11

11

The two short vibro-signals turned out so powerful that Monterey Jack set up a howl and barely kept his balance.

"Dazz is in ger deberdoire, wha' gan I say…" he mumbled, massaging his itching side as Zipper laughed. "And dere's nodding to daugh at! I'm zure you would 'ave zounded eben worse wid de dozeplugs!" he added.

After this irate though comical tirade Zipper burst into even louder laughing. Well, well, we'll see who'll be the last to laugh the best! Hope Zipper will like the trick I learned from Javanese red ants Monty thought, opening the grate leading to the air traffic control room. There were five men sitting behind the consoles in the room now, each with his own sector of responsibility.

Monty's and Zipper's target was the air traffic controller at the console number six. Gordon Wright was his name, a young clean-shaven man with a tidy short haircut wearing a blue shirt and a tie of the same color. Right now he was saying something into his headset's microphone. He was calm, self-disciplined and smart, the true embodiment of neatness and order—for now.

Monty fastened the rope at the edge of the ventilation shaft and descended to the floor where he ran from cover to cover on his tiptoes as he approached console number six. The Australian looked over the room first with a quick glance of an experienced Rescue Ranger, and then with the smirk of a great joke-lover and rubbed his paws in anticipation of a true show. This young man definitely wouldn't be superstitious and wouldn't believe in all the prejudices associated with Saturday the Thirteenth. Well, this Saturday will truly be for him a day to remember.

"Zibbah! Air!" the muscle mouse commanded, pointing at the air controller's head-set. Because of the plugs in his nose the old friends changed roles, and now Zipper had to decipher what Monty was saying. But they had been friends for long enough to overcome just about any language barrier, and Zipper rushed to the attack.

"Tower, this is November Alpha one-zero-zero-three-one heavy, holding short Runway two-eight. Ready for takeoff." the voice from the headphones was heard.

"November Alpha one-zero-zero-three-one heavy, Tower, winds two-seven-zero, fifteen—" Gordon began his standard reply, but suddenly a fly sat on his nose. He tried to wave it off, but it didn't fly away. Moreover, it clutched his nose even stronger and bit it.

"Ouch!" Gordon exclaimed and hit the point of the bite with his palm. The fly was already gone, but Gordon's nose wasn't. The blow made it hurt even more and caused the headset to slip down slightly. Zipper was ready to seize the opportunity and struck it down on the floor.

"Tower, this is November Alpha one-zero-zero-three-one heavy, holding short Runway two-eight. Ready for takeoff, repeat, ready for take-off. Do you copy!" The notes of irritation could be distinctly heard in the Boeing pilot's voice.

"Darned fly…" Gordon growled, rubbing his aching nose. He bent down to pick up the fallen headset, thrusting his weight upon the back of his armchair in the process. That was what Monterey Jack was waiting for. By this time he had slackened the bolts holding the back of the chair and now jumped up and pulled down the handle of its position adjuster.

The binding unclenched, the back abruptly moved backwards under Gordon's body weight, came out of the slots and fell to the floor. With his hands spread out wide, Gordon followed his chair's back to the floor.

"Tower, this is November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one heavy. What's happening up there?! Do you copy?!"

Disheveled and cross as three bears at once, Gordon laid hold of the edge of his console and looked around. His colleagues sat in the different corners of the room with their backs turned to him and were too busy with their assigned aircraft and apparently didn't notice anything.

Thank goodness! he thought standing up and put the headset back on. He opened his mouth to give his plane take-off clearance at last, but noticed a small pack of hot Chili ketchup had appeared seemingly from nowhere.

Montgomery's jokes again! Wright bristled at the thought—he couldn't bear the pungent food. Suddenly something closely resembling a big mouse fell down on the pack and thick ketchup splashed on Gordon's face. The majority of it went right into his mouth, wide open with astonishment, and Gordon felt as if he'd swallowed a bunch of hot coals.

Gordon forgot just about anything and hurled the headset on the console as he darted to the water cooler standing at the doors. Oll fate was still following him, though, for all the disposable cans had vanished. But Gordon didn't feel like searching for them right now, and he shoved his open palm under the spigot, naturally expecting cold water to pour from it. But the poor man didn't know that Zipper had switched the labels, and realized something was wrong when his hand was doused with boiling water.

"AAAAAH!" Gordon yelled, jumping up and blowing at the burnt hand.

"Gordon, what's happening?!" the traffic controller from behind the console number 10 asked him.

"Nothing, Larry, it's nothing!" Gordon answered with great effort, still affected by the ketchup.

"HEY, WRIGHT!" the shout from the other side of the room came. "WHY IS ONE-ZERO-ZERO-THREE-ONE STILL ON THE RUNWAY?! I GOT TWO PLANES TO LAND!!"

"Oh man, sure, sure…" Gordon mumbled running up to his console. He put the headset on and, gulping the air to sooth his burnt palate, spoke, "November-Alpha… one-zero-zero-three-one, this is Tower. You are cleared… for take-off. I repeat, you are cleared… for take-off."

Silence.

"November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, this is Tower. Do you copy? Do you—" Gordon grabbed the microphone to bring it closer to his mouth and froze, finding the microphone head neatly cut off from the headset. Then he shifted his gaze at his console and only now realized it wasn't working at all. He started clicking the buttons and switches, but the console wasn't showing any signs of life.

Gordon walked around the console to check the power cable and almost went grey on the spot at the sight in front of him. He slowly bent down and with his shaking left hand (his right was still aching with burns) picked up the bunch of power and information cables pulled out of their sockets and tied in a tight clove hitch.

"MISTER WRIGHT, WHAT'S WITH YOUR PLANE?!"

Gordon slowly turned around to face the furious look of his shift supervisor.

"Me…my console…"

The supervisor looked the bubbling traffic controller over and shook his head reproachfully. "Larry! Get Wright's planes! Gordon, go home, put yourself to rights and bring me a report explaining…all of this." He pointed at the dead console and the cobweb of cables in Gordon's hands. "Tomorrow, first thing! Understood?"

"Y-yes, s-sir, understood."

"On your way now! Out! Out!"

The shift supervisor went away, leaving a tousled Gordon behind, wearing a tie slid aside and a shirt strained with water and ketchup. His hand and mouth burned, while a broken headset on his head hung along with a bunch of cables in his left hand.

What the heck is this he thought. A vicious fly, a flyaway armchair, nuclear ketchup, boiling water from the water cooler, a wrecked console. It's definitely not my day today. Saturday, the thirteenth, come to think about it. After all of that you can sure become superstitious.

Monty cast a last glance at the morally broken Gordon Wright as he left the room. Monty sorrowfully sighed and lowered the ventilation grate behind him as he left. Poor guy, it wasn't his fault, after all. But then, his troubles were nothing compared to the catastrophe Gadget had predicted. Monty pressed the button of his vibrotransceiver, sending Gadget one long signal. Let's hope the guys managed to finish everything!

"Bell, Zibbah? Whad wid ya zay?"

The fly squeaked his approval.

"Zee! Dearn whilah ya gan! Ya know, dis jidders whedded my abbedide to de sgy and beyon' dat!"

Monty sat on the floor of the ventilation shaft near two slices of cheese which, just like Gadget predicted, he had found in the bag belonging to one of air traffic controllers, who also turned out being a big fancier of hot ketchups, which came in very handy. Australian pulled the wearisome nose plugs out and the rich aroma instantly turned his head and other body parts. Gadget was right—if it hadn't been for those plugs he would have been simply incapable of doing anything. But he, Monterey Jack, bravely endured all hardships and considered himself entitled to relax a bit.

"CHEESE!"

12

"Tower, this is November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Do you copy?" the Boeing's captain, stuck at the end of the runway, kept on wearily repeating the phrase over and over. Then he turned to his co-pilot. "I don't know, they seem to have fallen asleep up there!!"

"Maybe something happened, Captain?" the co-pilot speculated.

"Happened? That's not a control tower but some mental health institute! We were to have been in the air long ago already!"

"November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one heavy, this is Tower."

"Oh, good heavens, we were getting worried over here! What's happening?"

"Sorry for the delay, unforeseeable consequence. November Alpha one-zero-zero-three-one heavy, Tower, winds two-seven-zero, fifteen knots, cleared for takeoff."

"Tower, November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Acknowledged. Cleared for takeoff, runway two-eight."

The captain pushed the lever to adjust the engines' power and the plane started vibrating into motion.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the captain addressed the passengers via intercom, "the crew apologizes for this unforeseen delay. Please, don't worry, everything is all right. We're taking off now."

Switching the intercom off, he turned to his co-pilot. "Okay, Henry, let's fly her up!"

13

Take out the arc. Attach the plunger. Pull the trigger of the holder-compressor. Repeat.

Chip was working at the leading edge of the wing, Dale closer to the tail. Each of them had to install three main arcs and one intermediate arc—one container a head, exactly two times less work than Gadget had. It couldn't have been otherwise taking into account the tremendous difference in their training. But Chip still was slightly ashamed. He felt himself completely exhausted while installing the third, intermediate arc. And Gadget had a full eight of them.

How is she there? Is she all right? the chipmunk kept thinking. Now the pylon between him and the beautiful mouse looked like the thick stone wall of a gloomy dungeon encircled with primeval forest and deep seas. His inability to either see or hear her was outright dispiriting. Sure, they could exchange vibro-signals, but Gadget told him to use them in case of emergency only, and Chip didn't want to raise a false alarm. Besides, had Gadget experienced any problems, she would have informed them immediately.

But what if her transceiver broke down?!

And what if she didn't have time to send a distress signal?!

Gosh, why am I winding myself up?! Chip gave himself a mind scolding. I can cause problems myself with that kind of thinking. And though he was still skeptical about the various omens and such, Gadget's prophetic dream made him consider the possibility that the world around him was not as simple as he used to think…

Chip inserted the intermediate arc into the lock connecting the two main arcs, double checked with his instructions stuck to his helmet and, having rotated the lock of the cleat by 90 degrees counter-clockwise, made sure it was holding fast. The outward appearance of the resulting junction slightly differed from the one drawn on the schematics, but the arc wasn't moving and wasn't coming out, so everything was alright.

Now it was time for the most difficult stage, mounting of the third main arc. This called for very high precision and very accurate coordination of his and Dale's actions, for his arc must be connected with Dale's arc along with both intermediate arcs. Despite the arcs being flexible enough and the lock design universal enough to put together in almost any configuration, room for error was quite small and the price of a mistake now was just too high.

Fetching the last remaining arc out of his container, Chip folded it as tight as he could and fastened it by a specially provided hook on its surface to the binding on his belt as a safety precaution. Then he carefully walked along the pylon's surface toward the aircraft's tail to meet Dale, walking in exactly the same manner to him.

Having met right in the middle, the chipmunks started arguing in gesture language whose arc would be the upper and whose the lower (both wanted to install the lower arc, for it was the easier of the two). Chip won the argument and started to descend one half the distance between the intermediate arc and the level of bottom the row of plungers, holding the arc with his left hand and the rope with his right.

Hitching the rope to his belt in order to free his hands, the Rescue Rangers leader aimed carefully then attached the plunger to the pylon's surface before pulled the holder trigger with his free hand. The arc jerked and a flat metal plate fixed two inches above the plunger darted forward and pressed the pliable rubber into the metal. Chip smiled. Excellent, now they have only to connect everything.

Suddenly everything around Chip began to move. The pylon under his legs trembled mightily as a vibration wave from the engine abruptly started to gather power running through it. The laces of Chip's plunger shoes broke and the chipmunk clutched at the rope with all his paws rapidly rotating along with it.

The next wave of the vibration threw him at the pylon, bashing the living daylights out of him and piercing his right side with great pain, but he still managed to hold on. Looking up, Chip saw Dale dangling up and down in almost the same condition as him, the only difference being that Dale's plunger shoes remained intact.

They exchanged rapid gestures, confirming that the plane was going to take off, which meant that they had to leave soon and everything must be done all that faster. And they proceeded to do it. Breaking all existing records in the field of rope climbing, they reached the junction point of all four arcs and, one by one—or rather two by two—merged them together into one uniform system.

When Chip attached his intermediate arc and turned it by 90 degrees, four little clips popped out of small slots at the base of the lock, and here Chip realized what he hadn't liked in his previous binding. He turned around and found out to his greatest terror that the opposite end of the intermediate arc had dropped out of the slot and was now dangling from side to side under the action of contrary air flow, time and again striking at the main arc's junction. It didn't take being Gadget to comprehend that sooner or later the junction would weaken or fail completely and then…

Chip grabbed the plastic box on his side to send an emergency vibro-signal and attract Dale's attention, who was already moving towards the Ranger Wing. But his fingers found only a crumpled medley of plastic and wires there. The hit against the pylon had come right on the vibro-transceiver! And there was no use in shouting.

But then Chip's hand stumbled on the last unused mountaineering D-ring remaining on his belt, which he thought he wouldn't need anymore, but which turned out truly lifesaving. Chip took it off, carefully aimed and threw at Dale. The D-shaped ring was used for connecting ropes, but now it took on a new function as it whizzed through the air and hit Dale's helmet.

Enraged, Dale turned around but saw Chip's alarmed look and the arc dangling amok and ran to the rescue immediately. When he came close, Chip clapped at the empty belt showing why he hadn't buzzed his friend and that he got nothing.

Dale wore his belt under his Hawaiian shirt and when he pulled it up Chip barely restrained himself from joyful jumping at the sight of a last remaining plunger minilauncher. Having torn off one of the ropes hanging nearby along with its suction holder, the leader of the Rescue Rangers told Dale his plan in pantomime, and the red-nosed chipmunk understood everything from the second attempt already.

While Chip was revolving the end with the suction cup above his head, Dale shot the arrow from the minilauncher directly above the middle of the intermediate arc, then climbed along the main arc as high as he could and got ready to jump.

Chip threw the rope so as to make its end twist around the rocking arc and pulled it to himself, trying to get the arc as close to the lock as possible. When he more or less did it, Dale jumped on it and propelled it forward making it go tightly into the socket. Then Dale secured himself on it with his plunger shoes, grabbed the rope Chip was holding and moved his legs, negotiating the obstinate construct around its axis.

This time everything went as it should, the proof being four little clips popping out of their respective slots. The friends sighed in relief and exchanged gestures of triumph as they went to their plane, glued to the surface of the wing.

The Ranger Wing wasn't there, though.

She was much closer instead.

'Jump!' Gadget waved, pointing at the manipulators on the Wing's nose, slowly but steadily moving away from the chipmunks, albeit flying at full speed. The small plane was rapidly falling behind the Boeing, the gap growing greater with each passing second.

There was no need to ask Chip and Dale twice, and they jumped in turn order on the metallic hands cautiously offered to them. Gadget immediately lowered the plane to the height of the airliner's gear, simultaneously reducing speed and turning right, to the edge of the runway. The winged leviathan darted past, leaving the Rescue Rangers far behind.

Having moved far enough away from the runway, Gadget carefully landed the plane—now missing its landing bars—on the flat concrete slab of the walkway and, having literally torn her helmet off, switched the receiver set to the needed frequency.

"November Alpha one-zero-zero-three-one, Departure, radar contact. Climb and maintain flight level two-zero-zero."

"November Alpha one-zero-zero-three-one, roger, climb and maintain flight level two-zero-zero."

"Whoa, that was a great ride!" Dale shouted, pulling his helmet off and stretching his numb ears. "I think we should send off to the Guinness people for the record for quickest airplane crash prevention! What do you think, Gadget?"

The mouse didn't answer. She sat in the pilot's seat, rolled into a tight ball and staring vacantly with her wide-open eyes somewhere beyond the receiver, beyond the dashboard, beyond the airport. Somewhere there, where the giant airliner was flying in the summer sky.

"Departure, November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Passing six thousand—"

"Gadget, what are you listening to?" Dale asked coming closer.

Chip came up and nudged him, showing a finger pressed against the lips.

Dale wanted to answer but, having understood that for Gadget there was indeed nothing more important then the voices coming from the radio now, restrained himself and became all ears too. After all, if Gadget's listening to something, then it's worth it.

"Fuel pressure indicator for engine number three giving some strange readings…"

Gadget felt herself chilled from inside out. Golly, could I have failed? Could I have miscalculated something and the ARK didn't work? Will she again, just like always, hear the shrill "Mayday, Mayday, Mayday", shouts of the passengers and captain's calm voice asking to convey his last words to his family?

"November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, Departure. Understood. Problems with indicator. How serious is the problem?"

"November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Difficult to tell. All other systems are working properly."

Gadget was shaking, her heart pounding trip-hammer fast and everything blurring before her eyes. "Please, hold…please, hold…" she kept repeating, as if she were speaking some power incantation to the far-away pylon. "Please, hold…"

"November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, Departure. So what's going on with your indicator?"

What is it?! Can it be?

No, this phrase definitely wasn't there before! It's something new.

Can it be?!

"Departure, November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one here. Apparently something's shorted out. The computer shows everything's alright. We don't know what this malfunction is caused by, but the plane's flying smooth, all systems are working properly. Passing ten thousand."

"November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, Departure. Acknowledged, altitude ten thousand. Turn to heading zero-zero-five, repeat, heading zero-zero-five. Climb and maintain flight level two-zero-zero. Waiting for acknowledgement."

Gadget slowly leaned back on the seat. Now these dry phrases the pilots exchanged with ground control sounded for her sweeter then anything she'd heard before, even the most beautiful music. She had dreamed to hear them for so long that she still couldn't believe it was happening in reality. The words to describe the feelings overwhelming her just hadn't been devised yet.

Gadget herself didn't know how to adequately and fully react to this, and so she just sat there, settled back in the pilot's seat, her eyes closed and a smile shining on her face. Certainly, neither Chip nor Dale standing nearby could perceive her feelings in full measure. But they knew that everything was alright. That their Gadget was happy like never before. And they were happy, too. So they just stood there on the walkway, not too far away from the edge of the International Airport's Runway 28 — the two happiest chipmunks in the whole world.

"Tower, November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Reached flight level two-zero-zero, turning to zero-zero-five. Repeat, reached flight level two-zero-zero, heading zero-zero-five."

"November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one, Departure. Acknowledged, flight level two-zero-zero, heading zero-zero-five. You are leaving our sector. The corridor ahead of you is free, the weather en route to Sea-City is fair and cloudless, wind moderate at twenty-two—make that twenty-five knots. Good luck and have a safe flight!"

"Departure, November-Alpha-one-zero-zero-three-one. Thank you very much. Good luck to you too!"

Gadget switched the receiver off but continued to sit there with her eyes closed. The chipmunks kept looking at her, saying nothing, delighted with this idyllic moment. They didn't know what to say, and whether there was any need to say anything at all.

"And 'ere we are!" Monterey Jack announced, landing the Ranger Plane on the adjoining slab. "Hope you've been waitin' fo' us!"

"Sure, Monty!" Gadget answered, opening her eyes and looking at her friends gathered around the Wing. Then she got out of the cockpit and embraced them, first one by one, then all at once.

"Thank you, guys!" she said, her words full of her grateful heart. "Thank you for believing me! Thanks for your help! I would have never done it without you!"

"Not at all, Gadget!" everybody answered at once. "We're the Rescue Rangers! It's our job!"

"Oh, sure, how could I have forgotten!" the mouse laughed. "Okay, friends, time to go! Monty, Zipper! Prepare the Plane for hauling!"

When all the preparations were finished and the Wing with the Plane attached to it set course for the city, Chip asked, "Gadget, could you pick the sports news up? I'd like to know how the Rangers are playing, after all."

"As far as I know, the score is 2 to1 in our favor," was the answer.

"WHAT?! YOU SURE?!" the four other Rangers exclaimed at once. "This too was in—"

"This was!" Gadget nodded.

"And… and…" Dale began, "and… and who'll win?"

"Hmmidunno," Gadget parted her hands and shrugged. "That wasn't in my dream. But maybe it's for the best, don't you think? It will be much more interesting to watch this way!"

"Yeah, sure…" Monty drawled with sorrow. "Too bad we won't make it in time to see the match…"

"Why is that?" Gadget was sincerely surprised. "According to my calculations, we'll be at the Ice-Dome in ten minutes! The third period won't even have started by that time!"

"What?! Really?! Hurrah!!" Chip and Dale grew ecstatic.

Monty glanced at them and hemmed skeptically. "And 'ave ya thought about the tickets? They won't let us in there without tickets, mind you."

Both chipmunks instantly grew sad.

"Without what tickets? These?" Gadget asked, as she joyfully fetched five blue stubs from her inner pocket and made the rest of the team lose their gift of speech.

"But how… how?" Chip couldn't find a word because of the blasting mixture of surprise, happiness and admiration.

Gadget smiled that knowing smile again, but this time from sheer satisfaction. "Well, you know, while you were flying after all these parts, I allowed myself to—" the mouse dropped her eyes in confusion. "How to say it…looked through your things. Hope you aren't very angry about it."

"Angry?! Us?! Gadget, you are a pure wonder!"

The friends rapidly took their tickets and shoved them deep in their pockets to not let the wild wind snatch them accidentally.

"Well, if only I had my hockey equipment and stick, I'd be a real fan!" Dale said dreamingly.

"Look there, behind the seat," Gadget answered.

Dale lapsed into a daze at her words and started digging in one of the makeshift luggage cupboards. With each new pad he fetched out he grew brighter and brighter with happiness and in the end was only slightly less bright than a lightbulb.

"Gadget! Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! Gadget!" he prattled, putting all his hockey riches on.

Chip, having wrapped himself in the scarf found in the same compartment with Dale's clothing, looked at Gadget with his most rapturous gaze in history and she blushed heavily upon noticing it.

"Gadgie, sorry for indiscreet askin'," Monterey Jack said, alluding at the silver dome growing bigger in their sight, "but how are ya gonna land on it?"

"Don't worry, I have a theory."

"Which you tested in your dream, too, am I right?" Chip joyfully completed her remark for her.

"No, Chip, it wasn't in my dream. It's my own, self-made theory! Call it intuition!"

Chip's countenance changed drastically. "Intuition?! Ehm, Gadget, maybe you shouldn't…" He turned to his Australian friend. "Monty, don't you have any of your amulets to spare? By accident, you know…"

"TWO!" Dale interrupted, picking at the muscle mouse's sleeve.

"Golly, guys, you shouldn't be so superstitious!" Gadget burst out laughing. "Besides, what can possibly happen on a day like this? This should work with—"

"AAAAAAAAA!! LET US OUT OF HERE!!"

14

Just as Gadget predicted, they arrived at the Ice-Dome right during the break between the second and third periods. The score was 2-2 already, and all the intrigue was ahead. Going upstairs via one of the ramps specially built for the convenience of spectators occupying the second most prestigious seats, the Rangers took their places.

Benny Hilton didn't let them down — their seats were indeed the best. They were right across the center of the rink with a perfect view of two video walls in the opposite corners, on which they showed the live TV broadcast or, during the breaks, the best moments of the match.

Right now the replays of all the scored goals from every single possible and impossible point of view were repeated over and over on them, and Gadget once again felt the same tide of happiness rising inside of her when she saw a replay of the second goal scored by the Red Stars. She supported the Rangers with all the depth of her heart, but this replay and this scored goal was another proof that she had done it. That the plane hadn't crashed, and now absolutely nothing and nobody was able to ruin this sports festival…

"Don't swallow your pad, Dale!" Chip chided. "Let me hold your helmet for you! Are you sure you don't need any help? Maybe we should secure the mask somehow? Gadget, maybe you've got some more of your superglue, no?"

"You're going too far, Chip!" Gadget observed, although Dale's attempts to simultaneously eat the food he brought from the buffet, hold his helmet and adjust the constantly slipping mask on his face were indeed amusing.

"Don't pay attention, Gadget! He's just jealous 'cause he doesn't have real hockey pads!" Dale proudly answered and struck his fist against the handle of his seat, causing the mask to fall down on his face once again.

"But I have a scarf!" Chip parried. He waved the tip of the scarf at Dale, which then, absolutely accidentally, ended up on Gadget's shoulder.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" the chipmunk apologized and brushed the scarf aside with his paw. The scarf left her shoulder, but his paw didn't. Gadget stole Chip a look. He strenuously pretended he wasn't interested in anything but hockey, but his glance moved from the rink to Gadget from time to time, and when he saw her looking at him, he smiled and turned pink.

Gadget took his paw with her left hand and moved it over her head on her left shoulder. Than turned to Dale, already aiming at Chip's hat with a pad he took off his leg and placed his right hand on her other shoulder, then embraced them both.

"How do you like the match? The Rangers' play is excellent, don't you think?" she asked.

"Yes, Gadget, you bet!" chipmunks answered synchronously.

They exchanged jealous glances behind Gadget's back from time to time, but didn't proceed to more active moves. First, it was inconvenient to fight while being embraced by Gadget. And second, but most important, they both dreamt of this — to sit on the stands of the Ice-Dome watching the game of their favorite team and embracing their beloved mouse. And most of all they were afraid of all this being just a dream, the kind of one Gadget had experienced. A dream as real as it was ever possible, but nevertheless a mere illusion…

"Croikey, what the heck 'av' ya done?! Are ya blind or what?!" Monterey Jack yelled, striking his fist on the chair handle.

Two Ranger forwards tried to play the combination with cross passing in order to confuse the opposing players, but in the most crucial moment one of their sticks hit the track left by someone's skates. The puck's momentum became uneven and flew not to his teammate but right to the stick of the Red Stars' defenseman, who instantly passed it to his winger, who along with a center forward dashed into the wide breach in San-Angeles team's defense.

"They'll come out right on the goal! Oh, dear, oh, dear! Please, don't score!" Dale lamented.

It didn't help, though. With a series of short passes and deceiving lunges two Red Stars forwards confused the goaltender and the puck flew into the gates. The siren wailed, a red light twinkled, and 'red' sectors of the stands gaily jumped to their feet, shouting.

Among the Rangers' fans the picture was the direct opposite. Monty clutched his head contritely and Dale hit himself in the forehead causing his mask to fall down on his face again, and all the rodents sitting around the Rescue Rangers grew openly depressed.

"Don't worry, guys! Our team will surely score again!" Gadget tried to cheer up her aggrieved friends.

"Really? Are you sure?" Dale asked. "You saw that?"

"No, Dale, I didn't see that," mouse answered, "but I'm absolutely certain that this will happen, that the Rangers will win. You should only believe. Do you agree with me?"

"Sure, Gadget," Chip answered. "If you say so…"

"…then it's right!" Dale finished for him.

Dale snatched a moment when Gadget wasn't looking at him and put out his tongue at Chip. The chipmunks went on exchanging grimaces for some time, but then again became absorbed by the events on the hockey rink. The struggle was very serious. The San-Angeles squad emphatically attacked, striving to equalize the game as soon as possible, and the Michigan team concentrated more on defense, not forgetting to organize counterattacks at the first opportunity—their lead was just too shaky and unreliable to rest on your laurels.

Unlike the score 2-4, which appeared on the scoreboard in the thirteenth minute when the Red Stars scored a goal after a mistake by the Rangers forwards' and the massive counterattack which ensued.

"Our team 'as seven minutes to score two goals!" Monty shook his head in disbelief twisting his flying helmet with his paws. "Two goals in seven minutes against the Red Stars…"

"But that's not impossible, is that, Monty?" Gadget asked him.

The Australian scratched his head and answered: "Sure, there's nothing impossible 'ere in hockey. But look at them! How they're movin', how they're passin', how they shoot on goal! The Rangers are exhausted and almost broken already. Look!"

He pointed at the video wall, showing the Rangers' reserve bench. All the players sat there, gloomy and dispirited; some of them seemed to avoid looking at the rink at all. Even their coach who loudly shouted and pointed something out to the field players looked dismayed.

Gadget was looking at this and her heart was downright breaking. She had a poor knowledge of the NHL tournament structure, but knew that it's very hard to reach the Finals, and only a handful of players managed to have done it twice. All the Rangers without exception knew this too, and Gadget saw a parting with the dream in their eyes. She looked at the opposite side of the rink where a huge silver cup was standing on the specially made platform.

This is it — the top, the pinnacle of each hockey player's desires. The players of San-Angeles team too glanced at it from time to time and immediately, as if apologizing for the intrusion, averted their eyes. It stood so close, and at the same time seemed unreachable. Maybe, some other time, but not today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never.

They feel so bad the mouse mused. They went through so much to play here today in this last deciding match. And what for? Just to stop one step away from the top and fall to the very bottom to start the long and hard journey from the very beginning?

Everything seemed to be against them in this match. All four goals they suffered were the results of some very bad luck. Ill fate, no less. They had reason to give way to despair. And if you recall that they, the official home team, had to play in a stadium that wasn't their home turf.

Golly, that's it! Gadget realized.

She looked at the silent red-blue sectors of the arena, which too had already lost all faith and hope in their favorite team's success. But that's what they need the most now! This is the most important and essential moment…

"Ran-gers… Ran-gers…" she slowly began, each time crying it louder and louder. "Ran-gers. Ran-gers! Ran-gers!! RAN-GERS!!"

"RAN-GERS!! RAN-GERS!!" Chip and Dale joined.

"RAN-GERS!! RAN-GERS!!" Monterey Jack and Zipper joined.

"RAN-GERS!! RAN-GERS!!" those sitting around them joined.

"RAN-GERS!! RAN-GERS!!" their whole their started to shout. Then the next one, then another one…

"RAN-GERS!! RAN-GERS!!" she heard from below.

Gadget looked there and saw the Rangers fans one by one standing up from their seats and starting to chant too. They certainly couldn't have heard the motto she initiated, but it was impossible not to feel the energy streams filling the Ice-Dome originating from the little gold-haired mouse. And gradually, one by one, all the fans in the blue-red sectors raised to their feet and their call echoed from the snow-white walls and filled all the spaces and reached the furthest corners of the sports arena.

"RAN-GERS!! RAN-GERS!! RAN-GERS!! RAN-GERS!!"

And the Rangers answered the stands. Answered in the one and only way a sports team can answer the unanimous and sincere support of its faithful fans. Like a tropical storm they tore off toward the opponents' gates. They started playing the way nobody played before and never will play in the future.

In this last seven minutes everything was working for them. Passes across the whole rink, outplaying several opponents at once, throws of laser accuracy. Their impetuous breakthroughs and passes literally shredded the Michigan defense, forcing them to feel nervous, make mistakes and play bad. But even the body-checks and blatant rules violations couldn't stop the Rangers. Not here, not today, not now.

"RAN-GERS!! RAN-GERS!! RAN-GERS!! RAN-GERS!!"

Less then two minutes passed before the red light flashed out beyond the gates of the Red Stars. In three minutes it flashed again. The visitors became totally brutal and rushed headlong, stopping at nothing. But there was a strong impression that the Rangers' gates were equipped with some kind of photoelectric cell-controlled automatic shutters or an invisible but absolutely impenetrable force field. All the pucks that the goaltender failed to catch flew just about everywhere but the gate behind him. The puck could hit the side-bar, cross-bar or cross-piece; could ricochet, hit the ice half an inch away from the goal line and rebound back into the rink. It could hit one side-bar, slide along the goal-line, hit the other side-bar and jump back right into the goaltender's trapper.

But not hit the net.

Sometimes its behavior seemed to contradict the basic laws of physics. But this was indeed happening, and the spectators in the stands, and with them the TV audience throughout the country and the world saw it. The events on the ice could already be called sensational, but this wasn't the end.

Four seconds away from the final siren the astonishingly beautiful and quick combination of the blue-reds forced the Red Stars defenseman to violate the rules. The offender was sent to the penalty box and both teams gathered around the faceoff circle near the Red Stars' gates. Despite playing shorthanded, the visitors set up such a dense defense that it seemed impossible to be breached even by today's Rangers.

Not in four seconds, in any case…

But on a day like this everything was possible.

The fingers of the linesman clenched and unclenched and the black disk started falling down toward the sticks eagerly waiting for it. Here it hit the ice, and two hockey players from the rival teams began their fierce fight over it.

4…

The Rangers' wing outdid his opponent for a couple of milliseconds and, having hocked the puck with the blade of his stick, threw it in the air right into the space between two hockey players running to help their respective teammates.

3…

The puck hit the ice and bounced up and right in the direction of Red Stars' gates. A player from the Michigan team attempted to intercept it but missed slightly and his stick hit the lower edge of the disk throwing it even higher.

2…

The puck rotated over and over and almost touched the ice of the arena where another Red Stars defenseman was ready to catch it with his stick, but the Rangers center forward ran up and abruptly pushed his stick forward, sending the puck in the gate's direction.

1…

The goaltender moved to his left, covering the corner the puck was flying into, but it touched the ice and brushed against some microscopic prominence. This threw it to the left and gave it additional angle, and the puck along the unforeseen curved trajectory flew first to the left, up and back, then slowly turned around in midair and flew to the right, forward and down, hitting the side-bar and going into the goal net.

The siren wailed, the telltale red light beamed and the digital clock on the indicator panel stopped, showing that 0 minutes and 0.2 seconds remained until the end of regulation.

"HURRAH!!" Gadget shouted, springing out of her seat. "VICTORYYY!!"

"HURRAH!!" Chip, Dale, Monty and all the spectators in their sector repeated jumping up too.

"HURRAH!!" The human fans cried out so loudly it seemed that the Ice-Dome wouldn't stand it and collapse despite all the seismic stability the structure's architects and builders put into it.

It was victory indeed. And though the teams still had to play out the last remaining milliseconds for the match to be officially finished, the commentators of all the leading sports channels and news agencies were vying with one another, trying to come up with the brightest, fullest and the most universal epithet. Sensational! Phenomenal! Unexplainable! Fantastic! Legendary! The Greatest in History! The Recovery of the Century! And hundreds and thousands more.

And when only zeroes remained on the score panel and the thunderous siren heralded the end of this truly epic match, when all the San-Angeles Rangers players rushed out on the rink throwing their sticks and helmets into the air, when blue-red sectors of the stands came alive and swayed like a heavy sea, Gadget fully realized what she had done and what she had prevented.

She saw the Rangers' captain lifting the huge silver cup above his head and the whole team drew up and made several laps of honor around the rink. She saw open-hearted and sincere rejoicing of her friends, which wouldn't be so unclouded and pure if they knew where exactly that Boeing had crashed, and it was one more proof that she had done right by not telling them this.

Down in the stands she saw the people who hadn't had any idea of each other's existence before this day. They had different trades, educations, financial positions. But nothing of it mattered now. The joy of their favorite team's heroic victory equalized and drew them together. Absolutely strange people embraced and congratulated one another. They were laughing, joking, discussing their impressions and arguing joyfully about the players or the most prominent moments of the game.

All of it was. It was now.

Bit by bit the blue-red human sea below began to blur, merging into one big spot. At first the mouse thought her eyes got defocused because of the floodlights' shining too bright and her watching the ice sparkling in their rays for too long, but then became aware of her own tears. She sat down in her chair, covered her face with her paws and gave free rein to all the emotions accumulated in her throughout all this very long day and which she couldn't afford to set free earlier.

"Please, Gadget, don't cry," she heard Dale's voice very close by her. "Here, take my handkerchief. It isn't too clean, but still…"

"Better take mine, Gadget!" Chip intervened immediately.

"Thanks, guys." she answered taking two presented pieces of cloth.

"What happened, Gadget?" Chip asked, looking into her eyes.

"Is everything alright?" Dale did the same.

"Yes, guys, everything's fine. Don't pay attention. That's because of happiness."

"I didn't know you liked hockey so much," Chip observed.

"I didn't know either!" Gadget answered, drying hermoist eyelids.

Chip looked at her, unable to avert his eyes. He could feast his eyes upon her forever, eternally astonished by seemingly incompatible qualities peacefully co-existing in this beautiful field mouse. In the morning, while she was clearly and sharply formulating the task of the rescue mission for them, expounding every action, sending them to have a rest, she looked unassailable and unbending, and the determination to go to the very last degree, all this and the willingness to face any given danger he distinctly felt in her.

Those like her led armies of many thousands to great feats, endowing each and every soldier with their unstoppable energy. And her mobilizing the stands of the crowded Ice-Dome was just another proof of it. Right now, with two handkerchiefs in her little paws, she looked so delicate, so tender and defenseless that your first intention would be to hold her and shield her with yourself against all the dangers and miseries of this cruel world, not worthy of such beauty.

So, what was that, actually? Was it the delicacy hiding the indomitable strength? Or was it the strength, as if the Gyrotank's armor, covering that very bright and vulnerable soul? Perhaps it was both, in perfect harmony. It seemed impossible, but it was, and Chip sat right next to her and embraced her now, feeling himself involved in a true wonder on earth.

15

"Where are you going, Gadget?" the guys asked, sitting around the big round table in Headquarters' hall.

"I'll take the empty plates to the kitchen!" Gadget offered.

"No need, luv, we'll do it ourselves!" Monty said.

"No-no, guys, let me do it! You've done so much by yourselves already, it's incalculable! Besides, maybe somebody wants something, if I—"

"Yes! More lemonade!" Dale's eager reply came.

"And a pack of cheese balls! No! Two!" Monterey Jack added.

"And you, Chip?" Gadget asked.

"Please, Gadget, don't bother yourself!" Chip said. "If I need something, I'll go get it!"

Dale took on a look of apology. "Yeah, Gadget, I'm sorry. I'll go get the lemonade all by myself!"

"All right then, cheese balls only? Got it! I'll be right back! Jiffy-quick!" she replied.

And Gadget, hands full of plates, left the hall. In the kitchen she placed the plates into the sink and released her breath in an explosive sigh, looking at the mass of unwashed dishes. Whatever you might say, the festive supper her friends organized in her honor worked out very well. Only once she sat at the table in the hall had she realized how hungry she felt. This wasn't surprising given that the whole previous month (that is, a 'normal' month) she spent on sandwiches only, and the last time she'd eaten anything today was early in the morning.

'The last two nut pretzels were indeed excessive…' she thought, sitting down on the stool which creaked lamentably under her current weight. Despite the grave tiredness weighing her down, now that she was here in Headquarters and it was all over she felt the urge to jump and dance. She still couldn't resolve all the reversals of fortune today (or todays) in her mind, time and again going through all that was done and undone.

She had never felt so before. 'Today's' operation was indeed her topmost achievement, her most important project, in comparison to which all her past adventures looked like everyday routine. Although in Bottlebottom her idea to win Professor Nimnul over to their side allowed the team to prevent the nuclear explosion and save many more people, it wasn't felt as pronouncedly as today, in the chock-full stands of the Ice-Dome Sports Arena.

Gadget rose and went to the hangar doors. Now the scope of the completed work seemed incredible—the huge number of modifications to the Ranger Wing, the general overhaul of the Plane, construction of the entire pulley system to transport the containers with the ARK. Then there was Airliner Rescue Kit itself, the building of which took all the framework of the new jet, plus all the pneumatic pistols for nailing up the grapples and all the Gyrotank's plungers. Even then the latter turned out not to be enough and she had to send her friends for four more. The Wing's landing bars remained glued under Boeing's wing. She'll have to restore everything.

Maybe…

"No, you will!" Gadget said to herself, confidently dismissing the compulsive thoughts that tomorrow everything would still be the same. "You did everything, Gadget! Fixed everything! Absolutely everything!"

Loud joyful shouts from the hall made her rouse. At first she didn't hear what exactly her friends were shouting, but then one of them—Monty to all appearances—ran up to the hall doors and yelled with all his might:

"Gadgie!! Our plane's on the TV!!"

The mouse inventor bounded upstairs, leaping across two or even stairs at a time. Her heart was jumping out of her chest and steam hammers pounded in her temples. Never before had the stairway between the lower and the middle floor seemed so long to her.

'Golly, no… Golly, no…' she kept repeating to herself, and dark imaginations drew the most infernal sights of the catastrophe. Paneling pieces and bodies floating on the water's surface — if the plane fell into the ocean. Vast areas of ground burnt out by the giant fire and sown all over with debris — if it crashed on the field or in the forest. Ruined houses and rows of fire trucks and ambulances — if on some poor unsuspecting town.

"Gadget! Luv! Come 'ere, quickly!" Monty shouted to the inventor as she darted into the room panting for breath. He pointed at the TV screen. "You gotta see this!"

Gadget turned her head slowly and gazed at the screen.

And saw her.

The giant Boeing 747 wearing her green-blue design of Northpacific Avia, illuminated by light coming from numerous floodlights, stood near a hangar belonging to the airline. People wearing uniforms stamped with the airline's insignia bustled around it like insects. Standing in the foreground were the local news reporter Stan Blather and a short curly haired man wearing a dark-blue jacket with the abbreviation NTSB written with wide white letters right above the upper left pocket.

"This is Stan Blather, reporting from the Sea-City Airport. Today the incident took place here, which many of my colleagues have already labeled one of the most mysterious and unexplainable incidents of the century. Behind me you can see the Boeing 747 airliner belonging to Northpacific Avia airline, arrived from Lima earlier today. But what makes this plane so remarkable? We'll address that question to Connor Philips, special representative of the National Transportation Safety Board in Sea-City. Mister Philips, please, comment on the situation at hand."

"Thanks. First, here are the facts. We were informed of the incident almost immediately after this plane landed and went on site right then. It's still too early to say anything about any conclusions, but in short the situation looks like this. Today, approximately at 5:20 PM Pacific Time, this airliner, Flight NA10031 Lima—Sea-City, departed from the International Airport where she had made an intermediate landing, then headed to Sea-City.

"During the flight the crew on several occasions informed air traffic controllers about some strange malfunctions in engine number three's performance indicators, but all other systems worked properly and the plane safely reached her destination. It was already on the ground when a team of airport technicians found that engine number three had almost completely separated from the wing along with the pylon it was attached to. But it didn't fall off, held in place by some very intricate construct."

"Just a minute, Mister Philips! Tim, give us a close-up on the engine!"

The image on the television screen started moving and the Rescue Rangers and the whole country saw it. There was a broad fissure between the pylon of the right inner engine and the wing, and the forward part of the pylon along with the engine visibly moved down. But the pylon hadn't separated in full — the ARK didn't let it. Its forward main arcs were visibly stretched, because Gadget had made their junction not solid but movable, with a reasonable margin of length which, according to her calculations, was enough to hold as much time as was needed for the plane to reach Sea-City. And the arcs didn't let their beautiful creator down.

"Mister Philips, please, go on."

"Thanks. So, as you can see, it's indeed a very unusual and, dare say it, a very non-trivial device. In sum it consists of ten elements — six vertical or, as we named them, main bearings, and four horizontal, or auxiliary, straps. One end of the main bearings is attached to the engine's pylon, the other to the wing's undersurface. The attachments are made of suction cups. It's impossible to give more detailed information without careful study, but it's beyond any doubt that this device is made of improvised means, which can be found literally in each and every junkyard."

"You're a 'junkyard' yourself!" Dale yelled in deep indignation, but the other Rescue Rangers hushed at him so loudly that the chipmunk almost fell under the table.

"But where this construction came from?"

"That's the point! The technicians of the International Airport maintenance teams assert that when the plane arrived from Lima there was nothing like that on the engine at all. And when she was leaving the airport, too. Their statements are backed up by surveillance camera records."

"So you want to say, this device appeared literally on the fly, in midair?"

"All we can say for sure at the moment is that the ground technicians have no connection to this device whatsoever."

"If so, could it be a result of activity of some dark mysterious forces? Today's Saturday the thirteenth, after all."

"Not dark for sure. If it hadn't been for this device, the engine would have torn off and who knows what the consequences of that would have been. So in this case we should talk rather of the light forces' interference."

"Guardian angels, you mean?"

"Maybe, but one with a doctorate in mechanical engineering, or even two of them. I'll say that as an engineer. This is a masterwork of mechanics, and I'd love to meet whoever pulled it off."

"Thanks for that very detailed analysis, Mister Philips. Good luck to you and your colleagues…"

"Guardian angels?" Monty thoughtfully twisted his moustache. "Know what? It suits us!"

"Guardian Rangers sounds better!" Dale commented.

"No, I think Rescue Angels is the best choice!" Chip corrected his friends and, looking at Gadget, added. "Besides, we've already got one angel here."

Gadget smiled in embarrassment. "Oh, come on! I wouldn't have done it without all of you!"

"Oh, and one more thing." Chip rose, came up to Gadget and gave her a smacking kiss in the cheek. "Congratulations, Doctor!"

"Thanks, Chip!" the mouse instantly turned red answered and returned him a kiss, causing the chipmunk to sit down on the floor in prostration.

"Yes, Doctor, congrats!" Dale ran up and fell on her neck, and in a second he was sitting near Chip in the same state. Chip and Dale exchanged peaceful looks at first, and then, after a short pause, jealous glances.

"Okay, guys!" Gadget said in cheerful tone. "Who wants to help me with all those dishes there?"

"Me! Me!" Chip and Dale darted out of the hall, pushing one another all the way down to the kitchen. When they left, Monty gave Gadget a mysterious wink and gave her a thumbs-up. The smiling mouse shrugged as she went downstairs.

16

Gadget woke up as usual—that is, at 7 AM, in her room, wearing her nightgown and covered with her blanket.

This wasn't strange a bit given that 'yesterday' she fell asleep just like that. After all, she hadn't gone to her bed for an eternity, and 'yesterday' just wasn't able to stand the temptation. But now, having awakened, she regretted this. Because, had she fallen asleep in the hall or in her workshop, for example, it would have been clear that today wasn't Saturday again. But now…

Gadget quickly got out from under the blanket and closely examined her jumpsuit lying on the chair. It looked just like any other jumpsuit thrown offhandedly on the nearby chair. No, that's not the proof.

With her jumpsuit over her arm, Gadget exited her room and knocked at the door to Monterey Jack's room. Silence. She pressed her ear to the door but no sound came out of there, though Monty often snored so loudly that the window panes shook. Gadget half-opened the door and glanced into the chink. Dark and empty. Just like on Saturday.

The inventor went to the stairs and no sooner had she stepped on the first step than she smelled the painfully familiar cheese aroma.

Golly, no…

She ran downstairs and froze at the very first glance at the hall. It was in perfect order. No broad table set yesterday for the evening feast. No black drapes she'd put over the windows, nor the slide projector.

Ohmigosh…

Holding onto the wall with her free hand, Gadget went to the lower floor, barely moving her rock-ribbed legs. The cheese scent was growing stronger and stronger. Certainly, it wasn't anything exceptional all by itself; it could be present not only on Saturdays but on the other days of the week too. But in combination with Monty's empty room and untouched hall…

Reaching the last step, Gadget came to a complete standstill, the jumpsuit falling to the floor from her unfeeling hands. From the opposite wall the loose-leaf calendar was staring at her, with 'Saturday, June 13th' written on its front page.

Gadget just sat down right there, on the last step of the staircase, unable to tear her gaze off these horrible letters and digits filling up all her conscience.

It was wrong.

It was impossible.

It was downright unfair, after all!

But it was…it still was.

"What else must I do?!" Gadget shouted at the height of her voice to the hated calendar. "What?! What?!"

She dropped her head down on her hands, folded on her knees. She was incapable even of crying. During these 'days' she had cried more than in a usual month, if not a year. Besides, no matter how many tears she'd shed, it wouldn't help anything. What can tears do when the saving of an entire Boeing and the Rangers' hockey victory wasn't enough? Nothing. Nothing and nobody will help her. Her worst fears had came true — she was trapped in this vicious circle forever.

"Gadget, what happened? You crying?" s familiar voice sounded nearby.

"No, Monty, I just…" she answered automatically and broke off instantly, for this voice wasn't Monty's. Gadget looked up and saw a red nightgown with yellow highlights. It wasn't Monty standing right in front of her.

It was Dale.

"Gadget, what happened?" the chipmunk asked again, sitting down on the step next to her.

"Oh, Dale! Golly—it's Saturday the thirteenth! You understand me?!" she grabbed Dale by the collar and shook him, making his head wobble from side to side. "Saturday, the thirteenth! Again! AGAIN!!"

Gadget let the chipmunk go and hid her face in her paws again.

Dale shook his head regaining his senses, and looked at the mouse rolled into a tight ball. Then he glanced at the calendar, then back at Gadget, back to the calendar—and with a wild frenzied shriek darted to it. He tore the upper leaf off and, having shredded it to pieces, threw the scraps on the floor.

"Bad day! Bad day! You upset Gadget!" he shouted, jumping on the heap of shreds and trampling them into the floor. Gadget sit stock-still, shifting her gaze back and forth from pieces of the calendar leaf to Dale stomping on them to the calendar itself, now reading 'Sunday, June 14th' written with wide red letters.

Golly, can it be…?

"Gadget! Oh boy, oh boy, Gadget!" Dale run up to her again, finished torturing the previous day's calendar leaf. "I'm sorry! It's my fault! I totally forgot to tear this page off yesterday! You know, there were so many things going on yesterday! Gadget, please, it won't happen again! I didn't know."

"Dale, wait," the mouse interrupted him. "So are you saying that today is the fourteenth?"

"Sure, nothing but."

"And what was yesterday?"

"Yesterday? Saturday, the thirteenth. You had that prophetic dream and we were flying through the city like a bunch of madmen gathering the parts for you! Then we saved the airliner, attended the hockey match, then returned here. Don't you remember it?"

"Golly, I sure do remember all of it! It finally happened! It's the fourteenth! It's the fourteenth!" Gadget hugged Dale and covered him with kisses, then grabbed him at arm's length and shook him her excitement. "Dale! Do you understand? It's Sunday! The fourteenth! Oh, Golly!"

Gadget left an overwhelmed Dale at the base of the staircase in a puddle of amorous glee. She ran skippingly upstairs back into the hall.

Dale, as red as his Hawaiian nightgown, sat there for some time resting against the wall just to make sure he won't collapse. "This case is sure strange, but it was worth it! Maybe it'll be worth it to forget changing the thirteenth day on the calendar next month too…"

Gadget didn't hear that, of course. She flew into the hall, jumped on the sofa and turned on the TV.

"…And now about the weather. Today, on Sunday, the fourteenth of June, the weather will be fine and sunny, with no chance of rain. The winds are…"

Gadget wanted to sing, dance, walk on her hands, run along the walls and the ceiling, but she was just too exhausted for that. So she just sat there on the sofa, listening to the weatherman's voice and keeping her eyes glued on the date in the corner of the screen.

'06/14'.

Four simple digits divided by a simple stroke. But still so many emotions were associated with them.

"Gadget, you forgot something."

The mouse turned around and saw Dale standing near the sofa, holding out the jumpsuit she dropped downstairs.

"Thanks, Dale, I didn't even notice!" she answered, collecting her clothes.

They were silent for some time, and then Gadget looked around once again and asked, "Tell me, Dale. When did you tidy up the room?"

"What do you mean? Oh, you mean the hall? We did it last night! You know, after your coffee we didn't want to sleep at all so we decided to have a small clear-up. We wanted to make it a surprise for you! You like it when everything's in order, don't you?"

"Yes, Dale, I like it. But, you know, it was so unexpected I almost passed out."

"I had nothing to do with it!" Dale waved his hands, immediately dismissing any possible suspicion. "It was Chip! It was his idea! And then Monty and Zipper supported it! It's not my fault!"

"Oh, Dale, no problem! Thank you all very much! Where are all the others? I thought I awakened the entire Headquarters with my shouting."

"They went for some food. Almost nothing remained after yesterday's fest."

"Wait, how can that be?" Gadget wondered. "But isn't Monty in the kitchen? Who's cooking then?"

"Me!" Dale grandly touched the tip of his red nose with his index finger then folded his hands on his chest.

"You?!" Gadget's astonishment was beyond all bounds. "Cooking? But you've never—"

"I've been the regular Sunday cook for a month or so now!" Dale had a tone of offense at Gadget's oversight but almost immediately slapped himself on the forehead. "Oh, sorry, I forgot you've been very busy last month."

"Then, Dale," Gadget exclaimed warmly to smooth her gaffe away, "pour me the biggest plate of the cheese soup you can, okay? It seems like I haven't eaten it for an eternity!"

"Oh, certainly, Gadget!" Dale brightened up. "For you everything will be by the highest standards!"

"I've no doubt!" Gadget laughed and, amused by Dale's repeating the words Monty had said 'once upon a time on Saturday' almost word for word, ran upstairs to her room. But she barely reached the top of the stairs when Dale emerged right in front of her as if from nowhere. The red-nosed chipmunk was in a hurry, so he climbed up to the third floor right along the wall.

"Gadget… you know…" he began, stammering and panting after his rapid ascent, hard pressed by emotion. "You know…there is…I wanted to say…today there will be…a grand concert of the band A-Kha…in our city! I have already looked for the seats…so I thought…maybe you will…maybe you will join me…I'm pretty sure you'll like it! That's it!"

"You know, Dale," Gadget smiled, "why not? If you're sure I'll like it."

"Oh well, basically I've heard only one of their songs, but if the rest aren't much worse then…"

Dale was saying something else, but Gadget didn't hear him. It couldn't be! She saw all those discs he had! Held them in her hands! Listened to them!

Or was it really only one long dream?

"Only one of their songs?" she asked at last.

"Oh, sorry. What did you say?" Dale reasked, having missed her words.

"How could you have listened to only one of their songs? You've got three of their discs!"

"How do you—" Dale began, but didn't finish the question, instead slapping himself on the forehead for the second time this morning. "Oh, that's from your dream, too?"

"Yes, right from there."

Dale paused, then anxiously looked around to make sure nobody was listening, despite the two of them being alone in Headquarters, and once he made sure the coast was clear, continued.

"Please, don't tell Chip, okay? He'll laugh at me!" Dale begged.

"Golly, Dale, if you ask, I surely won't tell him anything!"

"I knew you were a real friend, Gadget! So, you see, when I heard A-Kha's song in the movie about Dirk Suave, I had to get the album! It was so hard waiting until I could find it! At first I listened to it twenty times a day! Now it's less, obviously, but still sometimes, when the mood's right. Oh, yes, and then one day two more of their discs caught my eye. And so I thought that the band which had written the song for the Dirk Suave movie just couldn't write bad songs at all! So I brought these discs home, put the first of them, with the group photo on it, into the player…"

Dale broke off and brokenly moved his lower jaw from side to side. Apparently, he felt hard about saying what he was going to say, and Gadget felt her heart rate increasing.

"Yes, Dale?" She hurried the chipmunk trying to conceal her nervousness.

"And…you know, I…I was scared!"

Gadget was taken aback. "But there's nothing so scary there. I mean, what scared you?"

"You know, there, on the disk, at first there's silence-silence-silence, and then the lightning KABOOM! The thunder BOOM! The wind WUURRRHHH! I leaped up in fear, almost crashed through the ceiling! I turned the player off, came back to my senses and knew it wasn't for me. I don't quite like thunderstorms, you know."

"And what about the second disc?"

"The second disc? Oh, that's plain terrible! There's an airliner on its cover, so I thought if there's thunder and lightning on the first disc, then on the second some plane must be taking off. Or landing. Or even crashing—oh, excuse me!"

Dale hastily corrected himself as he noticed Gadget flinching at this word. "So I looked at them and hid to get out of harm's way…but," he added in much more cheerful voice, "I'm sure they wouldn't play anything scary like that during the concert, and if they do, I'll protect you!"

"Alright, Dale," Gadget said quietly. "I'll think about it. Thanks for the invitation. Uh, now, I need to…." She pointed at the jumpsuit in her paw.

"Oh, yes, certainly, sorry! And I'm off to the kitchen, making breakfast! The concert starts at six this evening! I'll be waiting!"

Joyful, Dale ran downstairs. Gadget followed him with a thoughtful glance, then slowly walked towards her room. So, Dale didn't hear those songs. And those disks were in the farthest and dustiest corner of the shelving not because he was hiding them, but because he didn't need them. But if so, then it means that in reality…

Gadget stopped in the middle of the corridor, once again going over in her mind through all the events she remembered lying on the sofa in the hall on that terrible night. She remembered Monty, whose room she was passing right now, and remembered his words. Then she turned around and looked at the stairway Dale ran down.

And heartily laughed at her own thoughts.

Why did she clutch at those disks? Were they really so important? No. These disks were just an appendage, a nice addition, but no more than that and they didn't play any significant role. And although without them she might have never understood anything, they were neither a requirement nor a sufficient condition. And the fact that Dale didn't listen to them didn't mean anything.

No, it did mean something. It meant that neither him nor Chip truly got by without them in her feelings.

Why do her feelings need to depend on them?

It's truly a pity that neither Chip nor Dale heard these songs. But it's very easy to fix. Much easier then repairing a Boeing on the move. If not her, then who will introduce the guys to the beautiful?

The concert starts at 6 PM.

Then there's no time to waste.

17

"Here we go, Dale!" Monterey Jack proclaimed, tumbling into the kitchen with a large sack of procured meals. He barely squeezed through the kitchen door, not meant for a workload like this, and put his sack down on the floor and was going to rub the sweat from his forehead but froze.

"Hey, Monty, why did you stop? Go on!" Chip pushed him, closely following. Monty side-stepped and the chipmunk sidled past him into the narrow passage. He too placed his load on the floor close to Monty's and almost immediately froze in the same pose as Australian did.

The friends looked around the kitchen and were starting to suspect they came to the wrong tree. Everything around them was shining and sparkling; all the plates and dishes had been washed and sorted according to size and shape, standing in straight lines like on parade.

The table was covered by a clean white table-cloth; dusty curtains gave place to tidy new windows. All glass surfaces were clean and scrubbed of the slightest dirt, while all the polishing was swabbed to a mirror glitter. And in the middle of the kitchen, his or her back turned to the door, stood someone wearing a dark-blue linen shirt, a checkered apron and a towel tied around the head, laboriously washing the floor.

"I'm sorry, miss," Chip asked with polite cough. "This is Rescue Rangers Headquarters, isn't it?"

'Someone' gave a start and dropped his mop in surprise.

"You're the only 'miss' around here, Chip! And you shouldn't sneak up on people this way! Didn't your folks ever teach you to knock?" the stranger said in a harsh voice and turned around. Chip and Monty found to their astonishment the finely dressed stranger was none other than Dale.

"Dale, lad!" Monty exclaimed. "Is it you? What's with ya?"

"Oh, don't worry. I just decided to tidy up the kitchen a bit!" Dale answered and bent down to pick up the mop. Friends exchanged glances. It was so out of Dale's character that there couldn't be any doubt of something truly extraordinary happening.

Monty scratched his chin and, inclining close to Chip's ear, whispered, "Remember, Chippah? Last time Dale was cleanin' somethin' he turned out bein' an alien who took his shape!"

"You're right, Monty." Chip too changed to whispering. "Listen carefully. I'll ask a test question and you get ready with your sack. If I don't like the answer, I'll give a signal and you'll throw the sack on…on it. Got it?"

"Gotcha!" Monty acknowledged and freed his sack by pouring its contents out on the floor.

"HEY!" an enraged Dale left the mop and came up to the new pile of debris. "What did you do that for? Don't you know that spots from fruit are very hard to clean up?"

Chip and Monty exchanged glances again. Then Monty got ready with the sack and the Rescue Rangers' leader asked with a forced smile, "Dale, could you please answer one question?"

"What question? What for?" the chipmunk squinted in suspicion.

"What does Gadget like the most?"

"Me, of course!" Dale answered without hesitation.

Certainly, Chip expected to hear a different answer, but he just waved his paw telling Monty to put his sack down and carried the delivered food to the table. Without any doubt, it was Dale. Looks like I hit him too hard with that D-hook yesterday Chip thought while unloading his sack onto the table and opening the fridge.

"By the way, Dale, 'as Gadget woken up already?" Monty asked, traveling back and forth along the kitchen, for he had to carry his load of goodies to the table in parts. "Not a sound's coming outta her workshop, and I was wonderin'…"

"Surely she has, at seven o'clock! Ate her breakfast, locked up in her room and hasn't come out yet. Something fell in there, but when I knocked she answered that there were no problems."

"At seven o'clock?! Locked up in her room?! Something fell?!" Chip exclaimed and almost dropped the grape he held on the floor. "Hope she isn't going to turn her room in her workshop's branch?"

"Well," Monty drawled in deep thought. "Considerin' how many things she has to restore after yesterday…"

Downcast, Chip lowered himself onto a stool and sank his head into his paws. What if Monterey Jack was right and Gadget will again lock herself up in the workshop, or rather, workshops, for a month or more?

Why didn't I tell her yesterday, during the match? Why I kept mum? Why didn't dare? Fool! Fool! He scolded himself, clenching the brim of his hat in his fists. He again, just like always, put everything off until later, thinking that tomorrow—that is, today—he would have plenty of opportunities to tell her his feelings in a tranquil setting. And now she's unattainable again, encircled by that cold crystal wall…

"Ha!" Dale smiled, breaking into Chip's thoughts. "But she agreed to go to the concert with me today!"

"What?!" Chip jumped up as if someone shoved a scorching baking tray under him. "What did you say?! What concert?!"

"A-Kha's concert! She said she'd think about it! Hey, where are you going?!" Dale asked, seeing Chip heading to the doors full of determination.

"She won't go with you anywhere!"

"Why's that?!"

"I'll make her change her mind! You think we don't know what kind of music you like? Shouts, screams and noises! Gadget won't listen to that rubbish!"

"You're the only one shouting and screaming around here!" Dale got deeply indignant. "You've never heard A-Kha's songs, so you don't know what you're talking about!!"

"Right, I don't need to hear them! I had quite enough of Iron Goose, thanks!"

"Don't compare them!!" Now the red-nosed chipmunk got really mad. "You don't know anything! A-Kha is great! They wrote the theme song for the Dirk Suave movie!"

"So why didn't you say that from the very beginning?! That's what I call the best reason to avoid them like the plague!"

Dale flew into a rage and grabbed Chip by the collar of his flight-jacket. Chip did the same, and they raised fists to exchange punches.

"Chip! Dale! Guys! What the heck are you doing?! Stop it immediately!" Gadget's voice sounded from the doors.

The chipmunks turned there and instantly turned into two picturesque statues with raised hands, fallen jaws and protruding eyes. Even Zipper gave a wolf-whistle, and Monty, feeling himself dressed improperly, started absentmindedly reaching for a non-existent necktie.

And there was a reason for it.

For they had never seen Gadget like that.

Her beautiful golden hair was thoroughly combed and smoothly fell down, almost imperceptibly melding into a dress of the same or maybe a shade darker color, held on her delicate shoulders by thin straps. Two cascades of pleats, merged at the center of the collar, began from the straps. Each pleat fit so neatly and precisely they didn't obscure but on the contrary accentuated her figure.

The dress narrowed downwards to her slender waist and a belt of blue slightly lighter than her goggles but not so much as her eyes. From there the dress smoothly gave way to the skirt going down a bit below her knees. She also wore matching dress sandals that completed the outfit.

For half a day Gadget had rummaged through the trunks of her family belongings standing unsorted from the moment of her final move here and once she found the dress she liked most of all adjusted it to her own size. Now the light playing on the cloth and hair seemed to intensify from the slightest contact with them and the room momentarily grew brighter, as if the sun's particles if not the heavenly body itself had descended to earth and stood in front of them now.

And on the whole this was exactly the case.

"Pinch me, Chip…" Dale's voice was vague while he was asking, for it was rather difficult for him to move his lips and tongue right now. Chip, who literally had to compel himself to breathe, bonked him out of reflex and immediately returned the lifted hand back to its place in the air.

"Thanks…" the Red-nosed chipmunk said, coming to his senses a bit after the punch and asked, his voice still sounding strange. "Gadget, there's some holiday today, isn't it?"

"Well, Dale, today is the concert!"

"Wha…what concert?" the chipmunk gulped.

"What do you mean 'what concert'? A-Kha's concert, obviously! Today at 6 PM. You told me yourself."

"Oh, yeah…" Dale did his best to focus. "I forgot. Then I'm going!"

And he, still keeping his eyes on the mouse, began to rip Chip's hand off his shirt. Chip didn't let it go, though, for his arms were out of his control at the moment.

"Where are you going, Dale?" Chip asked, without looking at his friend even for a second.

"To prepare…for the concert…"

"Wait, I'm with you."

"Where to?"

"To the concert, obviously, where else?"

"No-no-no!" Dale shook his head so vigorously it seemed to unscrew off his head. "Don't go there! You won't like it!"

"Why's that?"

"You said you can't stand their music!"

"Well, you know, I think it's wrong to judge music without actually having heard it."

"I'll tell you everything! It's complete and utter chaos! Shouts, screams, noises, other nightmares! I know you won't be able to think while listening to it! Trust me; I know what I'm saying!"

"You know, I think I'll take the risk this time…"

Arguing in hushed but heated tones, the friends still holding onto each other sidestepped past Gadget and, having barely wormed their way through the door, disappeared in their room. The bustling which followed was so loud it seemed a whole herd of rhinos were in there with the two chipmunks.

"Well, Gadgie…" Monty regained his gift of speech at last. "That's just…just…"

"I've got too carried away again, yes?" Mouse asked sadly.

"God forbid, darling! You're simply magnificent! Even stunning, I'd dare to say! Ya know, while you were back there in yer workshop, the guys were plainly frightful to look at, I assure ya! And now it's pure heaven! Though I must say," he bent down to her and significantly whispered in her ear, "that next time you'd better warn us in advance. A week, a month, maybe."

Gadget burst into a deep laugh. "Thanks, Monty! Besides, I hope you and Zipper won't mind very much if I ask you…" she dropped her eyes in confusion.

The Australian knew her thoughts at once, smiled and put his hand on her shoulder. "Sure, lass. I think me and Zippah will be two too many there. And besides, I'm too old for such music already. But you three just have to go there! The guys'll be happy and you'll 'ave some break at last. After all, this month was really hard for ya. And yesterday was one heck of a long and busy day."

"It sure was, Monty," Gadget nodded. "Very long. Way too long, I'd rather say."

"Yeah, that's what I'm telling ya! But you know, if you're goin' there, bring me a couple of Norwegian cheese slices. I haven't eaten it for so long."

"Wow, Monty, I didn't know you'd been to Norway! You've never told about it. What was there?"

"Where? In Norway? Oh, well, ya know…it's too long a story, maybe I'll tell it later someday, okay?"

"Sure, whatever you like." Gadget shrugged her shoulders and went on after a brief pause. "You know, Monty, I want to thank you for everything you've done for me. I would've been a goner without you."

"Oh, come on!" the Australian waved away the compliment. "That's nothing. Or, rather, that's the least thing possible I can do for my oldest friend and your father. Sure enough owe him for my life and about a half-dozen others. But I'm sure you would've made it without any help."

The mouse shook her head with deep conviction. "No, Monty, I wouldn't have. And don't argue with me, I know it!"

Monty had no other choice but to part his hands wide. "Well, if ya say so, lass. I won't argue ya outta it. Besides, I'm glad to hear that, honestly!"

"That's great!" Gadget laughed again, then glanced at the door to the chipmunks' room and wondered: "Don't you think they're preparing far too long?"

"Aw, don't worry about them, luv! They wanna look good for you too, ya know! But I'm pretty sure it won't take 'em as much time as it took you."

"I hope so too." Gadget nodded.

The chipmunks appeared right when she began to look at her watch impatiently. Chip, just as one would expect, had put on his austere black tail-coat, cleared out and ironed religiously for this occasion, along with a starched shirt and black bow-tie. Dale went with his Super agent Double-O-Dale's white tuxedo and cufflinks, polished to a glitter.

Gadget was surprised at first for she thought Dale will wear his loud green-pink stripped jacket but, remembering that A-Kha had written the music to one of the movies featuring Dale's idol, had to admit that it was indeed a very smart choice.

Chip, though, had quite the opposite opinion, just like always when it concerned his friend's tastes. "Why did you put all this on, Dale?" He kept asking poking his finger at Dale's cufflinks, belt, the red flower on his lapel and his broad bow-tie. "You'll spoil the whole concert all by yourself! Last time you wore that your stick-and-smoke cufflinks alone were enough to make Headquarters impossible to stay in!"

"Calm down, Chip." Dale waived him off. "You're just jealous 'cause you can't make anything like that!"

"And I don't need anything like that! I remember your flight ended up on the ceiling! I hope Gadget and me won't have to take you off some roof today!"

"Don't worry, I took out the spy copter and replaced my stink-and-smoke cufflinks with regular ones."

"Well, Dale, if it turns out you mixed them up—"

"But I decided to leave the camera! Smile!"

Dale turned to Chip and quickly pulled the edges of his bow-tie to the sides. Chip, who remembered the power of the super flash installed on the hidden camera better then he'd want to, instinctively backed off, covering his eyes with his right hand, but the tie in Dale's hands just clicked idly, having photographed nothing and blinding nobody.

"Aha! Scared you!" Dale exclaimed with joy. "I got you, I got you!"

"I wasn't scared at all!" Chip snarled, involuntarily turning red and burning with shame for having shown weakness in Gadget's presence.

"You were! I saw it!" Dale continued to giggle mockingly.

"Now it's your time to be scared!" the leader of the Rescue Rangers shouted and lunged at Dale. The chipmunk in the white tuxedo was ready for this, though, and they grabbed each other by the lapels, bumped into each other's nose and started to drill one another with harsh stares,

"Ahem-ahem!"

The loud half-cough made the chipmunks give a start and turn to Gadget. She stood right in front of them, arms folded in front of her and stomping her right foot. And the harsh look in her blue eyes from under her knitted brows bode no good at all.

"Sorry, Gadget, we're just…just…sparring for no particular reason!" Chip said, letting Dale go.

" It's not out of spite or whatever!" Dale added.

Chip and Dale began to chatter simultaneously while shaking off and setting straight each other's clothes right.

"It's in a friendly way! It's a joke, you know!" Chip managed.

Gadget's face smoothed out and her eyes shone again as her lips stretched into a wide smile. She stepped up to the chipmunks, put her hands on their shoulders as she looked into their eyes.

"Golly, guys! You are so wonderful!" Gadget said.

And she held them both to herself. Chip and Dale, taken aback at first, slowly, as if fearing to scare this beautiful fleeting image away, embraced the mouse and put their heads on her shoulders, burying their noses into her golden hair.

Monty tapped Zipper on the head. "Ya know, buddy, I think we should go warm the Wing's engines a bit. She's stood there for too long, and as for me…" Monterey Jack said, and he and Zipper left to the hangar and carefully, not letting even the slightest creak out, shut the door behind them.

Chip, Dale and Gadget didn't notice them leaving. They just stood in the middle of the kitchen in complete silence, on the same place as on that very first, most terrible Saturday. But for Gadget it didn't matter at all this time. She was happy, because she was right where she ought to be. In her rightful place, which she found at last, albeit after very long search.

Gadget could stay this way forever, embracing the best, the closest and the dearest creatures in the world. She felt their strong hands on her shoulders and brushed their thick fur with her cheeks, sensing through the thin dress the unified beat of the two dearest hearts she knew.

And anyone entering the kitchen now would almost physically feel the quivering of that thin invisible thread which made them something immeasurably more than just a team of restless warriors who fought evil and injustice. The thread, the durability of which neither Gadget with her vast knowledge of physics, mechanics and materials resistance theory, nor all the scientific institutions and laboratories of the world taken together with all their latest and most precise equipment would be able to calculate.

For love can't be measured this way.

This thread had been running between them from the very beginning, from their very first meeting in the old bomber, and it stayed there during all these years. She hadn't noticed it, but it was. Her happiness had always been at arm's length, but she had to go along a hard and winding road to find it. And she tore this vicious circle apart and went along it to its very end. It was her destiny, her fate.

She didn't need to choose anything anymore, for she had made her choice already. She made it many years ago, in the police station, when she said "Well. I don't have to get home right away…"

And now, in her friends' tight embrace, she knew it was worth it. Everything to the very last day, from the 'first' to the 'last' Saturday. It was a hard day indeed, but now the nightmare was over and the curse of seemingly unending time was broken.

But was it really a curse?

No, it wasn't. It was a gift, the most precious of all. The most unique chance to understand and correct everything, when all seemed to be lost forever. The chance to reach the end this way in spite of all the dangers. It was as if somebody guided her along the way, not letting her take a wrong step and perish. The fastened seat belt, the grass heap, Luke, Monty knocking out the door of her hospital workshop, the wind blast and the truck suddenly gathering speed—there was always something to save her. Or someone.

Someone…

"Thank you, daddy…" Gadget said quietly.

She herself didn't know why she had said that. Maybe she understood something. Maybe she'd felt it. Maybe she remembered Monty's words about a message from Geegaw. Nothing of it mattered now. She just realized she had to say it. And the moment she did it she heard the distant but at the same time nearby cracking of the engine, as if a plane took off not far away from Headquarters. It could certainly have been the echo of a dump truck driving through the park. Or the humming of the Ranger Wing's engines warmed up by Monty. But Gadget knew that wasn't the case. Beyond a doubt she knew it.

"What happened, Gadget?" an alarmed Chip asked.

"Is everything alright?" Dale anxiously inquired.

Gadget stepped a bit back and looked at their troubled faces. They didn't distinctly hear what she had said and considered it their duty to ask. To find out whether everything was alright, whether their help was needed. It was neither simple politeness, nor dry professional interest, but the greatest concern and sincere care. Just like always.

It was them.

Her Chip and her Dale.

Her Chip and her Dale who loved her, and whom she loved. She lost them several times during these 'days', but they finally returned. That is, they stayed. That is—oh, it doesn't matter. The point is, they were all here, close to each other. And though they are indeed very different, those two chipmunks and this one a field mouse, they were made for one another, and nothing will prevent them from being always together…

"Everything's alright, guys! Everything's perfect! It couldn't be better!" Gadget answered with her happiest smile in years, then turned around and took Chip and Dale under their arms. "Let's go! Or, God forbid, we'll be late!"

When you were wrapped in tangles

I was free

And when you were undecided

I believed

It's alright, tonight

On a deep blue mountain high

The shapes that go together

You and I

When you were filled with longing

I belonged

When you were weak from trying

I was strong

But it's alright, tonight

On a deep blue mountain high

The shapes that go together

You and I

The shapes that go together

You and I

Childhood winters

Come to me

Whisper softly

So tenderly

I know, I walked twenty-five miles to hold you

Just to find you'd moved away

When you were wrapped in tangles

I was free

And when you were almost blinded

I could see

But it's alright, tonight

On a deep blue mountain high

The shapes that go together

You and I

The shapes that go together

You and I

You and I

THE END

Huge thanks to Dr. Indy for his heroic editing efforts and suggestions which helped made this story even better. Thanks to HawkeyeNFO for expert advice on the art of ATC communications. For all people who created movie "Groundhog Day" without which this story would have never appeared. And certainly for all the readers who got to this point! This story was quite an experience to write and translate, and I hope it brought you at least the same pleasure I had while writing it. Good luck everyone!