A/N: Sorry about how late this update's been in coming, but my senior year in high school left me hardly any time to spend writing. My interests diversifying into other fandoms probably didn't help, either (but seriously, how long can Power Rangers really hold somebody's interest?), but then I remembered how fun it was writing this fic. So while updates are going to be sluggish, you can rest assured that I will complete this thing.

Also, my heartfelt thanks to those who've reviewed, and those who've PM'd me asking for updates. Much flattered.

Read and enjoy, for things only get more interesting (and crazy) from here on…

7: Closer

Piggy was going through a phase which he liked to call the 'rough and tumble' of life.

He would've also liked to term it 'caught between a rock and hard place', but that would've sounded less creditable. After all, one needed to keep up a certain reputation.

Caught between the SPD and Emperor Grumm – with Broodwing suddenly trying to break away from the Emperor to form a third front – Piggy had realised that he could not keep up pretences for long. Either side – or both, God forbid – would soon figure out his double-crossing (in fact, he wondered, was it quadruple-crossing in his case?) and have his skin for it. He didn't particularly appreciate being closeted in a containment card; nor did he think being target practice for Mora was an enticing prospect by any vile stretch of imagination.

It was time to take some Desperate Measures.

But how?

"Chef Specialty, sewer soup coming up," he said dully, ladling some of the vile-smelling liquid into a bowl, and proceeding to the table where the order had come from. It was an interesting customer – Darmoan, easily distinguishable by the triangle-shaped head, deceptively scaly skin and a constant habit of blinking those enormous eyes, as if to get out a particularly large bit of gravel that had fallen into them. He seemed insanely happy for some reason – could be all the money he claimed he had suddenly earned – and was very voluble, with the usual group of down-on-their-luck and hey-I'm-just-bored crooks his rapt audience. Placing the soup on the table with the usual "Hope you enjoy the stench, mate", Piggy made to leave. He wanted to close down shop as soon as possible – he wanted to think.

If only I could…

"Nothing but an unexpected windfall, it was."

The only way to end this would be to fix some kind of truce between the Emperor and the SPD, but that'd mean no more extra information. No more money. No more customers.

"I probably shouldn't be telling you guys this, but…"

That wouldn't be good.

"Well, if you really insist…"

Maybe there's another way, something more profitable…

"One of the SPD Rangers is in the Emperor's custody – and yes, yes, wait for it – I was the one who captured the Ranger for him!"

Yes… capture…what?

Piggy froze in his tracks, as a mixture of raucous laughter, disbelieving snorts and scattered gasps emanated from the impromptu audience. The Darmoan proceeded to defend his case, and Piggy listened intently. The audience still refused to believe him – for some reason someone in the small crowd kept calling "It can't have been you, Doofus!" – but Piggy thought that there might be something in there. He had heard that SPD had been out investigating something in the outskirts of the city early that morning – way ahead of their usual morning patrol, exactly where Doofus said he had captured the Ranger – and he had also learnt that their movements had been tense and probing since then. Also, there was the fact that there had been no extensive property damage or intense dogfights, so the morning's matter must not have had anything to do with the usual lot of alien criminals that Grumm kept churning out.

Well, now.

If one of the SPD Rangers had indeed been kidnapped, there was no doubt that the other Rangers would be approaching him for information at any moment. For a few seconds Piggy toyed with idea of getting the SPD Rangers there and practically presenting the culprit on a silver platter, but then again, that would be very bad for business. He would probably never get another customer again, and Grumm would certainly have his neck.

But it was too good a situation to pass up – there had to be some way he could take advantage of it…

Suddenly an idea occurred to him, an idea so wonderful, so phenomenal, so marvellous, that he staggered with the force of it, as if it had physically struck him on the face. How come I didn't think of this before, Piggy thought, almost in awe. This is perfect!

Somehow, since the advent of the B-Squad Rangers, he had fallen away from some of his more devious methods, for no apparent reason at all. This is not going to be child's play anymore, Piggy thought determinedly. He was out to save his skin – and earn some good money in the process, of course – and it was time to pull out all stops.

It was also time, he reflected, to pull up some well-placed contacts who owed him life-debts.

One of those just happened to be a certain Blue-head onboard a certain Troobian ship.

Mora would've probably been very surprised to hear this of her creations, but a certain hierarchy existed onboard Emperor Grumm's ship.

The hapless Krybots, philosophical as they were, and despite being the only section of Grumm's soldiers who hadn't been created by Mora, formed the bottom rung of the social ladder. Next came the Blue-heads, the perennial hot-headed decoys (apparently, they were drawn and created by Mora when she was in a particularly bad mood, which many claimed explained the Blue-heads' tendency to botch up even ridiculously simple plans. This brought up very interesting avenues of discussion for psychoanalysts and neuro-quantum physicists, but that's a topic to be explored later), followed by the efficiently deadly Orange-heads. Next, of course, came the occasional criminal mutant that Mora might create in moments of inspiration (Bubblesworth is a good, if disturbing, example).

Then, of course, Mora (occasionally Morgana), Broodwing, and finally, Emperor Grumm himself.

Many suspected that there might be someone – or something – that the Emperor himself answered to, but the theory was mostly dismissed as a lackey's wistful fantasy. Or maybe it was a bottle of Galaxo Corp's Fiery Troobian Rum.

Ahem.

As in the case of any such structured society, of course, there is bound to exist some resistance, some dissatisfaction, some resentment among the less privileged against their superiors. (Again, an interesting topic of discussion for sociologists all over the galaxy – they claimed that the invasion of humans into the galactic psyche had changed it in ways once thought unimaginable. This speculation led to the rise to the formation of an interesting group called 'Banish Humans for a Safe Galaxy', or BHSG, but once again, this is only pure digression.) Following this trend, combined with their philosophical bent of mind, the Krybots' psyche was quite the simmering cauldron, just waiting for the ingredient that would spark them into action.

Whether he knew it or not, Bridge's words were close to making history.

The word passed round the Krybots, accompanied by lots of excited chatter, and a double in the amount of philosophical discourses that the Krybots usually held once a day in the most secluded parts of the ship they could find. The Orange-heads were completely unaware of this sudden unrest, training as they were within the bowels of the ship. The restless Blue-heads, however, were interested.

Maybe 'furious' is a better description. After all, the Krybots weren't nearly as around as much as they usually would be for the Blue-heads to de-stress (which involved nasty dogfights that made what the SPD Rangers did to the Krybots seem like petting), and when the Blue-heads couldn't de-stress, you could pretty much count on them to find a way to do the same.

Among this was a particular Blue-head who had just received a clandestine communication from a… 'friend' (who he had hoped would forget him), and had been given a task – one that he would've normally refused, but in the light of present circumstances, was only too happy to take up.

How much ever it seemed to be the case, the Blue-head wasn't stupid; he had realised that there was some connection between the Krybots' increased activity and the captured Ranger – in the past two days that he had been in their captivity. The sooner he could get rid of the Ranger, the better it would be.

The Blue-head made his way down the long, dimly-lit meandering corridors of the ship, not sure of where exactly he wanted to go – for the Emperor had made sure that precious few of his more temperamental minions knew where the Ranger was kept – but guessing that the area with the highest concentration of Krybot activity would be a good place to start.

Soon enough, he found a room guarded by no less than four Krybots whispering excitedly among themselves. Of course, that meant that it was barely two minutes before they were a mangled heap on the floor, limbs twitching and robotic innards sparking.

The Blue-head was almost tempted into making a typically human gesture of slapping his hands together in satisfaction, but decided Piggy's sudden 'request' was a disgusting-enough vestige from an ill-advised sojourn he had undertaken on Earth a few months earlier – a sojourn which had ended in him being in Piggy's debt.

He entered the room cautiously – obviously long-standing experience of being on the wrong end of a Ranger's blaster had taught him to be wary of them, even if captured and injured – to see the Ranger stretched out on Mora's hammock. He seemed to be currently in the throes of a very restless sleep, brow creased and beaded with sweat. The Blue-head recognised him to be the one who morphed into the Blue Ranger – definitely one of the stronger Rangers – and wondered which one of Grumm's minions had been strong – rather lucky – enough to capture him.

He went on to gather the Ranger carefully into what a human would describe as a 'fireman's carry', his robotic body lending him the strength to handle the deadweight easily. The young man gave out a pained groan, but didn't respond otherwise, and the Blue-head wondered if Mora had been visiting him. To think of it, Mora did seem unusually happy earlier that morning…

The escape pod that he had arranged to get the Ranger to Earth was waiting for him at the other end of the ship, and if he made a quick break for it – who cared about jarring the Ranger's injured head – he just might be able to make it in time. He stepped out of the room…

… to find himself staring at a black army of Krybots stretching down the corridor.

To employ another typically human expression, Uh oh.

"You will not harm our Saviour," the Krybot in front intoned, raising his weapon arm. The rest of the Krybots repeated the same action in eerie unison.

This was going to be a big bother.

For all of their philosophical discourses, the Krybots were not too intelligent – despite the obvious advantage of numbers, the corridor was too narrow to allow more than three to four Krybots to approach him at one time, a number which he could handle even with short-circuited visual systems. It was, however, going to be an unnecessary waste of time, and he had to dispose of the Ranger before the commotion attracted Mora's or Grumm's attention.

He turned to go the other way – only to find Krybots blocking that route of escape as well.

Well, then. Blasted unpredictable robots…

"Hand over the Saviour!" the same Krybot cried, and the robot army began to close in upon him from both sides.

He would have to fight them. There was no choice. But the Ranger was going to be cumbersome, and that meant it was time to employ Plan B. He slipped into the only route that was available to him sans Krybot – Mora's room. The Krybots began to pour in after him. He ran to the opposite end, where he stroked at an organic panel, which opened a small door in the wall, just big enough to fit the Ranger into. He threw the still-unconscious Ranger into the sloping garbage chute headfirst. It ended in the disposal dump not too far away from where he had hidden the escape pod, and with luck, nobody would come that way until he made it there himself.

This is going to stink, Ranger, but you deserve it.

He turned to face the Krybots, weapon hand sparking, and charged.

Bridge was dreaming.

Unlike most of his dreams, though, a brilliant light seemed to fill the universe, blurring his surroundings, making them indiscernible. He could feel the rush of wind in his hair, a quiet exhilaration fill his veins as his body swung back and forth. Yes, this swing was very nice. So very nice to be alone. On this swing. Nobody… nobody to bother him now.

Despite the exhilaration, however, there was also sadness.

An empty sort, that just ate away at you. Not the kind that would make you cry – no, he was too big to cry now. He was nine years old. Not a little kid anymore. Mother cried, though, for a long time – and that disturbed him, but he was not going to cry. He was going to be like Dad.

Dad, who was much more than just that burnt helmet they gave him.

Dad, loving as he was scarce, generous as he was strict.

Dad, of whom he had seen more in newspapers and television than at home.

Dad, his hero.

The sadness now rested heavily in his chest, like somebody had opened his ribs and put it there. The swing slowed down, and finally halted, but still, he told himself, he was not going to cry. He may think about Dad, but he was strong. He was not going to cry.

"Hey, hey you! Get off that swing."

The bright light that cocooned himself in his beautiful world of solitude faded to reveal a couple of boys leering at him. They seemed to be a couple of years older than him, and were giving him decidedly menacing looks.

"Sorry, but I'm not finished."

"Yes, you are," one of the boys said, taking a step forward.

He remained in his seat. "Sorry, but I can't. You'll have to wait." Dad may have taught him to be strong, but Mother had always insisted on total discipline, and that involved politeness, whatever was the situation.

"Oh, sorry," the other boy said, in what he thought was a mocking tone, "but we can't, prissy boy." With that, he overtook his friend, and grabbed his collar. "Get off the swing."

"I can't," he returned calmly.

The bully didn't respond. Instead, he hauled him off the swing, and pushed him aside roughly. He stumbled, trying to regain his balance, before his head impacted against one of the metal supporting bars of the swing, and a sharp, agonising pain shot through his skull, and while the world descended into darkness, and he could feel the rush of wind around him once again, he was falling, falling, falling… surely into the deepest pits of hell – the demonic stench was overpowering – and he could not even find the breath to utter a prayer, a name of a friend, and suddenly it was over, he had fallen, the darkness swirled and roiled, swallowed itself, and…

Bridge opened his eyes.

"I cannot see any other avenue of possibility," Bridge said, his gaze intense and his lips set into a thin line.

No, Syd thought, running a finger along the console she was sitting at, not Bridge. Sky.

She didn't know whether to be relieved or sad.

"So you're saying the kidnapper might be Darmoan," Z said, resting her chin on a cupped palm.

Bridge – Sky – rolled his eyes. "Yes, what did you think I was saying over the past few days?" He ran an agitated hand through his hair. "We've been lying low and investigating for too long. We've got to pick up a likely thread and start to act."

Jack narrowed his eyes. "There's a procedure for this, you know. We may be Rangers, but we're also police."

Sky's lips trembled with an emotion that fascinated Syd. Sure, she had seen Sky pout like that several times before, but when Bridge's lips did it, she had to admit that he looked rather… sexy? Mm, oh yes. She felt like a teenager contemplating on her first crush, really, but for some reason…

"Blast and hang the procedure!" Sky growled, bring a screeching halt to Syd's careening train of thought. "Are you still thinking about what Commander Kruger told you? Is that why you are being so cautious? What's wrong with you?"

Jack gave a loud, disbelieving laugh. "What's wrong with me? Did Mr. Sky Rulebook-is-my-Bible Tate just diss me for following procedure?" He shook his head. "No way that's the right question, man. A better question is, what's wrong with you?"

Sky raised an eyebrow. "You really want a list, man? How about I start with –"

"Enough is enough," Syd interrupted, surprising herself. The other three turned to look at her, surprised. "Sky's right. We've looked closely at every other possibility, and it's time we saw into the possibility that the kidnapper is a Darmoan."

Z raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Because they've got triangle-shaped heads?"

"Well, I agree that they are not the only species with triangular heads, there was the Jessods of Traal III, but an unexpected meteorite shower meant their extinction about a couple of million years ago, so…"

Sky laughed. "Jessods of Traal III?"

Syd frowned. "Well, yeah…" Somehow she didn't like the tone of that laugh at all…

"Let me guess, Bridge told you that story, right?"

"Uh, yeah…"

"Well, you should've known better than to believe everything Bridge tells you."

"You mean to say –"

Jack slammed an impatient fist on the table, effectively cutting her short. "Let's stop getting distracted, people! The Commander has left this investigation as our sole responsibility, and it's about time we started getting more serious." Satisfied that he now had everybody's undivided attention, he continued. "Okay, so we know that Darmoans are traditionally a peaceful lot, you don't see many of them taking up crime, particularly on Earth."

"Hey, there're always exceptions," Syd muttered.

"Whatever it is, Darmoans are not the ideal choice to carry out crimes. You said that you were sure you sense Bridge on Grumm's ship?" Jack said, looking at Sky, who nodded. "I can't be sure," Sky said. "But he's certainly not on a place that's Earth-bound."

"Why would Grumm hire a Darmoan to kidnap Bridge when he's got so many better candidates for the same job?"

Z shrugged. "To confuse us, maybe?"

Jack dipped his head into his hands. "Maybe. Maybe it's because Darmoans who take to crime are usually subservient, and can probably be trusted to be more loyal. Maybe other criminals would've taken Bridge for their own sick blackmailing exercise, or something." He chuckled into his sleeve. "Hey, Z, remember the Darmoan who used to regularly take food and clothes from us before SPD happened? What was his name again?"

Z laughed. "Yeah, everyone used to call him Doofus for some reason. Always kept saying his single biggest dream was to work for Grumm one day…" Her voice tapered into silence, and her eyes widened. Jack lifted his head, and the two friends stared at each other. "No way," Z breathed.

Syd looked from one Ranger to the other. "So you think the Doofus guy is it?"

"It makes sense, in some convoluted way," Jack said, getting up. "Darmoans generally avoid Earth, as a rule, so a person like Doofus is rare." He grinned. "Anyway, no harm in checking it out."

"I take it that this 'Doofus' character is not a registered citizen of Newtech city," Sky said dryly. "How do you plan to trace him?"

Z smiled. "Oh, I think we have a pretty good idea of where he'll be," she said, getting up as well.

"Let's get a move on, people!" Jack said, moving out of the Command Room briskly, Z close on his heels. Sky was the last to get up, his troubled eyes meeting Syd's – clearly, he was doubtful.

"Well, you asked for action, and this is it," Syd said, shrugging.

"Yeah, I suppose," Sky said, managing a small smile, and walking out the open door. Syd stared after him, immersed in thought. Sky had changed – and yet, he remained the same. He seemed to be caught between two poles, and she imagined that there was nobody more confused about the whole situation than Sky himself. She wondered if Bridge was feeling the same dilemma.

The thought of Bridge stoked the void that had been growing within her steadily over the past few days once again. She missed him with an intensity that she didn't think was possible – their team suddenly seemed like an incomplete and muddled jigsaw puzzle, and she hated it. She hated the empty feeling, and she hated missing Bridge quite this much.

Come back, Bridge. We need you.