Disclaimer: Zootopia stories, characters, settings, and properties belong to the Walt Disney Co. This story is written under Fair Use Copyright laws.
The Fire Triangle—A Zootopia Fanfiction
Part One:
Fuel
Chapter 11 –The Fire Next Time
(Pt. 4…Continued)
"All right, sir…little poke."
The big bunny grunted his assent, and then grimaced hard. 'Little poke?' He might as well be having a nail driven into his side. The needle in question was approximately the same gauge as the average thumbtack—and felt about as half as sharp.
And Jack LaPeigne didn't like shots anyway; once up on a time in fact, they had terrified him.
"Nobody said you'd have to stick me every time you need to fill the reservoirs," he groused, regarding the lab tech with smoldering eyes and pinned-back ears.
"Sorry sir," the indri lemur looked away for a second…as if the whole thing really were his fault.
"Will this take long?" his boss demanded, and then looked from his watch to the double line of tubing, extending from just beneath his left arm. From there, it led to a device resembling an oversized, robotic, epoxy-gun. Each of the twin syringes held a different colored liquid, dark blue on the left, pomegranate-red on the right.
"Not long, sir," The technician responded vaguely, and then raised his head and began to speak as if presenting a school report. "Time is 09:36; preparing to fill infusion reservoirs for subject, LaPeigne, Jack. Subject is…."
"Never mind that, get on with it!" 'the subject' interrupted testily.
"But sir, we need to record…" the lemur started to protest—and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the look that Jack was giving him. He reached up to press a button on the control panel and the pair of plungers began to depress. "Tell me if you feel anything out of the ordinary," he said, and was rewarded by another tetchy glare from the big rabbit.
"And WHY would I be feeling anything if you're only filling the reservoirs?" he queried, raising a sarcastic eyebrow.
"Standard procedure, sir," the lemur responded, a thread of resignation creeping into his voice. He seemed to think that he was going to get fired, no matter what he did. "We had some leakage issues in the beginning."
The lab-tech's change of tone was not lost on Jack LaPeigne and he immediately switched gears.
"Oh yes, I'd forgotten about that," he said, sounding almost pleasant for once, "But no, I feel my usual easygoing self."
It was intended as an ironic jest, but the lab-technician didn't smile; only his kept his eye on the monitor until a peep and a flashing red dot signaled that the procedure was complete.
Having the needle removed turned out to be a much less painful experience for Jack than the insertion; he didn't even realize it was out until he saw the lemur dropping it into a bio-waste unit.
"All right, are we done?" he asked, sitting up on the table and swinging his legs onto the floor.
"We still need to fill the glucose reservoir, sir." The lab tech ventured cautiously—and immediately wished he hadn't; Jack once more turned a glowering face on him.
"Will that involve sticking me again?" He hissed, iron-blue ears flattening against the back of his neck
"Well sir," the lemur answered, fidgeting, "It's…pretty much…"
"Then it can wait," the big bunny told him, offering a dismissive wave of his paw. He got up and walked over to the row of wall-pegs, where he'd left his shirt and jacket. The shirt was halfway on when he turned and saw the lab-tech reaching for the door.
The lemur hurriedly drew his paw back, as if the door handle had turned red-hot.
"I thought you said we were done, sir."
"In here, yes," LaPeigne responded…slowly, as if lecturing a kit, "But we're not done, done, if you know what I mean. Let me finish getting dressed and then follow me."
The corridor was a spotless white, with walls that appeared to have been finished in translucent vinyl. The overhead lighting was at once both harsh and soft; the air dry and tinged with an antiseptic sting.
The few animals Jack and the lemur encountered were dressed in either lab coats or clean suits. Once or twice they came upon someone wearing a Tygervek Biohazard suit. These were the only mammals the big bunny moved aside for; other than that it was clear the decks, Head Honcho coming through.
Being a rabbit, and an exceptionally large one at that, Jack LaPeigne was capable of moving very quickly when he needed to. The Lemur, on the other paw, was an arboreal species, unused to going fast and far at ground level. Several times, he was obliged to drop to all fours in order to keep up. All of the doors they passed were secured with keypads and card-readers; some were even equipped with scent-readers and retina scans. Every window was at least two inches thick, and constructed of laminated armor-glass.
Only once did Jack allow the pace to slacken, pausing at one of the windows to observe the activity within.
On the other side, a robotic arm was plucking plant-bulbs from a moving 'egg-tray' conveyor, while another one gave them quick injection of reo-virus. By the time each bulb was back in its cup, the virus would already be inserting its genetic code into the plant cells, subtly altering their DNA. (It was by this process that the twin serums in Jack LaPeigne's infusion reservoir had been created.)
He turned from the window and moved on, occasionally glancing upwards at one of the many surveillance cameras. "Yes, I know you're watching," he seemed to be saying, "SO?"
At the end of the corridor was an elevator fronted by a security door. On observing Jack's approach, the aardwolf and quoll waiting to board moved quickly aside in order to let him pass.
"You'll have to wait for the next one," the big bunny informed them brusquely as he stepped aboard the car with the lab tech in tow.
When the elevator doors opened again, the stark, astringent atmosphere of the floor below had been muted by several degrees. Here, the walls were done up in beige and the lighting was just a little bit warmer. The floor, however, remained seamless, white, and spotless; all of the doors were still equipped with card-readers and access pads.
Pausing before the third of these, Jack inserted his key-card and entered his code. A barely audible click followed and he swung the door briskly open.
On the other side was a small gym, equipped with only a smattering of workout gear, a pull-up bar, a climbing rope, a rock wall, an adjustable hurdle, a 100# punching bag, and a set of kettle bells. The only nod to opulence was a pair of high-tech weight machines at the far end of the room.
He turned to the lab-tech, pointing at the window.
"All right, I want you to monitor me from the outside. Lock the door, and if anything goes wrong, summon a response-team…and make sure they have trank-dart guns."
The lemur looked as if he had just put on an itchy sweater for the very first time in his life.
"But…But sir, if you're planning on doing what I, uh, THINK you're doing…um, w-well you can't—not until we upload an activation code to your device."
The big bunny waved a breezy paw.
"I took care of that yesterday; now out with you."
"Y-You did WHAT?" All the color had drained from the lab-tech's ears; this was really breaking protocol.
"You heard me," Jack responded crisply, pointing at the door again, "Now go on; outside."
"But sir…"
"OUT!"
The lemur practically bolted through the door, slamming it shut behind him. Jack waited until his face appeared behind the window glass before he spoke again.
"When I raise my paw, turn off the sound; when I raise it again, turn it back on."
Without waiting for an acknowledgment, he lifted an arm skyward, turning his back to the window and removing his sport-coat. Stripping to the waist, Jack tossed his clothes haphazardly in a corner, glancing once over his shoulder to make certain the lemur was paying attention
And then taking a quick breath, he reached with two fingers for the spot just below his left collarbone…
….And hesitated; seeming to have just now realized the enormous risk he was about to take.
Jack's indecision lasted for all of half a second, and then his face hardened, his eyes darkened, and he tapped hard at the spot. And then, holding his paws in front of his mouth, (so the security cams couldn't see his lips moving,) he recited his activation code.
"Sequence Alpha-2, X-Ray, Tango, Charlie—Six, Two, Niner, Kilo—Initiate."
The lab tech heard none of this, but he did see the big bunny's paw go shooting upwards for the second time. He hurriedly switched the microphones on again.
Immediately, he heard, "I don't feel anything, are you sure…? Wait, there's something. Hrm? I-It's cold." He began to clutch himself. "It's not supposed to be…wait, there's the warmth; yes, that's bet…Aaaaumngh!"
Jack quivered as if 110 volts were passing through him, and then doubled over, as though from an invisible punch to the gut. This was more or less the standard reaction to an infusion of Serum-D, but the lemur shot up instantly out of his chair with an alarmed look on his face.
"I'm…all right," the big bunny grunted Even though crumpled into a near-fetal position, he was somehow aware of the lab-tech's panicky state of mind.
And then all at once, he stopped shaking and got slowly to his feet.
The lemur nearly turned and ran. LaPeigne's eyes had hardened into a pair of rage-filled obsidian marbles, and his mouth was pulled back in an untamed rictus. His neck hair had spiked into hedgehog quills and flecks of moisture shot from the edges of his mouth with every exhalation. All of his muscles were bunched and quivering; every tendon as taut as a bridge cable.
As the mesmerized lab tech watched in helpless fascination, the big rabbit gnashed his long incisors…once…twice…
And then he looked at his paws in wonder, as if seeing them for first time.
"My God," he breathed, "This is what it's like? I never imagined…"
He turned and ran suddenly for the hurdle, leaping on the fly and clearing it in a single bound.
He came down in a three-point stance—and when he straightened up again, he was almost giddy.
"I can't believe how easy that was."
Turning on his heel, Jack hopped over to the row of kettle bells, clearing the distance in only two jumps. Selecting a bell about third of the way up the row, (with '20K' stamped on the side, the lab tech couldn't help but note,) he grabbed it and swung it upwards.
It nearly flew right out of his grip; as if the big bunny was suddenly unaware of his own strength.
Setting the down weight again, he skipped straight to the end of the row, and grabbed the last of the kettlebells, the heaviest one. The tech was unable to make out the weight, but he did see Jack take the bell in his right paw and swing it over his head, gritting his teeth only slightly.
He held it like that for several seconds and then let it swing back down again. When he set the weight back down on the floor, he was practically giggling.
"Sweet cheez n' crackers, I couldn't have done that with both paws before." He was speaking either to the lab tech or to no one at all.
His next stop was the rope dangling from the ceiling, the most difficult challenge so far; rabbits are not a climbing species.
You would never have known it from the big bunny's performance; pulling himself up, paw over paw, he reached the top of the rope in mere seconds. To the lemur, it almost looked like a video playback at 2X regular speed.
Rappelling down to floor level again, Jack took hold of the end of the rope, ran backwards for a few steps and then dashed forward, leaping up and off the floor as the line pulled taut. Swinging back and forth on the rope for a moment, he pumped with his legs for increased momentum, making each arc a little higher than the one before. And then, just as it seemed he might turn a full 360 he released his grip and went flying across the gym.
On the other side of the window, the lemur covered his eyes. His boss hadn't gained enough velocity to reach the climbing wall; he was going to splatter himself all over the floor, at least six feet short of his goal.
Not quite; Jack hit the ground in a liquid roll and came up in another flying leap. Soaring through the air again, he landed a third of the way up the climbing wall. He held there for a moment, like a fly on a screen door, and then pushed off with his legs so that he was clinging to the 'rocks' with his paws only. A few seconds more and he let go with his left paw, hanging on only with the right.
Once again, he looked almost ecstatic. "I-I can't believe I'm doing this!"
He let himself drop to the floor, landing again in a three point crouch. Rising to his feet, he made motions as if dusting himself off; apparently satisfied with his workout.
Almost satisfied; turning towards the door, the big bunny caught sight of the punching bag, hanging motionless on its chain. A grimace crossed his face and he snapped his fingers—as if only just now remembering an important engagement.
Stepping up to the bag, Jack's expression became serious as he studied the shiny, coal-black surface—while the lemur pinched his face up in a state of complete confusion.
This was not, in fact, quite so odd as it appeared. Had the lab-tech known the big rabbit better, he would have realized what he was up to; Jack was imagining the bag as a real opponent and mentally sizing up its weak points. (Seth Whitepaugh often did the same thing during his practice sessions.)
In a speedy, swift, fluid movement, he pulled back into a martial arts stance, and struck out hard with his fist. It seemed to bury itself a half inch deep in the bag's no-tear covering, causing it to shudder on its suspension chain.
Jack pulled back his paw and studied it with big, wide-eyes…as if he couldn't believe it really belonged to HIM
Then he laughed and threw a crescent kick. A loud rending noise filled the gym as the seat of his pants split open.
The big bunny didn't even seem to notice; he was too busy launching an all-out attack on the hapless punching bag. First he threw a pawlm heel, then a knife-kick, and then another punch. Next, he fired off a crescent kick with the other foot, and a double-chop with his paws. He hit the bag with an elbow, a snap-kick, a flying knife-kick, a flurry of punches, crescent-kick, elbow, back-knuckle, knee, hammer-fist, reverse wheel-kick. In short order, the bag was swinging on its chain like Quaggamodo on his bell-rope.
Jack hit it again, this time with a thrust-kick, followed up by a spinning rear kick. That turned out to be the haymaker; the bag tore loose from its ceiling mount and fell crashing to the floor of the gym.
The big bunny stared for a moment and then threw back his head and started to…
"All right, I've seen enough."
Jack froze in mid-laugh, and then the screen quickly reverted to desktop mode.
Seth Whitepaugh's eyes narrowed and he let out a small growl, "I can't believe I'm doing this," Jack LaPeigne had said.
Neither could the wolverine, but for an entirely different reason.
He sat back and looked at Dr. Honeybadger.
"How long ago was this?"
She sniffed and emitted a growl of her own.
"About two hours; I came to you as soon as I found out."
"You were absolutely right to do so," the wolverine replied frowning bitterly as an involuntary playback of what he'd just seen unspooled itself in his head. Aaggggh, grrrrr; there were only about a thousand things wrong with it.
First of all, there was supposed to be a waiting period following implantation surgery. Before a new subject's infusion reservoirs could be filled, at least one month had to pass—with another week to follow before the initial test infusion.
And that first infusion was supposed to be carried out under laboratory- controlled conditions, with at least two technicians present, plus a security officer with a trank gun. Before the test, blood samples and vitals were supposed to be taken and then again afterwards. The subject was also supposed to be kept restrained during the procedure, (in case of any mishaps,) and hooked up to both an EKG and an EEG.
None of that had been done; it was as if Jack LaPeigne had deliberately gone out of his way to violate every safety procedure for a test infusion. Even for him, it was shockingly reckless behavior. Oh yes, Dr. Honeybadger had been MORE than right to bring this to his attention, A.S.A.P..
Whitepaugh angled an eye in her direction
"And that technician, what was his name again? Let me guess, he just received his first promotion, am I right?"
"His name's Opposib, Daniel Opposib…and yes, that's right," Dr. Honeybadger looked thoroughly surprised—whether from the irrelevancy of the question or from the fact that the wolverine had nailed it, he couldn't tell.
He decided to go with the latter. "Mr. LaPeigne told me once that those are the easiest employees to intimidate. No one wants to have the rug pulled out from under them, just when things are looking up." He nodded at the empty screen. "And THAT tells me what I just saw was not an impulsive act on his part; he had it planned well in advance." He lowered his voice, speaking mostly to himself, "not good, not good at all."
"I couldn't agree more," Dr. Honeybdger nodded, visibly relieved. Up until now, Whitepaugh guessed, she'd been unsure as to how he'd react to the news. Nonetheless, she hadn't hesitated, coming straight over to inform him as soon as she'd learned what happened. Yes, that was how you did it.
He said, "I assume you activated the override so he can't self-infuse again?"
The answer he got was most unexpected; Doctor Honeybadger's expression became hesitant and confused.
"What? B-But you know we can't do that."
Whitepaugh's lips pulled back, exposing his fangs, and his brow came down like an angry fist. Where did this...this number cruncher get off talking to him like that? "What do you mean, 'You KNOW we can't do that?"
But Dr. H. only looked even more confused…until a light seemed to come on over her head.
"My God, you really don't know, do you? Ohhhh, it's worse than I thought." Her face became almost as severe as his. "Better brace yourself; you're not going to like this." She turned the display screen towards herself and began to type rapidly…and now it was Whitepaugh's turn to look confused…until she stopped and spun it back in his direction. There, on the screen, was a form authorizing the insertion of an infusion device in Jack LaPeigne…without any sort of remote access. For a moment, the wolverine was even more bewildered—until his eyes strayed to the bottom of the page, and instantly grew three sizes bigger. He opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a scream of pure, mustelid fury.
"My sentiments exactly," Dr. Honeybadger commented dryly. Her companion seemed not to have heard her.
"That is NOT my signature, Doctor!" he snarled, stabbing at the computer screen with an angry finger.
"Yes, I suspected as much," she replied, tapping the keyboard and making the offending document disappear. Whitepaugh, meanwhile, was muttering and shaking his head, as if he'd just now awakened from a faint.
"He's gone behind my back before…but he's never dared to…claws of my fathers, I don't believe this."
"Yes," Dr. Honeybadger nodded, folding her arms and looking very grim, "and I'm afraid that's not the worst of it."
Seth Whitepaugh felt his head beginning to sag beneath his shoulders. Great; now what?
"All right then, what IS the worst of it?" he demanded, the words coming out in a voice not unlike a talking rock-crusher.
"You already saw for yourself," his companion replied, poker faced.
All right, that did it; Whitepaugh swung his face sharply around in her direction. He was in no mood for games.
But then, he remembered.
"I saw…something when I was watching that playback just now; something very disturbing, even though I couldn't quite put my finger on it," he said.
Dr. Honeybadger fell back in her chair, making a rumbling noise deep in her throat.
"Over the past couple of years, Mr. Whitepaugh, I've seen many different reactions to a first infusion; fear, uncertainty, disorientation, anxiety—uncontrolled rage, of course—I've even seen episodes of weeping." She pointed to the screen again, "But up until today, I have never—ever—seen a subject who actually seemed to be enjoying the experience."
Whitepaugh blinked and felt his spine go rigid. Yes, there was the thing he hadn't been able to grasp.
Only…if anything, Dr. Honeybadger had made an understatement just now; the bunny he'd seen on that video had looked like he was getting off on his first infusion. "Like a kit with a new toy," he realized, wanting to grab something and throw it.
He didn't; he took a deep breath and then spoke to Dr. H. again
"Do you have any idea how something like that could have happened?" he asked.
She grimaced and flung up her paws at the ceiling, looking every bit as frustrated as he felt.
"I might…if the infusion had been done under proper conditions…but now?" She waved at the computer screen in a 'talk-to-the-paw' gesture. "If he'd at least made use of the weight machines, I could have made a rough guess as to how much the serum enhanced his strength—except he never went near them. That leaves me with no data whatsoever to go on; I couldn't begin to tell you what made him behave like that."
"Best guess then," Whitepaugh prompted, sensing something.
Dr. Honeybadger ground her lips for a second. "Well, this IS the first time we've infused a rabbit with the series D serum."
"Not necessarily, Doctor" the wolverine countered, playing the Devil's Advocate, "What about that bunny at the Carrot Days Festival? He didn't seem to be enjoying HIS infusion…from what I've heard."
She only flipped a paw back and forth.
"Different scenario; for one thing that was series C serum, and for another, that other bunny went completely savage. " She turned and looked straight into Whitepaugh's eyes. "And remember my report? Terry Haredig's episode was triggered by a synergy between the serum he was accidentally given, and the aftereffect of a Nighthowler plant he ingested…as a…oh, no!"
Her words ended in a sudden gasp and a face-pawlm.
"What is it, Doctor?" Whitepaugh demanded—more than little harshly; he had no time for this right now.
Dr. Honeybadger looked at him steadily—very steadily.
"You're going to like this even less, but it has to be said. If you recall, Mr. LaPeigne also had an experience in his youth with 'certain substances.' While there's no way to be certain, it's entirely possible, that the changes wrought by that experience may have interacted with the serum he gave himself earlier this morning.
Seth Whitepaugh felt his lips compressing into a thin, flat line.
"You're right Doctor, I DON'T like it…but you're also right in that it needed to be said." His voice became a soft growl, "I only hope you're not right about that last part. Who knows where it might lead?"
For a long moment, there was silence in the room, finally broken by his companion.
"So what are you going to do?" she asked; a less than tactful way of informing the wolverine that the ball was now in his court. He took no umbrage; this was no time for diplomacy, and besides, it WAS up to him now. Doctor Honeybadger had done all that was required of her, and then some.
"Well, I'm supposed to see Mr. LaPeigne this afternoon anyway, but…" He pulled out his cellphone and raised his voice slightly, "Assista, get me Polly Walters on priority call." A few seconds passed, and then the face of Jack LaPeigne's fursonal appeared on the screen, slightly bedraggled as always.
"Yes, Mr. Whitepaugh?" she queried, in that always-eager-to-please voice of hers. For some reason it set the wolverine's teeth on edge.
"Has Mr. LaPeigne returned from the Meadowlands facility yet?" he asked her, in a voice as cold, hard, and flat as a slab of granite in January. Once again the fidgety opossum did not come back right away; she had caught his change of tone.
Finally she said, "Uhmmm…yes sir, but he left instructions…"
"Tell him I'm on my way up." Whitepaugh cut her off at the pass and then disconnected without waiting for an answer. He got up, flexed his claws for a second, and then turned and reached for his coat.
"Come on, Doctor, I need you with me."
"Yes, of course." She answered, needing no further persuasion. As they rode upstairs in the elevator, Seth Whitepaugh took the opportunity to study his fellow mustelid.
Ironically enough Jack LaPeigne had hired her over his objections…and it had been absolutely the right call, the wolverine now freely admitted. Dr. Madge Honeybadger had turned out to be an animal worth her weight in gold; no, make that platinum.
Like all members of the weasel family, honey badgers are often subjected to some ruthless stereotyping; in their case being pegged as a species with an insouciance bordering on insanity, 'Honey Badger Don't Care,' as the old meme goes. Unlike many another label however, this one was frequently worn with pride, (and it was also largely accurate.)
At first glance, Dr. Madge Honeybadger seemed an exception to the rule, what with her sometimes fretful demeanor. That had been Seth Whitepaugh's impression of her the first time they'd met…but now that he'd gotten to know her a little better, he felt otherwise. In her own way, she was the quintessence of her species. She never backed down, not for anyone, not even for HIM, and she never lost it in a crisis.
And there was another thing about honey badgers, something most other animals weren't aware of; they were also a highly intelligent species, possessing the largest brain capacity of any mustelid. As a result, they were great problem solvers; carefully examining a difficulty from every possible angle before settling on a solution. That was Madge Honeybadger to a T. If it hadn't been for then-Mayor Lionheart's constant interference, (and the fact that she'd been forced to work alone,) Seth Whitepaugh had no doubt that, given time, she'd eventually have figured out why those 15 missing predators had gone savage.
Except…
The wolverine frowned deeply at the thought; there was something else about honey badgers that a lot of other mammals didn't know; they were possessed of an almost unnatural immunity to snakebite venom. A cobra could bite a honey badger six times, and all they'd do is sleep it off. For that reason, at the time of her arrest, Dr. Honeybadger had not even begun to consider a toxin as the possible source of the Savage Predator Crisis.
The corners of Whitepaugh's mouth went down even further. And that brought up something he REALLY didn't like to think about. The honey badgers' immunity to snakebite venom also gave them a natural imperviousness to both Nighthowler and Morningmew. A rookie lab-tech had once accidentally stuck with Dr. Honeybadger with an infusion needle and given her enough C-Serum to make a bull elephant run amok. The effect had been no more than a bad case of the grumps—Whitepaugh had seen it with his own eyes. And by the next day, the good Doctor had been her old, restless self again.
But that wasn't the memory turning his frown into a scowl; it was something that went back even further.
Long before Madge Honeybadger had been brought on board with LPN Pharma, the company had been trying to crack the mystery of what made her species all but immune to Nighthowler toxin. And then—almost completely unwittingly—they'd succeeded; succeeded in spades and beyond their wildest dreams.
It should have been a moment of triumph. Instead the dream had turned quickly to a nightmare, triggering a chain of events that had yet to be resolved, even now.
"It could destroy everything," Jack LaPeigne's words were as clear in the wolverine's mind as the day he'd first heard them. He clenched his jaws and then his fist, refusing to succumb to the need for a shudder.
And then the elevator door slid open, and he was back in the here and now.
"About that lab tech," Dr, Honeybadger said, glancing sideways as they strolled down the carpeted corridor, in the direction of Jack LaPeigne's office.
Seth Whitepaugh knew immediately what she was getting at.
"Nooo, I won't recommend any disciplinary action; he was following a direct order from the CEO himself, after all." He turned and looked at her sharply, "However I do want him moved to another facility as quickly as you can arrange it—and as far away from Zootopia as possible."
Dr. Honeybadger almost smiled, "Not a problem, he's been requesting a transfer to our North Catolina research lab for nearly a month now." The near-smile faded, replaced by a pair of tight lips. "However, first I would suggest paying him a small bonus, and then giving him a very strong reminder of the terms of his non-disclosure agreement."
Now it was Whitepaugh who was nearly smiling. "An excellent suggestion Doctor, I approve," he said.
When they got to the end of the hallway, they found the usual crowd of supplicants gathered outside of Jack LaPeigne's office door. When they saw Seth Whitepaugh coming—with THAT expression on his face—they all quickly moved aside; one or two even flattened themselves against the wall. (Polly Walters looked like she was ready to roll over and 'play possum' at any second.)
Whitepaugh brushed past all of them and barged through the door without knocking; Dr. Honeybadger following closely in his wake.
The first thing he saw was the wastebasket—overflowing with empty candy wrappers, as anyone in the know might have expected.
Going savage, even a controlled savagery invariably caused the subject to burn up a lot of energy very quickly…with the result that he or she often came back down with their glucose level all out of whack. The newer infusion devices came equipped with a third reservoir for just this purpose, but—as Whitepaugh had already seen—Jack LaPeigne had declined to have his filled. Had he really been in that much of rush, the wolverine wondered, or had it simply been another manifestation of his lifelong phobia of needles?
He swiftly decided that it didn't matter; they had more important things to discuss right now.
Raising his eyes, he beheld the big bunny, seated at his desk and talking on his cell phone. Without looking at either Whitepaugh or Dr. Honeybadger, he waved at the chairs in front of his desk, indicating he'd speak to them when he was finished with his call.
Whitepaugh strode up to the desk, but didn't seat himself. Instead he viciously batted the cell phone out of his employer's paws. It flew across the room, hitting the wall with a loud crack and splintering the oakwood paneling.
Jack was instantly on his feet, raising his voice not even a tiny bit. "Whitepaugh, just what do you think you're doing?" He might just as well have asked the time of day.
"Submitting our resignations," the wolverine snarled, glancing sideways at Dr. Honeybadger. For a just a hint of a second, she looked completely bewildered, but then her face became as hard as his.
Jack's expression, on the other paw, never wavered in the slightest, cool and showing almost nothing. He sat down as his desk again, tapping his fingertips together.
"Let me guess; is this is about the infusion I gave myself earlier today?" He looked casually at each of his underlings as he spoke.
"Yes, exactly that," Whitepaugh answered, every bit as indifferently as his boss, (two could play that game.) "If you're going to make an end-run around me like that—especially now—then I can't do my job effectively …and so I might as well go look for work somewhere else."
An almost patronizing smile spread across the big bunny's face.
"Oh come on, Whitepaugh, you know perfectly well why you and Doctor Honeybadger were kept in the dark. You're ex-military; you understand the principle."
The big wolverine had to force himself not to wince. Yes, he was aware of the adage, 'Forgiveness is often easier to obtain than permission.' He should have been; he'd acted on it himself a few times—as Jack LaPeigne had rather indelicately just reminded him.
Then Dr. Honeybadger spoke up.
"Well that may be sir, but some of us aren't in such a forgiving mood." Her rejoinder prompted both Whitepaugh's and LaPeigne's brows to rise upwards; so she was familiar with the homily as well. "If you were one of our regular operatives," she went on, "you wouldn't have been just fired for what you did; you'd have been fired, blacklisted, and then slapped with a lawsuit, maybe even had charges filed. You violated nearly every safety procedure we have when you gave yourself that trial infusion. I understand that rank has its privileges, but there has to be a line drawn somewhere."
"A line you completely violated when you had yourself fitted with a device that has NO outside controls," Whitepaugh looked like he was going to spit on the floor, "and by way of forging my signature."
Jack leaped from his chair and slammed his paws on the desktop.
"THAT I won't apologize for, Whitepaugh; for forging your signature yes, but not for that giving the order to have my device kept off line. What if I hadn't done that and some outside party managed to get control of it? You know as well as I do that there's no such thing as a system that can't be hacked. I am not going to set myself up to go savage or have a panic attack at a critical moment."
"Then why have any outside controls at all?" Dr. Honeybadger countered, bitterly refusing to give ground.
"Because we can afford to have that happen to one or two of our field operatives," the big bunny shot back, "but not to me; if I get hit it's a decapitation attack." His lips stretched backwards and upwards in a high, righteous smirk. "And, by the bye, our regulars don't have to worry about getting a ransom note. 'Pay me $10 million dollars in crypto currency, or I'll give you everything in both reservoirs at once.'" His gaze abruptly hardened, zeroing in the wolverine next to her, "As a matter of fact, Whitepaugh, for that same reason, I want you to have the external controls removed from your infusion device …and I want it done A.S.A.P."
"That can't be accomplished without surgery," Dr. Honeybadger pointed out. LaPeigne only waved a paw.
"Then after the completion of Project Fire Triangle, but I want it DONE, is that understood?"
For a second, Seth Whitepaugh appeared dumfounded; it was something Jack LaPeigne had rarely seen and Dr. Honeybadger had never seen.
"Perhaps you didn't hear me just now," the wolverine snarled, curling back his lips to reveal his fangs, "I said…"
"Oh, give it up Whitepaugh; you're not quitting." Jack interrupted, looking half disdainful and half amused. He folded his arms, glancing briefly at the forlorn figure of his smart-phone, lying face down on the carpet. "If you'd REALLY intended to tender your resignation just now, you'd have aimed for my head, not my cell. So, spare me the melodrama—and that goes for you too, Doctor."
The two of them looked at each, nearly stunned. How the heck had this happened? They'd come in here ready to read Jack LaPeigne the riot act—and less than five minutes later, he was in complete control of the conversation.
But then his expression softened a little.
"All right, all right, you win." he said, lifting his paws as if in surrender, "I went over the line; you're right about that. So I'll submit myself to an immediate and full medical examination—right now, if you want." He said this while looking at Dr. Honeybadger.
"AND you let me drain the reservoirs," she growled, pointing at the big bunny's left side, "And then they don't get refilled again without my express approval."
"Agreed," Jack answered at once. He seemed eager to get this over with.
"Fine," Dr. Honeybadger fluffed up her lab coat and got up out of her chair. She was anything but satisfied, but seemed to know that this was all she was going to get from him. "I'll see you downstairs in 20 minutes."
"Make it an hour," Seth Whitepaugh said, "I have…something else to discuss with Mr. LaPeigne first." The look on his face said quite clearly that this was a matter for their ears only.
"Fine just make sure he shows up," Dr. Honeybadger growled. She went to the door and flung it open, slamming it behind her as she stalked out into the hallway.
Neither Jack, nor his Chief of Field Operations gave her any notice.
"So what is it, then?" the big bunny asked, as if the events of the last few minutes had never taken place.
Whitepaugh responded by finally sitting down and pulling out his cell phone.
"It concerns Project Fire Triangle," he said, turning the phone sideways and rapidly thumbing the screen, "The latest report from our contact in the ZPD just came in; I'm uploading it to your desktop now. I'd like you to take a look at it, and then I have a proposal to make."
He settled into his chair and waited while LaPeigne called up the file on his desk display. Immediately, he saw the big bunny's ears snap to attention.
"Well, well, well…seems the ZPD's a lot smarter than I gave them credit for." He peered at Whitepaugh over the top of the monitor. "Were any of these the next target?"
The wolverine answered with a non-committal flip of his paw.
"Mmmm, they were on the list—not now, of course—but none of them were primary targets." He tapped lightly at the back of the monitor with a finger-claw. "First of all, they're all quite popular with civilian crowd—including a few members of the police force. Even after hours, there's the possibility of collateral damage. Second, and even more important, they're a little too obvious a target; if I were the Red Pig, I'd be keeping a close watch on every single of them right now. But there's something else in that report you need to see before I make my proposal. It looks like we went a little bit overboard with the Interspecies Recycling fire."
LaPeigne studied the screen, leaning forward with his paws on the chair arms, and then frowned and thumped his foot.
"Yessss, I see what you mean; we should have only burned out the office…or maybe just taken out a few of the recycling barges."
Whitepaugh immediately shook his head.
"Not possible; the way that plant was set up, it was all or nothing. What we probably should have done was pick another target."
Jack settled back in his chair, polishing his fist with his paw.
"Water under the bridge, Whitepaugh; nothing we can do about that now."
"No," the wolverine agreed, "Except learn from it. Next time we'll keep things on a somewhat more even level…and not make the operation quite so complicated; errr, you saw that entry as well?"
"I did," the big bunny answered with his lips folding inward, "For someone who hasn't been around Mr. Big in more than ten years, that fox has some pretty good insights, I must say." An odd, wicked smile flitted across his face just then, as if something deliciously devilish had occurred to him.
And then it was gone and he was once more all business. "But you didn't just bring this report to my attention for the purpose of review, am I right?"
"You are correct, sir," Whitepaugh answered, leaning forward with an arm across his knee. "I have an idea that I want to put forward; for the Fire Triangle Project to be successful, it's important that both the ZPD and the ZFD appear powerless to stop what's happening. Therefore, what I want to do is this…"
As the wolverine sketched out his proposition, Jack LaPeigne's face ran the gamut of emotions; uncertainty, skepticism, excitement, anxiety…and there was that malignant smirk again, there for only a couple of seconds. Several times his nose was seen to twitch and once or twice, he thumped his foot again.
Finally, he said, "It sounds like a plan, but I'm not entirely certain that it's worth the risk. Can you abort the op, if the ZPD begins to show a few too many smarts again? You'll need to able to pull the plug right up until the last minute; otherwise I can't give the green light on this."
"We can do that," Whitepaugh answered confidently, having anticipated this condition, "And even if we should have to abort, it still won't look good for the ZPD; they'll have wasted a lot of time and resources on a goose chase—and you can bet that John Q. Average-Mammal won't like that very much."
"In that case, go ahead," the big bunny answered and then stood up and pushed back his chair. And now, if you'll excuse me, I believe the good Doctor is likely becoming impatient."
