Savanna Central, the heart of Zootopian Prospect, was a small facility devoted entirely to the administrative side of the colony's activities. Four floors tall, structured like a pyramid and propped on a series of twenty-inch thick pillars, it towered over the other sectors like a castle. On the outside, it looked like a symmetrical glacier, devoid of color and speckled with oblong windows tinted to keep out the worst of the sunlight. On the inside, the otherwise monotonous hallways and offices were like a local art gallery. Each room displayed at least three photo prints, if not more, most of which displayed the beauty of Rhamnusia's flora and fauna in a variety of vivid colors. Upon taking up his permanent post as the colony's administrator, Horace Hornbull took one look at the bland, repetitious workspace and put out a massive order for all the photographs that had been produced by the colony's science and exploration divisions. Within a week the workplace had enough color and beauty to stimulate the minds of his employees, and within a month productivity had almost doubled.

Hornbull's office had five prints, two prints for the wall where the door was situated, the other three prints for the rest. Each one displayed a different species of insect; most of them were as small as buttons, but the print behind Hornbull's desk displayed a Dolich Wasp, an amber bug as big as cheetah's paw. If you didn't see its small black head up close, it was a pretty if intimidating creature with a sting that burned like fire but no more lethal than a humble bumble bee.

With his boss out all day cozying up to the newcomers from the Company, Assistant Administrator Benjamin Clawhauser had the entire top floor to himself. It was the smallest section of the building, containing only five rooms, but it was also the most artistic. On this floor Hornbull had included paintings and wood-carved furniture along with the prints, which he claimed had come straight from his old house back on Earth, passed down through generations all the way from the nineteenth century. It didn't quite match the metallic paneled white walls and grated floors.

A slim feline with spotted golden fur, Clawhauser opened the door to Hornbull's office without knocking, danced across the square shaped room and left a report on the desk in paper form; with the rash of sabotage acts plaguing the colony, his boss was worried about losing computer files. He glanced at the painted wasp behind the faux leather desk chair, as he always did when entering this office.

"… I'll keep on making these new mistakes…" He sang the lyrics to Try Everything with a grin on his face, almost in tune with the song that graced his ears through the music player in his shirt pocket. Normally he'd be forced to work in silence, but today he was taking full advantage of Hornbull's absence. The report was done, he had three hours left to kill, and he was going to spend those three hours finishing off the Gazelle biography that awaited him in his own office next door. He hated cliffhangers, and the last chapter he'd read had a real doozy.

Clawhauser was almost out the door when he heard a beeping sound. With a sigh he turned off his music, returned to the desk and pressed a button. "This is the Administrator's office."

It was Chief Engineer Renee Park speaking. "Hey, Clawhauser. Where's the boss?"

"He's out for the day. Do you want me to pass a message?"

"Shit, he picked a hell of a time for it. We've lost two more engineers outside the border of Zootopian Prospect."

Clawhauser's heart sank. "Aw jeez. Who?"

"Tom Tuskor and Izumi Nishimura, Senior Engineers for the Orb Monitoring System. They went out to fix a minor problem with Sensor 12, but we lost contact."

"You reported this to the marines, right?"

"Bogo's sent out a team to look for them, and I sent some guys, too. Sensor 12 is the farthest from the colony, and you know how communications can get funky the farther you get. Hopefully they just wandered out of range."

Clawhauser thought of the cliffhanger in his book, and then made a choice. "Okay. I'll inform Hornbull and be there straight away."

"Clawhauser, that really isn't necessary."

"Really, I insist on being there. Hornbull will probably tell me to go anyway. Sensor 12, right?"

"Yeah. Take Number 17 from the main road, you can't miss it."

Hornbull preferred to carry his own headset when not in his office, so it was quick and easy for Clawhauser to send the message through the comms system in his own office. Hornbull was unhappy about the situation, but hopeful that they'd just wandered out of range of communication. Clawhauser's request to go to the site was granted, so long as he started writing his report as soon as he got back. He made sure both his and Hornbull's computers were secure, locked up the offices and left, returning to his apartment in the residential sector called Sahara Square. He changed out his blue dress shirt and black pants and into a thin t-shirt and tight-fitting pants, perfect for slipping into exploration gear.

He had lived on Zootopian Prospect for seven years. He'd explored half the planet and dived into its waters two-dozen times, but his future other half would never let him hear the end of it if he didn't go the extra mile in protecting himself. For that reason, he also picked up his VP70 pistol and slipped it in his holster, slipped the jacket over his holster and set out for the Car Wash.

He radioed the mammals who manned the gate on his way, meaning that a red ATV NR8, a small two-seated vehicle with a caged frame, was waiting for him when he got there. After one minute of decontamination he was issued his khaki explorer gear, which included a bag pack, a padded jacket, thick pants and protective boots. Then the gate opened, and he was on his way.

He drove for less than an hour, tucking into his donut ration during the journey, and spotted the top of the structure above the treeline ten minutes before he arrived at the base. Two marines and two engineers were there, along with the M577 Armored Personnel Carrier they'd used to get to the site.

Right next to the base of the sensor was the ATV Tuskor and Nishimura had driven. There was no sign of the boar or the wolf.

Clawhauser swallowed down the last donut and walked over. The marines spotted the feline, recognized him, and sent the only prey mammal in the small group to greet him.

"Who the hell are you?" One of the engineers, a hippo carrying a sturdy toolbox, asked him with a frown.

Benjamin responded calmly, having learned that being overly cheerful can be annoying to some mammals. "Clawhauser, Assistant Administrator. I heard about Tuskor and Nishumura and came straight over. Thought I'd see if there's anything I can do to help."

The hippo scowled. "How about you stay out of our way and go back to pushing donuts."

The caribou who'd been approaching Clawhauser stopped and spun round. The hippo blinked, taken aback by the intensity of the glare Private Carr was sending his way. His companion, a Philippine Pangolin whose nametag read Ulan Agbayani, hissed, "Barry, shut the fuck up! Sorry, sir, we weren't expecting anyone from Administration to show up."

"It's fine, really." Clawhauser smiled assuredly. "And never mind the 'sir,' just Clawhauser will do. Or Ben, if you're feeling really friendly."

Agbayani smiled back, relieved. "Thanks. Sorry. We're just waiting for these guys to finish searching the area so we can get started."

Clawhauser crossed his arms, which were a little tricky to hold in place in his protective coat. "Any idea what happened to the first two engineers?"

"No idea. Their vehicle's over there, but there's no sign of them. They didn't even start working."

"Okay. Unless there's anything else I can do, I think I'll just wait here until the marines finish the search. Hornbull will want to know what's going on."

"Quiet." Corporal Hayes, a black cow who specialized in using the smart gun even though she wasn't carrying one currently, held up a hoof and listened to her headset.

Clawhauser held his breath.

"Repeat that, Private… Say that again… Goddamn static… Good. Damn good. Bring them back here straight away. I said bring them back right away." She lowered her hoof, cursed the static again, and turned to the others. "We found them. Seems they went out of range looking for a component that fell off the top of the structure."

"That'll be the solar radiation sensor. The one that wasn't responding." Agbayani said.

Benjamin swallowed uneasily "Do they think it was…"

"They don't think it's foul play this time." Hayes said. "Remember that storm the night before last? They reckon the sensor got blown off."

Barry the hippo spoke as the tension in the clearing evaporated, rummaging through his toolbox. "Good thing we're here after all, 'cos putting that thing back in place will take more than two mammals. It'll take about thirty-six hours max for the four of us to fix the damage, haul it back up to the top, and reinstall the device."

"Park is gonna kill them." Agbayani said simply. "If comms weren't so spotty over here, I'd call her myself just to hear her flip her shit."

"I'll call her for you." Clawhauser said. "I guess I'm not really needed here, so I'll head back. Contact me if you need any replacement parts delivered."

"We'll stay here and keep an eye on the workers. Take care, Clawhauser." Hayes said.

Benjamin tipped his cap and started back toward his ATV. As he climbed back into the seat within the caged frame, his jet-black ears overhead Agbayani whisper furiously to Barry.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Don't you know who that is?"

Barry's response what lost to the growl of the ATV's engine.


In space, there was no air for sound waves to pass through, and yet the roar of the dropship's engines seemed to come from everywhere, inside and outside. Rochewool and Cudson tried and failed to appear unfazed by the rattling sensation of the dropship plummeting into the abyss, their closed eyes and tight grips betraying their terror. The colonial marines were a different matter, either showing no emotion or in Fangmeyer's case, treating the ride like the Tower of Terror without the associated screaming. The lurch in Judy's stomach still lingered even as the ship tilted forward mid-plunge to face the direction of its destination, and the engines kicked into full gear to alter the vessel's course. She could feel the inertial force pressing her painlessly into the side of her seat and harness, and she saw the same thing happening to Private Nick Wilde and the other passengers.

What Judy wouldn't give to experience this on a regular basis. If she lived in another world, where recoil meant nothing to a tiny bunny rabbit, she would be.

Twenty seconds after the drop, artificial gravity was activated, and the dropship became as comfortable as economy class on an earth-based airship. Wolford informed them of the estimated travel time, three hours max, and the harnesses unlocked themselves, though Cudson refused to let go of his. Judy pushed her harness up and crossed her legs on the over-sized seat, saying nothing as she continued to take in this incredible once in a lifetime experience. She listened to the engines. She breathed the cold, stale air. She noticed that Wilde had slipped into a nap, the harness keeping him from falling out his seat. The other marines appeared to have started some sort of rock-paper-scissors tournament. The Vidar crew slowly relaxed in their seats, though they too kept their harnesses in place.

More than two hours into the journey, Judy's daydream of combat drops in the UD-4 with a pulse rifle in paw were interrupted by a yawn coming from Wilde as he awoke. His bright green eyes blinked open and suddenly met her own.

"So… how many drops have you done?" Judy asked. She didn't realize that she'd stared in his direction for the entirety of her daydream.

Wilde rubbed his green eyes. "Twenty. On the UD-4."

Judy felt a painful twinge in her heart. "And on this one?"

"Three. We've never used this ship for combat drops, if you're wondering why."

Judy glanced again at her surroundings, wishing that this vessel had windows. For Wilde, this bumpy ride was no different than a public transport tram, but for her, it was once in a lifetime. "We've been flying for about two hours. Is the flight time usually this long?"

Wilde shook his head. He didn't seem to mind the interrogation. "Typically, the Avellanos is in orbit when we make the drop, so we're planet-side in minutes. But Mane doesn't want to leave the Vidar unprotected." Wilde raised his harness and slouched in his seat. This fox was starting to look like the lazy sort, the sort that didn't like to work unless they had absolutely no choice in the matter. Judy held back her harsh judgement. He was probably just laid back.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for some time. Judy occasionally took an interest in what their fellow passengers were doing; Rochewool was typing in a PDA, likely preparing his own report of the incident. Cudson had finally relaxed, and now looked as bored as the marines did. For the most part, however, she kept her attention on Wilde. She kept imagining him holding that flamethrower, which would weigh a ton for a bunny. The black tips of his ears barely passed Fangmeyer's knees.

So how the holy heck did he make it into the Corps?

Wolford reported visual contact with Rhamnusia, and ten minutes later, Wilde spoke up.

"Can I ask you a question, now?"

"Shoot. Figurately, obviously."

"What exactly is it you do? On that floating aspirin?"

"It's a TCL." Judy punctuated every letter of the acronym. It was hard to like him, and she knew that was wrong. So far, he'd done nothing to her. "Transferrable Crime Laboratory. The Company designed it to solve the problem of major crime on remote colonies such as yours. Murders, theft, accidents, that sort of thing."

"And you manage it all by yourself?" Wilde cocked his head.

Judy understood his skepticism, but it annoyed her all the same. "It manages itself, mostly. I just collect the evidence and take it back to the lab. Minerva does the rest."

"Minerva?"

"State of the art artificial intelligence. One of the only three in existence."

"Really? Only three?"

"Technologically she's the equivalent of the APOLLO systems that currently run Company-owned space stations like Sevastopol and Roarcadia."

The fox whistled. "Talk about sparing no expense."

"Tell me about it. She has to handle drug analysis, trace evidence, toxicology, geology, linguistics, communication, data transferal to and from the major crime lab back on Earth…"

"Carrots, you're boasting."

Judy stopped herself, embarrassed and irritated at the interruption. "Sorry."

"Nah, it's okay. At least now I know why Mane and Rochewool really wanna that tub safe. We're definitely gonna need it."

Judy noticed a shadow pass over his face. In fact, his face had fallen when she'd mentioned the sort of crimes the TCL dealt with.

"Wilde? Is there something I need to know before we land?"

"Sorry. You'll have to wait 'til you meet the Commander. He'll leave nothing out, I promise."

Judy reluctantly nodded, just as Wolford gave the order for everyone to return to their seats and hold still as the harnesses locked back in place.

"Commencing reentry. Hang on tight, we're about to hit some turbulence."

Sure enough, the dropship started to rumble in the same manner it had when it had begun its journey. Judy's stomach kept bouncing up and down, making it hard for her to think over what Wilde had said. Five minutes later, the ride smoothened once more. Judy felt the slightest of jolts, and then the dropship was still, and the engines slowly fell quiet.

It was over.

Judy sighed inwardly as the harnesses unlocked once more, and the door lowered. The journey had been great while it lasted, and she'd likely never set foot on a vessel like this again. It was a bittersweet feeling.

"Well then, Hopps." Wilde said, a smooth smile back on his long muzzle. "Welcome to Zootopian Prospect."