury it began with."

As the vixen strode away, the Rescue Rangers breathed a collective sigh of relief. At least their lives weren't on the line anymore. Their problems were far from over, though, and each one of them knew it. As the break ended, they were led into a waiting room until the other half of their trial was over.

"Do you think they'll be okay?" Gadget asked.

"Don't worry," their attorney said. "Counselor Geel should be able to handle their case well enough."

An hour and a half of waiting and munching stale snacks and treats later a bailiff stuck his head in the waiting room and motioned them all out. They were escorted into the courtroom and lined up at the back as the animal jury filed back into their respective boxes. The judge solemnly uttered, "Animals of Predation, how find you?"

One of the predatory jury animals, a weasel by the look of him, rose and announced, "We the predators find the Preyfendants guilty on all counts."

Gadget gasped, but covered her mouth, stifling her noise. Dale flinched, while Monty removed his flyer's cap and held it over his chest.

"Animals of Prey, how find you?" asked the judge.

"We the prey," said a young rabbit as she stood, "find the Preyfendants guilty on all counts also."

Chip shook his head slowly, counting his blessings they were not still a part of their case.

"Based on your verdicts," the judge said, "I issue a final decision of guilty on all counts as well. I shall now pronounce sentence. Alfred Stuart, Bradley Thomas, Charles Ulrich, and Donald Victor, you are all hereby sentenced to death for your crimes. You are given The Choice: Duel or Gauntlet."

"Preyfendants choose Gauntlet, your honor," stated Counselor Geel.

"Bailiffs, take the Preyfendants into custody so they may prepare themselves and await the Gauntlet." The judge ordered. "It shall be constructed, prepared, and ran by them at Sunset, tomorrow. May Nature show you more respect than you have shown Her."

And with that, the judge banged the limb bone upon the bench very hard, giving his edict an air of dire finality.

As the four mice were once again herded up and dragged from the courtroom, one of them saw the Rescue Rangers in the back. He called, "How could you let this happen to us?"

The Rescue Rangers assumed their places at the Preyfence table again.

"Are all parties ready to proceed with the trial on the remaining charges?" asked the judge, who received both sides' confirmation. "Very well, Counselor JaCroix, proceed to call your next witness."

"The Predatorcution calls Zipper and an Insect Liaison Interpreter to the stand," the falcon announced as two cups of food began their journey to the judge's trough.

After Zipper was sworn in, JaCroix looked at him and asked, "You could easily have taken your turn at this trial in the Exoskeletal courts, but instead waived that Species' Right and stood with your other Preyfendants here. Why?"

Zipper buzzed, squeaked, and pantomimed as usual, and the Insect Interpreter assigned to him who was capable of speech gave it voice for those who didn't have the experience understanding him the other Rescue Rangers did.

"I stand here beside them because they're my friends," Zipper replied through his aide.

"So it's out of some kind of loyalty?" the falcon asked.

"Yes," Zipper affirmed, "it is. I stand by Monty and the rest as they stand by me."

"By Monty?" the falcon asked, surprised, then pointed to Monterey Jack. "You mean Monterey Jack, this mouse, here?"

"Yes. So?"

"So you do the things you're accused of because you follow Monterey Jack, correct?"

"Yes, but they're also the right things to do."

"Why is Monterey Jack so special to you?"
"He's saved my life many times."

The falcon paused, then stated, "I have no further questions for this witness."

Puzzled, Gamble ShaGreene also had no questions for Zipper, who was allowed to step down.

Monty was called next by JaCroix, who then asked him, "According to your statement to Investigators Coliss and Chew, whom we heard from earlier, when asked about why you were doing what you do, you 'wished someone would explain it to you,' is that correct?"

"Well, it was an off-hand remark," Monty said, "I didn't mean it literally."

"So why are you doing what you're accused of doing?" JaCroix pressed. "Why are you hindering animal Investigators, and claiming that you interfere in Human Affairs?"

"We were trying to help the poor mutt that lived," Monty answered. "And tryin' ta figure out what happened to the other one, 'cuz we didn't know about the others yet."

"Yes, but why do you do these things?"

"Because it's right . . . " Monty stammered, " . . . because I believe in what we do. And they're the best mates a bloke could wish for."

"Ah, the loyalty thing again, right?"

"Yeah, loyalty, ya grey-feathered old goat."

"Objection," JaCroix simply stated, and at the judges' nod, a bailiff removed a cup from Gamble ShaGreene's trough and carried it to the falcon's.

Monty bit his tongue, sensing what had just happened.

"Sorry, mate, let me try that again, nice-like," Monty apologized.

"I'd appreciate that," the falcon countered.

"Of course there's some loyalty there. They helped me out when my home was destroyed, and they've become sort of a family to me, one that I'm right proud of. My whole real family's made up of wanderers, travelers, and sailors, but somehow these fine animals have carved out a place in me heart for 'em. I promised ol' Geegaw I'd look after Gadget once upon a time, but now they're all helpin' look after me, too."

"If you're finished, and would kindly stop the water works, I have no further questions for this witness."

Still not quite sure what JaCroix was getting at, ShaGreene also had nothing else, and a scowling and glaring Monterey Jack left the witness stand.

JaCroix called Gadget to the stand next. "Miss Hackwrench, what is it you do for your little group?"

"I make most of our equipment," she replied, "and know some medical skills."

"And why do you, of all the ways to spend your life, run around with these animals?"

"They gave me a job I'm proud to do," Gadget said. "Before they came and gave me a purpose in life, I was just sitting around wasting away to nothing."

"So they came and hired you?"

"Well, not really," Gadget explained. "They came looking for my father, who died over a year before. They found me and asked me to help them. I didn't just get a job, I got a great home and family, too."

"You're very intelligent and knowledgeable, it's obvious," the falcon conceded. "And you claim all this is charitable, as well. So why would you put such talent and ability as yours to use for Humans? Why not for animals?"

"I use it for both," Gadget said simply. "Most of time it is for animals, but humans have their place as well."

"And where would that be? Would you rather help an animal or a Human?"

"HmmIdunno," Gadget shrugged. "Same as anyone else, I suppose."

"Equal footing? Do you suppose we evolved from them?"

"Objection!" Gamble ShaGreene shouted.

"Sustained," the judge agreed. "The very idea we could be related to such vile creatures is repulsive! You will watch yourself, Counselor JaCroix!"

"My apologies to the court," the falcon said as he lost a cup to the judge and a cup to the porcupine. "I withdraw the question. Miss Hackwrench, who requested your services?"

"Well, Monty was looking for my father," Gadget said, "but it was all to help Chip and Dale's friend Plato. So I guess it was Chip and Dale."

"Thank you, no further questions."

JaCroix called Dale next. Dale kept his cool during the swearing in, understanding how important everything was. He felt he could handle himself well, and felt confident he'd do a good job. Until, that is, he saw his older sister Meghan smiling malevolently from the crowd of spectators in the back of the courtroom. She just nodded slowly, then winked at him evilly. She mouthed the word, "Gotcha." This all but shattered Dale's nerve, and he felt his façade slip, but he dug deep, searching for some semblance of control. She can't be here! Dale thought. She'll ruin it all; I can't let her win like this . . . .

"Mr. Oakmont, did you not hear my question?" came JaCroix's annoyed cry.

"No," Dale managed to squeak.

"Are you all right?" the falcon asked.

"Can you give me a minute?" Dale managed to choke out, still trying to hold himself together.

"Come on, Mr. Oakmont, pull yourself together, we don't have all the time in the world, you know," the judge said.

Dale put his head in his hands and concentrated, forced into Becoming due to Meghan's presence. He locked away the feelings, promising himself he could grieve it away later. His performance was over, it was Time To Be Serious Again. Dale became dalE again.

"What was your question again, Counselor JaCroix?" dalE asked.

"Why did you and Mr. Maplewood start this group of yours?"

Understanding finally what JaCroix was getting at, dalE opted to follow suit with the other Rangers. He could see no other way without dragging his part of the trial out, and every moment would count. He could already feel the headache coming on, and the karma would not be far behind.

"We started out the first time just having fun, but it got more and more involving," dalE answered eloquently, trying to hold his expression solid and mask the pain coursing through his head. "I still am in it for the fun and adventure, but it also makes me feel good that I can help out and make a difference. Yes, it was Chip and I that began that first case and gathered the others, but Chip had more to do with it. I just went with him out of friendship. It seemed like he'd need it."

"Would you care to expand on your answer?" JaCroix asked, his eyes squinting suspiciously; something didn't seem right.

"What more is there to say?"

"I have nothing further at this time," JaCroix said. "I reserve the right to recall this witness."

"No questions at this time for this witness," the porcupine answered once again.

dalE left the witness stand as JaCroix lost another cup for the privilege he'd requested. Back behind the desk, dalE whispered to Chip, "I'm sorry, there wasn't anything else I could do," as he buried his face in his arms and slowly let himself slip back into his role of Dale, trying to let the tears roll into the sleeves of his shirt so they wouldn't be so visible.

"It's okay," Chip whispered back to him, "you did your best."

Chip was ready when they called him. After all, he was the only one left. Chip tried to see what had unhinged Dale in the audience, guessing it was part of his family, but couldn't identify anybody he could see. He abandoned that effort quickly, though, focusing instead on what was happening to him and his team. "So," JaCroix began slowly, walking across the courtroom towards Chip. "It all comes down to you, Mr. Maplewood, doesn't it?"

"That's how you've played it," Chip observed simply.

"Isn't that how you wanted it?"

"Maybe, but that's not the point," Chip countered.

"Well, please, enlighten us on what is the point, then."

"The point is that you've already got our statements entered that we were at the crime scene, and now you're just dragging everything out to torture us."

"A good attempt, but that's not my point. I want to know why you're running around playing vigilante. So to that end, Mr. Maplewood, tell us: Why?"

"We helped out Plato, a fellow animal, when he needed us," Chip answered. "There wasn't any animal police force or anything back then. What we did to help felt right. So when the next opportunity to help came along, we pitched right in, and we've been doing it ever since."

"So you claim you were trying to help out, to do the right thing, and to fill a need."

"Yes, that's it."

"For the justice of it?"

"Yes, you could say justice has a lot to do with it."

"Is it for some kind of personal redemption?"

Where did he come up with that one from? Chip suddenly thought as his mouth said, "What?"

"Is this behavior some kind of attempt to repay some past trouble?"

Forcing thoughts of Marie Sunslope from his mind, Chip denied the allegation.

"How about the recognition?"

"How do you mean?"

"Do you do this for the visibility your 'heroic deeds' merit?"

"Well, that's always nice, but it's not the only thing—"

"Doesn't being the leader mean you get all the credit?"

"No. There's no way I could ever take all the credit away from what my team accomplishes. If I do take all of anything, it's all of the blame for what they do, and especially for anything that happens to them."

"So you claim responsibility for them."

"As much as they'll let me."

"So you made this team," JaCroix summed up, "you lead it, you take responsibility for it, and you see nothing wrong with what you're doing."

"Right so far."

"And given the choice, would you continue to do the same?"

"Why stop now?"

"Look around you, Mr. Maplewood," the falcon told him. "Your community did something about its own problems that doesn't involve you! Nothing further."

The Rescue Ranger's attorney stood and addressed Chip for cross-examination. "Mr. Maplewood," the porcupine began as the bailiff transferred the cup of food, "has your team been within the local area for the past several months?"

"No," Chip replied. "We've been busy with other matters for the past year. We were all scattered to the winds until the day before those dogs were poisoned."

"So the first you heard of the Animal Justice System was . . . ?"

"When Investigators Coliss and Chew threw us in a cage out of nowhere."

"And before then, who had been taking care of crime in the city?"

"Before then, nobody except us that I'm aware of."

"And was it your habit to help both people and animals?"

"Yes," Chip explained. "There was usually a connection between both worlds involved."

"Which did you help more, the people or the animals?"

"The animals. Usually the Human police took care of the Human issues in most cases. Any help we gave to Humans usually involved unusual circumstances, something the Human police had overlooked, or couldn't or wouldn't handle."

"And now that you've been made aware of the new Law?"

"I hate to think we wouldn't be able to do as much good, but upon further reflection, I guess that means we'd have to stop."

"Would you still wish to help animals?"

"Any chance I could. I still believe in what I do."

"Thank you, no further questions for this witness."

"Redirect, your honor?" JaCroix asked. At a nod from the judge and a cup from his trough, the falcon prepared a final round of questions for Chip Maplewood.

"You just implied you'd follow the Laws of Nature now that you've found they are in place. Do you agree with what has been set up in your absence?"

"No, I think some of what is being described to me is a bit too restrictive, but I see some of the logic behind it."

"So you would have opposed the vote that set up the animal police and courts?"

"Actually, I think an animal police force and court system are overdue. I just think this particular set of laws might need work."

"Because it goes against what you were doing before they were emplaced?"

"Yes," Chip said, having no better answer at the moment.

"No further questions."

"The witness may step down."

As Chip left the witness box, he thought, I wish that hot seat had actual heat. Then I'd be able to tell how well I'm doing by how singed my tail was.

-- Service road behind Austin's Catfish Haven Restaurant, March 4^th, 1991, 3:48 p.m.

Bennie Coliss and his partner ran up to the uniform handling the scene, both out of breath. "One too many doughnuts this month, Bennie?" the uniformed sewer rat asked.

"Put a cork in it, Jack," Bennie said acidly, still breathing hard. "We were in the middle of cleaning up another scene across town when we got this call."

"What's going on?" Mark Chew asked.

"See for yourself," the sewer rat said, and motioned for them to follow.

"Oh, my God," Bennie said as they rounded the corner and paused to reflect upon the scene.

"You know," Mark said after a few moments of silence. "JaCroix's not going to like this."

"No, really?" Bennie deadpanned. "I thought this would just make his day."

Dead canines were scattered all over the service alley, as were the infamous kibble treats, both whole and in pieces. One of the canines had a torn piece of fabric in his mouth. Bennie collected it in an evidence bag.

"Looks like this one might have gotten personal with whoever's doing this," he said.

"We got another one!" someanimal called from behind the dumpster further down the alley.

"Alive?" Bennie yelled down that way.

"Naw, no such luck," the unknown uniform called back. "Looks like he crawled a long way to get to the end of the road, though."

"That makes for sixteen so far," Jack told Coliss and Chew.

"What's that smell?" the sparrow asked. "It isn't the bodies, it's more like . . . "

"The sewage manhole over there's open," Bennie observed.

"Oh, yeah," Jack said. "I guess once you're used to that smell, you don't notice it when it's not supposed to be there."

"Gee, that must be why they make us all work together on stuff like this, Jack," Bennie said sarcastically as they all walked over to the open portal to the waste system.

"So now what?" Mark asked as they all looked at the askew cover.

"Well," Bennie said to Jack. "You are the sewer rat . . . "

"Yeah, yeah, I get your point, move over."

A couple of minutes later, Jack emerged carrying a torn, light brown watch cap.

"I found a bunch more of those kibble treats littering the floor down there," Jack said. "And this was also down there. Can't really tell which way they went, though."

"Well, one good thing about this," Bennie said as he bagged the watch cap. "This hat isn't Human-sized. We're still looking for a small animal."

"There were sewer entrances at both other scenes, too, weren't there?" Mark said, remembering.

"Pretty safe bet," Bennie agreed. "I think we've made another connection."

"We'd better get this cap to forensics and tell JaCroix what we've got here," Mark said. "Thanks, Jack."

-- Animal Criminal Court, Small Animal Division, March 4^th, 1991, 4:35 p.m.

"Closing arguments, Counselors?" the judge asked.

"Animals of the jury," Gamble ShaGreene said as the bailiff scooped a cup from her trough. "Long before the Animal Justice System offered its services to your community, these five individuals did something nobody else was doing. Working as a team, they took it upon themselves to lend a hand, right the wrongs, and provide some manner of security to those whose paths they crossed. No matter how they came to do this or the reasoning behind it, it became quite a noble venture, and one that filled a community need."

"During the course of their lives," the porcupine continued as she paced in front of the trough, "they became detained away from the community, and in their absence, however lengthy, the Law and the Courts arrived. And when they returned, unaware of this development, they heard about something terrible that happened. So what did they do? What they'd always done: tried to help. And what happened when they tried to offer their assistance? The police, not knowing who they were or what they were doing, made a simple mistake and had them arrested and charged."

"You yourselves have seen they were very nearly charged with a capital crime," Counselor ShaGreene said, addressing the jury directly. "Simply for trying to help and winding up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Don't punish them unnecessarily or unjustly for doing what they'd always done – for trying to bring a little goodness and light into their world, for doing what their hearts told them was the right thing to do. You have the power to say whether they are deserving or not of imprisonment for several seasons of their lives. That's what they are facing: two to six seasons of imprisonment on each count. Six to eighteen seasons for trying to help! I would hope you agree with me that their good deeds should go unpunished. Thank you."

"You've heard my arguments," Mack JaCroix said as he lost yet one more cup of his dwindling food trough. "You've seen the evidence I've presented. You've heard their statements, both from the police and themselves here on the stand. Even they don't try to deny what they're accused of. I certainly don’t understand it. Something in these five animals makes them think they're better than the rest of us. They feel they can just wander around butting in wherever they want, do whatever they please, and if somebody doesn't like it, who are they accountable to?"

"A zealot chipmunk?" JaCroix cried, pointing at Chip. "How could they be opposed with their improvised technology? The Animal Justice System is accountable to the community. Its agents, officers, investigators, counselors, all of our staff are held accountable for our actions. In the community before this one, just ten months ago, I saw an Investigator I'd known for over eight seasons brought up on charges and imprisoned for blatant misconducts. He won't be free until this time next year. Like it or not, these Preyfendants are now living under new Laws. And they need to be subject to them like everyone else."

"Show them their proper place, right beside you and me," the falcon said, pointing to the jury. "Hold them accountable for sticking their nose into police business while the police were trying to figure out who was poisoning canines in an alleyway. I trust you, my fellow animals, to decide what is right and what is wrong. I'm confident you'll make the right decision. Thank you."

"The jury is excused for their deliberations," the judge said, banging the limb bone on the bench.

The jury filed out into two adjoining rooms. Eight minutes later, the predators emerged. Six minutes later, the prey animals also returned to the box. "That was unusually fast," the judge replied. "Animals of Predation, how find you?"

"We the predators find the Preyfendants not guilty on all counts."

"Animals of Prey, what say you?"

"We the prey find the Preyfendants not guilty on all counts."

"Very well. My final decision based on your verdicts is not guilty on all counts. The Preyfendants are free to go, but cautioned to observe the Laws of Nature in the future and warned to avoid interfering in police business. The jury is excused with the deepest gratitude of this Court."

The bailiffs emptied all the troughs and divided them into fourteen baskets, which were then given to the jury animals.

"Court is adjourned!" the judge called, and a final whack of the bone ended the Ranger's trial.

The Rescue Rangers, their attorney, and both Predatorcution attorneys filed out solemnly past the onlookers. Dale deliberately did not look for Meghan. As the great doors to the courtroom closed behind them, suddenly the Rescue Rangers burst into cheers and laughter. Chip and Dale exchanged a high five and a complicated chipmunk handshake. Gadget grabbed Chip and Dale in a double bear hug. Chip didn't know whether his lightheaded feeling was love or the surprising amount of pressure she was applying. Monty elected for a handshake. JaCroix and Carabi congratulated both them and their attorney on their success, but in the midst of all their congratulating and celebrating, Investigators Coliss and Chew came running up.

"I take it there's good news?" Mark asked the vixen.

"They won," Michelle told him.

"Serves the old buzzard right," Bennie muttered where JaCroix couldn't hear him. "That'll teach him to keep getting my name wrong when he puts me on the stand."

"You have good news as well?" she asked at normal volume.

"No such luck," Mark said, which brought the celebrations to a halt.

"We got a fresh scene," Bennie explained. "Sixteen more, just a while ago. We were just at the scene. At least there's a silver lining this time."

"Investigator, trust me, there's no good in this," JaCroix countered.

"What's that mean?" Mark asked.

"It means I just sent four young mice to stare down the Gauntlet tomorrow for nothing!" JaCroix squawked angrily.

"Aw, God, you got them?" Bennie moaned as JaCroix nodded.

"So we'd better find out who's really doing this and fast," the falcon continued.

"You said there was a silver lining?" Michelle asked.

"Yeah, we found this torn cap in a sewer nearby," Bennie said, showing the evidence bag to them. "Whoever does it is using the sewers to travel. The cap's animal-sized, but forensics is having a tough time with the owner's scent because of the sewer smells."

"Don't you have anything else to go on?" Michelle asked.

"Not too much yet."

"We do," Chip said quietly.

"Hey, didn't you just go through court once already?" Mark said hotly, but JaCroix held up a cautionary wingtip.

"What are you saying, Mr. Maplewood?" the crested falcon asked.

"I just got a good look at that cap," Chip explained. "And the pieces are falling into place. I've got a pretty good idea who might be doing this."

"Mind sharing?" Bennie asked sarcastically.

"Interestin' choice of words, mate," Monty chimed in as the Rescue Rangers broke into wide grins. "Interestin' choice o' words . . . . . "

-- Alley near Hall of Records, March 4^th, 1991, 5:38 p.m.

"What did we agree to get ourselves into, Mark?" Bennie growled through clenched teeth as he squeezed his eyes shut.

The sparrow's only answer was a high-pitched scream into the rapid wind gusts that whipped past his face. Gadget twisted the steering key of the repaired Rangermobile hard to the right, causing it to enter a relatively controlled lateral skid worthy of any professional driver. The imposing brick wall that had been directly in their path thusly avoided, the Rescue Rangers and the AJS Investigators hurtled forward along the side of the building towards the hidden animal entrance.

"This really isn't so bad," Chip told Bennie Coliss, but his remark did little to relieve the old squirrel's anxiety. If anything, his reddish-grey pelt was getting grayer by the moment.

"Now stopping, that's the scary part," Dale added, which almost gave Mark heart flutters.

"Gadget, you did upgrade the brakes this time, right?" Chip asked.

"Golly, of course!" the inventor replied matter-of-factly. "They should work just fine!"

As soon as the word "should" hit the air, Monty immediately curled into a fetal ball and began chanting "Think of a happy place, think of a happy place …."

Seeing the big mouse's reaction had Bennie and Mark uttering unequivocal admissions of faith as Gadget reached for the lever to activate the brakes. She yanked it backwards as the others held their breath. The fan motor died, four sandpaper-covered blocks gripped the wheels, and a handkerchief parachute popped out the back, bringing the Rangermobile to a gentle stop for the first time in recent memory. All of them sat there in silence for a few seconds as each individual tried to decide if the impossible had really just happened.

"See?" Gadget said chastisingly. "I told you it'd work!"

"Uh, never doubted ya for a minute, lass!" Monty said, trying vainly to save face.

As Gadget passed, she delivered a subtle elbow into Monty's gut, softy muttering "Sure, you did."

"Right, I deserved that one," Monty whispered back to her.

Chip, Dale, and Zipper helped the Investigators out, stowed the parachute, and entered the building.

"Honestly, Mr. Monterey Jack!" she angrily scolded the older mouse once the others were gone. "I don't see why you don't have more faith in my work sometimes!"

"Honest, Gadget, love, I'm sorry—" Monty began, holding up his hands defensively.

Behind him, the Rangermobile's battery suddenly spat sparks and caught fire. Both mice were silent for a few seconds.

"Not … one … word," said a miffed Gadget, eyes slitted, who slowly padded past him to effect repairs.

"I said nothing, I saw nothing," Monty said quietly to himself as he followed the others inside. "I'm just the muscle, not like I've got experience or anything . . . "

Inside, Monty found the five others poring over the city sewer plans, mapping out the three attacks. He joined them silently, helping Dale to steady the desk lamp which shone on the plans in the darkened back room.

"Okay," Chip said. "Let's get the attacks labeled. We got involved with the attack at 12^th and Riverside."

Mark dropped a red thumbtack at the manhole cover symbol at that location, then dropped a blue one at a different manhole far across the city, and a green one at yet another one far removed from that.

"There are the other two," Mark said. "Now what?"

"You're both great police animals," Chip said. "But one thing we have on you is knowing our local villains. The cap you found looks like the one Mole wears. He works for Fat Cat, one of the biggest crime bosses the animal world has around here. And Fat Cat has a special place in his heart for dogs."

"So you're figuring he's behind this," Bennie finished.

"Yes, but we need proof if we're going to get him in your courts," Chip said, "and trust me, we've all been waiting for something like that to happen."

"Crikey, I'd love to see that feisty falcon JaCroix tear into Fat Cat," Monty chimed in, relishing the thought.

"So let's see if we can make it happen," Chip agreed, returning to the sewer plans.

"These attacks are nowhere near Fat Cat's hideout," Dale observed. "That sewer line doesn't even connect to there. What's the pattern?"

"Well, he's using kibble treats, right?" Chip said. "Did you guys ever find all the ones he stole during the case before we went on vacation?"

"No, lad, we didn't," Monty admitted shyly. "But the dogs were more than happy to take a swipe at Fat Cat when we cornered him, so they didn't much care. What we did find was enough to tie the city over until the next shipment came in."

"You didn't know if they'd found it all?" Bennie asked, surprised. "Where were you, O fearless leader?"

"Laid up with this," Chip said, opening his jacket and baring the fur-covered scar from the electrical bolt Bubbles had dealt him with Nimnul's shrunken exoskeleton during a heated battle.

"That had to hurt," Mark observed. "I'm starting to think we didn't give you guys enough credit."

"Where were the other warehouses Fat Cat was using, Monty?"

"He was storing them down in the waterfront district, if memory serves."

Chip found the warehouses Monty was describing, traced his finger over to a nearby building, and said, "There's a chemical plant nearby."

"And manholes which lead to main sewer lines," Dale added.

"With straight runs to the attack sites," Bennie finished. "Good job."

"Now all we need is proof," Mark said. "Evidence we can collect."

"If time and speed weren't so important, I wouldn't ask again," Chip began. "But do you think -- ?"

"Uh, Chipper?" Monty said. "The Rangermobile might not be ready just yet."

Bennie and Mark didn't know whether to be relieved or not at that thought. Before they could figure it out, though, Gadget climbed up the table, smelling of chemical smoke and covered with grease and soot.

"(cough) … not … pretty," she rasped to the group, her throat a little scratchy.

"Aw, sure you are," Bennie joked at her. "You were just about to tell us about a completely safe mode of travel, weren't you?"

"You don't have to be anywhere quickly, do you?" came her hoarse reply.

-- Animal Criminal Court, Small Animal Division, March 5^th, 1991, 11:35 a.m.

Mack JaCroix paced anxiously in the hallway. "Where in Nature can they be? Time's running out!"

As if in answer to his question, Zipper buzzed into the hallway and handed Mack a piece of notepaper. "At last!" the falcon sighed, and unfolded the note.

"New evidence," JaCroix read, "transportation problems, took all night. Got proof, being sent to forensics. GET THOSE MICE OFF THE HOOK. Send force to Happy Tom Cat Food Factory for arrest. Coliss & Chew."

"Tell them I'm on it," Mack told Zipper, who saluted and zoomed away.

"MICHELLE!!" JaCroix roared as he tore down the hallway as fast as he could go.

-- Happy Tom Cat Food Factory, March 5^th, 1991, 3:39 p.m.

Chip stirred from his light nap as Monty prodded him awake. They had taken turns catching up on their rest after a long night of hard work. Bennie and Mark had turned over everything they'd found in the sewers, the warehouse, the chemical plant, and here in the Factory to some uniformed police animals they'd manage to call. They'd take their proof to aid JaCroix in hopefully getting the mice exonerated before they ran the lethal legal sentence that had been erroneously passed upon them. Chip yawned and stretched. He'd been the last one to sleep, insisting on standing watch. Bennie gently woke Mark, who had been mumbling odd things as he slept. Quietly they looked around from their rafter-top perch. Fat Cat's henchanimals had been pretty scarce. Slowly, they made their way down from the rafters and hid among boxes, crates, and manufacturing equipment that filled the main bay.

"I know it's obvious you know your way around this place," Bennie told Chip, "but are you sure we shouldn't be waiting for more backup to arrive? Your bug friend gave us the word a couple of hours ago Mack got the message."

"I'd rather try and get Fat Cat before more dogs die," was Chip's answer. "For all we know, nobody's here because they're pulling another job now."

"Good point."

They made their way across the production floor towards the stairwells that led to the upper offices, where Fat Cat made his hidden lairs. As they neared the production floor's exit, they heard voices. Chip waved a distress hand-signal, and everybody scattered and hid in an instant. Chip and Bennie dived behind a large sack of something used in the cat food manufacture and listened to the voices as they neared.

"Man, I'm getting' tired of crawlin' around in the sewer all the time," wheezed a sickly feline voice Chip placed to Mepps.

"Yeah, and it's cold without my cap," whined a voice that was obviously Mole. "I wish I hadn't lost it. I wish I had another."

"You also wish for candy bars."

"Yeah, I want some of them, too."

"Shut up and let's get going, before the boss yells at us again."

They waited until Mepps and Mole had passed through the bay. "They're not too bright, are they?" Bennie said.

"Nope, just bigger and stronger," Chip confirmed. "Fat Cat's the real thinker, and that's why he's more dangerous."

Chip made a hand-signal for a huddle, bringing the others running. Gadget stayed on the production floor to see what she could scrounge to help incapacitate Fat Cat's gang. Bennie, Mark, Chip, and Monty went to assault the offices upstairs. Dale and Zipper acted as rear guard, keeping watch for the AJS backup and to warn if Mepps and Mole returned. As Monty and the AJS Investigators crept ahead, Chip silently wondered if everything was going to be okay. So far, he'd been lucky, and the animal police had seen nothing but good effort and results out of the Rescue Rangers, despite the modest setbacks they'd experienced during the night. If luck held, the AJS might just recognize the Rescue Rangers and leave them alone to continue doing their jobs. Chip crossed his fingers for luck and followed the others as they cautiously crept slowly upstairs.

-- Animal Criminal Court of Appeals, Small Animal Division, March 5^th, 1991, 5:55 p.m. (twelve minutes to sunset)

"These forensic reports prove the mice Stuart, Thomas, Ulrich, and Victor did not perform the poisonings of which they were accused," JaCroix told the panel of seven judges, which included judge Popus. "The third incident occurred while they were at trial, and featured identical details as the other two crime scenes. However, this last crime scene contained vital new clues, which allowed police previously unknown information as to how the killers traveled to and from the locations without leaving a trace. The police have been following these new leads all night, and have provided me with these reports detailing the particulars of this scheme."

"Counselor JaCroix," one of the judges, a badger, began. "You come in here mere minutes before these mice are executed with a mountain of reports claiming that we should undo what only yesterday you so expertly did."

"With much vigor," Judge Popus declared, "you argued against these rodents before me, and built a solid case. How do you explain yourself?"

"Your honors," Mack replied, "When the case was begun, all the evidence did point to them, and so I followed my duty using what information I had at the time, in accordance with the Laws of Nature. Now, that information has changed, and I realize that we have unintentionally erred. I serve not just the Law, but justice, your honors, and that is why I've come before you with this new evidence: to hopefully prevent any more lives from being needlessly snuffed out. Thirty-four canines are enough wanton slaughter for any community. I apologize profusely for the trouble I've put these courts through, but I do ask that you overturn this conviction, and quickly, before the sun sets and the lives of four innocent mice are on all our heads!"

-- Gauntlet Room, Animal Criminal Court, Small Animal Division, March 5^th, 1991, 6:06 p.m. (one minute to sundown)

Charles Ulrich, the third mouse, had volunteered to go first. He was led to a doorway, which a guard opened, showing a very narrow corridor. Set into the floor of the corridor were three strong mousetraps, each with a large cheese bait. The only way down the corridor was straight to the end, directly through the three traps. At the end of the corridor was a door with three latches. Each of the latches was connected to a platform, all spaced some distance apart.

The objective was simple: chance the trap, carry the baits to the end. Place the baits on the platforms, which open the latches. If you made it, the door was unlocked and you went free. Charles could see slots in the side walls which would seal off a trap that had been sprung; there would be no popping all the traps while carrying nothing to remain quick, and collecting the baits afterwards. Above him, he could see the guards which supervised the corridor, ensuring no tricks were involved. Also with them were the witnesses, a minister, and his friends, who were next. He heard a yowl emanate from the sliding wall behind him, reminding him that if he took too much time, they'd just let the hungry cat loose on him anyway.

Charles swallowed nervously, his heart pounding. How could this happen to me? he thought frantically. I didn't do anything wrong! The Rescue Rangers were even there, and they didn't help me! They were supposed to help us; why didn't they help us? Why?

"It's time," came a voice from one of the guards above his head. "Get going."

And Charles took the first step towards his fate. . .

. . . and felt sharp talons grip him firmly!

"Stop!" boomed a squawking cry, as Mack JaCroix flew Charles up to the onlooker's portion of the corridor, his badge identifying him as an AJS Court Officer flapping prominently around his neck. "Stop the execution!"

The crested falcon dropped the shaken mouse near his friends, then landed and began to explain himself to the officers who surrounded him. "I have here court orders canceling this execution immediately, and declaring these four mice fully exonerated and free to go."

"What?" Bradley Thomas, the second mouse, said incredulously. "You're lettin' us go?"

"Yes," JaCroix said, as the officers removed the mice's pawcuffs. "A third attack happened during the night, and the police found more evidence which pointed to the real culprit. I'm very sorry for what happened to you, but we were working with what little we had at the time. At least we were able to fix our mistake before any of you were seriously harmed. Again, I'm very sorry. You're free to go. If you'll excuse me, I have more issues to attend to."

And with that, JaCroix flew off hurriedly, leaving four confused young mice in the hands of the officers, who returned their belongings and escorted them outside the court compound.

"Man, what was that all about?" Arthur said as the four mice walked down the alleys around the abandoned warehouses.

"Yeah, we could have been killed!" Bradley agreed, stepping around a pile of garbage from a tipped-over wastebasket.

Charles said nothing, brooding darkly, his shoulders still sore from being plucked from the very gates of death minutes ago.

Donald's usual grin was also absent. He just waddled along with the rest of them.

"So what do we do now, Charlie?" Bradley asked. "You've got smarts; what's next?"

"I'll tell you what we do," Charles said, a nasty glint in his eye. "Who's supposed to take care of us animals when we're in trouble?"

"The police?" Arthur said.

"No, the police just tried to frame us for murder," Charles countered.

"The Rescue Rangers?" Bradley guessed.

"They just stood there and let it happen," Charles stated.

"So then who?" Arthur asked.

"Us," Charles concluded. "We gotta take care of ourselves. And I say one of the best ways to do that is to get back at those good-for-nothing Rescue Rangers for letting us hang out to dry while they saved their own skins!"

Donald's grin began to return, albeit with an evil cruelty to it. Arthur and Bradley thought about Charles' argument, and decided it made sense. And so, in the alley behind the animal courthouse, the four mice avowed themselves to oppose the Rescue Rangers from then on. They walked on, united in their dark purpose.

-- Happy Tom Cat Food Factory, March 5^th, 1991, 6:10 p.m.

Fat Cat sat in his comfy chair, absently playing with his mustachioed whiskers. "Ah," he mused aloud, "now this is the criminal life; kicking back and enjoying myself while my nefarious schemes wreak havoc upon the wretched canines of the entire city."

The fat feline permitted himself an extended cruel chuckle or three. "And the best part is, not a sign of any of those cursed Rescue Rodents for weeks!" Fat Cat raved. "It's like they dropped off the face of the earth! Dare I hope something foul and twisted happened to them? Oh, please let it be so!"

"No such bloomin' luck, ya cellulite fleabag!" came an all-too-familiar Australian drawl as the door to Fat Cat's office was bashed inwards by a charging Monterey Jack.

Chip spun inward into a flanking position in case Fat Cat wasn't alone, but indeed he was, this time. Investigators Coliss and Chew followed them in, striding directly towards Fat Cat deliberately.

"Fat Cat," Bennie recited, "you are hereby placed under arrest for crimes outside the Laws of Nature."

"What do you mean?" Fat Cat stammered, backing away in fear at the Investigators' drawn weapons. "This is quite obviously some kind of a mistake, a misunderstanding, a mix-up…."

"I don't think so," Mark began.

"No, wait!" Chip called suddenly.

"No, no, you see," Fat Cat said in fear, still backing away, then suddenly his eyes slitted and his voice turned cruel. "I'm a cat, and you're prey to me!"

And with that, Fat Cat hit a hidden switch, suddenly releasing a trapdoor in the floor beneath the Investigators, who both dropped like rocks, leaving only twin "aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh"-sounds behind.

"And I did so look forward to cooperating with them," Fat Cat said. "But instead I'll just have to deal with you two instead!"

Fat Cat leaped towards the Rescue Rangers and extended his claws. As the two rodents began to react, they heard a voice from behind Fat Cat.

"I think we have some unfinished business, first, fatso!" came Mark's irritated squawk as he flew back up the trapdoor shaft and landed in a firing position behind Fat Cat, who froze with his claws in mid-swipe.

Monterey Jack had been heedless of the descending claws, pulling up his sleeve in preparation for another try at avenging the loss of his traveling home. Chip had been poised behind Monty, ready to tackle him out of the way of the deadly slash. While Fat Cat stood immobile under Mark's duress, Chip threw a line down to Bennie, who slowly made his way up the rope. After catching his breath, he reread the standard arrest warning.

"So now what, you throw me in some kangaroo court?" Fat Cat spat mockingly. "Don't make me laugh!"

"Actually, mate," Monterey Jack told him, "you'd probably fare better in a kangaroo court than what these blokes are gonna put you through."

"I knew it wouldn't be a fair court!"

"Worse than that, mate… it is!"

Bennie began to pawcuff the rotund feline. Until, of course, the blast occurred.

Gadget managed to cobble together several falling-object traps and trip lines that would easily allow her to help or hinder any animals on the production floor from her vantage point atop the canning machine tower. Then she'd spied the machine's utility connections and gotten an idea. While the canner was electric, it was wired in near the building's gas lines, which also ran to a couple of industrial heating units used during the winter months. During the winter, the heaters had obviously needed maintenance, because the units still had gas line parts lying around them. Using those and what tools she had, she'd been trying to piece together a fire-throwing rig which should prove effective against Fat Cat's stooges. Of course, now was the tricky part: tying in the gas line itself. She had to be careful . . . . . . .

Dale and Zipper followed Mepps and Mole as they left the production floor, keeping a respectable distance from them so as not to be noticed. They listened intently as Fat Cat's henchanimals continued their dialogue, giving all within earshot further proof of their freedom from the burdens of intelligence.

"Man, I wish the boss would hurry up and take back over all the other gangs again," Mole whined. "Then we'd have more help."

"I'm just glad we got this place back," Mepps said. "At least here I get free food."

"We still gotta do everything ourselves, though."

"Yeah, but the boss says if this works the rest of the gangs will fall back into line."

"Can't they do it sooner?"

"So that's why it's so quiet around here," Dale whispered to Zipper. "When he was trapped on that cargo boat to Guam last year, all his gangs fell apart while he was gone. I guess we'd better tell the others."

The outside doors opened, admitting a very weary Wart and Snout. The large rat growled, "Another batch of those nasty dog biscuits is ready for youse guys. Same place as last time."

"I don't care how important this plan is," the lizard hissed, "I don't think I can take another night in that chemical plant!"

"Well, then, you'd better tell the boss," Mepps said. "Come on Mole, we've got another job to do."

"Awww," Mole groaned, and they started to leave.

"Uh oh, we'd better make tracks," Dale said as Wart and Snout began coming back down the corridor towards them.

Dale and Zipper ran towards the production floor to warn Gadget and the others . . . . . . .

Gadget was having trouble tapping off of the plastic feed line which connected the gas heater to the source tap. She was aware of the smell of leaking gas, but didn't think she'd lost very much. She just had to finish patching up her splice and let the fumes air out. And, of course, avoid any ignition source. As she applied more tape and putty to the juncture, sealing it for sure this time, she heard running footsteps. She looked down from her position atop the heater in time to see Dale and Zipper come tearing out of the corridor. She gasped as she saw that Dale was running right towards one of her trip lines!

She started to call out to him when he spotted the wire a little too late. He skidded into it, pulling it tight as he dragged it. Dale tripped, falling over the line, and went rolling over until he came to a halt in a pile of empty feed sacks. Zipper dove in after him to make sure he was all right. The line went taut, and Gadget saw that the line was unintentionally rubbing against one of the object trap lines she'd rigged. The friction was enough, though, to pull the other line. The trap line yanked, the slipknot loosened, and the trap dropped.

Gadget saw the human-sized toolbox drop from its suspended position on the catwalk above. As it did, she began to run for her life, seeing it heading straight for a light fixture near where she'd been working. She made a dive for the high feed entrance to the deactivated canning machine as the toolbox hit the light fixture, a large three hundred watt incandescent, which shattered easily from the impact. The breaking lamp filament caused a spark . . . . . . .

It was less of a major blast, but a sizeable combustion, nonetheless. Gadget had done an adequate job of patching the line, she'd just underestimated the amount of leaking gas that had been collecting around her work area and had been pooling in the low areas of the floor. Wart and Snout had been knocked back into the corridor by the blast.

As Gadget emerged from her shelter inside the canning machine, she saw Dale and a worried Zipper emerge from their cover unharmed. Mumbling a faint prayer of thanks that her friends were all right, she ran over to them, just as several uniformed police animals burst inside from the entrance opposite the corridor Wart and Snout had been entering from. She called to them and together they ran towards the upstairs offices.

The detonation caught everyone by surprise. Bennie had one paw on Fat Cat's wrist and was about to apply the pawcuffs when it hit. Fat Cat seized the opportunity by wheeling around, catching Bennie with a good rolling cuff that sent him barreling towards his longtime partner. Mark lost his shot trying to avoid Bennie, cursing. Monty leapt onto Fat Cat's back and began regaling his feline opponent about the time he'd ridden wild frogs deep in the Congo that put up more of a fight, punctuating his story with good-sized knocks on the head.

Chip grabbed the rope Bennie had used to climb out of the trapdoor and began circling Fat Cat, entangling his ankles. Fat Cat grabbed Monty and flipped him off his back as Chip gave the line a good yank, upending the oversized kitty and sending him crashing to the ground. Growling, Fat Cat used his claws to rip the rope apart, then lunged for Chip! Then suddenly Fat Cat's expression changed curiously as two small reports split the air. Fat Cat stopped, then looked at his side, where the AJS Investigators had fired two small darts into his flank. "No," Fat Cat managed before wobbling and falling over.

"Nighty-night, bozo," Bennie said, holstering his weapon as Fat Cat's eye drifted closed. "Like I said, you're under arrest."

"You shot him?" Chip asked, amazed.

"Well, the devil didn't make me do it," Bennie replied, smiling.

"Is he gone?" Monty asked.

"Only to la-la land," Mark told him, holstering his own weapon.

"One dart's got enough juice in it to give a regular rodent like you a good day's snooze," Bennie explained to Chip. "Mr. Jack here might take two."

"But even though Fatso here outweighs you guys a lot," Mark added, "he'll be down for the count for a bit. Four darts is plenty for him."

"Four?" Monty asked, then saw where Mark had fired two more into Fat Cat's hindquarters at the same time Bennie had hit his side.

"Are you guys all right?" Gadget called as she, Dale, Zipper, and the uniformed animals rushed into the office.

"Nothing serious, Gadget, love," Monty told her as the officers pawcuffed and hogtied their foe. "Just tiring out a tubby tabby."

"I can't wait for his trial," Chip said.

"Neither can I! Oh, I can hear it now," Dale added, excited, then sang off-key, "On the first day of pri-son ol' Fat Cat sent to me . . . "

Dale whistled the melody for "a partridge in a pear tree," and then felt a wing grab his shoulder roughly. Mark Chew spun Dale around and pecked him right in the nose with his beak, hard.

"Ow!" Dale yelped.

"Never speak to me again!" Mark yelled at him, then turned and walked away.

Bennie silently thanked Nature that Dale and Mark wouldn't be discussing anything, least of all the paranormal or conspiracy theories, anytime soon.

"It's all right," Bennie comforted the sparrow as he led him away. "I bet the guy probably watches too many cop and lawyer shows anyway."

-- Animal Criminal Court, Small Animal Division, March 7^th, 1991, 3:55 p.m.

The trial was uneventful, much to everyone's relief. Although it was rather boring being just a spectator, the Rescue Rangers sat through the entire proceeding, relishing the thought of justice finally catching up to Fat Cat, even if his goons had escaped capture for the moment.

"Fat Cat," the judge decreed. "Having been found guilty in the unnecessary deaths of thirty-four canines and the other crimes described here today, I hereby sentence you to death. Preyfendant is granted The Choice: Duel or Gauntlet?"

"We choose the Gauntlet, your honor," Nordon Geel stated.

"Very well, the Preyfendant and the Gauntlet shall be prepared. It shall be run at sunset tomorrow. May Nature show you more respect than you have shown Her," the judge declared, and banged the limb bone on the bench loudly. "Court is adjourned!"

-- Gauntlet Room, Animal Criminal Court, Small Animal Division, March 8^th, 1991, 6:08 p.m. (two minutes until sunset)

Fat Cat faced a corridor equipped with large steel bear traps baited with chunks of meat. Above him watched the Rescue Rangers, the officers, and the surviving canine from the Riverside alley incident, who had recovered more. Also watching were Fat Cat's attorney Nordon Geel and Mack JaCroix. Behind him Fat Cat could hear the growling of a hungry wolf, who had been smuggled out of the zoo for just this occasion. Fat Cat held no illusions about his chances with the traps. His weight would slow him down considerably. He wouldn't make it past the first trap, and he knew it. Thankfully he'd managed to get a message off in time . . .

"It's time," the guard yelled to him. "Get going."

"All right, you lamebrained lawman!" Fat Cat yelled back, then muttered under his breath: "You'd better get here soon, you imbeciles!"

At that moment the ground broke in front of him, forming a small sinkhole. "Come on, boss!" Wart hissed.

"So long, suckers!" Fat Cat yelled as he grinned and laughed, leaping into the hole, which promptly collapsed in on itself behind him as his gang thwarted pursuit.

"He's getting away!" Chip yelled. "After him!"

As Chip began to give chase, Mack grabbed his shoulder and said, "Not so fast, Mr. Maplewood."

"But—"

"No buts," JaCroix argued. "Our deal was that for your information you could assist the police on their case. You did your job, and we did ours. You helped catch the cat, and we convicted him. He's now the police's problem, and they'll deal with catching him again and enforcing the sentence passed on him. You are now all just ordinary animals again – unless you'd like to go back on trial?"

Chip shook his head in response.

"I didn't think so," Mack replied. "Don't get me wrong, we are appreciative. I think you even earned the admiration and respect of Investigators Coliss and Chew. If you still want to work with the police, then attend the academy and learn to abide by the Laws of Nature. Otherwise, stay out of our way and let us do our jobs. Please."

Chip nodded glumly and led the disappointed and dejected Rescue Rangers away, back to their tree in Park Row.

-- Rescue Ranger HQ, Tree in Park, March 8^th, 1991, 7:55 p.m.

The Rescue Rangers walked in the door, still dragging their feet. They had been silent the whole way home. As one, they plodded over to the TV set and took their seats. "I can't believe it," Dale spoke up. "We're out of a job. Boy, who thought so much could change in a year?"

"I'll say!" Chip groused. "This is partly your fault, Monty! You're the one who picked a year's worth of vacation!"

"Now wait a bleedin' minute here!" Monty responded.

"Don't blame Monty, Chip!" Dale added, rounding on Chip. "It's just as much your fault, too!"

"How's it my fault?"

"How's it not?"

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah!"

The chipmunks began one of their famous arguments, their speech increasing in rapidity until it was unintelligible. Simple bonks on the head gave way to tackles and tussles as they rolled across the living room floor quibbling. Finally, Monty picked them both up by their collars, hauled them over to the couch and sat between them, arms crossed. He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, mumbling something about youthful spirits. "At least we still have each other," Gadget chimed in, trying to pick up everyone's spirits.

"You're right, Gadget," Chip said. "I'm sorry, Dale."

"That's all right, Chip," Dale said. "I think we both needed to do that, anyway."

Chip nodded in agreement and they shook hands, which caused Gadget to smile brightly.

"Yeah, but what do we do now, Chipper?" Monty asked. "Now that this Animal Justice outfit's runnin' the show, we're about as useless as a third wheel on a bicycle."

"What's so useless about a spare wheel?" Gadget asked.

"I can't believe they got voted in over us," Dale wondered aloud.

"Wait a minute," Chip said. "Didn’t Bud say the certain animals were really behind them being voted in?"

"Yeah, he did mention that," Monty confirmed. "The political and rich types. What's got your noggin tickin', Chip?"

"A suspicious feeling about the 'pillars of our community,'" Chip told him. "Tomorrow, I want to see if they've got a record of that vote."

-- Office of Lead Predatorcution Counselor Mackenzie JaCroix, Animal Criminal Court, March 9^th, 1991, 2:28 p.m.

The Rescue Rangers walked into Mack JaCroix's office. "Don't worry," the crested falcon chuckled as they nervously entered, "you won't need your lawyer here this time. Please, have a seat."

As they all found places to sit, JaCroix hopped over behind his desk, mounted his perch, and began sifting through the papers on his desk with his wingtips. "I understand," he said, "there are some things you wanted to bring to my attention?"

"Yes, a few," Chip answered smugly. "If I understand correctly, the Animal Justice System goes around setting up police forces, right?"

"That's right," JaCroix confirmed. "We show up, say our peace, and if the community votes us in, we set up, show them how to do things, then once they're ready, we move on, and they take care of themselves in a civilized manner."

"And there was a record of what happened when this vote took place?"

"Of course," JaCroix replied. "I understand your team here was away when we set up, but you should be able to view the records like anyone else."

"We did," Chip told him. "And we noticed something. Can you guess what that might have been?"

"Not off the claw," JaCroix muttered with annoyance. "But I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"We live in Park Row, Mr. JaCroix," Chip began as he pulled out some handwritten notes. "There's probably about, say, 150 to 200 animals around there that I can recall off the top of my head."

"That's very interesting," JaCroix said. "Perhaps I should be hunting dinner there?"

"Vote records show 143 nay votes and 283 yea votes for the Park Row area. That's 426 votes for a 200-animal area?"

"Maybe you're miscounting the population?"

"With an attendance of 213 animal voters?"

"What?" the falcon was suddenly giving the chipmunk his full attention.

"Also, have you seen the exorbitant returns for the upscale areas of the community?"

"Mister Jack, would you step outside the door and call in Miss Carabi, please?"

"Don't be tryin' nothin' funny, now—" Monterey began hotly, but JaCroix cut him off.

"No, I'm serious. I want her to hear this," Mack said as Monty got up and went to call the vixen into the office.

"Yes, it would seem our problems did something about their own community that involved you," Chip said bitingly.

"Touché, chipmunk," the falcon nodded.

"You wanted to see me about something, Mack?" the vixen said as she stuck her head in the doorway.

"Yes, this is urgent and very serious, Michelle," JaCroix told her. "Keep it to yourself, but go gather up the voting return records for the AJS approval and bring them here."

"Sure thing," she said and left.

"If you're right," Mack said to Chip, "there's going to be a lot of trouble here."

"Only for whoever did this, I'm sure."

"Whoever did this," the falcon spat, giving Chip a venomous look, "I'll go after myself. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's being in the wrong."

"Is that why you let us go easy at our trial?" Gadget asked.

"Perhaps," JaCroix said, a slight twinkle in his eye. "I might have. Not that I could admit to anything of the sort, you know."

"You could have buried us, then?" Dale asked.

"Imagine if I'd admitted your casebook into evidence, Mr. Maplewood."

"Why didn't you?"

"Well, for one thing, your attorney would have pointed out some of the outrageous and outlandish tales in it, and that would have hurt my case too much for my liking."

"Try living through those 'outrageous and outlandish tales,'" Chip replied. "So if you didn't want to bury us, why not just let us go?"

"I still had a case presented that needed to be finished. Also," JaCroix added, "I wanted to make sure you were sincere in what you were doing. You convinced me admirably. But once you weren't tied to the killings, I didn't feel the need to destroy you over something that was trivial by comparison."

"And if you'd succeeded anyways, and we'd gone to prison?" Dale asked.

"Then that's what you get for helping out Humans in my book," JaCroix said simply.

"You've really got a bonzer rash against people, don't ya?"

"Look at me," Mack said. "Do you know what kind of bird I am?"

"I've been wondering about that," Monty admitted.

"My mother was a peregrine falcon," Mack said. "My father, a crested caracara. For some reason, Nature only knows, some Humans figured that made a good combination."

"So that's it?" Chip asked. "Because they mixed your parentage?"

"Oh, please, Mr. Maplewood," Mack chided. "There's more than that. There's always trouble when the human and animal worlds get mixed around. A prime example would be from your very casebook. I believe the chapter was entitled 'Bearing Up Baby?'"

"The ol' bird's got a point, there, mates," Monty admitted. "That was a nasty situation."

"I don’t hold it against you," Mack said. "Not every animal has terrible experiences. But you must realize that I've been doing this for a while now. My first case was against three hens who hired a weasel to steal their coopmate's eggs or, failing that, to kill them so they'd look more valuable in the eyes of the farmer who fed them. All for a few additional ounces of free birdseed from the Hand of Man."

At that moment, Michelle returned with the records. Both of them riffled through them several times. Mack pointed out what Chip had discovered, and Michelle gasped.

"I know," Mack said. "I'll tell the boss."

Mack opened the door, and in doing so allowed the room to hear several faint whistlings of the tune Mack the Knife drifting in from the open portal. "Oh, no, not again!" the falcon groaned as he rushed outside.

The Rescue Rangers followed curiously, and beheld the normally reserved Counselor furiously ripping down flyers taped to the walls. After the offending leaflets were residing in crumpled heaps on the ground, the harried harrier looked right at Chip and said, "You claim to be a detective. I'll make sure you and your team get on the police force if you can just find out who wrote this stupid piece of trash that keeps popping up everywhere!"

With that, Mack smoothed over his feathers and left down the hall with the voting records to report the discrepancies that had been found. After he had left, Michelle giggled, then took out a new, undamaged copy of the same leaflets JaCroix had just expended so much energy attacking. She handed it to Chip, who scanned the paper briefly:

Oh, that falcon, has pretty talons, dear....and he keeps 'em, razor-sharp
Coun-se-lor Ja-Croix, first name Mack-enz-ie, babe.....who-ev-er named him, named him, for a lark
When that shark bites, with his teeth, dear....scarlet billows start to spread
With legal pap-ers, Mack brings the heat, babe..and there's never, never a case go dead

In the prisons...Sunday morning, comin' down...there's a body doin' life
Someone's struttin' 'round the corner...could that someone be Mack The Kite?

There's a city....down by the river, don'tya know.....with a crime rate, goin' down
Oh, the jail's are, overflowin', dear...five'll get ya ten old Macky's back in town
Ole Johnnie Miller… he disappeared, babe...thought he'd buy his …. case with cash
Now he's gone, but Mack's... none-the-rich-er …. could it be our boy's...done somethin' rash?

There was three hens, see, and Miss Cara-bi…..Miss Lotte Lenya, and ole Lucy Brown
Oh, the line forms on the right, babe.....now that Macky's back in town

I said that line forms on the right, babe.....now that Macky's back in town.

"Who wrote this?" Chip asked, snickering heartily despite himself. "This is great!"

"Some really smart apprentice lawyer we used to have a while back wrote it," Michelle said. "All of us here keep making it magically appear when he's not looking. It's fun and it keeps him from thinking he's some kind of lord of the predators around here. I know you want your jobs back; are you going to tell him?"

"Naah," Chip said, shaking his head. "You're right, it's more fun to see him flustered. Besides, with what we just found, I don't think we're unemployed quite yet."

"Thanks," Michelle told him. "You know, he asked Bennie Coliss to find out the same thing. That's why Mack always calls him first at trials and mispronounces his name; he's sure Bennie knows but isn't telling."

"No problem," Chip said, and walked back into JaCroix's office, whistling Mack the Knife happily and chuckling, where he placed the new leaflet carefully in the center desk drawer, where it'd be the first thing seen when Mack opened it.

-- Office of the Animal Justice System President, Animal Criminal Court, March 9^th, 1991, 4:15 p.m.

"You're absolutely sure about this?" came the gruff, old voice from behind the desk.

The boss' chair was turned towards the back wall, concealing him from view. Mack was used to this, after all these years. However unusual, it was his way. "There's no question about it," JaCroix assented, "Except how nobody else caught it in the first place. We've been duped; somehow the locals rigged their own vote."

"You know why I'm sitting down?" the boss rasped.

"Because I won't stand for this!" he answered JaCroix's silence.

"I appreciate the attempt at humor," Mack replied, "but what are we going to do about this?"

"Nothing," the boss responded. "How could we possibly investigate it after all this time? Go digging through the community leaders, flinging accusations, and hope we get it right? No chance."

"So what are our options?"

"We leave now," the boss decided. "How ready are the local police?"

"The first academy class is almost finished."

"Anybody good?"

"A few," Mack said. "Several rodents and canines. We're still having trouble finding qualified felines with no ties to organized crime."

"Get the police and court academy graduates together and inform them of their impending promotions," the gruff voice commanded, "you might want to talk to those former local heroes you dragged through the muck recently, too. They all need to be ready for when we issue our press release and move out. You've got two days to work with them to prepare, but the local figures who might have done this get no mention of what we're doing until it happens. I'll drop memos for procedures tomorrow morning. Now go."

"I understand," JaCroix said, and left.

-- Office of Lead Predatorcution Counselor Mackenzie JaCroix, Animal Criminal Court, March 9^th, 1991, 4:38 p.m.

"Well, Mr. Maplewood," Mack said as he entered, "the word has come down. Sorry you had to wait so long."

"And what would that be?" Chip asked with a blank face.

"You got your wish," Mack said after a pause. "We're leaving."

"What?" Chip asked, amid his teammates' cheering. "That's it? You just . . . go?"

"That's what my boss has decreed," Mack said, shrugging. "His species has very little tolerance for injustice, and forcing our legal system on a community that didn't rightly ask for it is pretty far up there."

"So we're back where we started?" Monterey asked. "No police, no courts, no punishment for Fat Cat?"

"Not exactly," Mack said. "We've got a plan. Keep what I've just told you to yourselves, and come back here tomorrow around noon and I'll explain more."

-- Small Animal Division Courtroom, Animal Criminal Court, March 11^th, 1991, 12:01 p.m.

All the major movers and shakers of the small animal world had been assembled in the courtroom. As the last one entered, the Head Bailiff exited and locked the main doors unnoticed. They chatted and argued amongst themselves, each speculating on why they had been summoned here. Then the small door at the back of the courtroom opened, but instead of prisoners or the judge, Counselors JaCroix and Carabi emerged, followed by several local police and court officer graduates and the Rescue Rangers themselves. The murmurs of the crowd became subdued, then rose in volume as they all tried to speak at once. Mack JaCroix took wing, flying up and landing atop the judge's bench, shrieking angrily for silence. As the room quieted down, he settled down and began to speak.

"I'm well aware you're all wondering why you've been asked here today," he began. "and I assure you it is due to a matter of the utmost seriousness. The Laws of Nature no longer apply."

At that remark, the crowd burst into questions, and JaCroix was compelled to call for silence again. "They should never have applied in the first place. It has been brought to our attention that the vote we required was tampered with."

"Don't bother accusing each other," Michelle Carabi called before the crowd could start up again. "It doesn't matter who or how anymore."

"The Animal Justice System works on just that, Justice," Mack added. "And by tricking us into believing that the vote passed, you caused us to enforce Laws on a community that did not rightly ask for them. We have no reason to be here any longer, and so therefore, we are leaving now."

"You can't just leave," a rather heavyset mouse spoke up. "We need rules! We need laws!"

"You didn't see fit to abide by their rules to begin with," Chip called from the back. "You wanted to make your own rules, so you'd better keep making them. They're leaving and taking their Laws with them."

"Exactly, Mr. Maplewood," Mack said. "As of this moment, the Laws and Courts of the AJS are suspended. That's the bad news for you. The good news is that you already have a group of local court officers and animal police ready to serve and protect, represented by the animals behind me. They're ready and willing to do their jobs. In addition, you already had some highly qualified animals looking out for your community: the Rescue Rangers, also here behind me."

"Every district's voting returns were skewed," Michelle said. "But the rich and upscale communities were the worst and most blatant frauds. It's not difficult to see what you were planning. Your new animal police force already knows now that it can't trust you, and isn't going to want to listen to you, and neither will the court officers. You'll get no special treatment or favor, if that was your ultimate objective. As part of our final efforts emplacing and empowering your police, the Rescue Rangers have been given special sanction to perform their duties as their leadership sees fit. Even if you manage to curry favor with the police or the courts, there will always be the opportunity for proper justice to prevail."

"And with that," Mack said, turning back to the crowd, "we leave you to the mess you've created. Have fun getting out of both it . . . and here."

With that, JaCroix swooped towards the crowd aggressively while the police, court officers and the Rescue Rangers exited quickly out the back. He then followed Michelle as they exited the back door, closed and locked it behind them. As they left the building, the sounds of the panicked animals pounding on the thick wooden doors brought all of them an odd sense of comfort.

"Is there anything else?" Mack asked the group.

"One question," came an unknown voice from the group of police. "Can you give us a good reason not to leave them locked in there and just set fire to the place?"

"Then they wouldn't learn anything," Chip said, although he appreciated the sentiment.

"Fair enough," said the voice, which would turn out to belong to a older squirrel named McDugell.

-- Outside the Animal Criminal Court, March 11^th, 1991, 12:15 p.m.

"Rather fitting," JaCroix observed as the last of the AJS wagons was loaded up. "Trapped in a courtroom of their own making."

"I wonder how long it'll take them to claw their way out," Michelle wondered. "Most of those idle rich looked like they hadn't used their teeth or claws in years."

"They haven't," Dale said and then fell silent.

"So this is goodbye?" Chip asked Mack and Bennie.

"It's a good possiblility," Mack said. "But you can put on one heck of an argument, Mr. Maplewood. If you want it, there's an open job for you on my court staff."

"You're a pretty good detective, too," Bennie said. "We could use you on the force."

"Thank you both. I'll keep those offers in mind," Chip said gratefully. "But I think I'll stick to the job I love doing."

"And since we travel worldwide," Monty chimed in, "who knows, we might run into each other again someday."

"It'd be a pleasure to work with your team again, sir," Mark said, then glared at Dale. "Well, most of them, anyway."

"Well, we know where to find each other," Michelle said as the wagons began to roll away. "Well, looks like they're rolling out now."

"I wonder what they'll call the new police force?" Gadget asked.

"They're tossing around 'Animal Police Unit' or 'Small Animal Police Squad' for names right now," Chip said. "Whatever they call themselves, I'm sure we'll be working closely with them in the future."

The Rescue Rangers waved goodbye as the wagons picked up speed, carrying the AJS far away from their part of the country. "Well, let's go home," Chip said. "We've got vehicles to rebuild and a well-earned rest to take before we go back after Fat Cat again."

"I'll second that, mate," Monty agreed as they walked away together down the alley. "At least now when we catch him we'll have somewhere to put 'im."

As Bennie, Mack, Mark, and Michelle watched them turn and leave, the vixen said, "They're really quite a team, aren't they?"

"A bunch of small town heroes," JaCroix stated simply, then scoffed. "Maybe the world needs more of them."

-- The End (for now)

The AJS may return in "Claw & Antler: Small Animals Unit - Alternate Theory of Crime" . . .

Disclaimers and other such stuff:

OK, first things first: For the love of Elvis, HEAR ME OUT! I know for a fact that some, if not most, of what I write is going to cause conflict. Fine. We all can't agree on everything. But I'm sure things will make sense when you see where I'm going and don't focus too terribly much on how I'm getting there. I've tried to smooth over many a rough edge and make judgement calls on how best to resolve some situations with a minimum amount of friction from other fans. Give me a little credit and a little trust. Hopefully in the end, all questions and issues will be addressed, and those that remain I'll be happy to address myself.

Next: Chip, Dale, Gadget, Monterey Jack, Zipper, and all associated characters and et cetera directly related to Chip 'n' Dale's Rescue Rangers are copyright and trademark and the like to Disney, and are being used here without permission, but with respect. They are also being used in a manner which is not intended to bring shame, discredit, or harm upon the company in any form, and are also being used without monetary profit to the author of any kind.

That said: Other characters related to Rescue Ranger fan fiction, and the fan fiction works themselves, belong to the authors of those characters and works themselves, unless you know differently. I have the utmost respect and gratitude for these authors, and directly refer to them and their works because of the absolutely wonderful job they have done. I am not trying to plagiarize, I am trying to take the literary gemstones they have forged, cut, and polished, and am mounting them on a "gold frame" to create another work of art of my own. I'm not trying to take away from their work, I'm trying to build something else that's special in it's own right off of the foundations they have laid.

And then: Yes, this a parody of one of my favorite shows, "Law & Order," which is produced by Dick Wolf and Wolf Films. All of the characters, conventions, and such directly related to the group of series are copyright, trademark, and the like to Dick Wolf and Wolf Films. This is, however, a parody, and no correlation between Mr. Wolf's excellent programs and my pathetic attempt at a work of fan fiction should be expressed, implied, or inferred in any harmful way.

And finally: If you have a question, problem, concern, new/better/other information, clarifications, or anything else (with the exception of spam, flames, or destructive criticism) you'd like to say to me, by all means, say it. And if you are wanting to take legal action, please, before you waste a lot of time and money on lawyers (both yours and mine,) please contact me first so we can resolve this without a huge fuss. I'm willing to listen, whether you are or not.

This page and all works referenced from this page are ©2000, 2001, 2002 to Rennod, unless otherwise noted. I do NOT grant Microsoft, MSN, Yahoo, or GeoCities any rights to do anything with these works except store or retain them in my account and back them up normally as any other account would be handled. The Rescue Rangers and their principal characters are copyright, trademark, and the like to Disney and/or their licensees, and are currently being used without permission, but with respect and without profit of any kind to the author.