Chapter 8
"Welcome," said the wildebeest again. "Would you like to say a few words?"
Nick and Judy looked blank. "No?" said Nick tentatively. "I mean, we just wanted to ask a few questions-"
"Splendid! So do we," said the wildebeest. He walked from the podium towards Nick and Judy. "I am Father Gneumann. This is a place of contemplation, of peace. And for seekers after truth, it is a place of answers. So let us have the questions, and see if we can find the answers together." He stopped in front of Nick and Judy and watched them expectantly.
Judy nodded. "Very well. Who is Prometheus?"
Beside her, Nick breathed in sharply. "Wow, right to the point, huh? You sure that's wise, Carrots?" he asked quietly.
She shrugged slightly. "What about this plan was wise to begin with, Nick?"
Gneumann showed no reaction to the name, though she had the impression he was carefully keeping his face blank. "My brothers and sisters," he said, raising his voice. "These two seekers after truth wish to know of Prometheus."
A tiger took a step toward them and raised her hand eagerly. "I know, Father!"
"I think we all know," muttered someone behind her.
Nick stared at them. "You do?"
"Of course," said the tiger indignantly. "He was a Titan, one of the progenitors of the ancient Greek gods. He stole fire from the gods, as well as the arts of farming and civilization, and gave them to humanity."
"Oh," said Nick, disappointed. "We were hoping for someone who would be somewhat less than thousands of years old, and a whole lot less mythical."
Judy, however, appeared suddenly intrigued. "But why is Prometheus so well known to the church?"
It was Gneumann who answered. "Even in the errors of the elders- for naturally there were no 'gods' above mankind- we can find fragments of truth. Do you not see the connection?"
"Fire and other arts of civilization," said Nick slowly, as it began to dawn on him. "It's like how we were given the gift of intelligence."
"A gift- and a curse. There was another myth of ancient humanity similar to the story of Prometheus," said the wildebeest gravely. "The garden of Eden."
Nick shrugged. "Hadn't heard that one."
"Once, the story goes, man was innocent. He lived without toil and without fear," said the wildebeest. "Only one thing was forbidden to him- he could not eat of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. For if he did, said the god in this myth, then he would surely die."
Nick nodded. "So naturally he ate of the tree."
"How did you know?" asked Gneumann, looking at him narrowly.
"The story would be pretty pointless otherwise, wouldn't it?"
"Much like man, we mammals were once innocent, acting only according to our natures," said the wildebeest. "But man gave us the gift of sapience, the ability to see beyond our immediate needs and fears to something greater. And in that gift is our curse, for in allowing greater acts of good, there was also a greater ability to do evil. And it is evil that we allow ourselves to do willingly, knowing the consequences of our actions."
"So the lion who ate of the flesh of the lamb would know he had murdered," said the tiger who had spoken before. Her voice was sad. "And be marked by it forevermore."
"Not that prey are immune to this sin," said Father Gneumann. "For all have sinned and come short of the glory of the gods."
"So the gift of knowledge of good and evil- you think it also made us sinful?" Judy was trying to wrap her head around this philosophy. It made a sort of sense, but was- strange. She wasn't used to thinking of intelligence as a negative.
"Say instead it gave us our free will, to do evil or good as we pleased," said Gneumann. "And without that will, that knowledge of what we were doing, there is neither evil nor good, but merely survival or, well, not."
Nick blinked. "Wow, that's kind of heavy for this early in the morning."
"The words of the gods are not to be taken lightly," said Gneumann complacently. "Now, I wonder if we can ask you a question?"
Judy shrugged. Maybe they could learn something useful from what the church wanted to know. "I can't promise I know the answer, but you are free to ask."
"Tell us of the Saint Zacharias," said Gneumann. All around, the assembled mammals leaned forward.
Nick and Judy shared a look. "Well, he's...different."
"How so?" asked Gneumann impatiently. "Perhaps you can sense the light of his wisdom when he speaks?"
Nick stared at the wildebeest incredulously. "Not that I've noticed, no," he managed to say. "Usually, when he speaks, he's more, um, sarcastic than wise."
Father Gneumann nodded sagely. "To the foolish, the words of the wise may well be delivered with irony. For the ways of the foolish are often humorous to those who see farther."
"That's one way of looking at it," muttered Nick. "For instance, this converstation is quickly becoming hilarious."
"What else can you say about him?"
"He's arrogant."
"Aware of his own superiority to our mere mammal selves," reinterpreted Gneumann gravely. "And?"
"Sneaky."
"Clever in the ways of the world and in seeing that the Will of Nature is done."
Nick was getting a bit annoyed now. "And lazy. Very, very lazy."
Gneumann hesitated. "Yeah, try to spin that," said Nick under his breath.
"He preserves his energy to better use his resources," said Gneumann finally.
Nick sighed.
"He's a person," said Judy in exasperation. "In some ways, he's better than others. In other ways, he's worse."
"In many ways, he's much, much worse," added Nick. There was a low grumble in the room at these words. Judy gave him a worried glare. "What?"
"Look," said Judy quickly. "Why are you so interested in him, anyway? There've been lots of humans on Terra since we came into contact with the humans again."
In answer, Gneumann opened the Libris Naturae. "Look here," he said, holding it out to the bunny, his finger showing a place in the text.
Judy looked at Nick, then leaned over to read the indicated words. "And he shall come again, giver of wisdom, bringer of gifts, when the gods return. He shall walk among the saints and the sinners of the world of mammals, and his vengeance to the guilty will be as swift as his comfort to the afflicted. And when he has judged the world, he shall at last bring peace, to both Hunters and Prey. There shall be no more sin, nor death, but all shall live in harmony under the rule of the true gods."
Judy's eyes moved slowly to Gneumann, who closed the book. "You wish to know who Prometheus is, Judy Hopps and Nicholas Wilde?"
The wildebeest held up the book. "Then look to him whom you are privileged to call friend. The most holy Zacharias Hunter, who has stood up for us to those of the godhood who would see us destroyed. Who has brought vengeance to the wicked and comfort to the afflicted. He who shall at last give us peace."
He set down the book with an air of finality, the heavy thump echoing in the suddenly silent room. "It is written."
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"So tell me about Hunter," said Bogo.
Friedkin and he, along with several other members of the academy staff, were having their usual monthly meeting. Friedkin exchanged nervous looks with the other academy officers.
"He's doing extremely well in the academics," said the polar bear finally. "He has a knack for grasping law and, naturally, understands how it works on a practical basis."
"Good tactical and driving skills," noted the driving instructor. "Although with a tendency for unorthodox tactics."
"Such as?" said Bogo. He seemed vaguely pleased, likely because he wasn't having to deal with the aftermath of Hunter's antics. At least not directly.
"Room clearance," murmured Ajuagar. "My God, room clearance."
Bogo raised an eyebrow at Friedkin. "He suggested the use of grenades for a scenario," said Friedkin.
"That doesn't sound so bad-"
"And when we vetoed it, he made his own."
Bogo gave her a level look. "Non-lethal?"
She looked surprised. "Of course. I mean, I don't know him as well as you do, chief, but even Hunter wouldn't train with lethal home-made grenades."
"You're right, major," said Bogo. "You don't know him as well as I do."
The instructors all gave each other uneasy looks. "Well, anyway, he just used shaving cream and rigged them to explode when thrown," said Friedkin. "Officer Furrington was covered in foam."
"Then he threatened to shave me," said Furrington angrily. "I gave him three laps for that one."
"That's all?" said Bogo, surprised. At their confused looks, he explained. "Humans have much higher rates of endurance than most other mammals. Three laps on our track is probably a cakewalk, even for an older human like Hunter."
Friedkin frowned. "No, sir, I did not know that."
"I thought you knew." Judging by her expression, Bogo suspected that Hunter was about to have a much harsher punishment regimen. "I suggest you read up on human capabilities, major. Though I am told that most aren't much like our Cadet Hunter."
"Thank God for that," said Furrington fervently.
"The main problem with Hunter is his attitude," said Friedkin. "He's taking the whole thing as a joke."
"I see. And how have you dealt with that?"
She looked puzzled. "The usual way, chief. Lots and lots of shouting. Intimidation. I mean, what else am I supposed to do? I want him to succeed, chief. There's a good officer inside him, I can feel it."
"Deep, deep inside," muttered Ajuagar. "Like, under about twenty feet of sarcasm and a hundred feet of 'I don't give a damn'."
"He was a cop for a long time," pointed out Bogo. "And he really does care about this job. I'm not saying you should let him get away with his shenanigans, but- look, you worked the street for a long time, major. How much would someone shouting at you work?"
She blinked. "Not much. That's pretty much par for the course."
"Exactly. So how would you get through to yourself?"
"Hunter is not like me," she protested. "He's-" she hesitated, trying to describe him, "-bitter."
"Uh-huh. I know that. And despite his arrogance, he really does blame himself for what he went through." Bogo stood. "It's up to you to break through that shell of arrogance he's built up around himself."
The major stood as well. "Sir, quite frankly, is he really worth the trouble?"
The chief pointed at her. "That's what he's here for us to find out. I may not be able to fire him, but I'll have him counting cars at the impound lot if he's as broken as he seems to be." He turned to leave, but paused. "Oh, and one more thing, major. I know we usually keep the cadets here over the weekend, but the Terran Council wants him present when the new human delegation arrives." He held up his paws. "Don't ask me why. So you might want to modify the PT regimen for him before then."
She sighed. "Fine. I'll try not to tire him out too much."
Bogo looked at her, shocked. "No, that's not what I'm saying at all. An exhausted Hunter is a Hunter less likely to cause an interstellar incident. Keep him busy- if he sleeps through the whole thing we'll call it a win."
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Hunter looked both ways and surreptitiously transferred a couple more of the dinner forks from the cafeteria to his pocket. As far as he could tell, no one had seen him. The forks were followed by a couple of butter knives.
Except for his ever-present shadow, of course. "Why are you stealing silverware?" stage-whispered Tibbs.
"Keep it down, will you? We're doing the Tundratown obstacle course after this, you know."
"So?"
"Watch and learn, rook- I mean, cadet." He sauntered casually out of the cafeteria, sketching a salute to Officer Furrington, who was watching the cadets narrowly. "You don't have to follow me everywhere, Tibbs. I can't possibly be that interesting."
"But- you're the only human I've ever seen!"
"So? Surely there's a bunch of mammals you haven't seen before. Like, I don't know, capybaras."
"What's a capybara?"
"It's a large rodent, believed to have originated in the Amazonian continent. Likes jungles and marsh." He and Tibbs walked across the Academy grounds towards the obstacle courses on the far east side of the property.
The warthog nodded. "Huh. How do you know about them? I don't think I've ever seen one."
"It's a long story," replied Hunter absently. They had just joined the rest of the cadets who were standing in a clump near the Tundratown. Hunter nodded to McHorn in a friendly manner, getting a disdainful look in reply. "Kinda like why McHorn there doesn't like me. I got his uncle demoted."
"What? How?"
"I cunningly blocked his uncle's fist with my stomach," said Hunter cheerfully. "Totally worth it."
"Hunter!" said Eland, spotting him. "You're not late!"
"Nope. Thought I'd get here early," he said, looking over the obstacle course with a critical eye- particularly the icy wall at one end. "Try and turn over a new leaf."
"Uh-huh," said Eland skeptically. "What are you up to, Hunter?"
"What makes you think I'm up to anything?"
"Because every time I see you, you're up to something. I can see you, therefore you are up to something. QED."
"QED?" asked Tibbs curiously.
"It's Latin for 'see how clever I am'," said Hunter. Eland frowned.
"No, it's not-"
Before she could continue, Friedkin's voice made the cadets jump. "Ten-hut! In formation, now!"
The cadets rushed to get into something approximating a proper formation and into something approximating attention. The polar bear instructor- who had perfected the art, it seemed, of sneaking up on a group of nervous cadets in a nearly open field- watched them until it seemed they were in some kind of order. Hunter received several particularly suspicious glances. He tried his best to look innocent, which made her frown even more fiercely at him. "The following course is designed to mimic the conditions you may face in Tundratown. Have you ever been in Tundratown, Cadet Hunter?"
"Yes, ma'am!" he said snappily. "I once punted a raccoon into a trash can outside a bar there while drunk!"
Friedkin opened her mouth, then closed it again, clearly at a loss for words. "Anyway," she finally managed to say. "The predominant feature of Tundratown is, as you may expect, ice. So, as you can see, we have an obstacle course set up, which includes a frigid ice wall! Cadet Eland, you're up first!"
The cadets took turns, though most caught up as they slipped and skidded across the ice. Taking a deep breath, Friedkin called out,"Hunter! You're up! And if you fall asleep on my obstacle course again, you're dead!" Her eyes were locked resolutely on the slippery progress of her cadets.
Hunter jumped up to his feet, where he had been fiddling with his shoes for some reason. "Yes, ma'am!" Wobbling slightly, he jumped onto the obstacle course.
Where most of the other mammals- except for the ones with very large feet, like McHorn, and some of the ones otherwise designed for the conditions- were still floundering, Hunter put his arms behind his back and pushed off with a foot, sliding effortlessly- if a bit bumpily across the ice. The polar bear gaped at him. "What- how-"
He held up a foot, showing where he had embedded a butter knife into the sole of his shoe. "Field expedient ice skates," he explained cheerfully. With a wave, he skated off down the course.
"You've still got the wall!" shouted Friedkin, who sounded almost- impressed? Hunter shook his head as he flashed past McHorn. No, had to be his imagination.
He pulled the forks he had stolen from his pockets as he approached the wall. Picking up speed, he slammed hard into the icy wall, forks held out in front of him. They buried themselves deep into the ice.
Pausing only to yank the butter knives from his sneakers, he grabbed his makeshift handholds and pulled himself up until he was halfway over the wall. He grinned over his shoulder at Friedkin. "Dead? Don't you know what they say? Old cops never die." He pulled another fork from his pocket and stabbed it into the ice, using it to yank himself over the top of the wall. He stumbled a bit as he landed, but managed to keep his feet. He looked at Friedkin again. "They just find a way." He made a little bow.
It was at that moment that Tibbs made it over the top as well and lost his balance coming over. He fell right on top of Hunter, flattening him to the cold, hard ice below.
Tibbs immediately jumped up. "Woo! I made it!" He hesitated as he looked down. "Oh, sorry, Hunter."
"Oh, it's okay," said Hunter. He groaned as he picked himself up. "I haven't had a warthog fall on me in a long time."
"You've had it happen before?"
"Or ever. I meant ever."
"Hunter!" Friedkin walked over, glaring down at him. "My office! Now!"
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Hunter found himself in a familiar position. Standing in front of a desk, with someone in authority frowning at him. At least he had gotten somewhat used to it.
The most important thing was not to be the first to break the silence. Whoever spoke first, paradoxically, seemed to give up the initiative.
"Why are you here?" asked Friedkin abruptly.
That was a bit quicker than usual. The question, however, was a familiar one. "To protect and serve the fine citizens of-"
"No, Hunter. I don't want the academy-approved answer, which I notice you've given for once in your time here. I mean here at the police academy."
He frowned. "I was ordered to come here by Chief Bogo."
"Yes," she said, exasperated. "But you could have refused."
"Refused an order? Me? Never." Hunter affected a wounded tone. "I am always very attentive to orders."
"Really," said Friedkin flatly.
"Almost always." She continued to stare at him. "A majority of the time."
"Since you've been here," she said, still watching him, "you've done everything you can to undermine our authority. You've been disrespectful, discourteous, and-" she hesitated.
"Disaffected?" supplied Hunter. "Disagreeable? Dismissed?"
She nodded along as he spoke but frowned at the last word. "Dismissed?"
"Yes, ma'am!" Hunter saluted and turned to walk out of the door.
"Stop!" she shouted. With a sigh, he turned around to see the major giving him Supervisor Look Number Thirty-Seven. The "I'm really angry at you but also found that last antic hilarious" one. "What I'm getting at," she said, clearly trying to hide a smile, "is that you could have taken retirement. After the Raid, the city would have been happy to give you a nice severance package, a decent retirement fund. All you had to do was take it."
He shrugged, though inwardly he was starting to get annoyed. It wasn't any of her business why he was still here. "I've still got work to do," he said.
"Like what?" she asked, genuine curiosity in her voice.
Hunter didn't answer, but met her eyes. Slowly, Friedkin nodded.
She stood up. "Hunter, there's a lot of bad reasons to be a cop. Vengeance is at the top of the list."
"Don't understand you, major," said Hunter stolidly.
"I read your file, of course. You've been through a lot. A lot was done to you." She walked around the desk and leaned back against it in front of him. "A lot was done to those you love."
"If you read my file, you'd understand why I'm here," said Hunter, between clenched teeth. "I go through this farce, then I get back on the streets where I belong."
"Frankly, Hunter, you belong in an asylum," said Friedkin dryly. More seriously, she went on. "But as that stunt you pulled showed, you're a damned resourceful mammal when you put your mind to it. I can see why the chief doesn't really want to lose you."
Hunter's eyes widened in surprise. "He doesn't?"
"Hunter, if it hadn't been for you, Hopps, Wilde, and Tavi, a lot of innocent mammals would have died. The department could use a good cop with the attributes you have. A good cop," she emphasized.
That did it. "I was a damned good cop for twenty-plus years, major," snapped Hunter. "This is nothing more than an insult. And fine, I have to put up with it so I can go back to doing my job, so I will. But don't expect me to act like a damned wide-eyed cadet who needs to be taught which end of the gun to point at the bad guy!"
Friedkin said nothing, but after a moment turned around and picked up a piece of paper that was lying loose on her desk. "Rule Four," she read from the paper. "If you're a cop and not learning, you're either dead or will be."
Hunter stared at her. "Someone wrote those down?"
"Yep. Judy Hopps, in fact. You know, when she first came here, no one thought she'd make it. We generally didn't take small mammals into the police, for what I suspect are obvious reasons."
Hunter didn't say anything, just shrugged.
"She failed, Hunter. Repeatedly and often. So have you, for the most part. But the difference is, she was trying." Friedkin poked him in the chest. "She gave it her all. She never gave up."
"I've been through this all before," began Hunter, a little annoyed. "Having to do it again-"
"Is the price you pay for learning," said Friedkin. "We're cops, Hunter. We do the same thing over, and over, and over, and the next day we do it again. You know that."
"Yeah, but-"
"And everytime we do, we learn something new." She pointed to the paper. "Or we're dead."
Hunter opened his mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say.
She smiled at him, a bit sadly. "Are you dead, Mr. Hunter? Or are you going to- what was it you said? Find a way?"
He just frowned, thinking.
After waiting a moment for an answer, she sighed. "Dismissed, cadet."
The human gave her one more unreadable look, then slowly saluted before leaving.
Author's Note: The bit with the ice skates is cartoon logic, I'll admit. It could theoretically work, but I sure as hell wouldn't try it. Pretty sure you'd break your ankle, and you'd have to have just the right sort of tread on your sneakers to wedge in the knife correctly. Still, it was an amusing image so I kept it.
Oh, by the way, Hunter's "Old cops never die..." is a- what would you call it? Parody?- of a famous quote by General MacArthur- "Old soldiers never die. They just fade away."
