The Fire Triangle -- Part 1

by MercMarten

Two years after foiling the Bellwether plot, Nick Wilde and Judy Hopps are on the fast-track to the Detective Bureau and growing closer with every passing day. But even as their relationship deepens, an immensely powerful and ruthless figure is looming in the shadows, determined upon a hidden agenda—and equally determined to drive them apart by any means necessary.

90. The Fire Triangle -- Part One Chapter 90

Disclaimer: Zootopia stories, characters, settings, and properties belong to the Walt Disney Co. This story is written under Fair Use Copyright laws.

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The Fire Triangle—A Zootopia Fanfiction

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Part One:

Fuel

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Chapter 10 –When A Fox Goes Rabbit
(Continued…Pt. 5)

Zootopia, 02:07 Hours—An Undisclosed Location

Conor Lewis stumbled out of the elevator and into his loft, propping himself up on his bike, like a feeble, old fox with his walker. He had run out of adrenaline more than an hour ago and the crash had hit him hard. His limbs felt like overloaded sash-weights and his joints cried out for mercy with every little movement that he made. When he blinked, his eyes kept trying to stay shut.

He had never wanted sleep so badly.

Looking back on the past few hours, the young silver-fox might have felt elated; he had done it, he had pulled off a successful jailbreak and made it safely home.

On the other paw, even if the ZPD somehow never caught up with him, (an unlikely scenario, even he had to admit,) the life he had known was effectively over. He'd be expelled from the Performing Arts Academy, his apprenticeship at the guitar co-op was done, his partnership with Finnick was finished, and the next time he saw Nick Wilde and/or Judy Hopps, he had better see them first, unless he wanted to go back to jail.

And on a related subject, he would probably never see Erin Hopps again—except from a distance, and without her knowing he was there. Instead of euphoria, he might have felt deeply depressed.

In fact, Conor was experiencing neither emotion, only an all-consuming desire to crawl into bed and bury himself under the covers for the next ten thousand years.

At the moment however, sleep was a luxury he couldn't afford. He had tasks to perform and quickly—before the ZPD discovered his release order had been a forgery.

Closing the entrance-gate behind him, Conor shambled into the kitchen area, leaving his bike propped up against the wall of the Furaday cage he called home. (He could stash his ride in the bike-rack later.)

After a yawn that felt like it would go on forever, he took off his backpack and extracted his laptop computer, laying it on the kitchen table, and flipping it open. Entering the decryption code, he typed in a set of instructions, activating the loft's voice command system and clicking on the button marked MVO, (My Voice Only.)

Then he spoke aloud.

"Mother, lockdown the loft; digital-fortress mode. Winnie, Tangled, Foxtrot—Seven, Three, Six."

A series of audible clicks followed and then the LED lights beside the Furaday cage door and the elevator controls shifted from green to red.

Conor's living space, always secure to begin with, was now doubly protected against all possible intrusions, electronic or otherwise. Any incoming phone calls and texts would be blocked, anyone trying to email him would get a 'mailer daemon' reply, and loft's database was now ringed by a firewall so impenetrable, it could have served as the Tenth Circle of Hell. On the floors below and also on the exterior, the CCTV cameras had come fully awake, along with the motion and scent detectors placed discreetly throughout the structure. If the team that torched the Interspecies Recycling plant were to show up here right now, the alarms would trip before they could even begin to find a way inside. (Not a huge surprise; the animal who'd set up and outfitted this place had been an engineering genius.)

Getting up from the table, Conor went to the trash bins beside the sink and fumbled in his pockets for a moment. After several seconds, he brought out the crushed remains of the phone he'd used to plant a bot in the ZPD computer.

He had smashed it shortly after the Zuber driver had left him at the Palm Hotel metro station. (Not immediately; he'd needed to find a spot with no other animals or cc cameras watching.) Normally, he would have dumped the broken pieces right then and there, but not while he was on the run. If he'd done that—and if the police had somehow recovered them—it would have given them a clue as to the whereabouts of their young fugitive; 'Conor Lewis was here!' (To say nothing of what the remnants themselves might yield, if ZPD Cybercrimes ever got their mitts on them.)

Because of this, it went without saying that Conor didn't want anyone recovering those cell-phone remnants in the vicinity of his loft—which was why he dumped them in the refuse bin reserved for the incinerator.

After turning out his pockets to make sure nothing was left, he strolled over to the refrigerator and grabbed two FoxStar energy drinks, slamming them in quick succession. The name notwithstanding FoxStar was not a regular Conor Lewis pick-me-up; he might down one of these nasty-sweet bad boys in a blue moon, if that. ('Energy' drink—hah! Try caffeine rush drink.)

Today, however, was anything but regular. There were things the young fugitive fox had to get done and, in order to accomplish them, he needed to stay alert; dang the torpedoes, full speed ahead, and all that.

After tossing the energy drink cans in the other trash-bin, Conor's next stop was the Furrison Hotel, the igloo-shaped, woven-copper-cable, Furaday-cage-within-a-Furaday-cage that dominated the center of the loft. Placing his paw against the access panel, he recited the password phonetically and waited for the click before entering. Inside the Furrison, the Beast was already booted up and waiting for him. (It was programmed to do that when the loft went into digital fortress mode…although it would require the flick of a manual switch to allow it to connect with the internet.)

Settling himself into Furrison's zero-gravity chair, Conor tilted back into a comfortable position and then slipped on a headset and a pair of high-end VR goggles and wireless control gloves.

Then he flipped the web connection into the on position and spoke into the headset's microphone, "Access ZPD database; door number three."

The computer obeyed at once, locating the infamous port 445—the hacker's favorite—in the ZPD computer. Working smoothly, it soon found the back door Conor had been referring to. This was not the same access point that the malware in his cellphone had created; it was a different door, one that Kieran McCrodon had planted in the ZPD computer more than three years previously. Anyone watching would have no doubt wondered; why bother to make a new back door, when you already had one in place? There were actually several good answers to that question.

First of all, the new back-door had been created for Guild's use, not his. Conor couldn't have made use of it any more than his online cohort could take advantage of the door he was using now. The idea was simple; based on the old saw of not keeping all of your eggs in one basket. If the ZPD somehow managed to track one of Conor or Guild's entry points to its source, it would only lead them to one hacker, not both.

More importantly, there was no way the ZPD was NOT going to realize they'd been hacked. When they found out that Conor's release order was bogus—and sooner or later, they had to—it'd take them all of two seconds to realize their database had been breached. And then it would take them only a little while longer to find the door used to hack their database, and shut it down.

BUT…if they found they'd been hacked by way of a new breach, they would look no further than the access point used to pull it off Once again, why would anyone plant a back door in a computer they'd already hacked? The answer was, the new door was the digital equivalent of a sacrifice fly; you might get thrown out but the runner on base would still make it home..

Even so, Conor knew he was taking a risk, even by going online. In digital fortress mode the loft was completely impenetrable to any electronic intrusion…but only as long as he stayed off the net and didn't make any phone-calls. Unfortunately, given his current situation, the former was not an option, (which was why The Beast booted up automatically in situations like this.) If the young silver fox wanted to remain free, he was going to HAVE to keep tabs on the ZPD's efforts to recapture him.

And that meant going back into their database, NOT the safest place for him to be right now. With or without having learned of his escape, ZPD Cybercrimes would still be on a heightened state of alert. They had busted an associate of The Phantom—they thought—and THAT animal wasn't going to just sit still and let justice take its course.

Even so, Conor felt he had no choice but to go once more unto the data-breach…and in any case he considered it a risk worth taking. Suppose his intrusion into the ZPD database was detected? They might kick him out easily enough, but then they'd have a jolly old time, trying run down their uninvited guest. Spotting a hacker and getting rid of him was one thing; tracing him to his lair, something altogether different, especially in this case Every single one of the loft's DSL lines was heavily shielded and the nearest Wi-Fi router was stashed in a basement nearly a mile away from here.

And just to get to those lines and routers, you had to go jump through a hundred procedural hoops and navigate your way past several all-but-impregnable layers of security. At best, if they became aware of the hack, the ZPD Cybercrimes unit might be able to trace it to the young fox's web-hosting service—but after that, good luck, they were going to need it. This particular outfit was based in Croaratia and did a tremendous amount of business with less-than-savory individuals and organizations. Suffice it to say they were not noted for being cooperative with law enforcement.

And by the time the cops got even that close, (which wasn't close at all,) Conor would be long gone with all of his digital footprints wiped away. This was NOT because he was some kind of computer genius; it was simply because it was just that easy…even for a kid his age. In the never-ending battle between hackers and law enforcement, 90% of the time, it's the hacker who holds the high ground.

Furthermore, if Conor Lewis wasn't anyone's cyber-wizard, he wasn't exactly a novice either. He had learned his skills at the feet of a living legend in the hacker community, Kieran McCrodon, aka The Druid In fact, today was not the first time he had been inside the ZPD computer. For the last three years, he'd been checking in on an irregular basis, searching for references to his name—both his real name and the one he used now, (and also the name of Dylan Yeats, the nom de guerre thrust upon him during his time of indentured servitude with The Company,)

Up until this morning, he'd found nothing in the ZPD database to raise an alarm bell…but now, well, now things were different. When he entered Conor Lewis in the ZPD's data-search window, a whole slew of documents appeared, floating in the digital ether like so many spectral souls. When he added the keyword 'escape' however, the herd thinned out considerably.

Scanning the documents quickly, (but not too quickly,) the young silver fox was soon exhaling a sigh of relief. There were numerous references to his status as an escape risk, (low to begin with, nonexistent after he was put in V-3 restraint,) but nothing to the effect that he had already escaped.

Do, re, me, so far, so good; but just to be on the safe side, Conor spoke into the headset once again. "Access, ZPD police scanner," and immediately fragments of chalky, staccato chatter filled his headset. He listened for perhaps ten minutes and, hearing no reference to himself, he switched off the police band and deactivated the VR Goggles, leaving the headset in place for the moment, so that he could deliver more verbal instructions.

First, however, he reached for the computer console and flicked the switch marked 'webcam' (like the outside DSL and Wi-Fi router lines, it could only be connected manually.)

Then he spoke again.

"Access webcam, no internet connection; one snapshot in ten seconds, another snapshot in fifteen seconds; single ping on each shot. Enter."

Conor took off the headset and waited, looking directly into the webcam lens with no expression on his face. After a short wait, he heard sound like a single piano key and turned his head sideways, showing his profile to the webcam. There was another ping and he put the headset on again and reattached the VR googles.

Then he took four long, slow breaths.

"Okay," he said to himself on the final exhalation, "Let's see if I can do this."

He flicked the switch to shut down the webcam, and called up the screenshots he had just taken, decided they were adequate, and reached out with a finger, moving each of them off to the side for the moment. At the same time, he spoke into his headset again, "Locate police file, Conor Severus Lewis."

At once a pdf file appeared, seeming to hover in the air before him.

If Nick Wilde or Judy Hopps could have been here to see this, they would have been shocked at the ease with which the young fox had been able to locate and retrieve his case file.

They shouldn't have been; as Albert Tufts could have told them, the most difficult part of any hack is penetrating the computer system. Once you're inside however, finding and saving what you're looking for is almost ridiculously easy. Edward Snowbear, the whistleblower who hacked a ZSA database was a near-perfect example. To steal the secrets he later leaked to the media he'd used a piddling, little, hundred-dollar tool called Webcrawler.

Conor double-tapped on the file to open it, then flicked upwards with a finger, scrolling through the document. He didn't have to go far to find what he was looking for; there they were, on the second page, the mugshots photographs, taken shortly after he'd been booked into the ZPD youth jail.

There was no emotion on the face of the fox in either of those photos, no anger, no fear, no defiance, no nothing. (This was something Danny Tipperin had taught him, when the police take your picture, don't show any kind of expression.)

After studying the pictures for a second, Conor spoke into the headset again.

"Open PhotoHop."

While the program loaded, the young fox double tapped the full face picture of himself and said, "Copy Image."

And then he went to back to PhotoHop, setting it for edit mode, and said, "Paste as new image."

The document appeared in the PhotoHop window.

Conor studied it again for a second and then repeated the process with the ZPD profile pic.

The next part was a little more tricky; he copied and reposted the front and side view pictures of himself as new images, and set them aside for the moment. Next, he opened up another program called FastStoat Picture Viewer. He then saved both the mugshots and the webcam shots in his picture files, and opened them again using the new application.

What he said next would have flabbergasted Lieutenant Albert Tufts had he been here right now.

"Open Impalta."

Oh, yes, that would have knocked the Kaibab squirrel for a loop, all right. Civilians, period, weren't supposed to have access to this level of facial-recognition software, much less a 14-year-old fox-kid.

"Where the heck did the kid ever get that?", the ZPD Cybercrimes chief would have no doubt wondered aloud (The answer was, he hadn't; the app had already been in the Beast's database when the young silver fox had moved in here, uploaded and installed there by one Kieran McCrodon.)

Conor had tried to use Impalta all of two times in the past, and had to feel his way through it now. What he wanted to do was run a match between the police photographs of himself and the webcam shots he had taken just now. After perhaps six attempts, he finally got it to work. A patchwork of bright blue lines, resembling an airline route-map flashed on and off over all four images, and then the results appeared in the window underneath.

POSITIVE ID

That was not unexpected; in point of fact, it was exactly what the young fox had been looking for.

"All right…to work, to work," he thought to himself before stretching his mouth wide in another yawn.

He went back to PhotoHop and the two mugshot pics.

Going first to the full-face police-file picture, he selected and copied the cheekbones, and then pasted them again as a new layer. And then he spoke into the headset once again, "Image…resize…by percentage…One hundred and five percent….enter."

The new layer enlarged just ever so slightly. Next the young fox called up the warp-brush tool, adding a barely perceptible arc to each cheekbone. Then he pasted them over the originals, placing them just tiny bit higher than where they had been before. In the next step he merged the layers and in the final one, he used the clone-and-heal tool to blend them together. He then performed a similar alteration on the side view image.

Next, he saved both images in his picture files, replacing the originals.

And then he opened them in FastStoat and ran the Impalta match again.

The results were the same as before:

POSITIVE ID

Again, this was not unexpected…and Conor was not perturbed; he was only just getting started.

Going back to PhotoHop, he made another alteration, this time making his ears a smidge bigger and giving them just hint more curvature.

When he ran the image through Impalta, he once more got a positive match.

For the next hour, he repeated the process, sharpening and shortening his muzzle, placing his eyes little further apart, making them just hair larger, lengthening his cheek tufts, and altering the shape of his nose. Each time the result from Impalta was the same.

POSITIVE ID

But then on perhaps the fifteenth attempt, after just barely altering the shape of his forehead, the young silver fox got the result he'd been waiting for.

UNABLE TO MATCH

Just to be certain, Conor made two more subtle changes to his police photographs, and then ran them against both the webcam shots and the unaltered versions of his ZPD photographs.

In both cases, Impalta found no match between the pictures. All right, just one more thing left for him to do.

Conor pulled all six images up on FastStoat, and gave them a long, hard look.

To the naked eye, the fox in all three sets of photos looked identical—which was the whole point of the exercise. If the ZPD tried to use the retouched images to track their fugitive via Impalta, it would be an exercise in futility. Conor could walk right in front of a metro station security camera and the software would see nu-THING, nu-THING, nuTHING! But, at the same time, anyone simply looking at the altered police photographs would not be able to tell them from the originals. They would have no idea the pictures had been tampered with…or that there had been yet another penetration of the ZPD's database.

Conor made two more minor alterations to his mugshots before pasting them over the images in his police record. First, he made his eyes a shade less bright and second, he added a layer of orange tint. This was not needed to fool Impalta, but it was entirely necessary; the young fox's burning-amber eyes had always been his most distinguishing characteristic. And distinguishing characteristics were often the first thing cops looked for when they called you over for a talk.

He let out another wide-mouthed yawn, yearning for his bed once more.

No such luck, he wasn't done yet. Now the young fox went to work on editing the report itself, opening it up in his own pdf application. Here, he had something of a head start; much of what was in the file was already bogus, courtesy of his fake ID records. Nonetheless, there were still a few tweaks he could make.

For starters, his name; all too frequently, animals wrote it down incorrectly, as Connor, or even Conner. He was sorely, sorely tempted to make that change here, but knew he didn't dare. Too many mammals had already seen this report—with the correct spelling. If he changed it, at the very least, Nick Wilde and/or Judy Hopps would spot it the next time they looked at this report; he would have to let it slide.

His middle name, on the other paw…well now, who pays attention to middle names away? And here he could be a lot more subtle; changing it from 'Severus' to 'Severis'—which he did.

More alterations quickly followed; Conor added an inch to his height, and subtracted several pounds from his weight. His fur color description he changed from 'black, silver highlights,' to 'silver and black'

When it came to 'distinguishing marks', he ran up against another problem; his gold teeth and the scars on his jaw, the souvenirs he'd collected from having his face broken. He couldn't change or delete that reference, someone would notice the alteration in a heartbeat. Oh he could switch the descriptions over; move the scars on the left side of his jaw to the right side, and vice versa but what good would that do? To the casual observer, scars are scars; he would have to leave that one alone as well.

The long scar on his back, however—the legacy of his encounter with the street-punks he'd caught waling on Junior McCrodon—that one he could play with a little; moving it from the left side of his back to the right side of his chest.

And that was the last alteration Conor made to his police file. The rest of it, the description of his arrest, booking, arraignment, etc. he would leave all that alone; it didn't need to be altered anyway, as far as he could see.

He moved his control-gloved index finger to the virtual 'Save As' button and tapped. The ZPD comp immediately informed him,

File CS LEWIS 111983 Already Exists
Do you want to replace it?

[_] Yes [_] No

Conor clicked on 'yes', and then 'enter'…but he wasn't quite finished yet. He needed to cover his tracks before he moved on. If anyone opened that file and clicked on 'File Information,' right in front of them would be the times of the last file access and modification...and just who that heck had been perusing these docs at THAT hour? Fixing the problem would require a bit more skill than the young fox had employed so far; he'd have to go into the ZPD's Acrobat program to do it. Fortunately, he had the tools—and he'd also had a good teacher. In less than ten minutes, the job was done.

But now came the really difficult part, taking care of the DNA match request the ZPD had forwarded to…to…dangit, who had that been again? The Zooopia Health Science Institute? No, that wasn't it. The Zootopia Health Sciencesssss…University? No. Oh wait, the Zootopia Health Sciences University Genetics Lab. (God, he wanted to sleep so bad.)

Conor did a quick search of the ZPD Database, looking for references. He was surprised to learn that his was not the only request for a DNA test that the ZPD had sent to the Gemetics Lab of late. There were at least two others, a John and a Jane Doe respectively. Hmmm that might be useful, although the young fox couldn't say why. (He sure as heck felt it though.)

He brought up the copy of the request made in his name and, just as he'd feared, there was nothing he could do about it. The Genetics Lab had already processed the request and placed it in the queue; any alterations at this stage would be…

Wait, hang on, hold that thought; queue?

Conor put his disquiet aside for a moment and began to study the document…and immediately burst out laughing. Whoever had forwarded the request had already misspelled his name; two 'N's instead of one. He didn't know how much that would help, (if at all,) but it certainly couldn't hurt.

He sat back in the zero-gravity chair, thinking. That word, 'queue', just kept flashing in his head, like a message notification that wouldn't shut off.

What did it mean?

Conor knew where to go for the answer. The question was, could he go there without being caught?

Queue…Queue…Queue…

He drummed his fingers on chair arm for a second. If he did this, he wouldn't be going in by way of a backdoor already in place; he'd have to tunnel in under the firewall himself.

It was nothing the young silver fox hadn't done before—but never with a database as well protected as the ZHSU Gen-Lab database had to be. With so much sensitive information on file, the genetic records of perhaps thousands of animals, the place had to be heavily shielded. Of that, he had no doubt.

On the other paw, the gene records weren't the files he needed to access. If they were kept separate in their own secure database, then maybe the rest of the ZHSU Gen-Lab computer was more vulnerable. Could be; that kind of digital compartmentalization was not unheard of in organizations where different animals had different levels of access. The ZPD computer, to cite one example, had both a regular and a secure database.

"Only one way to find out," Conor muttered to himself, and immediately heard a robotic feminine voice in his headset, "Command not understood."

"Aahhh, shaddap!" the young fox growled, silently this time. Oh jinkies, wasn't THIS hack getting off to a fantastic start?

He exited the ZPD computer, making certain to cover his tracks, closing all the files he'd opened and altering the records to show that they had not been accessed just now.

Then he cracked his knuckles and spoke again.

"Zoogle Search, Zootopia Health Sciences University, Genetics Lab."

Several options appeared in the air in front of him, but there was only one that interested the young silver fox, the first one, the link to the ZHSU Genlab's website. He tapped it with a finger and a new window opened in front of him.

The Genlab's website was at once both Hollywool slick and Plain-Jane utilitarian, chrome-plated, stylized lettering, and buttons that jumped out and dropped menus when you touched them.

On the other paw, Conor saw no puffery, no message of greeting, informing you that you had just stumbled into a magical realm, (unlike the Zootopia Academy for the Performing Arts's webpage, he noted with a sardonic smile.)

He scanned the row of buttons at the top of the page again, the usual gang of idiots; 'About Us', 'FAQs' 'Services' 'Contact', etc., and at the very end of the line, 'Log In'."

'Log in' Conor noted, not 'Log In/Register'. That told him if you wanted access to this website's inner workings, you couldn't just sign up and get browsing; you had to be approved in order to get in.

Either that, or…

He stared at the words, thinking. There had to be someone in the ZPD with a username and a password he could 'borrow'; Chief Buffalo Nickel perhaps, or maybe Tough-guy Tufts. Given that bushytailed jerk's earlier mess-up, it was even possible that he'd left his username and password right where anyone could find them.

Fine, great…except for one little problem; at best, it would get him 'read-only' access to the Gen-Lab's database, something entirely insufficient for his present requirements.

Conor tapped on the log-in button, screwed his eyes shut and spoke in a grating voice.

"Open EternalZoo."

This time, had Albert Tufts been present, he would have been chittering in amazement—and horror. EternalZoo was one of the most notorious hacking tools ever let loose on the web. Originally created by the ZSA for the purpose of high-level espionage, the rogue app had become a favorite of cybercriminals specializing in extortion schemes. Only a year or two before, EternalZoo had been used to plant ransomware in the databases of at least two major cities, Catlanta and Bulltimore. (In neither case had the culprits ever been apprehended.)

The first thing the app did was scan the GenLab's computer, looking for possible access points and anti-virus software. As Conor had suspected, it was very well protected, boasting not one but TWO anti-malware apps, McCalfee virus scan and Molewarebytes.

Good…but not enough to stop a demon like EternalZoo

When he entered the GenLab's database, perhaps 30 minutes later, Conor could almost feel his teeth quivering. At any second he expected to hear an alarm and see the dreaded words, appearing in front of him, 'Unauthorized Access Detected.' That had not yet happened to him here in Zootopia, but it had happened at least twice back in Zoo York City. In both of those cases, he'd had Kieran at his back to foil the trace that followed; here, he was entirely on his own.

One moment, two moments passed…nothing.

Scanning his way around the database, Conor noticed something at once; there was no sign of the genetic records anywhere, none at all.

"Probably airgapped," the young fox concluded, unsurprised. It didn't matter, that wasn't what he wanted anyway. What he was looking for were the administrative files, specifically the 'pending cases', (or whatever they were called here,) and he found them almost immediately.

Right away, the young fox understood the meaning of the word, queue; the ZPD was far from the only client the ZHSU GenLab had; his cheek-swab had been made to take a number and get in line, awaiting its turn to be tested.

Conor knew, without having to think about it, that he couldn't simply delete that file. If he did, it'd give away his game so fast, he would miss it if he blinked. It was too late now to stop it from happening anyway; that DNA match was going to be run.

But if he couldn't stop the process, there was plenty the fugitive young silver-fox could do to slow it down. He began by moving his DNA match request from fourth in line down to nearly the bottom of the pile.

He didn't move it all the way down; that would have been the next worst thing to deleting it. He gave his file the third slot from the end and then opened it, changing the request date from the 12th to the 15th—a not uncommon clerical error, and also a date that would jive with the file's new position in the queue.

That being accomplished, he had EternalZoo search out the GenLab computer's e-mail program. Finding the app, he opened it and issued a new set of instructions; any incoming e-mail from the ZPD, containing the keywords 'Conor' and 'Lewis' was to be treated as SPAM. Again, that wouldn't prevent the ZHSU Genetics Lab from running the DNA match, but it would throw yet another wrench into the works. And, as the young fox liked to remind himself, half a minute could be all it took to make the difference between freedom and pawcuffs.

Conor was about to exit the program when the realization of something hit him like a flyswatter. The ZPD had misspelled his name on the initial request for a DNA match; what if they did it again? In that case, any further correspondence from the cops would end up in the GenLab's inbox, not their SPAM file.

And there would be further correspondence between the ZPD and the ZHSU Genetics Lab—a lot of it; Conor was all but certain of that fact. When the cops found out he'd gone rabbit on them, one of the first things they'd do was make his DNA search-test a rush order.

Well…not if this fox-kid had anything to say about it; he went back and amended his earlier instructions. Now if an email arrived from the ZPD containing the keyword Lewis and either Conor. Connor, or Conner, it would immediately be shunted to the SPAM file.

Okay, that was all, at least for now. Preparing to exit the ZHSU database, Conor first made certain to leave the back door in place, and also to leave a bot behind, to continue to gather data. The chance was very good that he would have to go back inside this computer again at some future date. Eventually, someone from the ZPD was going to call the ZHSU Gen-Lab, wanting to know why there had been no response to any of their emails regarding Conor Lewis. And when that happened, he needed to be ready to…to do what?

Well…he'd cross that bridge when he got to it. For now, at least, his work here was done.

That awareness hit the young fox like a tsunami of fatigue, and he yawned so loudly that the computer once again informed him that it didn't understand the command.

Conor didn't tell it to shut up again; after making certain his tracks were covered he ordered The Beast to shut down, flicked off the internet connection switch and exited the Furrison Hotel. Behind him, as he stumbled off to bed, he left a trail of strewn clothes on the floor—as if he might need them to find his way back again, after he awoke.

He was out like a flashbulb the second his head hit the pillow.

Conor slept for almost ten full hours—and while he slumbered, quite a number of things happened. Clair Swinton had an encounter with Benjamin Clawhauser in the Precinct-1 lobby, the word went round that a certain young silver fox had escaped from jail, a meeting convened and then adjourned in Chief Bogo's office, and Nick and Judy made their respective statements to Lieutenant Tufts, (the red fox coming within an ace of saying something that could have gotten him suspended.)

Afterwards, the two partners went their separate ways; they each had some fursonal business to attend to. Nick wanted to call his mother to ask if he could see her that evening, and Judy needed to get hold of Erin and give her that heads-up on Conor.

The more she thought about it, the more certain she was that the fugitive young fox had not run off to Bunnyburrow. As Nick had earlier pointed out, foxes liked to stick to familiar turf…and Conor Lewis knew the Burrow like he knew the back side of the moon. Except for Erin, her friends, and the Hopps family, there was nobody in Bunnyburrow he could even call a casual acquaintance. And given the rather jaundiced view that Judy's family held of foxes at the moment they'd be on the phone the Sheriff like that if they spotted him anywhere close by.

Conor almost certainly wasn't heading for Bunnyburrow…almost. And the presence of the 'A' word meant that Judy couldn't completely rule out the possibility. If there was one thing she'd learned from her all-too-brief association with him it was that this kid almost never did what you expected.

Erin picked up on the third ring…although she didn't exactly answer the phone.

"Sis, hold on a sec," the younger bunny said quickly, and then her voice was fading rapidly into the background, "Ma'am? Ma'am! Hold up, you forgot your change."

Judy couldn't help smiling; Erin was working the produce stand today. She wondered for a second how her little sister was handling it. Some of the younger Hopps family members seemed to really enjoy the work, while for others, Produce Stand Duty was their Parking Duty.

When Erin returned a moment later, she was slightly out of breath, but recovered quickly, a testament to the fact that the young, white-furred bunny was not only a talented musician, but a skilled athlete. Captain of her school's field-hockey team, (small mammal division,) she had also won several medals in swimming.

"Sorry Jude," she gasped before her normal voice returned, "Gah, why do animals keep doing that?" She had already figured out that Big sis knew where she was.

"Make up a sign that says 'Be Sure To Count Your Change,'" Judy advised her, "Trust me, it works every time."

"Oh great idea," the younger bunny responded perkily.

"No Charge, sis," Judy responded, smiling again, "So how do like working the produce stand?" She figured she might as well get it out of the way right now…just in case the younger bunny didn't like the job.

Erin's mouth pulled slightly to the side. "Ahhh, it's okay, not as much fun as in the fall though." Her expression and voice turned wistful, "That's one thing I'm really going to miss if I get into the Performing Arts Academy."

Judy smiled again, but solemnly. Autumn had always been her favorite time to work the produce stand too, especially around Halloween, when they draped the stand with orange and black crepe paper, put up spooky decorations, and everyone wore…

"All right, business before nostalgia," the doe bunny chided herself.

"Listen, Erin," she said, "the reason I called is because there's a chance—a very small chance, but a chance that Conor Lewis may have decided to head for Bunnyburrow after he escaped from jail."

The younger bunny instantly became a flustered question machine.

"Wha…? Are you sure, Jude? How do you know? Have you notified the Burrow County Sheriff yet?"

Judy made a small, grunting noise, and patiently answered her sister's questions.

"Like I already said Erin, we're not sure; it's only a remote possibility. WHY it's possible is because the last place Conor was seen is the final stop on the Bunnyburrow Line before it leaves Zootopia. And yes, we've notified the Burrow County Sheriff's office."

She saw Erin's eyes narrow slightly and heard her tone becoming dubious.

"Oh-kayyy, then what are you calling me about it for?"

Judy sighed again, but silently this time; Erin already knew the answer, but was going to make her say it.

"Because if Conor did try to run to Bunnyburrow—and again, I'm almost certain that he didn't—if he does come your way, he might try to make contact with you."

"And if he does, what do you want me to do, Jude?"

Erin's face had lost all expression…but there was no mistaking the emphasis the younger bunny had put on the word, 'me'.

Her reaction was not unexpected…and all too easily understood by her older sister.

Being labeled a snitch wasn't quite as big a transgression for a middle schooler as it was for jail inmate. Nonetheless, it would be social suicide if Erin informed on Conor and her friends found out. In that case, they would no longer BE her friends. Even Sue Cannon, whose dad was a Sheriff's Deputy would cut her loose; it was just how things worked when you were that age…like it or not.

And so Judy said to the younger bunny, "I would hope that you'd try to talk him into giving himself up. Other than that, I'd just want you to use your own judgement, do whatever you think is best."

Even to her, that sounded like a cop-out, but when Judy saw her sister visibly relax, she knew she had said the right thing.

"So, what happened, Jude; how the heck did Conor manage to escape from jail?" Erin was back in inquisitor mode again.

Judy gave her the condensed version of the story. Conor had gotten out with the help of his online partner, who had hacked the ZPD's database, and ginned up a phony release order.

"Whoever that animal is, he's very good at what he does," the doe bunny told her younger sibling. Even now she was unable to make herself refer to Conor's silent partner as The Phantom…at least while talking to Erin. She wondered why that was.

And then the younger bunny swallowed and looked away for a second. Although she would never admit it, Judy could guess what was on her sister's mind; she was worried about the young silver fox, about what was going to happen to him now.

Judy knew what she had to say—and it wouldn't be easy; she'd have to give it to Erin straight and not pull any punches.

"Yeah sis…Conor's in big trouble now; I won't lie to you. The Attorney General himself is involved in his case, that's how serious it is. When they catch up with him, they're NOT going to go easy.

Erin winced and then grimaced as if she'd stepped on a cactus thorn—but then her nose began to twitch and her expression became puzzled.

"'They,' Judy…don't you mean, we?

Now it was the older bunny's turn to look pained. Great, fine, wonderful…all right, might as well tell her everything.

"Nick and I aren't handling the Conor Lewis investigation any more, sis. It's been given to ZPD Cybercrimes."

"They did WHAT?" The younger bunny was staring thunderstruck into her cell-phone camera, "Why?"

"Because," Judy informed her sister evenly, "Conor's escape from jail was technically a cybercrime. And because of that, the ZPD feels that the Cybercrimes Unit is better equipped to handle the investigation." Not the whole truth, but the whole truth was horribly complicated.

AND…rendering a full account of why she and Nick had been pulled from the Conor Lewis investigation would mean revealing their confrontation with Rudy Gamsbart. And that would mean recalling the incident that had led to their clash in the first place.

No way was that happening.

It didn't matter; the younger bunny had already guessed the worst of it. Her ears shot backwards and her brow flattened out, as if she'd just walked into the teeth of a gale.

"This is about that video of you and Nick isn't it?" she said. She was thumping her foot so hard that Judy could hear it over the phone.

"Now, hold on a minute, sis," the doe-bunny tried to protest, but Erin was already on a roll…like a runaway wrecking-ball down a steep hillside.

"They can't do this to you, Jude!"

"Erin…"

"After all you've done for Zootopia, this is how they pay you back?"

"Erin, will you please calm down, for heaven's sa…"

"You guys stopped that savage pred thing; how can they just forget about that?"

"I'm trying to explain; will you just let me…"

"It's not fair Judy; they CAN'T kick you and Nick off the Conor Lewis case…

"Sis will you please…"

"…and for what, because of one, stinking, little KISS?"

Judy nearly dropped her phone

"Shhh…not so loud, Erin!"

But it was already too late; just then, a familiar voice spoke up in the background.

"Erin, who's that you're talking to; is that your sister, Judy? Let me speak to her, give me the phone."

Erin's sister Judy could have face-palmed herself from here to Podunk County; that had been mom's voice just now…and the doe bunny was absolutely NOT yet ready to talk to her folks about Nick, that kissing video, and Rock Hardesty.

"Nice going, blabberbunn!" She was ready to scream Erin's ears off—not that it would have been necessary, the younger bunny already looked as if she could just die right now.

"Oops, sorry Jude," she said, her voice a strangled squeak...and then the image on the screen wiped sideways and her face was replaced by that of their mother.

It was even worse than Judy had expected. Anger she could have handled, even righteous anger. Instead—Bonnie Hopps was doing her best to conceal it, but there was no mistaking the hurt in her eyes. She looked…heartsick.

"Hello, Judy." Her voice was as crisp as bone-dry wheat-straw.

"Hi Mom," the doe bunny answered. She took a short breath and crossed her fingers, "Okay, don't rush it," she told herself—and then sucked it up and plunged ahead.

"Mom, there's something about that video of Nick and me that Rock Hardesty didn't talk about. Can I tell you about it now?"

Instead of answering, her mother looked sharply to the side.

"Erin, what have you been saying to your sister?"

Judy closed her eyes and counted to three. This conversation had only just started and it was already in a tailspin

"Mom, please…She only told me about what was on Hardesty's show last Sunday night and that you, Dad, and Junior were watching it. She didn't repeat a word to me of anything that you guys said."

Judy's mother said nothing, only tilted her head and raised an eyebrow, Hopps-speak for, 'and…?'

"And," Judy went on, trying not to thump her foot, "she didn't tell you about having spoken to me because I asked her not to. I wanted to talk to you about it myself, not through anyone else."

"All right," Bonnie nodded once, waiting.

Judy mentally crossed her fingers and laid down her ace.

"Mom, Nick only kissed me to try and throw off some suspects who were getting suspicious on us. There was nothing romantic going on."

"Wha…What, now?" Her mother's ears were standing at full attention. Okay, score one for Jude-the-Dude.

"Yes, that's right; let me tell you the whole story of what happened," she said.

It wasn't the whole story, but it was enough; Judy left out none of the essentials. She told her mother how she and Nick had been working undercover, about the Rafaj brothers, about the blood diamond, about the hippo moving to block the door. She touched on their kiss for perhaps half a second before moving on to describe the two of them being practically thrown out of the store afterwards.

Judy had planned to end the narrative at that point but then she remembered something; how she'd hurried to rinse out her mouth in a bubbler fountain almost as soon as she and Nick were back on the street. Oh yes, can't leave out that part.

(She did not, of course, repeat any of what she'd said to Dr. Hind about their kiss.)

When Judy finished the story, her mother seemed satisfied—but not entirely, not even close to entirely.

"All right, but then what about that other video?"

Judy pursed her lips…so that mom wouldn't see her teeth grinding. This was why she hadn't wanted to discuss that kiss-video with her parents yet. She still hadn't seen the other one; she could only guess what was on it.

"Dangit, Erin…" Only one thing to do, and that was to play it straight-up-honest.

"Mom, I haven't watched that other video yet," she admitted, "but I think I know what it shows. Does it have me falling into Nick's arms and then the two of us hugging each other?"

"Yes, that's right," her mother nodded, tight lipped.

Judy sighed, half in relief, half in frustration; just as she'd thought.

An idea occurred to her then; it would be a sacrifice play of sorts, but it would go a long was towards assuaging mom's worries about her and Nick.

"Okay," she said, "that was Nick catching me when my legs gave out…after I realized what a dumb-bunny move I'd just made."

"What, now?" This time, Bonnie's ears seemed to be reaching for the sky.

Judy looked away for a second and then fessed up, telling her mother about the Craig Guilford bust, how she'd jumped off the roof of a hangar and onto the airplane he'd been trying to use to make his escape.

"Oh Judy, you DIDN'T!" Now her mother looked shocked to the bone.

"Afraid I did. Mom," the doe bunny told her blushingly, "And it wasn't even necessary; we could have stopped those two another way; I know that now. But now you know why I nearly lost it back there…and why Nick had to come to my rescue. And believe me, he wasn't any too happy about what I'd done either; he barely spoke to me on the drive back to the precinct."

"Oh, Judy, Judy, Judy," Bonnie was shaking her head, the way she had after learning of her daughter's run-in with Gideon Grey at the Carrot Days Festival, back when she was nine, "What on earth ever possessed you to do a thing like that?"

Judy felt her own ears standing up. Only a few days ago, she wouldn't have been able answer that question. Now, she had a ready response.

"I felt guilty mom…that I hadn't been there with Nick when he uncovered Jerry Guilford's plan to spray-bomb the Carrot Days festival." Seeing her mother's change of expression, she hurriedly raised a paw. "I know mom, I know…and you're absolutely right, but that was how I felt at the time."

"Ohhh Judy…" hre mother was shaking her head again, but this time her face was tinged with affection. "That's my girl; you never could leave it alone when you thought you'd let somebody down."

"Yes mom, that's right" the doe bunny agreed, and then she added, "But I understand that now …and I'm going to deal with it, I promise."

"Okay, Judy," her mother was nodding. For just a tick of the clock, she seemed to be satisfied, but then her expression became unconvinced once more, "But what in heaven's name was going on in that courtroom?" She seemed incapable of going into any detail regarding the alleged incident.

Nor did she need to; Judy knew exactly what her mother was talking about…and the thought of it made her ears lay backwards against her scalp.

"Okay mom, that's fake news," she said, finally allowing some of her anger to show. "Nick and I did absolutely NOTHING inappropriate while we were…look, do you seriously think that if we'd been 'behaving badly,' we'd have been stupid enough to carry on in a crowded courtroom….or in front of a police-surveillance camera…or a whole platoon of cops fitted with body-cams? Come on, you know me better than that."

Judy's mother said nothing to this but the doe bunny could see that she wavering; her nose was starting to twitch. No matter what kind of poor judgement she might sometimes use, Judith Laverne Hopps was nobody's dumb bunny.

That told her where she had to go next, straight to the heart of the matter.

"Mom, forgive for talking like a TV cop, but let's cut to the chase. Nick Wilde and I are not—repeat NOT engaged in any kind of a romantic relationship—period. I'll swear it on grandma's grave if you want. Nick and I are partners and friends and that's it. I've never lied to you about anything like this before—you know that—and I'm not going to start now."

"Okay," her mother nodded placated at last. "I trust you, Judy."

"Thanks mom," the doe bunny smiled…although she hadn't missed the unspoken coda to what her mother had said. '…don't break my trust.'

It made the words that she had said just now turn to ashes in her mouth…because there was one word Judy had kept to herself. a word that would have changed everything had she spoken it aloud.

The word was 'yet'…as in, 'Nick and I are not romantically involved…yet.'