Hello everyone!
I have brought you the next chapter of Saving Wilde! I am sorry for the wait, but I appreciate all of you being so patient.
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Enjoy!
"Here's your coffee."
"Thanks Finnick," Nick replied as he leaned back on the bench seat. The two of them were waiting in the Muskova Central Station, a massive train terminal near the center of the city, for a train that would take them to southern Arctica, near the nascent People's Republic of Ossetia.
"Can you believe they are making us do this?" Finnick asked.
Nick chuckled darkly. "No, it's not that surprising," he said. Sarcasm veritably dripped from his voice. "Remember Finnick, we are but small cogs in this great machine, and if it wants to waste us, then that's exactly what it will do."
"I just can't believe they think it's good idea to send us. If they aren't gonna make Stevens do his job, then what the hell is he doing here?" Stevens was the ambassador to Arctica, but there was no way in hell he would ever step foot in Ossetia.
"You know that sending him would only cause problems," Nick replied.
"Yeah, well, it would give him something to do other than sending me messages all the time. Isn't there someone else we can send?"
"No," Nick replied matter of factly. And in truth there wasn't, not really. The Committee on Foreign Relations back home wanted them to start building relationships in Ossetia. The war with Arctica had been raging for three months, and the siege of Gromney more than two. The Arcticians had bogged down in Gromney, their every move in the city countered by the Ossetian separatist forces. In the first month they had captured barely 35% of the city, and suffered well in excess of 5,500 casualties to do it.
The war had turned into a mess for which the Arctician citizenry had little stomach, and already, just three months after the conflict had begun, voices of the dissent for the war were beginning to emerge. The time honored strategy of revolutions throughout history was beginning to pay dividends. The Ossetians never needed to defeat Arctician forces. That would have been ideal of course, but totally unrealistic. They didn't have the soldiers, equipment, or training to do that. But they didn't need to defeat the 64th Army in detail to win the war. All they needed to do was not lose.
It was a formula that had played out hundreds of times all over the world. The massive, modern juggernaut brought low by ragtag freedom fighters, or terrorists, depending on your political orientation. The Arcticians could win the war, if they had the will. And that was the thing. Will.
The Ossetians certainly had it. They had already taken far beyond 15,000 military casualties in this little war, and showed no signs of slowing down. But then, to them, the invasion was an existential threat. If they lost they would have nothing left afterwards, not even their lives in many cases. And so they would fight.
But the same could not be said of Arcticia. Letting go of Ossetia would set a bad precedent, and would probably be bad for the nation the the long term, but what did the average Arctician care about such things? The daily trials of simply living were far more important to them than some far off war with mammals who apparently wanted nothing more than to run their own government.
So the Ossetians were making the resolution of the conflict as painful as possible. 5,500 casualties. Including about 1,700 dead. In a month. Just to take a third of a city.
Was it worth it? Was bringing Ossetia back into the fold worth that loss? Was it worth the letters sent every day to nervous parents informing them that their son would not be coming back?
Dear Sir or Madam,
We deeply regret to inform you of the loss of your son, who died on October 17th of wounds received in combat against the enemy on October 14th.
His loss is keenly felt throughout our organization. I sincerely hope that the knowledge that your son was an exemplary soldier and that he died in the service of his nation will comfort you in this hour of great sorrow.
Sincerely yours,
But were they really serving their nation? Or simply the interests of those in power? What exactly were they dying for, and why did it matter? Those were the questions beginning to be asked all over Arcticia.
The Ossetians were winning. Perhaps not on the battlefield, but certainly in the hearts and minds of the mammals of Arcticia, and that was what really mattered.
"This coffee is terrible."
"It's Arctician. What do you want?" Finnick replied.
"Coffee that isn't shit…" Nick grumbled back.
Finnick rolled his eyes. "When does the train get here?"
"Half hour, according to the ticket... I guess we are about to find out if their trains are running on time today."
They had a 13 hour trip ahead of them. It was a long time to travel, but the Arctician government did very little to monitor rail traffic, and Nick had always been more comfortable taking the train than other modes. Driving would have probably been faster, but the mammals of Arctica often seemed to regard driving regulations as suggestions rather than hard and fast rules. A popular colloquialism for a Stop Sign for instance was 'Stoptional'. It had made for some rather fur raising trips in his earlier stints in the country. Never seemed to bother Finnick though…
"Have you heard from Sergey?" Finnick asked.
"Yeah, I spoke to him this morning. Says he is excited to meet us."
"I'm sure."
Ossetia was winning, though any final victory was still a ways off, and still far from certain. But because of their success, others were beginning to take notice. The best time to make a friend is when they are in need. So that's what they were going to do, make friends. Mammals in need tended to remember their friends. And Sergey would be the first of them.
Sergey was to be their handler. He was a representative of the Ossetian government who apparently was responsible for meeting with foreign dignitaries. Though Nick had it on good authority that he hadn't had much to do just yet. Still, it was good to see that the Ossetians were thinking ahead.
Nick could understand Zootopia's haste to get their foot in the door with Ossetia. A little state like this would be a huge thorn in Arctica's side for a long time coming, and by being the first to demonstrate support they had already engendered lots of warm feelings. But he wasn't happy that they were sending him. Gromney was a dangerous place at the moment, for everyone. And Nick saw no reason why this meeting had to happen there. The Ossetians had insisted upon it however, apparently desperate to demonstrate their legitimacy by holding it in their capital.
"Train's here," Finnick interrupted his thoughts.
"Wow, early."
They both stood up and collected their things. It was going to be a long couple of days.
"I thought you said he would be here at 10," Finnick complained.
"That's what he said."
"Well it's almost 10:30, Nick!"
"I know, I know. What do you want me to do about it?"
"I dunno, maybe call him? Or maybe we should just get out of here and stop wasting our time."
They had been waiting at a rundown bus stop for nearly an hour. There were no lights anywhere on the street, which was probably advantageous, but the darkness was oppressive, seeming to bear down upon them from all sides. Even with their well adapted eyesight it was difficult to see, the overcast sky preventing any moonlight, whatever there was, from illuminating their surroundings.
"I'm fucking cold too," Finnick continued to grouse.
There was snow in this little town too. Rather more than had been in Muskova, despite it being so much farther south. It made for rather idyllic scenery when it could be seen. The countryside caked in white snow, dotted with the occasional home emitting warm yellow light.
"I'm cold too, Finnick, but we have to wait."
That Sergey was late wasn't surprising. New governments often displayed this sort of dysfunction, the staff still getting a feel for the expectations of the world around them. Sergey had probably left on time, but the bad roads had slowed him down. He had to sneak across the border after all. There was no using the main thoroughfares for him.
Or he could have been caught, in which case they would be waiting there for a long time. That was a distinct possibility, and it was another reason why Nick had l been so apprehensive about this trip. Not only were they about to enter a city under assault, but to get there the had to sneak through government lines. It was an incredible risk, despite whatever assurances the Ossetians offered him. Nick glanced at the clock on his phone, 10:31PM. He resolved to stay for another half hour and then find somewhere to stay for the night.
A flash of light caught his eye, and glancing down the street he noticed the headlights of a car bouncing down a road perpendicular to their own far off across a field. It was the first he had seen since the taxi that dropped them off had left.
"Maybe that's him," Nick said, motioning to the oncoming vehicle.
"Wouldn't that be a fucking miracle," Finnick replied.
"Oh yeah, one thing, don't let them know that we can speak Arctician."
"I mean, you can speak it, I wouldn't call my attempts at that language 'speaking'."
Nick chuckled. "Fine, but don't let them know."
"Got it."
As it turned out, that far off car really was their miracle. Sergey finally arrived, bouncing down the snow covered road in a rusty maroon Trabant. It was an ugly little two door sedan which hadn't changed in the last 40 years, and was seemingly the only car available to many of the citizens of southern Arctica judging by how ubiquitous they seemed to be. Nick could see the grinning Sergey as he pulled up, but there was a problem, Sergey wasn't alone. Nick fingered the pistol in his pocket. There was only supposed to be one Dall Sheep, Sergey. Nick glanced at Finnick, who had clearly spotted the second sheep as well. Their eyes met for barely a moment, but the glance told each exactly what they would do.
Then, suddenly, Sergey burst from the car, exclaiming in broken Zootopian, "Welcome, friends! I happy you made here!"
"It's good to see you Sergey, we were worried you might not make it," Nick replied.
"Yes, yes, so sorry. My brother is kicked from home, I could not leave him!" he said, gesturing at the second sheep who was only now getting out of the car.
"Kicked out?" Nick asked, grinning, Sergey's good spirits infectious. "What did he do?"
Sergey moved closer to Nick and said conspiratorially, "He is a goatfucker!"
"Uh," Nick stammered, unsure of how to reply, "I'm sorry."
"No! No! His wife is goat!" And with that, Sergey burst out into a raucous, bleating laughter, his brother joining him.
Nick stood there, a little lost, his glances at Finnick confirming he was no better, but he maintained a smile, and chuckled good naturedly.
"Hah hah, heh he, hoo, you get it my friend?" Sergey finally asked after he had begun to calm down.
"I'm afraid I don't Sergey."
"Bah, no problem, no problem. Oh! You speak Arctician?"
"Uh," Nick replied ashamedly, "I'm afraid I don't, Sergey, I hope that's alright."
"No problem!" Sergey replied, quite a bit louder than before, "I speak, and so does my brother, right Vadim?" Vadim simply nodded. "Ah I forgot, Vadim, this is Robert and his friend Ethan."
"Good to meet you," Vadim croaked out, clearly uncomfortable with Zootopian. Both Nick and Finnick returned the greeting.
"Now," Sergey said, clapping his hooves together, "we must go, we have long trip."
And with that, they all squeezed into the little Trabant, and lumbered off down the road.
It was a long drive, and cold. The little Trabant's heater was apparently broken. Vadim would occasionally fiddle with the controls and bang his hoof on the the dashboard, cursing. Nick and Finnick sat in the back in silence, neither feeling much for conversation and their new escorts offering none either. The two sheep did speak amongst one another in Arctician however, totally oblivious to the fact that their two passengers could understand every word.
"Pizdec! When will you the fix fucking heater, Sergey? It was broken last winter too, blyad."
"When I have some free time, and money. The duct is rusty, it needs a new one. The hot air leaks out now."
"I know that, Sergey, I told you what the problem was!"
"Yeah, yeah…"
It went on like that for some time, the two of them simply chatting about trivialities. Apparently unconcerned that they were excluding their guests. At one point, after about 45 minutes while they were making their way down a narrow, snow covered country road Sergey turned to them and said in Zootopian, "Friends, we cross border now. Impressive, da?"
Nick looked out the window, but saw little more than the trees that seemed to grow right at the edge of the road. It was strange, was no guard. Sergey had never even bothered to turn off his headlights. "There is no one here," Nick said questioningly.
"No, no, Arctica don't care. No one stay here."
Nick wondered at that. How it was that a stretch of the border could be left open. The reports had been getting from this area was that it was sealed, though not so tightly no one could slip through. But this hadn't even been hard.
"Don't they guard it?" Nick asked.
"Mmm, in daytime. Soldiers go home for night."
Nick glanced at Finnick, who had cocked an eye. The soldiers guarding the border in the area were certainly local and certainly green, but there was no way they simply melted away as night approached, retreating back to their families.
"Do they go to a base?" Finnick asked.
"Mmm, what is 'base'?" Sergey seemed to ask the whole car. Vadim explained it to him in Arctician and Sergey exclaimed, "Ah! No, no, they go to home."
Nick decided not to respond to that, still rather surprised at what he had just heard, and the two sheep went back to conversing in Arctician.
"They ask lots of questions," Vadim said.
"They are foxes, it is in their nature."
"Hah! Nosy bastards."
"Now Vadim, they are here to help. We mustn't think badly of them."
"Bah! They can't understand us anyway. I am not surprised Zootopia would send us two foxes who can't speak Arctician. Self important arses. And they are foxes too! Why would they send two foxes?"
"I don't know Vadim," Sergey said. "Probably because they are sly." Nick glanced at Finnick again, who didn't seem to be listening.
"Sly foxes? That doesn't help us. We need someone smart. Like an elephant."
"How would we fit an elephant in this car?!"
"I don't know! Still, I don't like foxes. Too sly for their own good."
"We need them to be sly, we need money and guns and Muskova can't know. Who better than to send a fox to figure it out?" Nick had heard this all before. Playing out exactly as it was before him. The prejudice against foxes wasn't universal, but sometimes it felt it was nearly so. But while that meant that most mammals didn't trust him in general, when it came to things like his current profession, it meant that mammals tended to give his opinion just a little extra deference, and that was useful. Still, he didn't like hearing it, talked about like some distasteful yet necessary tool. So he asked the question that had been on his mind for the last half hour.
"Hey, Sergey, where are we going?" They had been heading East by Southeast, but if they were going to Gromney they should have been going Northwest, or at least, they should have been by then.
"To my home," Sergey replied. "We go to Gromney in morning."
That annoyed Nick, though he was thankful he wouldn't be spending the night in that hellhole, the new arrangement however wasn't what had been agreed upon. He felt no malicious intent emanating from Sergey. There didn't seem to be some sort of deadly trap waiting for them at the end of this road trip, what sort of purpose would that have served anyway? But their agreement was broken, unilaterally too, and it was an insight into just how the Ossetians did their business. He was not impressed.
"Alright Sergey, how much longer then?"
Sergey shrugged, and replied without looking back, "Mmm, five…" and looked at Vadim and asked him in Arctician, "How do you say 'fifteen'?"
"Uhhh, I don't know," Vadim shrugged, "'one five' I guess?"
"That doesn't seem right... "
"Well, what do you want from me then?" Vadim shot back.
"Uh, one five minute," Sergey finally continued in Zootopian, glancing over his shoulder at Nick.
"Thanks," Nick replied, satisfied that they would soon be out of the car.
"I say right?" Sergey asked, making expectant glances back at Nick.
"What?" Nick replied.
"'One five minute'!" Sergey pressed.
"Oh, no, no, its 'fifteen minutes'. That's how you you say it."
"Ah, thank you my friend!"
Nick glanced at Finnick, trying to gauge his mood. It had been darkening perceptibly this last half hour and Nick was curious how this latest blow would would land. But Finnick made no motion to acknowledge his glances, he simply sat staring out the window, his paws firmly placed in the pockets of his coat. Right where his kept his pistol. That was all Nick needed to know.
Sergey's house was at the end of a long, poorly plowed, dirt road. It was a quaint little cottage, the roof covered in a thick layer of snow, the only light a single orb atop a post beside the front door. There was a barn nearby, well maintained, despite its obvious age. Everything seemed old in Ossetia. The cars, the roads, the street signs, the houses, and the mammals. All of it carried the signs of a sad slow deterioration. Like the world had passed them by in its endless cycles of renewal, and everyone aged before their time.
They pulled up to the barn, and Sergey and Vadim got out of the car, Nick and Finnick following closely on their heels, both on edge. The yard was dark and quiet, only the sound of their crunching paws and the metallic clicking of the Trabant cooling down marring the stillness of the night. The short trek to the front door was uneventful though, and so was the entrance into the house. There was no trap in the little cottage, though there was one very annoyed old sheep.
"Priviet?" A voice called down from the top of the stairs in Arctician.
"It's me and Vadim, mama, and our friends," Sergey replied.
"What are you doing out so late, and in the snow?" she said as she began down the stairs.
"I told you, mama, we had to pick up our friends. They are here to help."
She surveyed the two foxes skeptically and replied, "Foxes? When have they ever helped anyone?" Again Nick glanced at Finnick, hoping to preempt any outburst. His Arctician wasn't fantastic but it wouldn't be hard to understand her meaning. Finnick had always had very little patience for that sort of bigotry, but then he could afford to. He wasn't really an operative, and had certainly never been a field agent. He had never learned to bite his tongue and bear it like Nick had. He had never had to.
"Mama! They are very important foxes from a very important country. They will help us!"
"Important?" the old sheep replied, incredulous. "They look like normal foxes to me."
"She is talking about us," Finnick suddenly interrupted. "What is she saying?"
The question took the two brothers of guard and they fumbled for a reply, but Sergey proved the quickest on his hooves and he said, "Uhhh, mother unhappy about war. Don't want war brought to home."
"Ah, I'm sorry about that," Finnick replied, displaying a surprising amount of deference.
"Is no problem," Sergey said, and then to his mother in Arctician, "Mama, we need a drink, bring us a bottle."
"Now, at this hour?" she replied incredulously. "It's past midnight! This is no time for vodka. You must be in the city by 7! There is war on for gods' sake!"
"Mama, I just drove half the night, we all need a drink! Bring glasses for our guests too!"
"Niet! I will bring you Kompot. It is fresh. I just made it after dinner. You know I don't like you to drink too much Sergey, and tomorrow you have work! Besides, the foxes don't need it either, they probably don't even like vodka."
"Of course they like vodka, everyone likes vodka!"
"Niet! Kompot!
Nick stood there at the bottom of the stairs, bemused, though doing his best not to show it. Sergey's mother fit, almost exactly, his perception of the old Arctician grandma. Overbearing, pushy, speciesist, a true kompot connoisseur. But, he reflected, in life you must take others as you find them. And as she moved towards the kitchen, grumbling, he said to Sergey, "Your mother is very nice."
"Hah hah ha," Sergey bleated out, "you're funny fox! Come, I show you where you sleep."
Where they were to stay that night turned out to be the couch in the living room. It wasn't too bad really, there were blankets, and there was a fire going. Both Nick and Finnick had slept in far worse conditions and they appreciated that at the very least they would be warm, if not perhaps singularly comfortable. They thanked Sergey for the lodgings and drank their kompot when it arrived. No one was much for talking, the hour was indeed quite late, and soon their Arctician hosts had gone off to bed, promising to wake them in the morning.
Finally, Nick and Finnick were alone again, and it didn't take Finnick long to make his feelings known, "I don't like this Nick."
"Yes, Finnick, I know. I think this is the fifth or sixth time you've told me," replied Nick, with perhaps less patience than Finnick deserved.
"No, I mean they changed the deal, I don't like this."
"Well, they are amateurs at this business."
"Yes I know, and that's why this worries me."
Nick sighed, he knew exactly how Finnick felt because he felt it too. "Finnick, I don't think they are a danger to us," he replied, trying to assuage Finnick's fears.
"I don't think they are either, what I am afraid of is the stuff they don't consider. They are amateurs, they have hardly any idea how these sorts of meetings work, and they are even making us have one in a war zone. I don't think they are going to trying to kill us, I think they are going to get us killed."
Nick remained silent for a moment, considering Finnick's tone. It was cool, almost collected… it was abnormal. Nick realized then just how scared his partner was, and he was beset by an immense guilt. Bringing Finnick along on this trip wasn't strictly necessary, but he had felt he needed the help and had asked him to come. 'Ask' was really the wrong word however. It hadn't quite been an order, but it was close. Still, fieldwork was not Finnick's domain, and he never got involved in it if he could.
It annoyed Nick that he had caused such disquiet in his friend. It wasn't really fair to him to have brought him along, and so he offered him an out, "Finn, you don't have to come tomorrow, if you don't want."
"What do you mean?" he replied.
"I mean, you can stay out of the city, keep your head down for the day, and the we'll meet up on my way out."
Finnick didn't reply immediately, considering the offer, and then he said, "Are you saying you didn't need me in the first place?"
Oh shit.
"No no no no, that is not what I am saying at all," Nick countered as quickly as he could, "I am just saying I won't make you go into the city, considering the danger."
"Go to bed, Nick," Finnick replied.
"Ha ha, good I am glad," Nick grinned, "I needed someone to carry my stuff any- Ah! Damnit Finnick!" Nick exclaimed. Finnick's kick had nearly dislodged him from the couch.
"Go to bed you dumb bastard."
"Ok ok, fine, jeez," Nick replied as rolled over, thoroughly wrapping himself in a blanket, grinning all the while.
The trip into the city the next day was uneventful, though the signs of war steadily increased as they moved closer. At first it was the occasional military traffic. A convoy of beige trucks emblazoned with a hastily painted Ossetian roundel. Then it was soldiers and equipment lingering in the center of a small village. Then it was the darkening of the sky, the horizon obscured in a grey haze despite the brilliance of the day. Then it was the smell, acrid and powerful. The smell of gunpowder and high explosive and fire. And then the damage began. A shell hole adjacent to a home, its walls pockmarked by shrapnel. A grain elevator little more than a concrete shell.
By the time they reached the outskirts of the city the price of the conflict had been evident for kilometers. Refugees lined the sides of the road carrying what little of their earthly possessions they could, slowly snaking away from the conflict. Makeshift burial markers adorned hastily dug graves in what was once a suburban park.
Parts of the city seemed to have survived relatively untouched, though the smell of war and death was inescapable. Shops still sold their goods, the local markets were still full of customers buying produce, and Nick even noticed a pickup game of football being played in a side street. It was all as if there was no war at all, the mammals of Gromney going about their lives like there was nothing wrong.
There were signs though, of the trouble swirling around them. The markets might have been open, but they were nearly empty. Power was out in much of the city, and without that most other modern conveniences, especially plumbing and heat, ceased to exist as well. The haze and smoke above them a constant reminder of just how close the war was. And, despite their best efforts, the mammals couldn't hide the strain the fighting was taking on them. Many would flinch each time a shell landed somewhere in the city, and they all seemed so tired, oh so very tired. As if most of them hadn't slept well in months. There was little joy in the mammals they passed, only fatigue, sadness, and fear.
Other parts of the city were not so lucky. Whole blocks were little more than ruins and snow covered rubble and burnt out cars littered the streets. The evidence of shelling was everywhere, and even buildings that seemed to have weathered the storm were scarred and holed. Death surrounded them, though it was hard to see. A spattering of blood in a snowbank, a frozen body amongst a pile of rubble. The smell was growing stronger as as they neared the front. The apparatuses of war cramming every alley along with their attendant troops.
The occupants of the car had been silent ever since they had left the suburbs. The two foxes taking in the momentous scene around them. But finally, Sergey broke the silence, "We must leave car soon, not safe."
They approached a checkpoint, a heavy machine gun trained upon them as they approached, and a soldier, a caribou, motioned for them to stop. He looked like so many other soldiers there in Gromney, with a mismatching uniform and accoutrements that were probably older than he was. But unlike so many others, and what made him stand out to Nick, was that he was armed with a submachine gun of a make that Nick didn't recognize.
That isn't to say that Nick was a firearms expert, far from it indeed, but he was familiar with with the major models from around the world, and particularly Arctician models. But this was one was something far beyond his experience. It was a small rectangular metal bar from which protruded a small barrel and underneath hung a magazine and pistol grip. "What's that gun he is carrying?" Nick asked Sergey.
"Hmm? Uh, uh, it called Borz. Don't know word for it," he replied.
Wolf, that was what 'Borz' meant. Wolf. A fearsome name for such a strange little box.
"It homemade," Sergey continued, chuckling to himself. "Good little gun."
Ah, Nick had heard that the Ossetians had begun manufacturing arms, but it was interesting to see their handiwork up close. He hoped their improvised weapons would serve them well, but he questioned their effectiveness almost on reflex.
The soldier with the Borz motioned for them to pull over and he and another began inspecting the car while an officer emerged from a nearby building and ordered them from the car to check their papers. It was a quick little stop, the officer quickly realizing who they were, and they were ushered through an alley into a waiting armored car and were soon on their way.
They were going to the Presidential Palace, Sergey told them. A large office building constructed in Brutalist style that at one point had been the regional parliament building. It was rather close to the front lines these days however, and had even suffered some minor damage in the shelling. It had become of symbol though, of resilient defiance, and some of the functions of government were still conducted there, including meetings with foreign dignitaries apparently.
They were lucky however, their trip to the palace was as uneventful as their trip into the city. They had timed things well. Fighting had been sporadic over the past few days, coming in fits and starts. But there had been no concerted coordinated action from either side. The shelling hadn't stopped, but it too amounted to little more than harassment, four or five rounds landing at a time before the bombardment ceased and picked up again somewhere else.
It was still a dangerous thing to be there however. The building was just as much a symbol to the Arcticians as it was to the Ossetians, and more than one attack had probed the approaches to the palace. It was with continual amazement that Nick considered the place of their meeting and its existence. If it were he commanding the 64th Army, he would have bombed the place to rubble long ago. But then he wasn't a general, and there was probably something more to it he didn't understand.
The armored car ground to a halt beside the main entrance of the palace where there were met by a guard of two soldiers and ushered inside. They were not greeted by anyone, and indeed the building seemed mostly deserted, nor were they searched, much to Nick's amazement, but they were instead lead through the entrance hall to a service staircase and descended into the bowels of the earth. The little jaunt was short, and the mood subdued. The guards refused any attempt at conversation, and Sergey seemed nervous, as if he was afraid he was about to be reprimanded. He refused all conversation too, and Nick was left wondering just what they were getting themselves into. He didn't get the feeling that either he nor Finnick were in danger, they were both treated with customary respect as they were lead deeper into the sublevels of the Palace, but it felt as though they were being lead into a place of immense significance. Like inner sanctum of a temple to Frith.
They were not lead deep underground, they only descended three flights before they came to the bottom which opened into what looked like a typical, if antiquated, office space. They followed the guards to the other end of the room and were shown into a small meeting room lined with the flags of a number of nations from around the world, the flag of Zootopia displayed most prominently amongst them. Like the rest of the building, the meeting room was decorated in the same tacky wood paneling that was so popular 30 years ago, but which left Nick wondering what sort of collective delusion inflicted upon his parent's generation such poor taste. They seated themselves, facing the door, around the table which dominated the center of the room and waited. And waited.
There was a knock, the door opened, and three armed mammals entered the room. Close behind them followed the four most important mammals in the entire Republic of Ossetia.
"Welcome to Gromney," said the bear at the head of the little column in perfect Zootopian, offering his paw. "It is good of you to come."
Greetings were exchanged, the bear was Daniil Kuznetsov, the president of Ossetia, or what was left it. Nick sized him up as the greetings went around the room. He was an imposing mammal, and it was not simply his size. The very way he moved radiated authority and control, and indeed, as Nick shook his paw he got the distinct impression that Daniil was struggling, with only partial success, to resist the urge to crush Nick's paw. He dominated the rest of exchange too, his three companions unable to even speak their own introductions before Daniil did it for them.
It was an illuminating exchange, and Nick was quickly coming to understand how this bear, who before the rebellion had been a minor member of the provincial parliament, had suddenly come to run the new country. His very bearing commanded respect and deference, and Nick found himself being overly accommodating in just the first few moments of their exchange. The effect was fleeting however as the moment Nick realized what he was doing he mentally steeled himself against it.
It was at that moment when Nick realized just how dangerous the bear really was. He knew his change in attitude was almost imperceptible, so practiced he was at wearing different masks that it would take someone intimately familiar with him to discern the difference. But, nearly the moment after he made the correction, he caught Daniil shoot him a bemused look that made the fur on his tail bristle. Daniil had, very quickly, proven himself to be a mammal not to be crossed, and Nick made a mental note to do his best to do just that.
Despite the seemingly singular presence of the Daniil commanded in that little conference room, the other three mammals who had seated themselves at the table were undeniably movers and shakers in their own rights. Seated at Daniil's right was Yegor Popov, a Dall Sheep like Sergey and the Mammal's Secretary of the Parliament. He too had been a member of the provincial parliament before its fall, interestingly enough as a member of the party in opposition to Daniil's. It said much about the two that they seemed to have successfully put aside their political differences to orchestrate a coup. But Nick wondered just how willing he was to live in Daniil's shadow, since, while the Mammal's Secretary was ostensibly a powerful position in the new government nearly comparable with the Presidency, the word was that in practice Mr. Popov occupied a position that was very much secondary to Kuznetsov's.
Next to Popov sat the wolf, Konstantin Rokossovsky, the commanding general of the Ossetian First, and only, Army. Truly, it was an army in name alone as Rokossovsky hardly had the forces to fill out the order of battle of a proper Army. But it was undeniable that he had wielded his little instrument of war with terrible effectiveness.
Konstantin was a retired Army officer who at the height of his career had commanded the Second Guards Motorized Rifle Division. It was a prestigious command, and the division was often featured in the annual military parades held in Muskova. But advancement in the Army was tied just as closely to just who you knew as it was to how competent you were, and Rokossovsky's humble upbringing in a small village outside Gromney ensured his perpetual status as an outsider, and when a change in government caused his stock to fall, he was denied promotion to even more illustrious positions. He had retired, back to his little village, a bitter and resentful wolf. Hating the mammals who had kept him forever stuck at the head of a division. And thus, when the call came down from the Ossetians to lead their nascent army, he answered, pleased at the opportunity to finally prove his worth to the world and spit in the eye of those who failed to see it.
The last member of this small delegation was Marat Alexeev, the personal secretary to Daniil, and perhaps the one mammal in the group who had genuinely piqued Nick's interest. They had apparently been close friends for years, and while Nick wasn't sure what exactly qualified him to be the secretary to a president, there was no getting around the fact that Daniil deeply respected the Arctica Rabbit's advice. And that last was what made Marat stand out. He was a rabbit who had somehow ended up in the highest circles of the new Ossetian government. It was a role Nick would have never before expected for someone of his kind, but there before him was evidence of just what was possible. Perhaps it was the difference of species? No, no, that was not it, Arctica Rabbits also tended to be farmers and lived, perhaps, even more cloistered lives than the rabbits of Zootopia. But then, perhaps the only reason he was interested in Marat at all was because he reminded Nick of another rabbit, who was just as determined to make something more of herself and stand out.
He wondered if Marat would contribute much of anything to the meeting, if he was just some sort of 'yes' mammal, or perhaps even Daniil's lover. It would explain his presence, even if the idea of a rabbit and bear together was totally insane. It wouldn't be the first time an eccentric dictator involved their lovers in the affairs of state. Nevertheless, it amazed him that the rabbit was there at all and he knew that he would have the keep an eye on him.
They traded trivialities, small talk, neither side jumping right into the topics at had, the reasons for their meeting. It pleased Nick, gave him a moment to test the air, taste the mood. It was just what he needed, and the more they chatted the more the nervousness drained out of him. That he was in the center of a besieged city less than a kilometer from the front no longer seemed to matter, he slowly became more and more focused, tapped into the ebb and flow of their meeting.
There was an impatience growing in the small space though, an increasing frustration from a few of the occupants, Marat in particular seemed increasingly interested in getting things going, and began trying to steer the conversation to the war. Daniil missed the hints though, or perhaps ignored them, content as he was to let the conversation continue organically, flowing from one topic to the next. It suited Nick too, because the longer it went the more he found himself in control of its path. He didn't dominate the conversation, that would have been a mistake after all, in Arctica it was expected that the host maintained control of such things, but he realized that Daniil was no great conversationalist, and welcomed suggestions.
It amused Nick, to see the annoyance on Marat's face. He was toying with him in a way, allowing the conversation to steer momentarily towards its true purpose and then veering away onto some inanity. Watching him closely each time and reveling in his obvious frustration.
It was the fourth or fifth time he had done this though that the cruelty of it struck him. He didn't understand why Marat had suddenly become the target of his vindictiveness. It was silly really, what he was doing, and he had no doubt Daniil would react poorly if he realized the game Nick was playing.
It was because Marat was a rabbit, the realization suddenly exploded into his mind. He didn't like that the rabbit was there. Was not impressed by his contribution so far, and the longer he spent in the room with him the less he wanted him there.
But why? The question puzzled him. There was nothing offensive about Marat, and even his continual attempts to get their meeting back on course were neither rude nor unwarranted, and in between he had been nothing but cordial. There was something about him that Nick found grating. Something in his mannerisms, and his tone, and in the way he shared knowing glances with Daniil. It was as if it were he that was toying with Nick. As if he knew something fundamental which Nick simply wasn't privy to, and his each glance towards Nick only increased his mirth. That damn rabbit was dangerous, but he couldn't place why. That damn rabbit…
That damn rabbit.
Sudden clarity. He understood then the source of his rancor. Marat was like him. A mammal who had, despite the societal expectations for his species, managed to become someone of importance and power. Nick had been comparing himself to the rabbit, measuring his achievements against his own. The worst of it was that Nick found himself wanting. He had known who he would be meeting, he had done his research, he knew just what Marat had apparently accomplished in life. A Juris Doctorate, a successful partner in a law firm, he had no governmental experience, but he had all the formal training for it Nick lacked.
And that was why Nick felt threatened, he thought. Nick had never noticed before how much his status as a successful example of one of those mammals meant to him. And now that there was another, he felt self conscious and inadequate. He was saved then, from his own insecurity, when Daniil, who had been privately conferring with General Rokossovsky, finally allowed the negotiations to begin.
"Robert, my friend," Daniil said, using the name Nick had chosen for this particular operation, "Konstantin told me you won't give us any weapons. Is that true?"
Ah, this had been a point of contention between the ZIA and their contacts in Ossetia. There was no way Zootopian weapons would ever be sent to Ossetia while the war was still ongoing. There was no support for it in the government and the idea hadn't even been floated to the public via anything more than Sunday morning pundits. And even more importantly, it would violate some of the very foundations of the international order. "General Rokossovsky is correct Mr. President. We won't send you weapons."
"Why is this?" Daniil asked, his face darkening.
"Well," he replied, searching for a way to explain and move away from this dangerous ground, "because, it would mean war between Zootopia and Arcticia, and we aren't willing to risk that. Can you imagine if the rolls were reversed nd Arcticia sent weapons to a separatist movement in Zootopia? It is unfortunate, but we have to respect their sovereignty."
"Respecting their sovereignty?" Marat chuckled. "You are violating it simply by being here, are you not? Doesn't not your work in general do just that?"
Nick bristled at the question, annoyed at the tone with which it was asked, and alarmed at what Marat seemed to be implying. He knew something, Nick could tell, something he shouldn't. But the rabbit wasn't wrong, that was exactly what he was doing. Just about everything he did while he was in Arctica was technically illegal. But it was tolerated, everyone needed and used spies, and there was no problem, as long as they weren't caught. "Yes, but this is a meeting that is easy to hide. Weapons and ammunition are not. Please understand, we wholeheartedly support your cause, but that is a line we will not cross."
The Ossetians didn't take that well, and proceeded to carry on a long discussion in Arctician about what they should do. Nick listened in, but didn't learn much beyond that the rabbit wished for them to be sent away. Lamenting that the two foxes were wasting their time. Oh, if that fucking rabbit only knew just how much Nick agreed.
"What about recognition?" Daniil finally said.
"Recognition?" Nick replied, shooting a confused glance at Finnick.
"Yes," Daniil said, "I mean Diplomatic Recognition, in front of the Congress of Nations."
Nick didn't respond immediately, so taken aback was he that they would even request something like that. Diplomatic recognition was impossible at the moment, and probably for the foreseeable future. But he recovered quickly, and said in his most conciliatory tone, "I can't commit to that. My government had been clear to me that it won't happen for now." Just like with the weapons, to allow that would be to violate hundreds of years of precedent, law, and unspoken agreements. Major powers simply did not get involved in the internal affairs of other major powers, at least not to such an extent. To do so would simply open one to reciprocal treatment in the future. Every nation, big and small, had independence movements, it was simply a fact of existence for a nation state, and none of the them wanted to allow their own movement to be legitimized.
Daniil's eyes flashed in anger. "So you won't give us weapons nor will you give us recognition, then why have you come?" he said forcefully, slamming his paw against the table.
The anger didn't phase Nick, confident as he was that he did indeed have something of value to the Ossetians, and also well aware of just how unreasonable their requests were. He wondered if that was sign of just how new they were to all of this, or if there was some other motive. There was no hint of the truth there though, he couldn't tell either way. But he had to diffuse the situation, the negotiation had not gone well so far. "Mr. President, I want to reiterate my government's support for your cause, and know that if you win this war that many new avenues will be opened to you. And some can be opened to you immediately." Finnick handed him a folder and Nick paged through its contents dramatically. "We can't give you weapons, but we have more intelligence reports and–"
"Is that what you came here for? To sell us more information? Is your contact at the Office of Intelligence not good enough for you?"
"Of course not, of course not," and he slid some documents towards the Ossetian president, "Zootopia has an offer for you."
Inside the the folder was the outline of a plan that would allow Zootopia to give Ossetia a loan. It was not a simple task, these sorts of transactions were closely monitored by every nation, but it was possible. It would require layer upon layer of shell company and and private party transactions. The money would be shuffled, split up, put back together, change dozens and dozens of paws before it would ever even approach the borders of Ossetia. It would be a money laundering operation conducted on a global scale. But it would get the Ossetians the money they were so desperate for.
It would not come cheaply to the Ossetians though. If they were to agree with such a plan the money would not come free. This was a major risk for Zootopia and if the Ossetians took the deal and won the war, they would become a client state in all but name. It would not be an easy existence, and Nick would entirely understand if they refused, though he was prepared to do some convincing. The money was just too good though, 15 Billion Bucks, with provisions for more in the future. They would be able to fund their little war and afterwards they would have money to pick up the pieces.
The Ossetians took quite some time to consider the agreement that had been laid before them, and Nick enjoyed listening to them going back in forth in Arctican fully believing that neither of Nick nor Finnick could understand a word, before finally returning to Zootopian and engaging with him. In the end they agreed, they would take the deal, though Nick knew that their agreement was only half hearted, Popov and Marat voicing particularly strong opposition to some of the provisions. Nick ameliorated their fears as best he could, giving them other examples of how well this sort of deal had worked out for numerous other small states. Zootopia was benevolent and a friend, the offending provisions were only included to cover its bases, there would be no meddling in Ossetian foreign or domestic affairs as long as the Ossetians threatened no Zootopian interests.
It was a lie though, that Zootopia would be hands off when it came to Ossetia, but they didn't need to know that. They just needed to sign the papers. And they did just that.
"It has been a pleasure," Daniil said after he put down his pen, offering his paw, "we must do this again."
"Hah, hopefully the circumstances next time around will be a little more auspicious," Nick replied graciously.
"Yes of course they will, especially with your help. I see a long future between our two nations."
"Indeed, indeed. We also have more intelligence reports for you, we thought we would deliver them by hand this time see as we would be here anyway." He handed a USB stick to Rokossovsky.
Daniil smiled at that, "Thank you very much. Ah! Would be interested in a tour of our forces in the city? I am sure Konstantin would like nothing more than to demonstrate how well we have put to use your information."
"We would like that very much Mr. President."
"Please, call me Daniil."
So that is all for now my friends! I hope you enjoyed the chapter.
I do have a question for anyone who would like to answer: Did you find the transitions between when the characters were speaking Arctician and Zootopian clear? Could you tell? I am trying to figure out if the manner I selected is the best or if there are better ways.
Again I want to thank all of you for reading my story, I am so glad that so many of you are enjoying it.
See you all in two weeks!
Live well!