Title: The One –Year Vacations: Mirrors of Zen

By: "Rennod"

©2001 with the exceptions noted below.

 

 

Historical Note: For those who have not read "Left For Posterity…" or are unaware of its timeline, I should inform you that these stories take place between March of 1990 and March of 1991, following the format of "The One Year's Vacations," conceptualized by Steve "Strider" Stone.  Mr. Stone's Beginning and Ending portions of the One-Year Vacation have been paraphrased and adapted into the first two sections of this story.  The Vacation stories in my timeline follow the events in the "Somemouse" script, written by Matt Plotetcher.  That story follows the series episodes, obviously.

 

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Prologue:

 

 -- Rescue Ranger HQ, Tree in Park, February 26^th, 1990, 6:37 p.m.

 

   Chip absently twiddled the pen among the fingers of his left hand as he contemplated his casebook.  He'd been forced by the others to take it easy for the past couple of months while he healed up from the fight with Bubbles and his exoskeleton designed by Professor Nimnul.  He put the pen down and traced the edges of the scar left by the electrical bolt that had hit him in the chest.  It had burned deep and healed slowly, but now felt better and his fur had grown back, almost completely covering it.  Still, it was more out of sight than out of mind.

   After lying low for several weeks after the climactic battle, Fat Cat, Nimnul, and Bubbles all emerged from the woodwork again.  Nimnul tried his latest bid at scientific legitimacy by offering Bubbles as proof that Spam was indeed not only nutritionally unsound, but carcinogenic as well.  He was arrested on sight and Bubbles was spirited away by the local chapter of the ASPCA.  With Nimnul in the loony bin for a while and Bubbles away from his stomping grounds (not to mention very, very far from being anything more than a physical vegetable for quite some time,) the Rescue Rangers were down two major foes with no further effort.

   That left Fat Cat, who tried stealing shipments of doggie treats.  Fortunately, the other Rescue Rangers had solved the case quickly, thanks to the blundering of Mepps and Mole in the final theft.  Confronted and cornered on the city docks, Fat Cat and his crew narrowly escaped the custody of the Rescue Rangers and a score of hungry canines by hurriedly boarding a cargo ship bound for Guam.  They wouldn't be seen for quite some time.  Only Gadget's attention and insistence had kept Chip at home recovering instead of being involved in the case.  Ever since then, things had been very, very quiet around the city.  Now that Chip's injuries were healed, he was getting more and more restless.  He needed to do something, to get out and work on a case again.

   Chip got up from his desk, slammed his casebook shut, and walked out into the main room, where the rest of his friends were watching a movie on the television.  Monty noticed him come in and welcomed him to sit with the rest of them.  "Sure, Monty," Chip agreed, sitting down at the end of the couch.  "But tomorrow can we fish for cases at the police station?  If I don't get back to work, I'm don't know what I'll do!  I feel fine."

   "But, Chip," Dale said.  "We've had our ears open there all week.  It's been all quiet!"

   "Yeah, mate," Monty chimed in, as Zipper nodded his assent.  "Seems we did our jobs too well this time."

   "Arrgh!"  Chip fumed.  "Now what can we do?"

   After an instant of thought, Gadget snapped her fingers.  "Golly, I've got it!"

   "What?" they asked in unison.

   "Well, if we've done our jobs so well," Gadget offered.  "We deserve a vacation, right?"

   "Sounds great!"  Dale exclaimed enthusiastically.  "I can't wait to hit the beach!"

   "Hold up a minute," Monty cautioned.  "Remember the mess we got in back in Hawaii with that squid and the volcano tribe?  It was hard enough trying to figure out what to do to kick back and enjoy things."

   "Well, why not take separate vacations?"  Gadget suggested.  "That way we all get some time to ourselves, and when we all get back we'll all have great stories to tell!"

   "Well, it's quite an original idea, Gadget."  Chip admitted, uncertain, but smiling.

   "Thank you."

   "So how long should we leave for?"

   Zipper buzzed off, returning with five bits of paper, a hat, and a pen.  He began buzzing and squeaking: "We write down how long we should take and draw out of a hat!"

   They all shrugged, as it was as good an idea as any other.  They passed around the items, each writing a length of time and placing it in the hat.  When they had all contributed their offerings to the whims of chance, Zipper grabbed the hat and flew in a tight circle, spinning the hat quickly and shaking it to jumble the contents.  He fell to the couch, panting, and the hat spun on its edge, finally coming to rest at Gadget's feet.  "I guess it's me, then," she said, and placed her hand in the hat, drawing a paper out.

   They all gathered around as she opened it up and read the startling response: One Year.

   "A YEAR?!?" was chorused loudly.

   "Who put that in?"  Chip demanded.

   "What were the other choices?"  Dale asked.

   Gadget set the flyer aside and removed the remaining four possibilities from the hat: two weeks, one month, six weeks, three months.

   Chip and Gadget began examining the handwriting.

   "Three months looks like Dale's writing," Gadget observed.

   "And six weeks looks like yours, Gadget," Chip stated.

   "Right you are," Gadget conceded.  "Two weeks looks like . . . Zipper's?"

   The Rescue Ranger's resident insect merely shrugged.  All faces turned and faced Chip, a trifle bemused.

   "A month instead of a week or three days?"  Gadget wondered aloud.

   "Two weeks wasn't Chip?" Dale marveled.

   "You picked a year, Monty?" Chip piped up, trying to redirect the attention Back To Jack.

   When it was apparent the others were still curious, Chip offered, "Okay, so I'm getting a little stir-crazy being here in the tree for so long."

   That settled, it was Monty's turn for an explanation: "Me family's always going on long vacations," he began.  "and I figured a long rest would be good for us.  Keep us from going stale, right Dale?"

   Dale merely nodded.  Chip felt a headache coming on, but decided fighting it would be more trouble than it was worth.  He had been feeling cooped up.  Besides, he thought.  Who knows what cases I might find on my own.

   "Well," Chip said, having no better argument, "I guess we all should start packing and figuring out what we're going to be doing for the next year."

 

 -- Rescue Ranger HQ, Tree in Park, February 28^th, 1990, 9:35 a.m.

 

   After two days of packing and mothballing their home for a one-year absence, the whole lot felt they were ready to go.  Some knew where they were going and what they were doing, others were looking to experience adventure wherever the winds of fate blew them.  After locking up their home, they flew to a nearby airport.  Stashing the Ranger Plane up in the rafters of the maintenance hanger, Chip, Dale, Monty, and Zipper took their bags and began heading towards different flights.  Gadget prepped the Ranger Wing for takeoff to go her own way.  They met for one last huddle before they left.

   "Okay, guys," Chip began.  "I guess this is it until March 1^st, 1991.  Meet you all back at the tree."

   "Good luck to you all," Monty said.  "See you next year."

   "Everyone be careful," Zipper buzzed.  "And come back safe!"

   "I can't wait!"  Dale exclaimed.  "All the stories we'll have!"

   "I just hope I don't miss you all too much," Gadget said, her voice catching slightly.

   They all saw her blink back a tear or two, and embraced her warmly as a group.

   "Either we do this or we don't," Chip said.  "I know in my heart we'll all make it back all right."

   They all nodded, waved farewell, and scattered to the winds, not to see each other 'till one year hence.

 

-- 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…."