Hello everyone! I am posting this a day early as I will be traveling this weekend. I hope you enjoy!
Thank you to all of those who read and reviewed the last chapter, know that I have read each one and have replied to all those I could. I am glad you are all enjoying it.
I don't own any Disney character.
His name was John Gibbon.
That was what he told her.
Though if he were honest with himself, he regretted that lie. It was strange to him, having second thoughts over such a little thing. Something that was so necessary. He never had any other choice. He would never have told them his real name, nor the alias he used with Koslov. Doing either would simply put all of them at risk, and he wanted to lay low. Even so, despite how he justified it to himself, he was wracked by pangs of guilt he did not understand.
She had cried that day in front of him. Reached out desperately for something, anything to hold on to and he had obliged, in the process giving her a small glimpse into his own vulnerability, one which he hadn't really intended. The girlfriend obsessed with poetry had been real, and The Journey was the only poem he could remember. All his life he had been told he was just a fox, as if just being a fox was some sort of sad affliction. 'You're just a fox after all, real shame.' All those voices, all those mammals holding on to him. He had been trapped, by his friends, by his neighborhood, by his life. All those around him having fallen for the lie that being a predator made you less than. So he ran from it all, from his friends, from his poetry obsessed girlfriend who had talent, real talent, and dreams, but would never leave their neighborhood, and never achieve them. He ran from his foster family, who tried so hard for all the orphaned mammals they took care of. He ran from all of it, all of them, everything that had been his life up to that point.
He had joined the military, a means of escape for him, just like it was for so many others. Nick had done well, always a good student despite his trying circumstances, he had been given options. He was barred from some jobs of course, though not because he was a predator, or a fox, or anything like that. No, it was his small stature that barred him from being infantry for instance, the typical combat load and firearm being much too heavy for him to carry comfortably. That had suited him just fine, he was never much with a gun anyway, and he never desired to kill anyone. His placement officer had assured him that someone with his scores would be wasted there anyway. He was thinking mammal, he had been told, and the infantry weren't paid to think. So he had ended up in Signals and Intelligence; a position in which he quickly distinguished himself and somehow caught the interest of a world which he had never imagined.
He and Judy weren't so different, really. Those same voices were clawing at her even as he lay there in her burrow. They came from different quarters probably, and certainly with different intentions, but the effect was the same. She stayed around and coasted, miserable, but gritting her teeth and bearing it for her family. She wanted to be a cop? Why not let her try? It probably wouldn't work out, the prospect of a rabbit cop in Zootopia was a bit ridiculous after all. How the hell could she take down a perp more than twice her size? Like a wolf, or sheep, not to mention something like an elephant. Yes, it was a reach, but at least she could try, where was the harm in that? In his estimation it was far worse to live the rest of one's life regretting not having even tried to pursue one's dreams than having failed in them. That's what he had done, and it had worked out for him, perhaps it would work out for her too.
And maybe that is why he suddenly felt guilty about lying to her. He empathized with her. He had realized this, much to his horror, soon after she had left that day, and he had been kicking himself ever since. Empathy just complicated things, caused hesitation and uncertainty at the worst times. The military had taught him the value of demammalizing one's enemies, the importance of it to an effective fighting machine, and the ability to do just that had served him well over the last 8 or so years of his work with the ZIA. He had wanted to keep her, keep all of them at arm's length, and he thought that that would be simple, the constant animosity he experienced from the few rabbits that interacted with him made it easy to write them all off. But she was different from the rest of them. She had so much more courage than the rest of them combined. It couldn't be easy running interference from her family for him, and he had to admit that he admired her a bit for it. Truly the one bright light in this place. Even her younger sister Martha didn't have what she had. It had been shared with him that she was the family's 'rebel'. Apparently she had run away once. It was amusing to him that that was all it took to be considered a rebel in a rabbit family. He couldn't even remember the amount of foster families he had run from. But Martha, at least in all their interactions together, had been riding on Judy's coattails. It was Judy who would come see him, and apparently Martha would ask to come along, afraid to go herself. Not so afraid of him perhaps, but she certainly never showed her face in his room without Judy present.
Nick had been in the burrow for about three and a half weeks, and Judy had grown on him. He liked her, and in a different life he may have even called her a friend. He looked forward to her daily visits when she brought him food. They had made a game of reading the paper together in the morning, reacting outlandishly to interesting stories and brainstorming irate letters to the editor in response. She had also shared with him a number of her favorite books, he had asked for something to pass the time; mostly crime novels and biographies of apparently famous police officers. Even some self help books by cops. And she had shown him other police things too. A police manual that was at least 50 years old, a badge from the same era, and some buttons from a police frock coat dating back even farther. All of it was interesting of course. The books kept him occupied throughout the day; more or less. But, he realized as he lay there on that sunny morning, her singular obsession with being an officer made her a bit... boring. Not too much, the idea of a bunny cop was still certainly quite novel, but Nick had a wide array of interests. Politics, history, travel, to name a few, and it felt as though Judy had none of that. She was just interested in being a police officer, everything else beyond that was just a distraction. He felt a little bad for her. She would take it hard when she failed. Very hard, and when that was all over she would realize that she had really done nothing else, really had nothing else. It would be hard for her, but, he suspected, she would recover. Though he doubted she would be nearly as interesting as she was now.
Perhaps though he was being too harsh on her. He understood why she constantly pestered him with questions about his time as an 'officer'. She was trailblazing and she was scared. But her single mindedness, were it to be applied elsewhere, would probably see her through anything. She would be fine, whatever happened, and probably better for it.
Oh god, he groaned inwardly, I am rooting for her now.
And he was indeed. He hoped she succeeded. If anyone deserved to achieve their dream it was her. And she certainly wasn't asking for the world. All she wanted was to leave the world better than she found it, and, he was embarrassed by the very thought, she had certainly already succeeded, at least in small part. He was better off having known her.
He scoffed at his sentimentalism. When had he become this way? Was it recent? Or perhaps deep down he had always been like this, and it just needed a bit of encouragement to come out? No, he decided, this was recent, he had never been one to connect with others in this manner. That cursed bunny was bringing it out in him, and he resolved to scold her for it.
No, no, he wouldn't do that. That seemed much too much like flirting, a territory into which he refused to stray. Though as he thought about it, it seemed that he had long passed that line.
He shuddered at the thought. Was he really so pathetic? So miserable that he would throw himself at the first warm body that showed him any kind of kindness? And not just a warm body, but prey, a rabbit no less. It wouldn't work out even if he was interested, and he certainly wasn't. How would something like that even work? Actually, there was nothing to think about, it simply wouldn't. He wasn't interested and neither was she, so there was nothing to worry about.
Gods he was pathetic.
He looked over at the clock. It was mid morning and most of the Hopps family would be out and about doing whatever it was that they did. He wouldn't see Judy again till much later, every day except for Sunday she would work the stand for most of the day and it would only be around dinnertime that she would have the chance to stop in. He let out a disappointed sigh. It would be another boring day. Around lunchtime Judy's mother would bring him food, but she was never one for much conversation, try as he might to pull one out of her. She would enter the room in silence, place his meal on the bedside table and promptly leave. He had gotten her to help him hobble to the restroom once, but even then the best he had gotten out of her was a simple nod at his thanks.
Of course, the day didn't have to be a total waste. He considered the new crutches leaning against the opposite wall. The doctor had given them to him just the day before, but had said given the condition of his arm and shoulder that he should wait a little longer before using them. His ribs were coming along nicely too, he wasn't made to double over in pain every time he laughed anymore. Perhaps today, he would take them for a bit of a spin. Nothing crazy, maybe just down to the bathroom. Despite his stay since those first tumultuous days having gone quite well he was still very conscious of the precarious position he was in. And besides, he didn't wasn't the reinjure anything. As nice as it was to be doted upon by a charming rabbit, he wanted to get back to his life before it moved on without him.
He had actually been considering asking Judy to send a letter for him to his friend, and sometimes partner in crime, Finnick. Finnick was the only contact he had from his old life, but then Finnick had always been of a different breed. It had been him that encouraged Nick to join the service and make something of himself. He had saved Nick in more ways than one, and in return Nick had dragged him along with him into his new life. He didn't work for the ZIA, not officially anyway. But Finnick had his fingers in everything, and his contacts had been invaluable in setting up informants all over the city. In return the ZIA had set him up quite nicely. He still mostly lived out of his van but he certainly never had to worry about money again.
Yes he would send him a coded message, using the last key he could remember from their set of one time pads. It's was never a good idea to reuse keys. One time pads were unbreakable as long as the keys were truly random, weren't reused, and of course as long as no one else had access to the key. Sending a message in an old key was a risk, but considering the content he felt the risk was negligible. Even if someone figured out the message, it wouldn't give them much.
He grabbed paper and pen from the bedside table. Items that had been supplied by Judy soon after he awoke, and wrote the letter:
I am fine. Tell them I will be back.
The encryption complete he wrote the coded message on a new sheet and dated it March 28th, the day of the last key they had used together.
He folded the sheet and set it aside, tearing up the sheet in which he had worked through the key, and sat up in bed.
He was going to try out those crutches. There was no one around and he wouldn't be disturbed. He gingerly shifted himself in the bed until he sat on the edge and waited for the aching in his side to fade. His arm and leg felt fine all things considered, it was his ribs though that were intent on making him suffer. He stood slowly, testing his good leg, wincing at every jet of pain that shot from his side. Fucking ribs.
He realized he had been holding his breath then, and he let it out in a satisfied rush. Yes he could do this, this was the best he had felt since he got here in fact. This was progress, and progress felt good.
He still had a long way to go however, and he hobbled across the room cursing Koslov and his massive bomb every step of the way.
He made it though, and he tested out his new crutches by circling the room a few times. They hurt his injured shoulder a bit, but it wasn't too bad, and at the very least he could leave the room on his own now. He had never been forbidden from it, and he knew quite well that it was far better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.
And so, for the first time since he had come to the Hopps Burrow, he left his little room alone.
In the end it hadn't been as easy as he thought it should have been, getting to the restroom. The ache in his shoulder had slowly grown into something much more by the time he made it, and he hadn't gone that far. He had discarded that particular crutch for the moment, because he thought it would be much easier to get around on the one. He was right, though he had quickly come to the conclusion that the crutches were going to be painful to use no matter what he did. With the pain in his shoulder returning to nothing more than an annoying ache his ribs had returned to the forefront, protesting his every movement.
He returned to his room after he had finished relieving himself but he didn't enter. Instead he stood just outside the room contemplating the door. He had no desire to spend the rest of the day in bed. He was growing restless cooped up in there and he wasn't sure how much longer he could stand it. He needed to do something different, to add a bit of spice to his life. He couldn't just sit around anymore and wait for Judy to rescue him from his daily milase.
The Hopps wouldn't like that though, even Judy would probably be pretty annoyed with him, though if no one was around then perhaps it would all be fine. Either way, he wasn't going back in that room, not now that he had escaped.
He turned on his good heel and hobbled off down the hallway.
The burrow was huge, bigger than any house he had ever been in, and that was saying something. All of it hewn from the earth and stone. The network of passages and hallways seemed to stretch on forever and Nick soon came to realize that he had gotten himself lost. Not too lost, he could always follow his scent trail back to his room, but at the moment all he could say for certain was that that trail snaked away behind him. His orientation in relation to that starting point long forgotten.
That was ok though, he didn't want to go back there, not yet. He had found himself in what smelled like one of the more heavily used passages, he could even smell Judy there, and he had followed her scent until he had gotten just a whiff of food slowly wafting down the passage. He had decided to follow that too. It was still quite a while before lunch and he suspected he would be able to find the source without running into anyone. He had yet to meet a soul, and judging by the silence that seemed to press in all around him he was actually quite alone.
The hallway led to the kitchen he realized as he got closer, both the scents he was following got stronger as he approached the door. Perhaps she was inside making lunch? She would get a good shock seeing him there in the doorway far from his room, but he was sure she would be happy to see him ambulatory. Maybe she would even let him go outside! The fresh air would do him wonders, and he wanted to lay out in the sun for a while. He slowly pushed open the door and gazed into the room beyond.
Good gods, the kitchen was huge! He had never seen anything like it outside of a hotel. There was station after station of appliances and implements. Multiple 10 burner stoves, multiple mixing vats, multiple over and under ovens. He wasn't sure he had even seen such a well accoutered kitchen in all his life, and he marveled at it. There were multiple generations living in this burrow. The original Hopps brood, their families, their in-laws etc. They probably had to feed hundreds of rabbits 3 meals each day. The prospect was staggering, the logistics alone would have overwhelmed Nick who considered himself a pretty good cook, having done a six month stint as a cook at a Bicheline Three Star restaurant. He had been a decent cook before that, he wouldn't have fit in otherwise, but the experience had put him a cut above most. It had been a cover of course, the head chef and owner of the place was on the ZIA payroll as an informant, his ability to drift in an out of important social circles on account of his high status in his profession was a resource that could not be allowed to go untapped.
Nick quietly entered the kitchen looking for some sign of Judy. Her scent was so strong there, but as he tasted it more he had realized that it wasn't new, and he had been slowly losing hope that he would find her there. He wasn't wrong, she wasn't there, nor was anyone else, the massive kitchen was empty. He gazed around the expansive space, everything about it was impressive. An army could have been fed there...
He chuckled at the thought. A rabbit army? He couldn't even imagine them holding a gun, let alone fighting. There were firearms designed especially for mammals their size, but at that point they were getting into dangerous BB territory rather than real weapons. They might have made good cooks though…
He moved on from the kitchen, giving up any hope of running into Judy. Really he shouldn't have been surprised at all. It was a weekday, and during weekdays she worked at the stand. And why the fuck did he care anyway? He knew though: she was the one point of familiarity in this expansive burrow around which he could orient his world. She was it, there was no one else. It was a little sad really, that there was no one but her that he really respected in this place. But then they hadn't really given him much to respect anyway. Actually Martha was alright, but she just wasn't quite the same, the maturity level just wasn't there. Was still just a child after all.
He slowly moved down the hall now, careful to be as quiet as he could. The scent of rabbit was very strong now, and he knew he was taking a big risk by spending any time in such a high traffic area. He stopped when he heard a noise up ahead. Talking. Someone up ahead of him was talking. But there was something off about the voice. It didn't sound right. He moved closer, hoping to discern what was being said. He soon realized that the voice was coming from a speaker of some sort, and that was why it hadn't sounded natural. He was approaching the living room he decided, and someone had left the TV on, or perhaps they were still in there. He needed to be extra quiet if he wish to get any closer, and he supported himself against the wall instead of his single crutch. The soft clunk it made every time it touched the floor would quickly give him away.
He was almost there, almost at the door, and he realized he recognized the voice emanating from the room.
"–the recent escalation of tension between Arctica and Zootopia is, frankly, a result of nothing but the reckless foreign policy pursued by this government. The PM and his cabinet are marching us off to war!"
"But Mr. Valadeo, what have you to say about the accusations from Arctica's neighbors that they have been illegally interfering in their domestic matters, and that their recent military exercises signal aggressive intent?" Asked a an unseen female.
"They are nonsense. The nation of Arctica has legitimate interests which they have every right to protect, just as we protect our own."
Ah yes, the preeminent David Valadeo. An MP, who despite being the leader of a minority party on the opposition, seemed to command the attention of the media on an almost constant basis. Of course, it was because he had a tendency to give them controversial sound bites, even if they were utterly devoid of substance. The antelope seemed to love being as contrarian as he could, even if it meant supporting characters that in no way could be described as savory. In this case, Arctica had been in negotiations with some of the neighboring countries for a series of new trade deals. When things weren't going their way they held massive military exercises on the border, and threatened to cut off oil and gas sales. A grim prospect for some of the smaller nations at the table who relied on Arctica for their energy needs. The government of Zootopia saw the threats as an opportunity to supplant Arctica's hold of the energy sector of the region and had committed publicly to make up any losses with their own production. Zootopian oil was more expensive, a result of the distances it needed to be shipped, but at least Zootopia would never threaten anyone with invasion, or so they said. Arctica had reacted to the gesture about as well as could have been expected.
Valadeo had been on the ZIA's radar for a while. He was a member of the National Security Committee, a parliamentary committee that worked to formulate policy and goals as it related to the Zootopian intelligence community. It provided oversight to the ZIA's work, and so it was intimately familiar with *most* of the ZIA's operations. Every member of the committee was vetted, knowingly or not, by the ZIA when they were appointed to the NSC. The ZIA couldn't get anyone removed from the committee directly, but they could tailor their briefings to make them as vague as possible if they felt one of the members was a risk. Some things didn't show up on that dosier however, like whether or not the member in question was actually supportive of the ZIA's mission. Valadeo was certainly not after all, and that obstructionist prick had often done his best to throw wrenches into any plan he could. Nick had been the target of his ill will on more than one occasion, as he had been ordered to testify before the whole committee during one of their numerous secret sessions. It was strange though, outside of those meetings Valadeo was as amicable as could be. He had even invited Nick to various social events he was hosting, and joked with him about his having to be a hard-ass on the committee. It was all just politics Nick had been assured and Nick had to admit that if it were not for his constant meddling he would like the antelope. But he did not, Valadeo was an ass, and Nick enjoyed watching him constantly put his foot in his mouth on national television.
"Artica has never done anything but react to the provocations and aggression of its neighbors. They have refused to deal with Arctica fairly, mistreated their citizens, and fomented unrest. There is even evidence that the protests surrounding the recent election were bankrolled by none other than this government!"
Hah, that last part was true to an extent. Nick had been intimately involved protests that had torn through the Arctician capital of Muskova the year before. His network had provided safe havens, supplies, communications networks, and all sorts of other logistical support to the protesters and their leaders. The protests were legitimate of course, the election results had caused spontaneous gatherings around the city, but Nick had done his best to ensure they had turned into something more. He was not the spark, but he certainly provided the fuel. All of this was little more than rumor outside of the mammals he had overseen. He had been given a broad mandate in Artica, and suffered under very little oversight, so there was no official paper trail recording that particular activity. But the Arctician government had been quick to look for scapegoats to explain away the protests and that had been one of the explanations they had settled on. Nick had no doubt they had an inkling as to some of it, but doubted they understood the full scope of the operation he had ran. It didn't matter though. they had little or no evidence that they were willing to share with the world, if they even had any at all. Official statements from governments still carried quite a bit of weight in this day and age, regardless of the content.
Nick peaked through the doorway from which the newscast was emanating and found himself gazing into a cavernous living room. It was empty though, except for a single rabbit, the ears of which could just be seen poking above the back of the large couch situated in front of the TV. As much as Nick wanted to watch the rest of the broadcast, he knew he couldn't stay there any longer. This was a high trafficked area and there was an unknown rabbit sitting just meters away from him. He was already taking a huge risk leaving his room, there was no reason to compound that by taking even dumber ones.
As Nick moved on his surroundings began to change. Pictures of the family covered the walls, each generation with their own row along the wall. Hundreds of smiling bunnies everywhere, and he noted that each picture of an individual had their own little name plate beneath each photo. He caught some names he recognized, Martha seemed to be the only picture on the wall in which the subject wasn't beaming at the camera and was easy to spot. But there were others too. He saw Bonnie and Stu, Steven, who had been a godsend with his ability to seemingly conjure fish from thin air, even Max, the young rabbit who had been content to let him bleed out on the floor, at least that was how Judy told it. Most of the names and faces he didn't recognize, the pictures seemed to stretch endlessly onwards, but the arrangement was quite charming. It reminded him a little of his own parents, before he lost them, they had a similar wall in their apartment, though the one he stood before was on a much grander scale. It wasn't a happy memory. After he had been released from the hospital after the accident he had spent hours standing before that wall and gazing longingly at the smiling pictures of his parents, hoping against hope that his new reality was nothing but a horrible dream.
He looked away from the wall. The happiness in the photos making him uncomfortable. They were lucky, all of them mostly inoculated from the terrible world that surrounded them. He wondered momentarily if the reason why Judy's parents had had such a negative reaction to him was because they recognized him for what he was: a piece of that horrible and frightening existence. His very being a rot which they feared might take root in their idyllic burrow.
He somehow doubted it.
These were bunnies after all. The a perfect case study for the theory that ignorance is in fact 'bliss'. The world flowed around their little burrow, and nothing ever changed for most of them. They grew up to be farmers, married, had far too many children who would also grow up to be farmers, and then died without so much as making a single ripple in the world. They had no idea who he was, what he had done or could do, the power he wielded. They never would, most of them would go about their lives regarding his presence in their home as nothing more than a peculiar blip in their otherwise boring and inane lives. All of them– except her– and in that moment he had noticed the picture of the one rabbit in this whole burrow who actually, probably, had the potential to make something of herself: Judy Hopps. She, like the rest of her family, was positively beaming, but this picture was different from the rest. She was wearing a graduation gown and she stood amongst a milling crowd of similarly dressed mammals, flank on either side by her very happy parents. She looked radiant standing there. Proud of what she had accomplished. And she should have been, Nick reasoned. She was probably the only one in her family to ever have enough ambition to even try college. Such a goal was far out of reach even for him. No college would ever accept some poor fox who had never even completed middle school. He had known for a long time that he had been impossibly lucky every since he had joined the military. They had recognized his talents, even if he was a bit rough around the edges, and utilized them accordingly. So well had they done so in fact, the his work came to the attention of the ZIA, who found even better ways to keep him busy. He felt bad for Judy then. He had had a troubled childhood, but at least his family hadn't held him back. Not that they could have, being– he stopped, the thought too painful in that moment. He recollected himself and returned his gaze to the picture, but it had lost its luster, its impact lessened now with the uncomfortable associations it brought up in his mind. He took one last look at the display before continuing on and decided that he would never come back here if he could help it.
Nick hobbled onwards, he had had a vague and foggy goal in his mind when he set out: find Judy. But that he been long given up, and he knew it had never been realistic anyways. Now though, he simply wanted to escape this labyrinth. He was exhausted, his wounds still far from healed, and he half wished he had never left his room. He persevered however, like he had always done. No one would ever call him a quitter. That dogged determination to carry on soon paid off however, as Nick found himself at the threshold of a large sunlit atrium with two wooden doors at the far end. The air smelt fresh here, and Nick quickly realized, much to his excitement, that he must be in the entrance hall of the burrow. This would make all of it worth it. He rushed across the space as fast as his injured body would carry him and soon he found himself standing in front of the double doors. Though this time, he wasn't afraid of them exploding, at least not physically. And with that less than comforting thought in mind Nick left the burrow for the first time in more than 3 weeks.
It was beautiful, everything was beautiful, the sun, the sky, the cool crisp mid morning air, the green grass, and the sudden and palpable sense of freedom. He was out of that oppressive hole in the ground, and back where he belonged. He knew he would have to go back in a little while, he wasn't ready to leave this place just yet, but his newfound mobility was liberating in a way he could never have imagined. Here was proof that he was getting better, that he could return to his normal life and get back to what he did best. But in the short term it meant he wouldn't have to have Bonnie escort him to the restroom just down the hall, an embarrassing daily ritual he could live without.
This is what he needed all along, to do something. Not just lay around and rot away in the room the Hopps family had begrudgingly provided him.
The yard before him wasn't empty, though there was little of note. A long, snaking driveway lined by wind breaking trees led to a large garage. And the green grass of the yard seemed to stretch on forever. There was one thing he took note of however: about 150 meters from the burrow entrance was a massive radio aerial.
Nick gazed at it quizzically. It didn't look like professional equipment, some of which could soar more than 1000 meters into the air. It looked distinctly amateur, like it had been thrown together on a wing and a prayer, though perhaps that was unfair. It was certainly sturdy, that much was obvious. And the shack situated at its base was anything but ramshackle. The whole thing was out of place however. Nick was surrounded by all the facets of an agrarian lifestyle and this electronic monstrosity stood out like a sore thumb. His curiosity got the better of him and he decided to investigate. The worse that could happen at this point was the rabbits kick him out. This little foray into the burrow had demonstrated to him that he was healthy enough to get around on his own, and while he may have been on the verge of exhaustion just finding his way out of the burrow, he knew he could manage back in the city. Even if "managing" meant holing up in his apartment and having his meals delivered to him. He chuckled at the idea, the ZIA would gladly pay for a service to keep him fed, but it would be so much more pleasant to torment Finnick and make him do it instead. Though he had no doubt that any food that Finnick brought him would be of suspect quality. Yeah, it would be worth it to make him miserable, even if it meant Nick would die of food poisoning.
Nick had never been a radio expert. They had always been a tool to him, a means to an end. All he ever needed to know was how to use them, and how to keep them working. Radios had always been an extremely useful, but less interesting cousin to the computer in his eyes. With the advent of the computer radio was simply less relevant these days. Some mammals however apparently hadn't gotten the memo. The inside of the shack was absolutely jam packed with radio equipment of every description and, it seemed, of every era. The walls were lined, floor to ceiling, with equipment, and Nick quickly surmised that at least 30 operators could fit comfortably in the space, each with their own station complete with computer and various types of radios. He was surprised to find that he even recognized some of the equipment, there was an old SCR-508 on a shelf next to the door, and even the same model base station he had in his apartment.
Nick paced around the shack admiring the setup these rabbits had. Even though he didn't really care for radios he found all of it very impressive. The space was very clean and well thought out, in stark contrast to the antenna outside. He stopped at what seemed like the most well accoutered station and took a glance at the various printouts that were piled in stacks on the desk. What he saw there stopped him dead. Numbers stations, it was all about numbers stations.
Numbers stations were a simple and effective means of transmitting clandestine messages via radio. As long as everyone was on the same page no special encryption equipment was needed. All one needed to do was get on a radio and transmit their secret message. If your code was good, it wouldn't matter who heard it, they wouldn't be able to figure out what you were saying. Numerous organizations around the world used them, the ZIA, the MSS, militaries the whole world over. They were effective, easy to setup and maintain, and for the most part, unbreakable. They were, after all, usually based on some sort of one time pad system and enjoyed all the security that provided. Nick had a couple that he listened to, depending on his location. And he could receive all sorts of information just by having a cheap and simple base station wherever he lived.
There was a moment, brief, almost infinitesimal, where Nick panicked. He had long stopped looking for signs that he had been captured by some enemy of Zootopia and he was being subjected to some sort of bizarre psyops experiment. But, things like this certainly set off his alarm bells. The moment past almost without notice, that he was a prisoner simply didn't make any sense, and he had stopped giving those thoughts any sort of credence. Still, it was an interesting coincidence, not a surprising one however. There was an understandable preoccupation with the mysterious transmitters in the amateur radio community, members of which were known as Hams. There were websites, blogs, podcasts, even whole books dedicated to deciphering these stations. Not everything about them could be kept secret of course. It was generally known who operated some frequencies, though no one outside of their operators knew for what purpose.
Nick even had a station he was required to listen to while he was in Zootopia, and he quickly found it in the stack. His station was MARL, or The Buzzer as it was known in Ham circles. The station was named after the short monotonous buzzing tone broadcasted 24 hours a day in short intervals. The buzzing meant nothing of course, it was simply a placeholder, designed at a time when automatic recording devices were still in their infancy. The sounds was designed not to trigger those early devices so that those who needed to listen for messages didn't have to sit by the radio all day hoping the catch one of the infrequent broadcasts. These days Nick just hooked his base station up to a computer and allowed simple commercial software take care of the problem. The buzzer might have been obsolete these days, but nevertheless it remained, giving conspiracy theorists plenty to think on. There were other stations too, and all of these did something different. The station Nick listened to in Arctica for instance was known as Pete because it played the instrumentation from the first half of a song called Step by Step by a famous Zootopian folk singer named Pete Seeger before it transmitted a message. The song again another solution to tripping the mechanisms of early recording devices.
He took a closer look at the documents before him. He had noticed that there was a list of the most recent recordings for some of the other stations, but so far he hadn't found on for the Buzzer. Frustrating, each station's broadcasts seemed to be meticulously documented except the one he cared about. Typical really. Ah, but then he found it. The list was attached to a clipboard, ready for the next broadcast. He noticed almost immediately though that the date on the most recent line had been from that very morning. The ident code however wasn't for him however, and he moved down the list. The station had only been infrequently transmitting actual messages recently which made his last easy to find. It had been sent three days after he got himself blown up and it read:
Mike, Alfa, Romeo, Lima. Mike, Alfa, Romeo, Lima. 87 569 BROMAL 31 17 68 44. Brian, Robert, Oakley, Michael, Anna, Leslie. – three times!
Without his key, he couldn't make heads nor tails of the massage, however he recognized his ident code: 86, as long as that number was in the first string, in that order, he knew the message was intended for him.. He also noticed the massage at the end written by whomever had been listening. The message had been repeated three times before the buzzing had resumed, an extremely unusual deviation from the usual format. Messages were repeated twice, no more, no less. It had always been that way since the beginning of the station, long before Nick had even been born. Nick was struck by a terrible sense of foreboding. What was he missing out on? What crisis had struck the ZIA that they would transmit a message three times? That just never happened, and he didn't like the conclusions his mind was drawing. It may be time to expedite his departure from this place. It had been an interesting diversion, Judy at least was someone whom he hoped to see again at some point, but now that he was healthy enough to move how could he continue to justify his absence from the city. He may not have been healthy enough for field work, but there were plenty of other things he could do. A plan had been formulating in his mind these last few weeks as to how to strike back at the extensive intelligence apparatus constructed by the MSS, and much of the ground work for it could be laid whether he could walk or not.
But then… was it true that a message on MARL had never been repeated three times? No, certainly not, he was almost sure of it. Nevertheless doubts began to creep into his head. Getting himself blown up had reaffirmed an important lesson that he been taught to him by one of his numerous mentors at the ZIA: It was better to do nothing than to charge into a dangerous situation without enough information. Information was king, and he knew he had almost none, just a normal looking message sent out on the Buzzer repeated three times. His recklessness had almost gotten himself killed a few weeks ago, he would do well not to squander the second chance he had been given by making the same mistake again.
He sighed, the tension in his body leaving him at the same time his breath did. He would give it some time, maybe another week, and he would make a new decision then. He would send his letter, watch the news closely for anything amiss, and bide his time. He still seemed to have plenty of it at the moment, and he resolved to use it wisely. First things first though, and he wrote down the message on a spare scrap of paper.
Nick turned, surveying the shack for one last time. Impressive, truly. If he had to guess, this was Stu's realm. There was nothing specifically to peg him as the ham, but he seemed the type. Though obviously he wasn't the only one, judging by all the equipment. It was time to get back though– movement at the door caught his eye. It was opening, there was nowhere to hide. Shit, shit, shitshitshitshit. There was nowhere to hide, violence wasn't an option, there was nothing he could do.
Silence was all that greeted him as the door opened. Stu stood there in the doorway, unmoving, eyes wide. And yet, somehow, he was the first to recover. "What are you–?" The question hung in the air, though it struck Nick as odd. It had carried nothing with it, no anger, accusations, fear. It had been asked almost conversationally, as if he was talking to one of his children.
"I was just…" Nick gestured around the room, "admiring your radio setup."
Stu stared at Nick in stupid, uncomprehending silence. It had been a silly response, Nick reflected, but then perhaps it had been the best one he could have mustered. Stu had been caught off guard, his anger postponed, and Nick sensed that now was the time to press his admittedly meagre advantage .
Nick went on to explain how interested he was in numbers stations. How peculiar they were, names some of his favorites, the Buzzer amongst them, speculated on their owners and purpose, and complimented Stu on his diligent recording of stations broadcasts. Nick had done so too of course, and perhaps at some point they could share notes. He was no ham of course, he explained, but he did have an antenna he could hook to him computer and listen to the chatter across the airwaves.
For his part, Stu listened on with rapt, if somewhat wary attention, and by the end of Nick's monologue, was no longer standing in the door but was instead standing beside Nick as he pointed out particularly interesting points in the print outs. Nick had, as a matter of fact, participated in online discussions related to numbers stations and the like. It had amused him when he had found out there was so much lively speculation and wild theorizing surrounding the stations, and he couldn't help but add his own silly theories. It had though, made him quite familiar with the way internet sleuths were investigating these strange broadcasts, and his intimate knowledge of their actual purpose allowed him to meld truth and fiction quite masterfully.
"You really know your stuff," chuckled Stu, finally breaking his long silence.
"Hah, I suppose, though I am no expert, some of the guys I have talked to online seemed to have devoted their lives to this. I enjoy this stuff, but I am not like that."
"Careful now, I may be one of those grognards! Ha ha! I can't believe you, of all mammals, understand numbers stations. This is wonderful! You know the Buzzer just broadcast one today! Here, where is my list?" And he shuffled through the stacks on the desk until his came up with the MARL list.
"See? Look, just 45 minutes ago. What do you make of it?"
Nick had no idea what to make of the message of course, it hadn't been meant for him, and thus even if he had his key he wouldn't have been able to decipher the code. That wouldn't stop him though, he had, somehow, gotten his foot in the door with Stu, and he wasn't going to let it go. He considered the message, running through compelling wrinkles he could add to it in his mind. And then he had it:
"Now," paused for effect, "I have a theory about the Buzzer, and I would like to know what you think. Was the message read off by a male or female?"
"It was a female."
"Ah, see, I believe that one who reads it off is nearly as important as the message itself. I believe there are… five different mammals that read them off." He looked to Stu for confirmation.
"Six I believe, a new female began broadcasting a few weeks ago, though perhaps she is simply replacing one of the others."
"Perhaps," he agreed. "Now, I think that the different messengers are important. Like, uh," he tapped the page, "these messages are send by a rotating cast of characters, perhaps each corresponds with with a specific listener. Let's assume for the moment that there are still only 5 broadcasters, that our new friend on the radio is replacing one of the old ones, well, there are 5 military districts in Zootopia, the City being located in the largest. Well, then perhaps each district has a specific messenger."
Stu pondered this for a moment and then replied, "I don't think so, I don't think the station is for the military districts. I think it's ZIA." He gave Nick a significant look. "Why would the military need a station like that? And this station has been sending out messages for nearly 40 years! The districts aren't that old, and they have had more than one mammal sending out the messages almost since the beginning."
Nick was impressed, the rabbit before him seemed to know more about the station and its history then he did. He really was the grognard he claimed to be. Further, he knew that there wasn't much more he could do to defend his little theory, it had been conjured up only moments before and he hadn't fully considered all its parts. He may have been able to reinforce the position after some deliberation, but there was no value to it. It had gotten him exactly what he wanted, and they spent a great while together, their conversation meandering from subject to subject. It was as if Stu had completely forgotten the animosity between them, though Nick was not so naive to believe that it had all disappeared. It probably never would, not entirely, but at the very least his remaining stay at the Hopps burrow might be slightly less disagreeable. At the very least he may be allowed further forays from his room, supervised probably, but if it meant he got to spend more time with the one rabbit in the burrow he actually liked, then he could tolerate it. He hoped that was how it turned out anyway.
Eventually, as they often do, the conversation began to peter out, and Nick groped for new topics. "Judy never told me you were into this sort of stuff. Too bad really…" He trailed off leaving the statement hanging in the air like bait.
"Heh, well, you know, she might be a bit peculiar, but I could never get her interested. She helped set all this up though." He gazed fondly around the room. An uncomfortable silence followed, neither sure what to speak of next. Stu finally broke it when he said, "Peculiar, she's always been peculiar…" He looked at Nick then, "she wants to become a police officer, did you know that?"
Nick returned the look, grinned, and replied sardonically, "Yes, many times."
Stu erupted in laughter, "Hah hahah hohoho, ha ha, hehe. Yes, she certainly likes to tell everyone doesn't she? Been doing that since she was just a little kitten." He paused, and then his face lit mischievous delight. "Whhooo boy, do I have some pictures for you!"
Pictures? Yes please, he couldn't wait to give her a hard time about it. That would be fantastic. He could almost taste her mortification, see the adorable look on her face when she realized what he had seen. The oddity of all of this thought struck him then. How did he get here? Next to Stu Hopps as he thumbed through his Furbook account looking for pictures of one of his daughters. It was almost like this rabbit actually liked him, maybe just a little. He didn't understand the change of heart. There must have been more to it, information he was not privy to. Yes, that must have been it, all of this didn't make sense otherwise. The possibilities flew through his head, but then it stopped. He decided that just this once, he wouldn't question it. He would go where the tide took him. He took the offered phone and laughed right along with his new "friend".
That's all for now, next one will be out in two weeks. Things will begin to pick up, so keep an eye out!